Chapter Text
Gavi used to be a normal boy. A normal boy that played with cars and superhero figurines. He had forty-two Matchbox cars. Forty-two was a good number because the digits added up to six, and six was the number of sides on a cube, and cubes were stable. People weren’t stable. People didn’t approve of the way Gavi played with his toys. The cars didn’t need to race each other, and the superheroes didn’t need to fight each other. They had much more fun in a line. A red car. Superman with his red cape. A blue car. Mister Fantastic with his blue suit. Then the silver cars that looked like shards of broken mirrors. All exactly one finger-width apart from each other. If the gap was too wide, the air felt different. Like it vibrated, somehow. The air liked balance. And so did Gavi.
But for some reason, people were worried about the perfect order Gavi kept. Kindergarten teachers. His grandparents. His parents. His sister. Gavi was taken to the doctor. He didn’t understand why. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t coughing. He wasn’t feeling hot. He had no belly ache. But the doctor was a nice lady. A bit weird, but nice. She pointed at things, and asked Gavi to check those things out. She pointed at a lamp. It was misshapen and ugly. She pointed at a chair. It was a regular chair. She pointed at a tree outside. Gavi kept looking for a pattern in its leaves, but could never find it. Maybe that was why the lady doctor kept asking him to come back. Asking him if he liked to climb things. Calling after him from across the room. Staring into his eyes for long periods of time. Then she had Gavi do things. She had him playing with a toy train in front of her. Asking him to play-pretend that they were having a phone conversation. Forcing Gavi to listen to various sounds on a tablet. Gavi hated loud noises, but he endured. He never cried. He just scowled at the lady doctor, and went back home where he focused on balancing his toys in the right order again.
Gavi could faintly remember the lady doctor informing his mom of what she had learned.
‘Not autism. Just a special child.’
But Gavi was never a special child. He couldn’t really make friends in the kindergarten or in the park. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the other kids. He just didn’t care to. The other kids were loud and careless and they made the air vibrate funny again. His mom got worried again, and took him to another lady doctor. This one wasn’t nice. She asked a long series of questions in a raspy voice. Did he cry a lot? Did he like trains? Did he prefer going to a quiet park instead of going to a loud playground? Most questions Gavi had to answer with a no. The lady doctor spoke more coldly when he talked to his mom.
‘Not autism. Just a shy kid. He should play sports.’
It was how Gavi began playing football. He hated it at first, but quickly learned there was a rhythm to the ball that felt incredibly soothing. There was an order to the game. Like a radio tuned to a frequency of pure peace. A geometry that Gavi didn’t have to work extra to correct. Even when Gavi got extremely energetic or really focused or a little too heated, the La Liara coach understood. The coach never got angry with him like his teachers as school did. He understood that that strength made the air stop vibrating.
At school, teachers were never that nice. They never liked how Gavi spoke. Disorganized speech, they called it. They never wanted to digest Gavi’s logic. Numbers behaved the way they did because there was power behind them. Six was a very stable number, while three was too cyclical and seven was ugly and misshapen. It was such a shame the latter two together made ten, which was a number that was such a habit for many. A lot of things came in tens. Eggs in a carton, Kinder chocolate sticks, the fish fingers his mom sometimes bought. Spanish grammar had patterns too. The teacher just couldn’t digest it.
His mom took him to the doctor again. This time it was a man. He was nice, but so very b̡̡̝o̼͕̞r̼̦̫i̡̙n͚̘͖g͇̫̟. He asked his questions and checked Gavi, and informed his mom.
‘Doesn’t appear to be an attention deficit. Maybe a little defiant. Does he have any issues at school or at home?’
