Warnings: okay so some angst! Brief mentions of eating disorders. I think that's it but if not let me know pls
Word Count: 12.0K (fun fact: if you've read the whole story so far, you've read 124 pages!)
A/N: Okay y'all buckle up we're covering a LOT of ground in this chapter. I'm talking MONTHS of stuff happening, okay? Strap in.
"No way! He posted himself doing Pedri's celebration?"
"How am I always getting caught in the crossfire?? I wasn't even on the field!"
This caused fits of giggles to erupt from both Pablo and yourself, as you both huddled over his illuminated phone screen, reflecting on the posts from the Manchester United team. While most of them had been normal action shots with stereotypical captions, regurgitating some version of "It all comes down to the next round!", one in particular had stood out. Alejandro Garnacho, the youngest little gremlin in red, had posted a picture doing Pedri's goggle celebration. The caption read: "The best players will be on the field for round 2."
Now admittedly, this was a rather low blow. Eyebrow-slit boy was making it seem as though Pedri had been benched for the next game, when rather it was a sprain that would keep him out of the following round to make sure he was fully healed for the Supercopa. Pablo had now opened up the comment section, point out all the funniest ones to you, hoping to catch a glimpse of your infectious smile in the dark setting of the bus. You tried to stifle your childish little chitters, knowing that the rest of the team was exhausted from the physical and mental toll of an away game, amplified tenfold by the pressure of the Champion's League. But you couldn't help it. You were shoulder to shoulder with Pablo, laughing at strangers on the internet like high school sweethearts, and the logical part of your brain was helpless to overpower the desire of your heart to live in this moment forever.
"Look at this one: "man has to win this trophy to fund his next teen pregnancy."
"Pablo! That's not funny to talk about his kids!" You said, entirely unconvincing as you punctuated the reprimand with giggles. "Besides, you're just jealous that he's already continuing his family legacy at the ripe age of 18."
"Jealous?? Me?? I don't think you understand, Doctora. You know a couple major fears of mine: snakes, spiders, dragons, so on. But-"
"Did you just say fucking dragons?" Both of your heads snapped towards the seats across the aisle, where the Canarian laid with an elevated leg.
"Cállate Pepi - not one word until you finish Game of Thrones. As I was saying; of all my major fears, becoming a teenage father tops that list by a long shot." He said, shuddering at the mere thought. He could not imagine having to care for another life form right now. He was still a child himself.
"What if you found a girl that you really liked? Think you'd want to have kids any faster?"
You actively worked to maintain eye contact while you waited for the answer to your question. Gavi leaned back against his seat, looking forward as the silver moonlight poured through the large windows. The reflections bounced off of Pablo's features, making him glow like the radiance of his soul was escaping his mortal form. The side profile of his face was shadowed slightly, and you wished your hands were capable of capturing this moment in a painting. But had the colors even been invented to do Pablo justice? Or would they pale in comparison to the beauty they tried to replicate?
"I think when I find a girl I really like, I'll just want to spend every possible minute with her. Talking, laughing, breathing - just being in her orbit. And her in mine obviously. My dream girl has to be just as in love as I am, if not more. And I think it would be easier to love each other in that cheesy, all-consuming, kind of gross way if there's no Pablo the Third running around. Or would it be Pablo the Fourth? I can't remember."
'Me!' Your heart seemed to scream out, pushing against your ribs like it wanted to rip through your flesh and jump into Pablo's hands. Ever since your little heart to heart with Pedri, you had allowed a new thought to take root in your brain, filling your mind with red roses and the scent of something nostalgic: longing. It had been years since you had longed for something with your whole heart and soul. In high school, it was an acceptance letter written in English, welcoming you to a campus across the Atlantic, where you could realize your full academic potential, connecting with a whole world you never accessed before. In university, it had been for acceptance into a physiotherapy program in Spain. The glimmering veil of America had been lifted, and despite the praise you had been shrouded with and the lucrative offers to stay and work in Basketball, the call of family and potential of football was too strong for you to resist or ignore. Feet on stone streets and lungs full of Spanish air, you longed once again. This time it was for red and blue stripes, fan chants, fresh cut grass, and the Catalan flag waiving above a victorious team, trophy reflecting light on thousands of admirers. Here you were, months later, once again having the dark maroon petals of longing shade the logical part of your mind. You were longing for the beautiful boy before you, a stained glass window shining iridescent, heavenly light into every moment you lived with him. The sharp thorns poked through the haze, reminding you how much you could lose if you succumbed to the fragrance of want. The job you had pined after since you were old enough to articulate you heart's desire. The family you had cultivated in matching Spotify-sponsored shirts. And most importantly, you could extinguish this bright twin flame that burned between you and Pablo. This bright light was meant to be in your life, and by meddling with the universe's balance, you could cause a catastrophe, an explosion, and submerge yourself into darkness. Oh, but wouldn't it be a glorious demise to engulfed and scorched by an all consuming need for Pablo Gavi?
"Wow Pablo, I think that's the most profound thing you've ever said in your life. Now shut up and come here so we can keep watching Game of Thrones and I can make fun of you for being afraid of CGI."
Pablo turned to face Pedri, and swore he saw your face drop slightly at the suggestion that he become Pedri's company rather than yours. He locked eyes with the older boy, trying to convey with his glare that he was not ready to give up your company. Dark brown eyes responded with a look indicating he couldn't care less. Why in the world would Pedri decide to have the attention span of a 2nd grader right now? Despite the occasional comment about Gavi being a horny teenage boy whenever he caught whiff of you, he had made it extremely clear that Gavi needed to develop and nurture rizz of his own, and Pedri was going to act like a Greek deity: lay back, eat grapes, and watch the mere mortal fools try and figure out love.
Begrudgingly, Pablo moved from his seat, trying to squeeze by you while forgetting how big football thighs actually were. Sheepishly, he watched you giggle and rise to provide him with enough space to move. You felt like an absolute freak, sitting in your seat with crossed legs and chin in hand examining the way Pablo's back muscles rippled. You could have watched the fabric tug and dip for eons without ever feeling even the most fleeting boredom. He was a perfect and captivating creature. Or you were just sick in the head.
Pedri lifted his leg to free the seat for his young friend, plopping it back down onto his lap and eliciting a quiet 'oof'. Pablo propped his phone up with the episode up; the one the two of them were supposed to watch on the flight home if not for Pedri's little seating magic trick. He had paid Ansu a high-protein snickers to walk past the two of you and snap an incognito photograph so that he could be a part of the action without having to get up. Now, as the Lannisters droned on about war or incest or something, Pedri was furiously typing into his notes app. Before Gavi could exclaim that he had been dragged over only to be ignored, the too-bright and slightly chipped phone screen was shoved into his hands. The text on the screen read:
-we need to talk now before we get back to the training center and i cant do that out loud. ur gonna go home w the dr
A thick eyebrow shot into the air, and Pedri had to stifle the laugh threatening to erupt as a response to the obvious confusion on the young boy's face. He gestured to the screen and encouraged Pablo to type out his response, which was elegant and articulate as usual:
-?????????????
