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A lot of things happen at training, but this was a first.
In Gavi’s humble opinion, it was simply a cold - nothing to fuss over. However, the team seemed to disagree with that when he arrived to practice the next morning. The boy was a bit tired and probably looked a lot more miserable than he actually felt. All the players were already there, a bustling chatter feeling the room. But as the midfielder made his way to his own locker, everything seemed to quite down.
“Gavi, are you alright.” Ferran, being the closest to him, asked first. This caught everyone’s attention and soon, the young one was in the center of it. “I’m fine.” he sniffled, casually putting his stuff in the locker. “Did you just sniffle?” Iñigo called him out on it. “What?” the player raised a brow. “Are you sick?” Araújo pipes in, worriedly. “I told you guys I’m fi-” Gavi sneezes and everyone stares for a moment.
Suddenly, he’s being crowded by his teammates and now the changing room is filled with panicked voices. Some players are running around, gathering various items, others have their hands over Gavi and he’s being examined like a lab rat. “Guys calm down, it’s just a cold!” he’s being half dragged and half carried to the table in the middle, where a bunch of clothes are sprawled into a make shift bed and pillow.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” the boy’s laid down and there’s several hands on his forehead and cheeks, looking for a fever. “STOP!” Gavi swats all of them away and silence fills the room for a moment. “You’re insane it’s just a little-” he coughs - chaos resumes. One of the players bring over medkits which are being dissected in search for anything that might help.
Gavi’s covered in blankets, sweaters, jackets, you name it. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to which he really did. The midfielder scoffed trying to get free, but more stuff got dumped on him - almost a crate of water bottles. The boy screamed, not knowing what else to do and now everyone was next to him again.
“What’s wrong?” Ter Stegen.
“Does it hurt?” Raphinha.
“Are you alright?” Frenkie.
“Do you need help?” Cubarsí.
“Can you please stop suffocating me with all of this!?” Gavi pushes through, out of frustration. “You’re giving me a headache.” he massages his temple with a grimace. “Don’t worry. Peña, Christensen and Lamine should be back with medicine for you any minute.” Lewandowski smiles sympathetically. “Wh-” he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence as the trio arrive right at that moment.
“We’ve got medicine for: fever, throat pain, nasal spray, muscle ache and a whole bunch of vitamins!”
“We bought tea and soup as well!” Balde announces with Olmo and Eric in tow.
Gavi grimaces, wishing for the ground to swallow him up. “You’re aware that I’m twenty years old right? I can take care of myself and survive the common cold? Are you aware of that?” he states, completely baffled. The team just blankly stare at him and the boy can tell they’re missing the point still. “I. don’t. need. to. be. fed. soup.” he says slowly, stretching out every syllable.
“Why are you all still here?”Flick appears at the entrance.” Come on, training’s started. Up to the pitch, let’s go!” the midfielder sighs in relief, gratefully to have been saved by the coach. As the players go through practice, Gavi feels them staring at the back of his neck, casting worried glances at every turn. His muscles sting a bit more than usual, but it’s not unbearable. Frankly, he’s been through worse.
During the mandatory water break, his teammates try to subtly get closer to him and see how he’s doing - keyword try. “Can you guys stop staring...” the boy deadpans, having finished his bottle of water. “Is there a problem?” Flick asks. “Gavi’s sick, sir.” Pedri says. For a moment, Gavi feels like he’s back at school and someone’s just snitched on him to the teacher for cheating on a test.
“I’m fine!” the midfielder glares, tired of having to repeat himself over and over. Flick’s expression turns sympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry about that Pablo... I didn’t know. If you’re not feeling well, you can skip training until you feel better.” Gavi was on the verge of ripping his hair out in frustration. How was he supposed to prove to these people that a cold won’t fucking kill him!?
“You know what?” the boy takes a deep breath in then exhales slowly. “Fine. Fine, you win. I’ll go home since you want me gone so badly.” he frowns, muttering the last part. “Oh my god, he’s worse than we thought!” Fermín exclaims. “Gavi never gives up.” Kounde adds. “I’m tired of this bullshit so yeah.” the midfielder scoffs. “He just said he’s tired!” Casadó points out.
Everyone’s practically cooing over him again. Gavi’s head was in his hands now. There was really no winning this battle. He tried to remember if this had ever happened to any of his other teammates before because why the fuck was he the only one getting babied like this? He’s not even the youngest on the team anymore! And it’s just a common cold. The worst he could get it is a low grade fever.
“I really don’t understand why you guys are overreacting like this.”
“Because if we don’t you’ll never learn to take care of yourself and someone has to keep you safe and healthy.”
The midfielder freezes and everyone goes quiet. He doesn’t remember exactly who had said it, but... maybe they were right.
Gavi often didn’t care what happened to him on the pitch. He recalled all the times he had gotten recklessly injured or gotten sick from eating too much and how the team was always there, tending to him like family. After that, the boy begrudgingly went home and the players each took a turn at taking care of him in the next few days until he was back and healthy the next week.
The midfielder would never admit it, but it was actually a good thing.