His mom blinked in surprise. Gavi didn’t. He wasn’t having any issues. If anything, his dad was the one that seemed made of static. After all, he kept the lights on in the kitchen for three days straight, rebuilding the furniture there. He had seen the perfect layout, or so he claimed. But the constant hammering and the bright light gave Gavi headaches. Luckily, his father always knew the best cures for headaches. Drives. Car drives. In the middle of the night. The roads were empty and quiet, and Gavi remembered the speedometer climbing higher and higher, and the engine screaming in a pitch that made his teeth ache. Gavi watched his dad’s hands gripping the wheel so hard, his veins stood out like chords. His dad became one with the car. A frantic energy that vibrated the air around Gavi. His dad was so incredibly happy when he was fast. But Gavi didn’t feel fast. He felt small. His mom was always scared.
At eight years old, Gavi severed his ties with the world that made the air vibrate. He rarely talked to the kids in school anymore. And outside the pitch, he never hung out with the kids from La Liara anymore. He didn’t go to birthday parties. He didn’t go to school events. He didn’t go outside much. He rarely talked to Aurora. His mom was worried and took him to a doctor again. This time, he was older and understood the doctor was trying to see if he was sad. But Gavi wasn’t sad. He got better and better at football. And that made the world feel right.
A few months later, they moved because of his dad’s new job. It didn’t bother Gavi. He could still play football. In fact, it was quite an improvement given that he trained with Betis’ youth club now. The coaches here were stricter and more technical. But they too liked the bouts of energy Gavi would randomly get on the pitch. Passion, they called it. It was the first time Gavi had a name for that feeling. When his stamina seemed to reach superhuman levels. Like that of the toys he used to play with. When the ball came into focus with a terrifying precision. Like there was a magnifying glass that highlighted it at the cost of his teammates' faces. Passion. Passion… The air hummed in approval.
At their new apartment, his dad renovated the entire thing from scratch. Repainting the walls. Changing the flooring. Building new wardrobes. Gavi couldn’t stand the noise. Every loud thud of a hammer made the light twitch and disperse. Like a tiny firework going off. But Gavi never verbalized a complaint. He didn’t want to go on another drive.
Gavi mostly kept to himself. Except for one boy. Among the kids he trained with in Betis, Fermín was different. Fermín was shy, and the other kids shunned both of them. Gavi didn’t care much for their taunts, but Fermín was the type to take things to heart. So, Fermín kept close to Gavi just so he wouldn’t feel alone and like an other. They slowly grew closer, but Gavi rarely met with Fermín outside their training hours or their games. He mostly kept indoors glued to the Nintendo 3DS he received for Christmas. And while Fermín focused more on adventured games like The Legend of Zelda or Luigi’s Mansion 2, Gavi had a single game he kept coming back to. Animal Crossing: New Leaf. It was strangely relaxing. Having the entire town to himself to organize and shape and mold into a perfect geometry. Plus, Gavi loved his villagers. Well, except one. The heavy, teardrop figure with his angular yellow eyebrows and hot red eyes and bright orange beak and that permanent scowl. Güiñón was a villager that had everything wrong about him. Including that stupid bright orange shirt and that swirly, unsightly pattern. If Gavi stared at him for too long, the shadows around the round penguin would start to swim. That mess of a character didn’t just hurt Gavi’s eyes. It gave him nightmares. Of red hot angry eyes that would swallow Gavi whole. On the opposite side of the spectrum was Celeste. The baby blue bear cub had a particular symmetry. One that screamed friendliness. Hospitality. Safety. She became Gavi’s best friend. He remembered her preferences. He gave her gifts. He remembered her birthday. June 24th. Just like Lionel Messi. And in return, Celeste was so nice to him.
Gavi played the game religiously. Every day he would log in, talk to Celeste, run some errands, and try to get Güiñón to leave. Usually by ignoring him. Even after he signed with Barcelona’s youth academy and moved to Catalonia, Celeste was there to guide him through the challenges of being in a new city, with more demanding coaches, and new teammates to get used to. A year later, Fermín joined him in Barcelona. They began rekindling their friendship just as Güiñón f̷̼̂i̵̡͒n̸̞̓a̵̻̕l̶̢̚l̷͓͂y̴̗̕ announced he would leave Gavi’s town. Yet the nightmares still persisted.
