Chapter Text
The final whistle echoed through the Estadi Lluís Companys like a mercy shot. 2–1. Barcelona. Three points in the bag, but Pablo Gavi was livid. The blood in his veins felt like boiling water.
— ¿Cómo que no es penal?! — he bellowed, charging at the head referee like a runaway bull, his sweat-soaked shirt plastered to his chest and his right arm bandaged after an ugly fall in the second half. — I saw it! He grabbed me inside the box! Look at the fucking mark right here!
Gavi yanked up his shirt without mercy, showing an ugly red scratch on his rib, but the ref was already walking away with his back turned toward the tunnel, ignoring his existence. The midfielder was pure short fuse about to blow. His brown eyes burned with that blind intensity he gets when he forgets there are cameras, fans, coaches, and that the board might knock him out cold.
— Pablo — Pedri tried to grab his shoulder, but got shaken off. — It's over, man. Let it go.
— Let it go my ass! — he jabbed a finger in the air, chasing the ref who was now greeting the opponents. — The guy's running away! This is a blatant robbery!
The scene was comical and chaotic. Gavi, all 1.73 meters of pure concentrated rage, gestured like a madman while the referee didn't even blink at him. The opposing players walked by laughing at the scene, and the Barça teammates just shook their heads, already used to the little post-game show.
That's when Pau Cubarsí appeared.
He came strolling slowly from behind everyone, hands on his hips, with the most serene face in the world. Upon seeing the scene, the 19-year-old defender broke into that crooked little smile.
There he is, Pau thought, feeling his chest give an extra thump before he covered it with a chuckle. My favorite thing in the world.
In Cubarsí's head, there was no mystery: he was completely crazy about Gavi. The problem was, at 19 years old with a brain that short-circuited around the older guy, Pau acted exactly like a 14-year-old at school. He didn't know how to compliment, how to flirt, how to be sweet. The only language he knew for messing with him and making sure Gavi's eyes were 100% focused on him—even if they were full of hatred—was to fucking annoy him.
If Gavi was cursing me out, at least he was looking at me.
Gavi was so blind with rage he didn't even see the shadow forming behind him. He only realized something was very wrong when two firm arms slid under his legs and around his waist, and the ground simply disappeared.
Pau barely made an effort. He lifted the midfielder off the ground like he weighed no more than a sack of old bread.
— WHAT?! — Gavi squeaked in shock as the world spun. In the blink of an eye, he was thrown unceremoniously over Pau's shoulder, his belly pressed against the defender's shirt, legs flailing in the air, and his ass pointed at the sky. — CUBARSÍ, YOU SON OF A BITCH! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!
Pau didn't even blink. He adjusted Gavi's weight with ridiculous ease, as if carrying a half-empty backpack, and started walking calmly toward the tunnel.
— I'll kill you! — Gavi punched Pau's broad back, but from that position, he had neither angle nor force. — I swear to God when you put me down, I'll...
— You'll what, Gavira? — Pau said, voice calm, low, dripping with that mockery he knew drove the other guy crazy. — Gonna complain to the ref again? The guy's already inside having a coffee while you make a scene out here.
Furious, Gavi bent his body and sank his teeth right into Pau's exposed shoulder, biting hard through the fabric.
— Ow! Damn! — Pau let out a loud laugh, not even fazed by the pain. — You got piranha teeth, huh?
Pau didn't even think about letting go. Instead, he adjusted Gavi's ass so he wouldn't slip, held tight, and kept walking proudly, waving his free hand at the fans in the stands who were already cracking up.
In the tunnel leading to the dressing rooms, away from the cameras, Pau decided to stop. With absurd care—because he could be a shitty tease, but he would never let Gavi actually get hurt—he lowered the boy slowly until his feet touched the ground.
Gavi straightened himself with a jump, his shirt all twisted, his hair a glorious mess, his face red and his eyes throwing sparks.
— You're an idiot, you know that? — Gavi jabbed his finger hard into Pau's chest, panting with rage. — A crazy kid! What the hell was that, Cubarsí? In the middle of the pitch, with everyone watching?
— I saved you from a red card and a suspension, handsome — Pau replied, putting on the best angelic face in his repertoire, knowing it drove the older guy insane. — You were about to curse out the ref's mom and get benched for the next game. Then who'd keep me entertained all week?
— Fuck you, Cubarsí!