Peering over, you caught a faint glimpse of the bright screen being passed between the players to your right. Pedri once again wrote out his response before handing over the device, looking up to meet your inquisitive stare.
"Can I help you?" He asked, amusement obvious in his voice.
"Are you two... passing notes to one another? Like school children?" A mangled web of curiosity and insecurity twisted inside you, and as the seconds ticked on you grew more anxious to know what they were saying that couldn't be heard by you.
"Pablo has a running list of all the characters on the show, as well as their relationships to one another. I get confused so he keeps track for me." Pablo turned his head, immensely impressed by the quick yet smooth nature of the lie. He nodded his head to punctuate the point, although admittedly a little too vigorously. You hummed lightly, returning to the wonderful world of Instagram comments.
-dr didnt come with us to the uk so she doesnt have a car here. i cant drive and u dont have a ride home. i will just call an uber, and she takes my car and goes to ur place and spends the night there.
-what if she doesnt want to spend the nite at my house
-then u can sleep at her house
The noise Pablo made in response was somewhere between a gasp and a choke, causing you to look up very concerned as you watched him chug a water bottle, raising a thumb to signal he was all good. Well, physically at least. Internally he was an absolute anxious wreck, and pictured himself on the floor rocking back and forth. His heart rate was as rapid as if he was in training sessions, and he felt beads of sweat trickle down the skin of his neck at the mere suggestion.
Pablo, despite his plethora of varied life experiences, was still just an 18 year old -- a teenage boy. He still didn't understand fully the concept of love or how it should be expressed (Ansu told him there was a test he could take). So even though he understood that the way he felt about you, the way he wanted you, wasn't a normal crush. It wasn't something that could be dampened or washed away by the flow of time. But what was there to do except let the weight of this intense liking crush him. In a fit of rage, he allowed himself to get to the brink of a crime of passion, to the brink of telling this girl the power she had over him. But you had stopped him, telling him that he was just a colleague, someone from work who she happened to tolerate more than everyone else. But then you had come back to him, almost as if through magnetic pull, to share his music and rest on his shoulder. You had gone out of your way to tell him that he meant more to you than you let on. Had asked him to stay close. Should he dare allow himself to hope again?
-i cant do that i would die
-shut up and jsut do it. ask her how shes going hme and when she says taxi then give her my keys. shes gonna do the rest just trust me
Pablo couldn't respond fast enough, as Pedri dug his hands into the pocket of his joggers tossing the keys to his car, handing the discretely to Gavi so that you wouldn't notice anything was amiss. The bus creaked to a stop, shifting Gavi's stomach even further from its original location than Pedri's suggestion had. He watched you stand up, shirt riding up slightly, the sliver of skin making Pablo's heart jump. It expanded as you reached above your head, retrieving the miniscule bag you had carried with you. He jumped up, reaching the compartment before you. Skin sparked against skin as his hand grazed yours, making you look behind you and lock your gaze with his. His soft eyes and gentle smile were the only thing that existed in the universe, and they were the only thing you focused on as you watched him lift your luggage and carry it, along with his, off the bus.
You unfroze as his frame disappeared off the bus, leaving you blinking in place. As you took a breath to collect yourself, you felt a hand clap you on the shoulder, causing you to practically jump from your skin, goosebumps in the wake of the subtle touch. Pedri's Cheshire cat smile met you, and you tried as hard as possible to stop the blood from flowing to your cheeks (you knew it was medically impossible, yet despite all your education, you silently prayed for magic). What about your friend Gavi carrying a goddamn Amazon suitcase was making you stare? And what about Pedri catching you in this simple act made embarrassment creep through your system?
"You know, his back is starting to look really good after working with the new trainers. Especially in the long sleeves."
"Really?" You asked, tensing when you realized what you had said. You had noticed the way Pablo started to fill out his shirts more, but you didn't need to voice that to his teammate. Honestly, you were embarrassed that you had been so observant of everything that Pablo did. Every shift in his demeanor or behavior. Every little sound or misstep. The way his eyes drooped when he was exhausted. The way he smiled shyly when the boys teased him about one thing or another. You could've written novels on the way that his breathing changed when he saw something that excited him.
"I mean has he really been working with the new trainers? I didn't notice a major shift." His laugh rang behind you, arm fully draped around your shoulders, resting his weight on your backpack.
"Come on, Doctora. No need to lie." You looked up at Pedri, brow raised and confusion etched onto your face. He looked down, laugh dying down as he asked, "What's wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong. It just... it's weird when you call me that."
"Call you what?"
"Doctora."
"Why is that weird? That's your title, isn't it?"
"I mean yeah like officially. But everyone calls me Doctora y/n or Doctora y/l/n. Only Pablo calls me just "Doctora". That nickname... I don't know. It's just his."
It was enough to have cavities form in Pedri's teeth watching the way your eyes glazed over at the thought of Pablo's special name for you. That there was something special shared between the two of you, so secret and sacred that the phrase passing between the lips of an outsider tainted its purity. Oh what fools these mortals be, so helplessly in love and so blind to recognize that they were both reaching for one another, millimeters from grasping their other half.
"Do you need help getting down?" You asked, offering an extended arm to Pedri. Despite your lingering bashfulness, you still wanted to make sure he wasn't going to have a hard time walking.
"No, I got it. And if I don't, Ansu's got me. Go catch up with Pablo and get your bag. We wouldn't want to keep you out too late."
Replying with a gentle smile, you turned away from Pedri and skipped off, scanning the parking lot of the training center. The suitcases had been lined up neatly in front of the bus, and players collected their things, chatting and bidding farewells as they headed to their respective luxury cars. And then there was Pablo, carless and waiting with both his and your luggage, off on his own. Ever desperate to stay out of everyone's way, he shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to another under the glow of a far corner street lamp.
"What's going on with those two?" Ansu had no idea that his question was the one on many minds, from coaches to players to even the people involved, but there was no one answer. Should the answer be the current situation from an outsider perspective, which would be that they were just two people whose personalities clicked well? Should it be the insider scoop he had as Gavi's closest confidant, that gentle touches and warm nights had been exchanged between the two, blurring the boundaries imposed by work? Or should it be Pedri's deepest ponderings and hypotheses, which said without a shadow of a doubt that these two lost souls were meant to come together, intertwined and in love, and yet happiness still escaped them?
