Chapter Text
Lamine was upset.
No, being upset would imply that he cared, while he TOTALLY didn’t care. Why should he care when he already had everything one could possibly wish for in a lifetime: a successful career, loads of money, international fame and, on top of all that, his exceptional swag? All of these at only the ripe age of 19, bee-tee-dubs. People should be throwing themselves at his feet at this point. Highkey, it was impossible that he was upset!
He was, in fact, very nonchalant about it.
He was just clearly really naturally observant. Yep, he was just better than everyone else at detecting the discrepancies in the way one hypocritical human being treated him compared to the others. It was blatant discrimination at this point!
The defendant in this case: Pau Cubarsí.
And it was not even like Lamine was asking for special treatment or anything (even though he totally 100% deserved it). He was just asking for his right to be treated equally, by his childhood best friend no less, and there was nothing wrong with that whatsoever.
Well, to be fair, it wasn’t like Pau was mistreating him or leaving him to fend for himself against a pack of vicious wolves or something. Sweet, angelic Cuba would never do that to anyone. But it sure as hell felt like he was.
To understand Lamine’s completely rational reaction to the absurd predicament at hand, let’s have a look at the following evidence, in chronological order:
1.
The first day they met up with the FC Barcelona team, Lamine was practically vibrating with excitement. They were about to join their dream club, the one that had seemed unreachable through the screens of their childhood houses’ TVs.
Even when he had shed blood, sweat and tears in the grueling training sessions on La Masia’s pitch for this day, Lamine still had to pinch himself to make sure it was not a dream. And he did not need to look around to feel that the sentiment was shared.
He could feel Marc fidgeting to his right, and Pau stiff as a log to his left. Marc could probably handle himself, so Lamine chanced a glance to Pau. He had his jaw set and his hands curled into tight fists. To others, he may look mature, calm and composed. To Lamine, he had never looked more terrified. Not even when he came face-to-face with a boy twice his size, not even when he fell on the ground with blood gushing out of his nose during that one crazy match, not ever. Until now.
So Lamine gave him a slight nudge to his side. The light-skinned boy seemed jolted out of whatever trance he was in, and turned to look at Lamine quizzically. The younger gave him a bright smile, the kind with all of his braces visible, and gently prodded at his fist to open up.
Pau gave him a shy, unsteady smile back, and gradually relaxed his palm. Lamine curled his finger around the older’s pinky, squeezed lightly as if to reassure, then let go and turned his gaze forward.
If his eyes had lingered a second longer, he would have seen the light blush creeping up his best friend’s neck.
Xavi cleared his throat, twice, then instructed them to introduce themselves. The exchanges came easily afterwards. Well, in hindsight, it should not have been too hard, since he had already memorized all of their names, their positions, their numbers and their playstyles from all the late nights staying up watching football matches. He smiled easily, shook his seniors’ hands politely, and looked at them with barely restrained awe.
Every once in a while, he couldn’t help but chance a look to his left, worried that his socially awkward friend would stumble over his words to say something so endearingly idiotic that it would make everyone laugh, and then refuse to come out of his shell for the next two weeks. And hey, that had actually happened before. Multiple times.
This time, he tuned in just at the right moment to hear Pau murmur almost fervently, as if he was reciting from a football manual in his head, which, knowing him, was probably true.
“...Midfielder. Pedro González López.”
Pedri, who was just about to shake his hand, came to an abrupt halt.
“Did you just call me…” He began to ask, incredulous.
“Dude, did the little kid just address you by your position AND your full government name??” Ferran let out a raucous laughter, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
And all hell broke loose. Everyone’s attention shifted to the newbie who apparently remembered the football players by their legal names and positions on the field, which, in Lamine’s humble opinion, was not that strange. His friend just had a really well-organized memory when it came to football. And he was maybe being a little bit nerdy about it.
“Woah, kid, did you seriously remember all that??”
“Hey, hey, what about me, do me!”
“Guys, he’s like a walking football encyclopedia.”
…
Lamine could tell how Pau got visibly more and more uncomfortable under all the scrutiny. His cheeks began to flush, and his breath started to quicken. He looked to the ground, as if asking it to open up and swallow him whole.
“That’s enough everyone. Leave the young one be, yeah?” Busquets stepped up, trying to break up the crowd, “Please return to your line.”
The people began to leave per the captain’s order, some laughing among themselves while others could not help but send one last curious glance at Pau’s way. The young defender let out a breath, seemingly trying to compose himself. Pedri, bless his heart, lowered his voice and tried to talk in what sounded like the least intimidating tone he could muster:
“Hey, it’s OK. Pau, right? I’m just really impressed that you can remember all that information about me, like really. I bet half of the guys here can’t even do that.” He smiled, good-naturedly, “But the team calls me Pedri, and I’m quite used to it. Since we are going to be teammates from now on, please call me so too, yeah?”
Pau looked up from his shoes to look at him and gave a wobbly smile.
“Yes, thank you…” Pau paused, like he wasn’t sure if what was coming out of his mouth next will be socially appropriate, “Mr. Pedri.”
Dreadful silence followed.
“Woah, way to make Pedri sound like an unc.” Gavi started, laughing somewhere behind Pedri’s back.
“Drop the formality, please, I’m not that old aren’t I? I’m only, like, 5 years older than you?” Pedri tried.
“Yeah, not helping your case at all unc.”
“Can you shut your mouth?” Pedri turned around with a vengeance.
“Just so you all know, I think youth lies in the spirit of the man, not his physicality-” Lewandowski chimed in.
“Just admit that you are old, hermano.”
And all hell broke loose, again. Pau continued to stare at his feet. Lamine found it incredibly adorable that his best friend was learning how to appropriately address another human being at the tender age of 15. So he kept his eyes on his friend and a fond smile on his lips.
“... Shut up Lamine.” Pau mumbled.
“What? I haven’t said anything.” The young forward raised his hands in mock surrender.
“You might as well.” Pau sighed, which made him sound 30 years older than he really was.
So Lamine nudged him, hard. Pau retaliated, and it turned into roughhousing until they both broke into laughter that fit surprisingly well with the chaos going down in the clubroom.
Lamine had to stop to wipe a stray tear from his eyes for laughing too hard. Then, he already knew these were going to be the best years of his life.