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It was a pretty miserable day if you asked Gavi.
The player had woken up with a runny nose and a sore throat on his day off. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could really do about it other than the usual methods. He just had to wait for the flu to pass on its own. The first half of the morning he’d spent on simply blowing out his nose, trying to clear it up with little to no effect as it would get clogged again the next minute. He probably had a low grade fever already.
“Hey, you wanna hang out?” Pedri had asked at the other end of the phone call sometime before noon. “Can’t.” he coughed into the crook of his elbow. “Sick.” the younger sounded miserable even to himself in those few words. “I can stop by. Need anything from the store?” the other asked, softly. “Won’t you get sick, too?” Gavi sniffles. “Unlike you, I took my flu shot. I’ll be fine. Do you need me to buy you meds?”
“...some throat lozenges would be nice...”
“Got it. ‘Be there in ten!” and with that, he hung up.
The midfielder lied back down on his bed, muscle ache and fatigue setting in. He was sure that he’s never felt this wrecked even after playing full matches with no rest. No - the flu, Gavi decided, was worse than playing football every day without a break. He lazily got up, deciding to go gargle some salt water while he waits for Pedri to arrive with the lozenges.
The player hated being sick, not that anyone liked it in the first place, but he was never able to actually remain at bedrest. It was too boring and pitiful, just lying in bed, sleeping all day while his immune system tried to work itself back to health. The flu was probably the worst too since he could protect himself by getting vaccinated, but his trypanophobia would rather let him die then take it.
“Stupid stuffy but also runny nose.”
He took a glass out of the cupboard.
“Stupid scratchy throat.”
Filled the glass halfway with tap water.
“Stupid fever.”
Half a teaspoon of salt.
“And stupid fear of needles!”
The man gargled for a good couple minutes until the burning was too much and he spit out, coughing up a lung. Suddenly, there was a hand steadily patting his back and he managed to calm down. “You okay?” boy was he glad that he gave Pedri that spare key. “What are you even doing up? You should be in bed.” Gavi took a moment to catch his breath after almost choking.
“I’m fine. I don’t even have a high fever yet.” the midfielder scoffs at that. “Are you trying to get it? Come on, back to bed.” with a defeated sigh, the younger let’s himself be guided back to his room. “I brought you some chicken soup so you don’t starve. I hope honey-lemon lozenges are okay... I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.” Pedri explains, tucking him in like an older brother would do.
“Try and sleep now for a little bit, okay?”
“What are you gonna be doing while I sleep?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll make sure you have a speedy recovery.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep?”
“Gavi... I know you’re tired. If you sleep now, I promise we can do something else later so you’re not bored.”
Naturally, Pedri knows him better than he knows himself. In the end, the midfielder complies and squeezes some drops into his nose before closing his eyes.
***
When Gavi woke up, he felt ten times worse than before. “I’m never fucking sleeping again...” he mutters to himself, feeling delirious. The player was sure he had a high fever now. He barely managed to get up, feeling a chill run through him as he made his way to the living room. Pedri was sitting on his sofa, watching some documentary on tv. He all but slumped on the opposite end.
“You’re awake.” the man turns to him. “How’re you feeling?” the midfielder could barely think. “Like I shouldn’t have taken that nap.” he whines and a headache accompanies. “Can you pass me the paracetamol?” the older pops out a pill for him and hands it to him with a bottle of water. “Shit, your fever’s gone up. Your cheeks are flushed.” Gavi pouts, but it quickly turns into a frown.
“I’m done sleeping.” he sets his foot down. “Alright, just rest here then.” Pedri’s eyes go back to the television and the midfielder struggles to find a comfortable position. Another chill runs through him and he’s suddenly feeling cold even in his thick long sleeved pyjamas. There wasn’t any blanket near him and he didn’t want to nag the older to retrieve it because then he’d lose his mind explaining where it is.
The player looks over to his teammate.
“Pedri...” a soft plea.
The man’s fixated on the documentary, but hums in reply. “Hm, yeah?”
“Can I... borrow your hoodie?” it comes out as a shy murmur.
In a matter of seconds, Pedri takes off the clothing item, a plain white short sleeved shirt underneath.
“Here you go.” he hands it over to Gavi who carefully accepts it.
“Thanks.” the midfielder shrugs it on.
It was one of the ones that Pedri wore most often - the gray-ish light brown one that suited him nicely. On the younger, it was a bit bigger than oversized, the way his friend liked to wear them, which made it even more cozier to huddle in it. The midfielder practically melted at the newfound warmth, sinking into the soft fabric. “Are you comfortable over there?” the older smiles at him.
Gavi nods as a reply. “It smells like you, it’s nice.” Pedri snorts at that. “Of course it smells like me... it’s my hoodie. Who else would it smell like?” it was a rhetorical question, but the younger still shrugged to it. “I like it. It’s very warm and homey.” the man grinned. “Well, I’m glad it could help you feel better.” Silence accompanied, the quiet sound of the documentary running in the background.
“...can I keep it?”
“What? No, Gavi that’s my favourite hoodie.”
“You can get another one.”
“I’m not getting another one, you’ll be returning it to me.”
“It’ll be filled with germs. It’s best if I keep it.”
“I expect you to wash it when you feel better and bring it to me at training.”
“Fine... but it looks better on me, just so you know.”
“You wanna ask the fans about that one?”
“...never mind...”