"They're both the same type of stupid, Ansu. Therefore, nothing. Nothing is going on with them."
~
Gavi watched your approach, focusing very hard on the way your hair swayed with each step, because it was the easiest thing to pay attention to without losing his goddamn mind. Curse Pedro Gonzalez for putting these godforsaken ideas into his head.
"You didn't need to carry my bag for me Pablo. There isn't that much in it. You should've just gotten your own."
"You know, Doctora, you can just say 'thank you' when I do things for you. No need to always make yourself seem unworthy."
You took two steps towards him, taking the bag from his hands, and placing in gently on the floor. Before he could ask or protest, you stepped even closer. Arms wrapped around his torso, Pablo's body went limp as you pulled him into you. Head resting against his collarbone, you breathed in his scent. 1 million cologne and Gavira. An Eros scent that seeped into the ridges of your brain. You made a mental note to buy him another bottle as a gift.
"Thank you, Pablo. For everything."
He shushed the part of his brain that started questioning your intentions, and instead focused all his energy on living in this moment. He had been so close to losing you to blue shirts across blue seas. He had been so close to you disappearing into the mist of terrible friends and even worse boyfriends. But now you were here, and he would never take a moment with you for granted again.
"I'm glad that just because we're back in Spain, things haven't changed. This is just like last time."
You looked into his deep brown eyes, arms remaining in their position around his waist.
"What do you mean?"
"When we were outside my place. Under the streetlamp. You hugged me then, too."
Realization of the moment in question was evident across your face, and vivid, intense memories flooded in quickly like the gates of a dam had been pried open. You had lost so much since then, pieces of your life you thought were permanent had disappeared into thin air.
"I wish I could go back to then, sometimes."
"Why is that?"
"I had friends back then."
He looked at you in a strange manner, shifting one strand of hair behind your ear.
"Are we not friends, Doctora?"
"For better or worse, you're my best friend, Pablo."
Silence. You hadn't meant to phrase it in a way that placed Pablo in the dreaded friendzone. If you both were honest, your friendship had passed the traditional sense of the word months ago. His eyes stayed soft, and he gave you the same gentle, sad smile that people gave three-legged puppies.
From 15 meters away, a small crowd had gathered to watch the exchange. Pedri used Ansu as a crutch, and the two breathed as quietly as they could, hoping to catch a stray sentence on the night air. Alejandro had joined them, and after asking rather loudly what they were doing (and being promptly shushed), he also joined the eavesdropping posy. Torre was next to join. Then, against Ferran's wishes, Eric became part of the group. Luca pretended he wasn't interested, but stood close enough to the group to hear all the mutterings and speculation. One of the assistant coaches, who came to see if anyone needed a ride home, was silenced and roped into the spy club. So they huddled in the darkness, not slick in the slightest. If either of you had turned around, their actions would have been very obvious. But as it had been since you could remember, there was an alternate universe that formed when you and Gavi were together.
"It's late. How are you getting home?"
"Oh, I'm just going to call an Uber."
"No way. You're not getting in an Uber by yourself at this hour." He thought about the key that sat like a hot stone in his pocket, and swallowed his pride. Curiosity killed the cat, and he was a tabby stepping onto a busy highway.
"Pedri... he gave me his car key to... he said you could drive it home since he can't drive and your car isn't here." He handed the key to you like one handed over their soul: carefully, reluctantly, and yet optimistically. Your gave never shifted from Pablo's face.
"How are you getting home?"
"I'll Uber."
"It doesn't make sense for me to get to drive home and you have to call a car in the middle of the night. Plus, you're way more famous than me."
"Well, if your offer is for me to take the car and drive myself home, I can't exactly do that. Unless your goal is to get me arrested for driving without a license. Which I wouldn't put past you." A smile broke out on both your faces, grinning from ear to ear at the silliness. This is what you had been missing in your life. Laugher. Jokes. Nonsense. Oh how you missed the nonsense. How you missed the ability to breathe without feeling like there was an iron fist wrapped around your trachea. The sound of your giggles were foreign to you in their genuinity, as it had been virtual eons since you had been truly amused. Truly happy. But that was the feeling Pablo brought to you. Warm and sweet like cider, through your veins and arteries and the threads of your soul. He brought you happiness. He served it to you on a silver platter, feeding it to you spoonful by wonderful spoonful. He sparked happiness within you, your heart sparkling like fresh-popped champagne, overflowing and turning everything delectable and golden. He allowed you to see the bright blues and deep reds of life, vibrant colors that were previously dulled by the consistent papercuts the book of life dished out. Gavi was a blessing in every way.
"I can just drive you home. It's not like it would be the first time since you can't figure out how to operate a car."
"I can operate a car! I'm just busy. And you're not going to drive me home. I live the opposite way from your place, and I want you to go home and get some rest. You've had a tiring trip."
"Didn't seem to mind making me drive before."
"Oh don't worry. You'll be back to chauffeuring me at dawn." More giggles. More light touches. More blushes.
"Totally friendly behavior." Eric said, with snickers rippling across the gaggle of stalkers.
The key was pressed into your palm, the brush of his fingers leaving sparks in its wake. You hoped that he never needed medical attention from you again, because at this rate, even just doing your job might set you ablaze.
"What if you came and stayed at mine?"
The silence was palpable and suffocating. Eyebrows elevated, Gavi looked at you as if you had asked if he would like to receive a lobotomy. You didn't even fully process your own suggestion. But you were looking at him with a sense of expectation and slight fear of rejection. If asked you would never be able to articulate why you asked him over. The best you might muster would be a shrug of the shoulder. But something about Pablo made you feel like you were five years old again. You would meet a new kid at the playground. Maybe they would loan you a truck or give you a turn on the swings. Whatever gesture it was, your little mind would interpret that they were your new best friend. And you just wanted to be around them all the time. Begging to go to the playground again. Putting on your best puppy dog eyes to get them to stay just 10 minutes more. It was that childlike instinct to invite him over, with the same eager hopefulness that you had when your other little friends arrived at your house and played with your toys with you on the pretty plush carpet. The want to have them in your bedroom, in your space, and hide in your closet with him, keeping your voices low so he wouldn't have to go home.
"Came and slept... at your house?"
"I've had sleepovers at yours. Now it's your turn to have a sleepover at mine."
You tried not to bite your lip too hard, as you didn't want to worry Pablo with active bleeding. The longer he took to respond, the more you felt another familiar feeling: rejection. Like when you had been told that the girls didn't want to share their dolls with you because yours had ugly dresses. Or when boys came and asked if you could talk to your friends for them, mocking your good grades and arm hair as they sauntered off. Or worst of all, when in a room of a hundred college kids, you still heard the name 'ice princess' float from one guest to another, bringing scorn and rejection and rage your way.