Pau let out a pleasant laugh, a low chuckle that came from deep in his chest. He loved when Gavi got like this, all bristly, all electric, with his attention entirely on him.
— Alright, alright. Come on, Pablo. Drink some water, breathe deep, and stop trying to fight the whole world. You've got such a short fuse.
Gavi slapped the defender's arm—who didn't even flinch—but turned around and stomped toward the locker room, muttering Spanish curses under his breath.
Pau stood there for a few seconds, watching the midfielder's ass walk away down the hall, and gave a silly smile to himself.
Best part of my day, he thought. Always.
Two days later, at the training center, the sun blazed down on the main pitch. The heavy practice was already over and the guys were playing that loose pickup game at the end of the afternoon, where the trash talk ruled.
Gavi controlled the ball at the halfway line. Gave a sharp dribble past Fermín, adjusted his body to shoot at the top corner and...
KABOOM.
Pau came sliding in from the side and slammed his shoulder full force into Gavi's ribs. The impact was so crisp and unnecessary that Gavi went flying, tumbling twice on the grass while the ball rolled out of bounds.
— It was an accident! — Pau's voice came from above, laced with that fake innocent tone.
Gavi got up in the same second, huffing, his eyes wide with pure hatred.
— Accident my ass! You ran me over, Cubarsí!
— It was a fair challenge, man — Pau shrugged, but his little mouth already gave away that mocking smile. — Soccer's a contact sport, Pablo.
— THE BALL WAS ALREADY OUT, YOU ANIMAL!
— Details.
Gavi marched toward the defender with his fists clenched. Fermín, foreseeing the worst, stepped between the two of them, laughing.
— Calm down, for fuck's sake! It's five in the afternoon and you're already at it again?
— He started it! — Gavi pointed over Fermín's shoulder. — He gave me a deliberate shoulder check!
— Me? — Pau put his hand to his chest, making an indignant face. — I'm just playing my soccer, Pablo. Not my fault you're kind of light and fall over with any little bump.
— LIGHT?! — Gavi tried to shove Fermín aside, but the midfielder held his friend back. — Let me go, Fermín! Let me go so I can teach this brat some respect!
— Gavira, Gavira... — Pau was already stepping backward, letting out that open laugh that made Gavi's chest boil. — Calm down, sweetheart. There's another practice tomorrow.
Gavi let out a frustrated growl, turned around, and went to fetch the ball, grumbling.
Fermín looked at Cubarsí, who was still laughing as he wiped sweat from his face, and shook his head.
— One day that kid's gonna actually punch you, Pau.
— I know — Pau replied, his gaze fixed on Gavi's backside as he bent over to pick up the ball. — But damn, it's worth every second.
— You're 19 or 5, Cubarsí? For real.
Pau didn't answer. Just walked toward the locker room, hands in his pockets, wearing that smile of someone who'd just won the lottery.
Twenty minutes later, Gavi was sitting on the bench in the locker room, head down, scrolling through his phone to try and cool off. His damp shirt clung to his body and he could still feel his ribs aching from the shove. Son of a bitch. Payback's coming.
That's when he felt a pair of cold hands touch his face.
Pau walked past like he wasn't up to anything, but instead of grabbing his water bottle, he grabbed Gavi's cheeks. And he didn't squeeze gently—he squeezed hard, mashing the flesh, pulling the skin sideways until the older guy's face completely deformed and his mouth was forced into a pouty O-shape.
— Look at this angry little thing — Pau said, squishing Gavi's face like he was playing with a plush dog. — You look so cute when you're mad, Pablo.
— CU-BAR-SÍ! — Gavi tried to curse, but with his mouth all stretched out, only a bizarre sound came out.
He jumped off the bench, trying to trip the defender, but Pau, with the reflexes of a tall kid, jumped back laughing.
— Damn, so stressed! I'm just messing around!
— You're a MENACE! — Gavi rubbed his red cheeks hard, huffing. — Can't you go one minute without getting on my damn nerves?!
— Nope — Pau said, going serious for half a second, looking the midfielder in the eyes before giving another wide smile.
And he walked off, leaving Gavi fuming in the middle of the locker room.
At the exit of the dining hall, half an hour later, Gavi was walking along calmly, balancing a deep plate full of pasta in one hand and a juice glass in the other.
Out of nowhere, an 80-kilo mountain jumped on his back.
