Just Pretend (Gavi x Reader)

Chapter 2: Tense

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Your failure of a date had already left you with a severe headache, and to make matters worse, the people in the apartment above you had a cabinet collapse, waking you up in the middle of the night to the sound of 80 plates crashing to the ground. Training didn't even start until 8am, meaning you technically didn't have to arrive to Camp Nou until 7:30am, when the debriefings of the day occurred. But you couldn't say no to Gavi.

Your time at Barca had started off rough to say the least. On your first day, you had been excited, dressed in the official physio team uniform, and eager to get to know all the players and staff. But when Dr. Gonzalez introduced you, the reaction was not very positive. You heard the players whisper to each other that anyone who Xavi wanted to keep off the field would be treated by you. While it hurt, you couldn't exactly blame them: who would want to be the guinea pig for the student-in-training when they had other physios available with years of experience?

For the first month, you only saw the players if you were in Dr. Gonzalez's office. Despite the constant instructions for the players to "see y/n first and only come to me with major injuries", your office was constantly empty. Everyone wanted to be seen by the best - and that was not you.

Pedri had vaguely remembered you from that night in the club, squinting at you and saying that you looked familiar. You had considered not confessing how he knew you, but in a desperate effort to have someone like you, recounted when you had met. He laughed at the memory, and yet still never came to you for any discomforts. Gavi, on the other hand, didn't remember a thing, and you were not going to remind him for one simple reason: he was kind of an ass while sober. While sweet to everyone on the pitch, he was cold and easily frustrated when things didn't go his way, and the nature of your job was telling him things he didn't want to hear. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, because 10/10 times the club will choose the generational talent over some student intern.

So you avoided him. You didn't make any offers to help with his muscle tightness. You didn't evaluate the way he strained himself on the field. You even refrained from looking at him in the eyes whenever you assisted Dr. Gonzalez with his physicals, because Lord knows this boy loved to throw himself around the pitch. Gavi treated you the same. In the rare occasions when he looked in your direction, he offered short nods instead of words. The only time you heard his voice was for quiet thank yous when you handed him his shirt at the end of the evaluation. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. The memories of Gavi leading against you, whispering softly that he drank to quiet his thoughts, were always in the back of your mind.

However, 6 weeks into your job at Barca, his cold front had to come down. You were in your office at Camp Nou, typing up progress notes from the day before, when some banged loudly at your door. "Come in." You yelled, still engrossed in typing up your notes, when the banging was heard again. You sighed in annoyance, opening the door and finding Ferran standing before you, holding up a limp and tearful Gavi. "What the hell happened?" You said, moving aside so he could lay Gavi down on the exam bed in your office. "He went up for a header and collided with Christensen. He landed pretty hard on his left leg, and then hit his head again." You glanced over at Gavi, watching the way he grabbed his left shin and writhed in pain. You walked over to him, trying to hold his ankle still. He immediately pulled away, sitting up way too quickly for someone with a head injury. "I don't want you to touch me! Ferran, where is Dr. G?" He shouted, the color quickly draining from his face. "He's not in until noon today. I already told you." Your heart sank slightly. Of course they didn't seek you out as a first option. There was no proof that you were any good at your job. You were just the only person available.

"Gavi, you could have a concussion, so please stop yelling and just lay ba-" "Don't tell me what to do. I'm not concussed. If you were good at your job you would know that." He replied. Now you were angry. It was moments like this when you were reminded that, despite his talent, Gavi was still a teenage boy, and if that's how he wanted to act, that's how he would be treated. You walked to your desk, grabbed your trashcan, and placed it in front of the exam bed. "I am good at my job, and given that you are paler than a ghost in winter, you probably are concussed. If, no, when the need to vomit becomes too overwhelming, do it in there. You can wait for Dr. Gonzalez for the next three hours, but don't get puke on my floor." You turned back to your desk, and resumed typing reports like you had been. Ferran and Gavi both exchanged a glance. "So you aren't going to do anything?" Ferran asked hesitantly. "I'm not going to touch Gavi if he doesn't want me to. If he wants to sit and writhe in pain and make his injury worse, that's on him. You can go back to training now." You replied without even looking up from your keyboard. It would be a cold day in hell when you let an entitled 18 year old doubt your competence.