"Is your bed big enough for the both of us?"
The nod in response was so swift that you probably pulled a neck muscle. He agreed, and the two of you turned to look for Pedri's car, noticing the large group of Barca boys staring intently. Freezing like deer in some headlights, you looked at Pablo to see if he understood why there was an observation deck for your conversation.
"Need something boys?" You inquired, uneasy at the amount of eyes on you.
"I just need to grab something from my car before you take off. Pablo, you want me to add your place as a stop for the Uber?" Pedri said, smooth as ever despite having watched and lip-read the entire exchange.
"Oh um, I'm actually gonna go, um, with-" and then pointed at you. The smirk spread to Portugal, and Ansu's ears perked up.
"Pedrito," Ansu said, eyes still on Gavi, "add me as a stop after you. I want to... make sure you get home safe." He prayed for a flat tire on the way home so he didn't miss one ounce of the gossip.
As Pablo climbed into the car, his phone chimed, and he read the message with a grimace.
[Pedri]: never question my methods ever again. and wear a condom.
~
"I can't believe you live on the third floor and have no elevator. What do you do when you buy groceries?"
The question from Pablo released the millionth giggle that night from you that night, as there seemed to be an infinite supply when he was around you.
"I suffer. And the fact that the club feeds me 2 out of 3 meals has helped with this dilemma quite a lot."
It felt so natural, coming home and unlocking the door, walking in with Pablo. You apologized for the state of the place, but he brushed it off, taking in your living space. Your entryway held a small table piled high with issues of Vogue Espana. Your small kitchen was polished wooden cabinets, shiny countertops, and a fridge littered with a few magnets from different places in the world. He made a mental note to bring you back one the next time he went abroad. He slipped off his shoes, leaving them at the door neatly lined beside yours as he followed you in. He stopped in his tracks in the living room, jaw dropping so far it almost hit the tile floor of the apartment. It was not the worn sofa or old TV that caught his attention.
"Oh I hate you so much."
That's all he was able to say. He looked at the walls of your apartment, taking in all of the sports merchandise hanging on the walls. On left wall, it was basketball memorabilia, several framed newspapers, framed by vibrant blue banners and ticket stubs. It was the same university name that was on your car, the one in America. You obviously had a deep connection to it, and yet in all your conversations with Gavi, it was never a topic that came up. On the right wall, it was cars. Pictures of cars mid-race, replica helmets, the works. But it was the back wall behind the couch that got him. There was an explosion of Barca hung there, displaying team photos, scarfs, and other pieces of club history. All of it centered around a huge black frame, holding a 2009 Barca jersey, the number five on the back, with a signature right beneath.
"You have a 2009 jersey from Puyol?! That's the sextuple year! How the hell did you afford this?"
"He gave it to me?" You said, stating it as a question out of nerves. You recounted to him your childhood trips to the Camp Nou with your father, having been one of the lucky kids to get a jersey thrown at them in the front of the stands.
"I don't want to hear a word about my coffee table book anymore. You're obsessive."
He steeled himself as he followed you into your bedroom. It was a lot more simple than the living room, walls barren except for a few posters and a large cork board hanging the wooden desk. A bed, a chest of drawers, a mirror in the corner. Light pastels contrasted with dark gray sheets. He watched you walk over and light a candle, the label reading out 'Parisian Rose', and suddenly he was somewhere else. He was 6 years old again, coming home from school. He was standing in the doorway as his mom helped him shrug off his school bag, reminding him not to run in his socks as he took off to go pester his sister. He was outside dribbling a ball away from his father, laughing loudly whenever he scored a goal, falling in to the grass as his celebration. He was in a twin bed with a football comforter, being tucked in by sweet perfume and warm hands and soft kisses. He felt safe. He felt a sense of home.
"Did you leave your bag in the car? Here, I'll get you something to wear."
The question took him out of his trance, bringing him away from rose-scented childhood memories and into the present moment. He should have felt emasculated. He should have insisted he go grab his own clothing, refusing to let a girl dress him in her garments. He should have felt a sense of deep embarrassment that the two of you might wear the same size. But none of it registered. His mind was too busy watching the way you flitted between the closet and dresser, digging through your items. He studied the way your hair fell from its placed as you leaned over each drawer, and it was just ... beautiful.
"Here. These should fit. The sweats are my dad's, but I stole them from him years ago. I hope that's okay."
You disappeared into the bathroom to change, trembling hand turning the lock. Pablo was really here. In your house. In your bedroom. About to wear your clothes. He seemed to be much calmer than yourself as you slipped into pajamas.
Gavi was not, in fact, calm at all. He stared at the clothing in his hands, watching the fabric as if it would come to life and strangle him. He was about to put on your clothes. And sleep in your bed. With you also in the bed. He had not thought this through. He had just been on the brink of spilling his guts. Fucking Pedri making him think this would be okay. It was not. He was on the verge of a panic attack. How was he supposed to act around you now? If you asked to sleep on his chest again, he might actually explode. It was borderline self-harm what he was putting himself through. Like letting you poke him with a sewing needle over and over and over again. Pinpricks of pain and blood rising to the surface - not enough to kill him, but enough to have him on his knees begging for mercy.
Too absorbed in his own ponderings, he had just barely gotten the pants on when you opened the bathroom door, face freshly washed and moisturized, hair pulled back, and airport clothes clumped in your arms. Your baggy t-shirt hung around your frame, hitting the top of your satin pajama pants.
"If you don't want to wear a shirt, you don't have to." You said, turning to place your clothing in the hamper. Gavi stumbled out several incoherent syllables, covering his chest like a cartoon character before slipping the shirt over his head. Looking down, it was the same university logo on your wall. You walked out of the room, reentering with two glasses of water while Gavi was still short-circuiting. You placed one on each side table, turning on the lamp before asking him to switch off the lights. In the dim glow, he shuffled into bed beside you, the tension and excitement in the room palpable.
"Can I ask you something?"
You turned over on your side, head resting on folded hands as you faced Pablo to respond to his question.
"Anything. What's up?"
"Why do you never talk about your time in university? I have heard about every single other time in your life. I mean obviously you love your university - you have it everywhere. But you never bring it up. Why?"
It was his turn to roll over, and now the both of you laid on your sides facing each other. It was so cliche that you almost expected the rom-com director to yell out 'Cut!'.
