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Félix has been staring at Gavi for a good part of the day.
Their usual group had gone clubbing on saturday so he hadn’t seen him since. Now, two days later, he was watching half-amused as the player went through the day sulking more than usual. It wasn’t easily noticeable unless you got super close, but the boy looked slightly flushed in a light shade of pink. For the record, the striker had only noticed because they were training buddies at one point.
It was unbelievable to think that Gavi, out of everyone in their friend group, had too much to drink and was still getting over it. Even the thought of it made Félix smirk for no apparent reason. Although, as far as he could remember, the midfielder didn’t have any more than his usual two-to-three drinks. Whether his memory had failed him or not, it was entertaining to observe him navigate through the training session.
Gavi was much slower than usual, panting more than actually breathing, uncharacteristically red in the face as already mentioned and gulping down water like it was his lifeline. There was no doubt about it - the player was still riding out saturday’s mistakes. No one other than him seemed to have noticed the state he was in either which honestly saved him from getting into trouble.
***
“I have to give it to you Gavi, you’re brave for coming to training when you’re still tipsy.” The two were alone in the changing room, Félix leaning on the door frame and speaking in a quieter voice just in case anyone hears him. He wouldn’t want to get him in trouble, despite how funny it would be. “What?” Gavi looks up at him, confused, after taking off his cleats. “Congratulations for surviving practice, here.”
Félix walks to stand in front of him and hands him a banana. The younger takes it looking even more confused as he stares at the fruit in his hand. He could understand that the midfielder was slower, but come on... “Has no one ever given you a banana when you’re intoxicated?” the man teases. The player meets his eyes again, a blank stare. “Aww, is this your first time being inebriated?” the older coos.
“Félix...” Gavi irritably sighs, placing the banana next to him as he gets up to take off his sweat-coated jersey. “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick.” he does a little sniffle which the striker is not sure if is real or exaggerated for effect. ‘Oh... well, now I look like the idiot...’ The player didn’t mean it in a bad way. Shame crossed his face and he felt embarrassed for thinking it was amusing the whole day.
Gavi simply walked past him, visibly pained now that no one else was around to see him. “Are you okay?” Félix asks softly. “Do I look okay to you? Just a moment ago you were calling me drunk.” the younger pouts looking like a kicked puppy. “All of my muscles are aching, I’m tired, I have a headache and I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up soon...” he sniffles yet again, completely miserable.
‘...’
“You’re coming with me.” the striker decides without a second thought. “What are you talking about?” the man grabs Gavi’s bag from his locker and picks up all the discarded pieces of his kit. “Let’s go.” he spins around, hand on his back already guiding the midfielder out of the locker room. “Wh- Hold up.” the boy stops on his heels, turning around to give him an annoyed look. “Just where exactly are we going?”
“You’ve proved to me that you can’t take care of yourself properly because if you’re sick and not hungover than you shouldn’t have even gotten out of bed this morning. You’re lucky that no one else noticed ‘cause you’re not really good at hiding things. I’m driving you home.” Félix explains slowly so his, likely, fever-ridden brain has enough time to process his words, though it doesn’t take long for him to take offense.
“You want me to leave my car here?”
“You think I’d let you drive like this. You’ll cause an accident, stupid.”
“I can drive perfectly fine, quit overreacting.”
“And I don’t recall asking about your opinion on that.”
“Jerk. You didn’t even ask if I wanted to go home with you.”
“Don’t make things difficult for me, Gavira.” Félix rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to fucking kidnap you. And we’re going to your house, if it’ll help you sleep better.” the younger glares at him, but doesn’t argue back. “Fine, whatever. I’m too tired for this shit...” and without another word, they get into Félix’s car without a hitch. The older immediately turns off the radio, recalling his mention of a headache.
“Do you have any drugs?”
“What!?”
“I mean medicine.”
“Then fucking say medicine you meth addict.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know what I meant, Gavira.”
Félix was starting to get a headache himself.
“Then no. I don’t have any drugs.”
“Stop being difficult.”
“I’m sick, what’s your excuse.”
The striker’s head shots to the boy next to him who was already glaring back.
‘The audacity of this bitch.’
Félix doesn’t voice his opinion out loud and instead focuses back on the road. He’d speed up just to get on the other’s nerves, but decides against it - it wasn’t worth having puke all over his car. After that, it’s silent again for a good while which makes the older glance over. The midfielder had fallen asleep in the seat, head on the window. Despite himself, he smirks a bit which quickly turns into a small smile.