Pau threw his whole body over Gavi, hooking his arms around his neck and locking his long legs around the older guy's waist.
The impact was so brutal that Gavi's knees buckled completely. He almost went face-first into the floor, cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and by some miracle the plate of pasta didn't fly against the wall.
— CARRY ME, GAVIRA! — Pau shouted right in his ear.
— YOU SON OF A BIT— Gavi wobbled forward and back, trying to balance with his legs while that massive lump hung off him. — GET OFF, YOU ANIMAL! YOU WEIGH A TON!
— 80 kilos of pure muscle, show some respect! — Pau cackled, squeezing his thighs around Gavi's waist, pressing his warm chest against his back. — Come on, you can handle it, you're strong! Not every day you get a purebred little pony.
— I'M GONNA THROW YOU ON THE FLOOR, CUBARSÍ! I SWEAR I WILL!
— No you won't, or you'll drop your pasta — Pau rested his chin right on Gavi's shoulder, his warm breath hitting the other's neck. — Come on, pablito. Carry me to the table. I'm too lazy to walk.
Gavi let out a loud growl, but started taking steps, all stiff, carrying the giant defender on his back. Not because he wanted to give in—he swore by everything it wasn't because he liked it—but because it was impossible to pry Cubarsí off him when the kid set his mind to something.
Pau, for his part, closed his eyes for a second. He smelled Gavi's soap, the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of his quickened breathing. That was the only way he had to touch Gavi, to feel him close, to have his attention all to himself. Was it stupid? Yeah. But it was all he had.
Best pony in the world, Pau thought, grinning goofily against his neck.
Night fell and the guys gathered in the CT's common area. Total chaos: Pedri and Lamine playing FIFA on the TV, Fermín sprawled on the rug, Héctor Fort on the couch scrolling through his phone, and Gavi sitting on the floor, leaning against an armchair.
Héctor was complaining about his love life, telling them about a girl who had ghosted him over the weekend.
— The girl just vanished, man — Héctor tossed a piece of popcorn in the air. — I stood there like an idiot. I've got no luck with women.
— At least you try — Lamine grumbled, without taking his eyes off the video game screen. — I only see balls and grass.
— Try nothing — Fermín laughed from the floor. — Héctor's full of fuss. He only works with people he's known for years. Like that thing with...
Fermín froze mid-sentence. He looked at Gavi, and a mischievous smile spread across his face.
— Wait a second... — Fermín turned to Gavi. — Hey Pablo, remember when you and Héctor had that thing? Damn, what a trip that was.
Silence swallowed the room in a second. Even the FIFA noise seemed to fade.
Gavi slowly raised his head, turning red to the tips of his ears.
— Héctor, you told that shit?! — Gavi stared at the defender, who turned tomato-colored instantly.
— I didn't tell anything, dammit! — Héctor raised his hands. — Fermín saw the photo on your phone!
— I DID NOT SHOW YOU ANY PHOTO!
— You did, at that New Year's party! — Fermín cackled. — Relax, Pablo, no one here's a kid. Everyone's already figured out that you and Héctor had a... thing.
Pedri dropped the controller, leaning forward with gossip-glistening eyes.
— Wait, wait, wait — Pedri laughed. — You hooked up with Héctor? Héctor Fort? The most straight-laced guy on the squad?
Gavi hid his face in both hands, letting out a groan of pure embarrassment.
— It was two years ago, okay? We'd drunk too much, it was stupid. It didn't mean anything.
— Stupid my ass — Héctor raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. — It was damn good, Pablo. Stop lying.
The room exploded in laughter. Lamine almost fell off the couch laughing. Gavi grabbed a cushion and smacked Héctor hard in the face.
— SHUT UP, YOU WRETCH!
The teasing kept going. Fermín started asking dumb questions, Pedri threw out zingers, and Gavi tried to defend himself every way possible, saying it was "just once," that it didn't mean anything, that Héctor was a more mature guy, grounded, who knew what he wanted.
In the corner of the room, Pau had frozen.
The phone in his hand became a useless piece of plastic. He didn't blink. He heard every word, every laugh, every detail.
Héctor Fort. Two years ago. It was damn good.
Pau's heart slammed so hard in his chest he thought the others would hear. So... Gavi liked men. It wasn't an internet rumor. It wasn't made up. It was real. The guy he was completely obsessed with was attracted to guys.