His mom took him to the doctor again. It was the first time Gavi had heard about anxiety. The doctor recommended Gavi take a break from football. Gavi never went back to see him again after that. And he continued training with Barcelona.
Gavi worked his ass off until he was promoted to Barcelona’s reserve team. But this team was different. The geography of the pitch would shift from time to time. A tremor. A glitch in the fabric of reality. Like a TV screen that had a few close-knit pixels flicker and return to normal in the span of seconds. Gavi went to the eye doctor who found nothing wrong and told him it was stress-related and to take it easier. It was then Gavi started to hate doctors. So when gray would briefly flicker at the edges of his vision, Gavi never went back to check. He was tired of being told he was too stressed. But days passed and the gray kept flickering. Then it began expanding. It was a slow progression. Gavi never questioned it. At least not until he was fourteen.
That was when it happened.
He was at home, playing Animal Crossing, like he usually did in order to relax. Out of the corner of his left eye, near the dark mouth of his open closet, something moved. It wasn’t a person. And it wasn’t a ghost. It was a smudge of absolute black that resembled a tall, thin figure leaning against the doorframe.
Gavi froze. He jerked, causing the little fish he was trying to catch to wedge itself free of the fishing rod, but he didn’t look at the screen. He just kept his eyes locked forward, his heart beginning to thrash against his ribs like a wild tiger in a cage. He blinked. Once. Twice. But the shadow didn’t vanish. It rippled. Like he was looking at something through an oily film. A shimmering presence that was watching him. Gavi felt a cold, prickling sensation crawl up his spine. The kind of dread that made the air in the room feel like an ice bath.
He turned his head sharply to look at the closet, but only found his clothes hanging in a row. Ṉ̶͑ȏ̸̩t̵͕̄h̸̘̋i̷̼͝n̴͕͌g̸̪̀.̵͉̊ else. Ṉ̶͑ȏ̸̩t̵͕̄h̸̘̋i̷̼͝n̴͕͌g̸̪̀.̵͉̊ unusual. Ṉ̶͑ȏ̸̩t̵͕̄h̸̘̋i̷̼͝n̴͕͌g̸̪̀.̵͉̊ concerning. Gavi let out a shuddering breath, and returned his attention to his 3DS. Maybe it was time to call it quits. Maybe he was truly too tired and stressed. But he couldn’t leave the game without talking to Celeste. He found her in her house, walking around aimlessly. His character approached the bear cub, but before he could even press the input button to talk to her, it happened.
I knew you’d come to say goodbye.
The voice didn’t come from the hallway. It didn’t come from the speakers. It came from a space behind his left ear. Very close. It was a woman’s voice. Clear. Calm. Resonant. It was smooth and comforting, but with a weight to it that made his skin turn to gooseflesh. It was the most beautiful and terrifying sound he had ever heard. It was Celeste’s voice. It was Celeste’s voice?
Gavi dropped his console. It thudded onto his lap. He didn’t turn around. He couldn't. He sat perfectly still, his eyes wide staring at the wall in front of him.
‘Who’s there?’ Gavi wheezed.
The room was silent. The shadow in the corner was gone. But the air felt different now.
It’s okay.
There was that voice again. It was gentle, but it uttered a statement that held absolute certainty.
‘Are you Celeste?’ Gavi asked shakily.
I’m just here to help the air stop vibrating. You have to breathe. Watch the screen. See?
Gavi looked at the screen. The light from the 3DS was pulsing. One. Two. Three. He found himself breathing in unison with it. The terror inside didn’t dissipate. It rather shifted into something else. A strange, heavy awe. Celeste was helping him.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Gavi did. And the air slowly stopped vibrating. That was when he learned he wasn’t alone. He had never truly been alone. Gavi didn’t tell his mother. He didn’t tell his coach. He just listened to his best friend teach him that the world was much bigger than what people could see. Shadows came and went. And they brought more voices with them. Some were scary. Some were nasty. Some were neutral. Some were funny. Some said something and never came back. Some stayed around for a few days, and left. Celeste guided him throughout it all. She soothed Gavi’s nerves whenever a voice would scare him. She always encouraged him not to be scared. And she gave him a lot of strength. His coach was impressed how well he performed in training. And even more impressed when Gavi scored against Espanyol’s U16 team. Gavi was jittery, he couldn’t sleep that night. Or the night that followed.