On the way, Félix stops by a pharmacy to get some meds to help with a potential fever and the aches. When he sits back in the car, Gavi’s shivering lightly. He presses his palm against his forehead. “Good thing I also bought fever meds, you’re starting to burn up bebê.” the striker mutters, concerned. The boy only shifts in response, head drooping further down the window.
As they finally arrive at their destination, the real challenge begins. “Alright how are we going to do this...” the older says more to himself than anything. He gently shakes the player’s shoulder, mindful not to make him more sick from the movement. “Wake up, Pablito. We’re here.” Gavi makes a noise of protest, but otherwise doesn’t move or open his eyes. “Don’t make me carry you, dorminhoco.”
After receiving no reaction, Félix groans and goes around to the passenger side. It only takes a second for him to pick the younger up into his arms, provoking a sound of protest. “I told you not to make things difficult for me. You’re getting the same treatment back.” the striker goes to the door with Gavi in his arms, bridal style. “Put me down, right fucking now.” his attempt to sound intimidating comes out as a whine.
“Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?” there’s an obvious teasing tone in the older’s voice which gives him the impression that the man was enjoying this to some extent. “I have the key, you can’t open the fucking door!” the player doesn’t answer. “I will gauge your eyes out with this key if I’m not on the ground in the next three seconds.” Félix chuckles. “I’d love to see you try.”
“You won’t be seeing much of anything in two seconds.”
As per Gavi’s request, he’s placed down with his feet on the concrete. He stumbles a little when the world spins around him, but the striker quickly grabs his arm to steady him. “See what you’re doing to me? ...and I almost threw up.” Félix rolls his eyes, but there’s obvious worry in them. “Get inside or I’ll carry you again.” he threatens, but doesn’t let him walk on his own.
“With the way you’re gripping my arm right now, you might as well.” the midfielder bitterly comments. “You may be sober, but I still don’t trust you to get to the sofa without falling from exhaustion at least.” he replies softly and Gavi bites back any retort he may have had. The boy turns around to study his expression while Félix just looks back confused. “What?” the other just continues to stare before turning back.
“How can someone like you be such an asshole, but also a...”
“...a, what? Don’t just stop there, you little shit! I know you were gonna compliment me.”
“...and there’s the asshole again.”
“I’m going to get your stuff from the car, try not to die in the next two minutes okay?” Félix completely disregards him, but makes sure that Gavi is off his feet and lying on the couch before retreating to get his things. When both the car door and front door is locked and all their bags are retrieved, the player gets started on actually making his teammate feel better.
“Fortunately for you, bananas are good for both the flu and hangovers. Same goes for chicken soup and crackers. You must have at least one of those, right?” Félix turns from peeking into the kitchen back to Gavi and to his dismay, he’d fallen asleep again. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” the striker dispenses the medicines on the coffee table. “Couldn’t even wait ‘til bed, huh? Is it really that bad, menino?”
He carefully moves a few strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. The striker placed his hand on it again, surprised when it was a lot warmer than last time. The boy’s face was also more flushed so the older decided that this was as good a time as any to put the fever down before it got worse. Gavi was obviously too tired to eat so he’d just have to try that later. For now, he got a pill and a glass of water.
“Acorda, amado. These’ll help you feel better.” he says gently and this time his eyes open a lot faster. “Wasn sleepin.” the younger mutters as Félix helps him sit up. The movement makes the player cringe, probably uncomfortable. “Drink this and all your problems’ll go away.” the midfielder’s eyes meet his, but only his irises move up. “Not in the mood for jokes anymore...” he accepts the pill nonetheless, gulping it down.
“You said that everything hurts so please don’t argue with me when I carry you to bed now, okay?” Gavi just lazily nods in response. They’re in the bedroom within a couple torturous minutes. Turns out the staircase was not designed to fit a man carrying another so Félix had to walk up sideways which proved to be only slightly challenging when he couldn’t see his feet and had to guess which step he was currently on.
In the end, he safely tucked his teammate into bed. “If you need me, I’ll leave your phone here so just call me. I’ll be down in the kitchen rummaging for food to give you when you feel like you can stomach something.” the striker closes the curtains in his room though he doubted the player would have problems with sleeping regardless. “I should probably bring you a sick bag, too...” he muses to himself.
“Félix?” the midfielder’s voice stops him in the doorway, urging him to face him. “Yes, stinker?” he’s back to ‘asshole’ as Gavi said. A couple moments of silence pass to the point where he’s not sure if he’d just imagined it. “Thank you...” the boy finally says in a hushed but genuine tone. He expects a sarcastic remark, but doesn’t receive it. “Don’t mention it.” the man replies instead, surprising the younger.
“Oh, and, Gavi? For the record, I would’ve done the same thing... even if you were hungover.”