"I love my university, the basketball team, and all the friends I made there, but..." Silence settled into the small vacant mattress between you. Pablo knew he was approaching murky waters. But there was something that kept pushing him. He wanted to know everything he could about you. What you loved, longed for, and feared. He wanted the image of you in his mind to be whole and complete. He wanted to know everything he should do and everything he shouldn't. He wanted you to see him as he saw you: perfection personified.
"But?"
You sighed deeply. When you tried to talk to Angelika about the mental toll the university social scene took on you, she had brushed you off, with quips about how it must have been so hard being the most sought after prize of Greek life participants. "Oh yes, it must have been hell getting invited to every party, walking in and getting your pick of the litter from the boys. Poor little thing." You couldn't talk to your family about it either. Society would never be progressive enough where you could tell your mother you felt objectified. And for the reasons mentioned previously, it's not like you had any male friends to confide him.
"My life was never better than when I was in university. But it has also never been worse."
The brightness of your phone made Gavi squint in discomfort. You showed him an Instagram post from your university.There were five photos in the sequence. The first was you posed in your delicate blue graduation robes, looking like an absolute dream. The white dress and heels made your skin look radiant, highlighting all of your features. You stood proudly in front of a historic-looking building, smiling proudly. Three or four colorful strands of rope hung from your shoulders.
"Your graduation pictures are really pretty. You should have one framed in your office by your diploma. What do the different colored ropes mean?"
"You're too nice to me, Pablito. Those are cords. Each color is a different award. The two yellow ones are for graduating with highest distinction and honors. The pink one is for being president of Students in Sports Medicine. The blue one is for working with student athletes. And the purple one is for being an anatomy teaching assistant."
The next photo was a large team one. You stood beside a fully uniformed basketball team in a fresh-pressed polo. You smiled brightly, arms around two 6 foot something athletes who Pablo would have to ask Pedri about. Slide three was a candid photo. Behind you was a large poster that read 'Students in Sports Medicine', and you were surrounded by a gaggle of doe-eyed bushy-tailed students, eager to absorb the drops of wisdom you offered. Gavi smiled to himself. If he had not chosen football, he could have been one of them. A university student looking at you like royalty. Well, he didn't really need to be your underclassman to think of you as a princess. The fourth was another candid, this time you stood in front of a packed auditorium, presenting your research project on the screen. It was about how taking into account the dominance of a limb when treating torn muscles. He smiled brightly.
"This is what you still use for the treatment plans for us! I had no idea you developed it yourself."
"Oh I mean it's all based on prior research. Not really that special."
"The greatest football club in the world now uses methods you created. Simmer down, Doctora genia. Let me keep looking."
The final picture was the most alive he's ever seen you. In a basketball jersey, you sat on top of someone's shoulder, hands thrown up, face blissed out among a crowd of your peers. Your hair flowed behind you: a stunning vision in the moonlight. He then moved onto the caption:
"Y/n Y/ln is a fourth year student double majoring in Exercise Science and Sports Medicine, with a minor in Spanish for the medical professions. Since moving from her hometown of Barcelona, Spain, she has worked on the junior sports med team for your national championship basketball team. The players describe her as motivated, hard working, and always able to brighten a room. Away from the court, she is serving her second term as presidents of SSM, where she mentors other students hoping to work with professional teams. She graduates this spring with Highest Honors, Distinction, and a Dean's list placement. Her next steps include a return to Barcelona to complete her physiotherapy masters degree and certification, and to pursue her dream of working with a professional soccer team. Best of luck!"
"This is so cool, Doctora. I didn't know you were so accomplished. And by the looks of it popular."
Your sharp, pained bark of a laugh startled Gavi. He looked over at the tears welling in your eyes and stopped abruptly.
"Oh I was popular alright. You want to know when the first time I got hit on in college was? Two days before my first year even started. I was at an exhibition football match and these guys cornered me. Sat on either side of me and started asking me, 'Oh, do you think my friend is cute? Do you want him to give you his number?' And I just had to sit there, because where could I go?"
You were sitting up in bed at this point, laughing in a sort of degranged way as you hugged your arms around your torso in an attempt to self soothe.
"And then this guy appeared out of nowhere, tapped them on the shoulder and told the that the seats were taken. And looking back at it now he was so gross and weird and..."
"Greasy?" Pablo offered. You watched him sit up as well, moving closer to you. He opened his arms and watched you hesitate for a moment. All he wanted was to grab you by the collar and make you accept his comfort, but now was not the time to do so, even in jest. He had obviously ripped off a massive emotional bandage, and now he was watching years of pent up feelings bleed out onto charcoal gray sheets. He waited, arms aching slightly as you shuffled towards him. Your back pressed against his chest as hands grabbed your wrists, replacing your trembling arms with his own. He held you tightly against him, leaning back against the headboard as fingers move slowly against your skin.
"Yeah," you giggled out, more amusement than distress than your previous laugh. "Greasy as all hell. His name was Max, and he told me he was so sorry that I had to deal with those guys. He was a year older than me. Showed me around campus, got me into parties, the works. He became my-" Your whole body tensed before you could get out your next words. "My best fucking friend. He used to do everything for me. Used to make sure I ate meals. Stopped guys from being gross with me at his frat. I mentioned one time that I was afraid of thunderstorms, and so he started calling me during every thunderstorm we had to make sure I was okay. He stayed with me on the phone for hours."
Pablo felt that nervous feeling in his stomach, like right before the drop on a big roller-coaster. This seemed like a situation he had seen before... and was currently living.
"He asked me out once, about a month after school started. Well, he asked if I wanted to go get dinner. I told him that I already had a date with Calvin, who was his fucking frat brother, so I'm surprised he didn't know. But otherwise, I never thought of him as something more than a friend."
Pablo felt you start to relax in his arms. Your muscle tension lessened, and you slumped back further into chest. You were now half laying down, head rested near his shoulder. You put your hands on top of his, and started playing with his fingers as a mild distraction.
"And then we were at a party, and I was playing seven minutes like a stupid 18 year-old, no offense. And I think he paid his friend to put us in there together, but the closet door closed and he tried to kiss me. I told him that I just wanted to be his friend, and he fucking just exploded. Kind of like Martin." The lack of breathing behind you gave off the impression that the joke may have been too soon.
"Told me that he had been so nice to me, put up with my bitching for months, just for me to reject him. Like he deserved sex from me."
Pablo had never felt this type of sadness. It was like looking at a bird with a broken wing. He could almost see it, the bright spark of potential that burned in your chest. But he wondered how much more dazzling your heart could have been if not mangled by these little boys who thought of no one but themselves.
"And here's the real kicker. I told him that I was sorry. Me. He called me a tease, a I was the one to fucking apologize, saying I wasn't ready for a relationship. He said he never wanted to be with me, just to sleep with me. I was a girl good for sex but not for a label. Called me a sex object to my face. Walked out of that closet and called me the 'ice princess', whose heart was too cold to love anyone, even herself."