A gigantic flame of hope ignited in Pau's chest.
Holy shit. I have a chance. A real chance.
But the conversation continued. And Pau's flame got doused with ice water.
— Gavi only likes guys, people — Fermín said, as if explaining the league table. — And his type is easy to guess. Only older, serious guys.
— What do you know about my life, Fermín?! — Gavi grumbled, his face burning.
— I know you don't give attention to younger guys — Fermín winked. — Only the 25-and-up crowd. Héctor was the only exception because he's 19 but seems 40 with how boring and serious he is.
Gavi crossed his arms, trying to end the subject, but let out the sentence that destroyed Pau from the inside:
— I don't have a "type," alright? — he said, voice firm. — I just like people with their heads on straight. Mature guys, who know what they want, who treat me well. People who take me out to dinner, who can have a decent conversation, who don't mess around with childish games all the time.
Pau felt that sentence hit like a punch to the gut.
Mature guys. Who don't mess around with childish games.
He looked at his own hands. The hands that, two hours ago, were squishing Gavi's cheeks. The hands that shoved him in practice. The arms that carried him like a sack of potatoes while the crowd laughed.
Everything Pau did... was exactly what Gavi hated.
The hope that had lit up five minutes ago turned to ash. A cold, painful certainty took over him.
He hates me. He sees me as an annoying kid.
In the car, driving home, the Barcelona night silence was deafening.
Pau drove on autopilot. His head was a whirlwind.
Older. Mature. Héctor is serious. The other guys too.
He started racking his memory for anything Gavi had ever commented about people he admired or found attractive. Always men with presence. Real men. Guys who spoke softly, acted with class, projected security. Guys who would never, under any circumstances, jump on his back in the middle of the dining hall.
And then Pau thought about himself.
19 years old. Baby face. Spending his days shoulder-bumping, cheek-squishing, hearing Gavi scream "You're a child, Cubarsí!" with pure contempt in his voice.
He thought he was being clever. Thought he was getting attention the right way, that he was creating a "brand" between them. But really, he'd just locked himself alone into the worst possible category: the annoying little brother nobody takes seriously.
— Child — Pau said to himself inside the car, letting out a humorless laugh. — What a donkey I am.
He parked in the garage, went up to his room, and flopped onto the bed in his clothes and all. Grabbed his phone and opened Instagram.
Went straight to Gavi's profile. There was a recent story, a photo taken at training where Pau appeared in the background, making a stupid face while Gavi tried to tie his cleat. Gavi's caption was: "This kid doesn't leave me alone for one second 🤦♂️".
Earlier, when he saw that, Pau had loved it. Thought it was awesome. But now, reading with different eyes, the caption looked like a certificate: he's my annoying friend and I put up with him because I have to.
There wasn't a drop of interest there. Just exhaustion.
Pau threw his phone aside and covered his face with his arms, staying like that for a long time, feeling his chest tighten.
After about two hours tossing in bed without being able to sleep, he got up. Went to the bathroom and faced the mirror.
The reflection showed a tall kid, messy hair, tired dark eyes. He tried to straighten his posture. Made a serious face, pressed his lips together, tried to harden his gaze.
It looked ridiculous. Like a boy wearing his father's suit.
Pau sighed, leaned his hands on the sink, and looked deep into his own eyes in the mirror.
— Alright — he murmured to himself. — You want a mature guy, huh, Pablo? Then that's what you're gonna get.
The decision was made. It hurt just to think about it, but it was the only chance he had to make Gavi look at him as a man, not as a brat.
— Starting tomorrow — Pau said to the mirror, voice firm —, the clowning ends. No more carrying you around. No more shoves in practice. No more cheek-squishing. No more invading your space. I'm gonna be the most serious, polite, gentlemanly guy who's ever set foot in that CT.
He grabbed his phone from the counter and opened the chat with Gavi. Deleted the stupid photo he was going to send and typed:
"Good night, Pablo. Rest well for tomorrow's practice."
He stared at the screen, feeling a bizarre cold in his stomach. It seemed too formal, too weird, but he sent it anyway.
Turned off the phone, tossed it on the table, and went back to bed. Lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, his heart racing with fear and anticipation.
Starting tomorrow, the annoying Pau was dead. And he just prayed that the "new Pau" had any chance at all.