Pablo's head was now lowered, nuzzling into your neck. He didn't know what to say. If there even was anything to say.
"And that's how I went through college. When I wasn't studying or working, I was trying to understand what boys wanted from me. What I needed to do to make them see me as a fucking person. And I tried to be that fun and cool hook up party girl and I stopped fucking eating. I couldn't because I made myself sick to my stomach. And so I was celibate basically, and yet still. 'Ice Princess' everywhere I went. Then I got a boyfriend, and it wasn't any better. Boys in his frat bet on how long until 'Ice Princess' put out. And when I finally warmed up to him, he cheats on me. Tells me that I'm too hard to love. So I graduated from college with amazing grades, fantastic references, and so much damage to my self-esteem that I don't know if I'll ever feel like I'm worthy of love again. And that is the short and sweet of why I don't talk about my college."
You let out a deep breath, feeling some relief of finally sharing the burden of what had been holding you down. You laid back against Gavi's chest, and in that moment he felt your heartbeat fall in synch with his. He could not believe his ears. How could anyone try and love you, when every breath he took was in effort to try not to. He had expended every effort to try not to love you so completely. Trying not to imagine you in his arms, in his house, in his bed, in his life forever and ever. He tried not to see the shimmer of your eyes every time he dared close his.
But alas. Trying not to love you was like asking the sun to stop spreading its gorgeous golden rays every dawn. It was like asking the sand and the sea to fall out of love and part ways forever. It was like watering a plastic plant and waiting for a gently blossom. Trying not to love you was the most futile effort there was. Your mind body and soul were built to be loved and cared for. You were destined for life on a pedestal, with some lucky bastard on his by your feet begging for one measly ounce of affection. His heart ached for you, and every single beat seemed to call out your name. How could anyone treat loving you as a chore when it was the ultimate reward mere mortals could receive. What a pleasure it would be to love you.
"I hope you know that your only crime in all this is allowing yourself to be nice to fucking assholes. None of that is your fault, and you shouldn't let it weigh on you as it has. And above all, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that again and again you've had people around you who weren't looking out for your best interest. Who didn't protect you or put you first. You've given up so much of yourself for everyone else, Doctora. You deserve to come first in someone's eyes. Especially your own."
You looked up at Gavi, unable to process all the feelings in your chest. Why was it Pablo? The only person to show you friendship, affection, feelings that didn't come with descriptions. Why him? The one person who you never wanted to lose. Your best friend and your greatest desire in one gorgeous Sevillan package, holding you in his arms like you were made of crystal. You turned to him, chest to chest, face now pressed against his neck, and placed a gentle kiss on his pulse point.
Pablo's brain had officially short circuited. Was that... was it real? What he had just felt on his neck? Was he asleep? His eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling. It was the perfect moment. For him to pull you up, tell you to forget about every stupid motherfucker you had ever spoken to, and kiss you until he was the only man on your mind. To never let you escape this moment. But how could he do such a thing mere minutes after you had confided in him your deep fear of all your male friends only wanting you for sex. A kiss right now might traumatize you forever. Maybe it was in Pablo's best interest to do something he had never done before: be patient. If he wanted to give you what you needed, give you the love that would truly improve your self image and your life, he would need to do it as a friend. If he really did feel your lips to his skin, then he would just have to pray you would have the courage to go further one of these days. He had to just be what you needed until he could be what you wanted.
You lifted your head, eye level with him now. Your breath was slow while his was erratic. He tried to find any focus point other than your eyes. They would weaken his resolve and he couldn't let that happen. Pablo was going to be your best friend. Even if it killed him.
"Is that my shirt from the other night?" Now it was your turn to be caught off guard. Peeping down at your shirt, it was in fact the one he had let you sleep in the last time you were at Casa Gavira.
"If you want, I can give it back."
"Are you offering to take off your shirt right now?" There was fire in your cheeks, and you hid your face in his muscled shoulder that shook with laughter at your slight humiliation.
"No, I mean after I wash it."
"Stop trying to give things back to me, Doctora. I like giving you things. Keep my shirt and my sweats. Keep my hoodie that I saw on the couch earlier. Everything I give you, you can keep forever."
And it remained unspoken as you laid on his chest, lighthearted conversation flowing into the twilight air.
"My heart, doctora. When I give it to you, please keep it. Forever."
~
"One month after a disappointing exit from the Champions League, Barcelona are headed to Saudi Arabia to fight for the Spanish SuperCopa!"
"That's right, Peter. To be fair, there was not one stroke of bad luck that Barca managed to escape. First, there was Pedri going down in the first half of Leg 1, then the penalty gifted to Man U by Marcos Alonso's stray arm, and of course, the loss of the fire cracker Gavi before minute 30 to a red card. Playing a ten man game during the Champion's League is near impossible, but what an amazing run for a club that, last year, was on the brink of absolute ruin."
"Absolutely, Tom. They still have an amazing shot for the Supercopa and the Copa Del Rey, as well as the La Liga season title. And now with Ballon D'Or nominations closing in, this could be the last cup game where Gavi could show he's worthy of the nod."
"Why are you listening to football broadcasts in English? I thought your Spanish was okay." Pedri stated as he entered the car, giving you a quick hug as a greeting.
"Shut up and put your seatbelt on. The Spanish presenters are too biased, usually towards Madrid, and I don't need to be sick this early in the morning."
"Valid point. This isn't the way to the studio, though."
"I'm well aware, pepito. But I need to stop and get a coffee. I forgot you weren't Gavi - he usually brings me one."
As you stepped out of the car, Pedri whipped out his phone to type yet another smug message. He reckons he had sent at least one a day for the past month. The first was right before he got into the Uber upon their return from England. Then, it was the morning after, when he checked Gavi's location to find him still in your neighborhood. Every day since then, it had been constant messages gloating about how right he was.
[Pedri]: you guys were in her office for an hour and 15 mins. do i need to disinfect the table before i go in?
[Pedri]: at her house again? did she give you a drawer yet? or a ring? ;)
[Pedri]: will see u after my physio session. try not to overheat with jealousy
And today was no different. He loved Pablo, he truly saw him as a little brother, but there was just something so satisfying about always keeping him crushing and docile, keeping his softest side right at the surface.
[Pedri]: youve been bringing the dr coffee every morning? where was this treatment when i was ur driver???
[Pedri]: ik im not as hot but damn
He re-pocketed his phone as he watched you approach with two cups of coffee, setting them down in the cup holders and starting on the way to the studio.
"I don't drink coffee, but it was a sweet gesture."
"That wasn't for you. It's my second coffee after this one. I can just sense I'll be called back into camp for more muscle sessions after we finish at God knows what time."
It was the end of February, and after a disappointing exit from the UCL, the entire team was fired up to get their first trophy of the season with the Supercop (and you suspected Xavi had made some pretty severe threats of starving the team if they gave less than their entire soul on the field). The extra pressure to be perfect had caused the team to step up their personal care, and that involved getting muscle stretching sessions from you after glowing reviews from Ousmane and Pedri. So you had been staying late every evening, with Pablo accompanying you home several nights.
Well, 'home' was a relative term. Some nights he came over to yours, either being picked up later by a teammate, or staying over. Other nights you went to his house, giving him private muscle sessions (that you were certain Xavi would consider 'favoritism'), ordering in diet-friendly dinners and going to bed. It was something that you would never be able to explain to anyone else, because you couldn't explain it to yourself. The simplest way to put it was that to you two, it was like having a sleepover with your best friend from school. There was nothing but sweetness and friendship, good food and great nights of sleep. There were more silly conversations, about favorite superheros and the Rottweiler you always wanted but couldn't afford. Sometimes it turned more serious, such as Gavi's feelings about alcohol and your fractured relationship with your mother. You both knew it was not normal for friends to want to sleep in the same bed every other night, to feel an absence in their soul when there was a body-sized space on the mattress, but you wouldn't dare think of it deeper.
You had also been, for lack of a better term, babysitting Pedri for the last month. You had been the one to accompany Pedri whenever he could do anything that could potentially get him hurt. While the team defined this very broadly, this often meant going with him to Adidas promotional activities to regulate the motion he was doing. Today, you were actually excited to accompany the young star. He was shooting for the Adidas X Prada collection, and as a high fashion enjoyer, you were excited to get a first look at the collection. Pulling up to the studio, you were met by Tania, one of the Adidas assistants, who coldly directed you to the studio before taking your car to be parked.
"What's her problem?" You asked, waiting for the elevator to take you to the 16th floor.
"Tania? Yeah she doesn't like me."
"Why not? What did you do?" You asked, now intrigued. You were vaguely aware of the fact that Pedri was tuned in to the happenings of your life and your interactions with Pablo, and so it was nice to get a glimpse into the magical world of Pedri.
"She wrote her number on a slip and put it into one of my packages from Adidas. Boots or something else they sent me. The note was cute and flirty, so I texted saying hey."
"Uh huh. But?"
"...but I thought it was one of the other assistants. So I started the text with 'hey Silvia'. Now she hates my guts."
You were still laughing when the elevator doors opened, revealing the set up for the shoot. Sleek clean lines of black and silver, accented with red all around the room. Upon walking in, the director, Adidas rep, and photographer all greeted Pedri like and old friend, and he introduced your awkward form to the whole team. They told them that the Prada rep was in the back, talking to the stylist, and after a clap on the arm, he made his way to the back with you trailing closely. Ever suave and Italian, the Prada rep, Enzo, greeted Pedri, expressing his excitement to work with him on the project. Pedri smiled widely, returning the handshake and then grabbing you by the arm, pushing you forward while letting out a heavily accented 'My physio'.
You shook hands with Enzo, introducing yourself and explaining your role at the shoot today, nothing but a slight accent impeding your English fluency.
"It's a pleasure to have you, Dottoressa. Will you be translating for Pedri as well? I wasn't aware he would need linguistic services."
"Oh, yes. I think my English and Spanish are good enough to translate for him. As long as you don't make me translate something like 'sophisticated design principles'. I know how to say it in Spanish, but I just don't think he would understand it."
A soft laugh was heard from the far corner of the room, behind a rack of black and red athletic wear. Suddenly, Pedri had a spring in his step as he walked towards the sound.
"Naranja! I was wondering when you would make your appearance. Come on out and say hello." A visibly enraged girl emerged from behind the clothes, holding two different pairs of long Prada socks in each hand.
"Hello Pedro."
"No 'nice to see you again'?"
"No. I'm not a liar. Hi, nice to meet you. My name is-"
"No need to be so formal, naranja." Pedri said, draping an arm around the girl's shoulders and causing her to visibly tense, facing pinching in disgust. "This is the doctora. She's here to make sure your favorite styling client doesn't get hurt too bad."
"Oh, you must be Silvia." You said, extending a hand for her to shake. She laughed loudly, rolling her eyes and shaking your hand firmly.
"I'm not, actually. But the fact that you know about Silvia is hilarious. You have to see this idiot every day? How do you manage?"
"She's in love with my best friend." Your mouth dropped at the utterance of the L word. Whatever existed between you and Pablo, you wanted to explore and define it yourself, not have it poured over you like ice water by this little football imp.
"Who? Gavi?" She asked, eyes wide and eyebrow raised.
"I- that's not true it's-"
"Don't worry, doc. I don't believe 95% of the things that come out of Pedro's mouth. You," she pointed at Pedri with a harsh stare. "They need you in hair and makeup. Córrele! Come back to me when you're done."
The stylist linked her arm with you, leading you over to a table of decadent refreshments. She was eager to hear what it was like working with Barca, as she described her last dozen interactions with Pedri as ranking from annoying to absolutely insufferable.
"I have a question for you first: why does he call you naranja?"
"That's a long story doc. Maybe for another day."
~
"And he's done it! The magical Pedri, in his first game back for Barcelona, scores the winning penalty to send them into the finals of the Spanish Super cup! His difference is certainly felt as he rushes off the pitch to embrace the medical team who have worked day and night to speed up his recovery. And as the rest of his teammates join him, we look forward to a Classico final match in two days time."
The force of Pedri's crushing hug made you drop your phone, and you had the sense to kick it behind you before it was trampled by the incoming stampede of cleats and bouncing footballers. You can't remember the last time a victory felt this good. You returned the hug, jumping with the team in celebration as the stadium sang out in praise for the blaugrana brigade. The stands were foreign, as the Saudi Arabian crowd brought about a different energy, but the passion they felt for this club was something universal. They meant it with their entire being when they shouted out 'Mes Que Un Club'.
Once Gonzalez separated from you, your eyes scanned the field until they found the form they desperately sought out. There was Pablo, dancing and jumping with the rest of the squad, having reached his first final with the team. His toothy smile was wide and luminous, like a string of pearls fresh from the depths of the Mediterranean. His eyes looked up and met yours, and you would have done anything to frame this moment in your mind permanently. And you told him as much when he came to your hotel room for a post-post match drink and debrief (post twice because he went out with the boys first out of obligation). The drink of choice was a vitamin water, which you two shared sitting on your bed as Gavi described his feelings from the game.
"You wouldn't believe it, Doctora! I thought the crowd was going to be intense because we're so far from home, but it was incredible. They were so loud and passionate, and it just made us work harder. Coach told us to go for blood on the field, and it was just... amazing. And now we're so close to our first trophy that I can almost taste it. I want it, y/n. So bad."
"And you'll do it Pablo. If anyone can, it will be you. You have Modric's ancient bones rattling at the thought of having to go up against you again."
A laugh. A real one. One that rattled his chest and squinted his eyes and made him sink into you. In the lingering silence, you put your hand over his, playing with his fingers once again. It had become your favorite form of fidgeting, washing over you with a shower of calm. And it calmed Gavi as well - possibly more than you both comprehended.
A loud banging at the door woke you up from your sleep, and you bolted straight up, untangling yourself from Pablo's sleeping arms. He was still groggy, covering his head with a pillow to drown out the ruckus. You walked over to the door, opening it to find Pedri and Ansu standing in front of you with their arms crossed, training uniforms on. Your face paled instantly.
"Good morning boys. How can I help you? I don't have to start stretches until 11am."
"Good morning, doctora. First of all, it's 10:30, so you're going to be starting soon... maybe sooner than you think. Secondly, and more importantly, we're looking for Pablo. We were supposed to meet with the coaching team at 10, but luckily it got pushed back to 11. He wasn't in his room so..." Pedri said, punctuating with an eyebrow raise and letting you fill in your own gaps.
"Um, why would you think he's here?" You asked, closing the door more and begging Pablo not to make any sounds.
"No one said he was here. But if Pablo Gavi was here, then he should get his ass in the shower and changed before he gets it whooped by mister." Ansu said, exchanging a michevous smirk with his teammate before they walked towards the elevators. You slammed the door behind you, leaning against it and groaning into your hands.
"Did they just say that I need to be at a coaching meeting in 30 minutes?"
"Well it's more like 27 minutes now."
~
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the final match of the Spanish Supercopa live from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia!"
Your stomach had been in knots all day, but now as the players lined up on the field, standing shoulder to shoulder and getting ready for kick off, you were truly ready to blow chunks. The energy in the locker room had been nervous at best. Xavi was reminding them to be vicious, merciless, downright ruthless in every attack. To step on their necks for 90 minutes straight. The players all wore expressions fitting of a battle, and there was little conversation that didn't revolve around strategy. You had been so busy with Pedri and Dembele that you had no time to say anything to Gavi, not having seen him since he sprinted from your room to his this morning. You hoped that he wasn't sore from the position that you had fallen asleep in. As he lined up to walk onto the pitch, you caught his hand, whispering a good luck with a soft smile, which he returned brightly with an added wink. It sent flutters through your chest, but they were all too familiar now. You were used to these butterflies that had sprouted in your ribcage ever since you first laid eyes on Pablo. Now, you welcomed them, the lightness in your chest, as you prayed for this to be it. The day he took his first step towards his destiny: towards greatness.
You watched with hands over your heart as the demons in white swirled and swarmed around the blaugrana, creating an overwhelming defensive line. But nevertheless he persisted. Taking on players double his size and age, he maneuvered through the line and ...
Time slowed. His foot connected to the ball, traveling past white jerseys and goalie gloves to find the back of the net. A pause. Wide eyes.
And the crowd erupted in deafening cheers. Barca had opened the scoring in a Classico final. No, it was more than that. As your eyes focused after the jumping and excited screeches, you saw him run to your side of the pitch, kissing the beautiful Catalan crest. Pablo had opened the scoring in the Supercopa.
He didn't plan on stopping any time soon. His goal was accompanied by two more assists, and when the 90 minute whistle was blown, you watched Xavi fall to his knees as the boys crowded around Pablito. The first trophy of the Xavi era. The first of many trophies for Gavi in blue and red. As he freed himself from the clutches of his teammates, he ran towards you at full speed, adorable and terrifying in its nature. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you onto the field, and the rest of the medical staff followed closely behind. He kept you close to him, lacing his fingers with yours as they sang the anthem of champions. You watched in pride as he was pulled away to receive his man of the match. You snapped a thousand pictures of him with a trophy in each hand, and he grabbed another one of his friends who had come to support to take a picture of the two of you with his awards.
"Are you sure you want me in this? It's your night."
"Of course, Doctora. I wouldn't be here without you."
As the rest of the team took their photos with the cup, dancing and singing together, he walked around the perimeter of the field with you, waving to his screaming admirers who he bestowed with his match shirt.
"The admins are about to go crazy. They got so much content of you today. You're going to be the only thing they post for a week."
"I just hope I look good. I always look insane in the team celebration photos."
"You'll look amazing, Pabloso. Like I said before, a trophy makes every man more handsome."
~
"Dr. Gonzalez, you wanted to see me?"
It had been several months since you had gotten in trouble with Dr. G, and yet the summons to his office still put the fear of God in you. You walked in and had a seat after his instruction, which was made up of one sharp nod.
"Yes, I won't take too long. As you are probably aware, Gavi has been nominated for the Kopa award at this year's Ballon D'Or ceremony. This is a very special occasion for everyone at the club, and especially those closest to Gavi."
You nodded quickly, playing with your crossed hands in your lap.
"We want to have our impeccable physiotherapy and medical staff represented at the event, as we do every year. But we also want to do this in a manner that fits in with Xavi's idea of promoting Barca's rebirth. You know, younger, newer, better. So," he turned around to retrieve something from his filing cabinet. It was a matte black envelope with a gold football embossed in the center.
"We have decided to send you as the representative to this year's ceremony."
You were utterly speechless. You had no way to show your appreciation to Dr. Gonzalez in this moment except to hug him, but you knew quite well he would not take kindly to that.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Gonzalez. I have no idea what to say."
"No need to say anything unnecessary. Flatter is not my cup of tea. I also wanted to present you with his relationship disclosure form, as I didn't find one on file."
"Um... what?"
"You need to disclosures your relationship with Gavi so that I can deliver it to HR."
"I'm not in a relationship with Pablo. That... that could cost me my job." You said very quietly, almost as if it was a secret.
"Miss y/l/n, due to the... historic lack of women in the club, we do not have internal policies regarding relationships between players and employees. We just use the ones that La Liga as a whole have put in place. Those are quite forgiving, in my opinion. You can enter a romantic workplace relationship as long as it is appropriately disclosed, and you cannot be terminated should that relationship end. I saw the photo of you being pulled onto the field during the final of the Supercopa. Do you mean to tell me it was not with romantic intent?"
~~~
A/N: sorry this took me forever but there's only one part left. If you liked this story up to this point, please make sure to comment and tell me ur feelings !