The world stopped making sense. The air vibrated all the time. Celeste could no longer help, no matter how much she tried. Gavi slowly got used to the air tasting funny. It helped him play pretty fucking good football, but it sure wasn’t easy on the eyes. Fermín looked at him like he was crazy. But it didn’t matter. After the third sleepless night, Gavi saw it. The kitchen clock was counting down. Each click of the second hand sent a jolt of static through the floorboards, vibrating up through Gavi’s feet and into his spine.
He was on the floor, but he didn’t know what h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ was.
There was a body. A collection of limbs and skin. And h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ was surrounded by every utensil in the apartment. The silver was a sunburst. A jagged web intended to ground the electricity in the room. But as the minutes ticked by, the boundary between the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ on the floor and the silverwave began to blur.
Keep the lines straight. Focus. Breathe.
Celeste’s voice was no longer calm. There was an urgency in her voice that should have terrified him.
‘I’m the vessel,’ the b̶͈̞̯̬̦̙͋̐́͌ớ̵̫̺d̴̡͕͎̗͖̠̏͋͑y̴̮͚͒ retorted.
The words felt like a stone dropped into a deep well years ago. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ could remember the shape of the name. But h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ couldn’t remember what it means to own it. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ wasn’t a boy. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ wasn’t a son. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was a coordinate. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was a point of intersection for the shadows.
The kitchen light flickered on.
His mom came. She stood in the doorway, her hand trembling on the switch. She looked at the tens of forks and spoons arranged in a silver web, and then she looked at the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ in the center of it.
‘Pablo?’ she whispered, her voice breaking. ‘Honey, what… what are you doing?’
The b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ on the floor tilted its head. The sound she made vibrated against the air, but it didn’t stick to anything.
‘It’s not here,’ the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ said, its voice sounding like it was being broadcast from a distant planet. ‘The name is empty.’
‘Pablo, you’re scaring me. It’s mom. Please look at me.’ She took a step forward, her hands out as if she were approaching a wild animal. She was scared. So pretty, but so scared.
‘Mom,’ the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ repeated, testing the word. It was a relic of a civilization that died a thousand years ago. ‘The shadows are in the walls, and the vessel is static.’
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ scrambled toward the wall on his hands and knees, his movements jerky and hyper-extended. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ wasn’t running away. Just trying to keep the particles from flying apart. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ began to pile the spoons on top on his feet. The physical matter shouldn’t go anywhere.
‘I don’t know where the person went!’ h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ shrieked, his voice cracking. ‘There’s no one in here! Just the voices!’
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ sat in front of his silver sunburst, his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth. His mother backed away. Her face was one of pure terror. She reached for her phone.
And then, the air in the kitchen curdled. A new sound tore through. A heavy, distorted rasp that sounded like iron dragging over concrete.
Pathetic. It doesn’t even know it’s a boy anymore.
The new voice had nothing of Celeste’s grace. It was an ugly intrusion.
‘Shut up!’ h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ screamed at the empty air beside the stove. ‘Get out! Get out of my head!’
I AM your head.
The voice then laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.
He’s not.
Celeste still tried to help.
I’m the only thing left here. The boy is gone.
The boy is not gone.
That was Güiñón. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was sure of it.
There’s just me and silence.
You have a name.
You don’t.
Pablo. It’s Pablo.
No, it’s not.
Yes. It is. And I’ll make sure I’ll remind you of it, Pablo.
‘Pablo?’ h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ asked.
When the flashing blue lights finally appeared through the kitchen window, h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ didn’t see them as help. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ found himself in the shrieking fluorescent lights of the emergency room. Every flicker of tubes was a rhythmic blow against his vision. He sat on the plastic chair that felt like it was made of frozen oil. His mother’s hand trembled on his knee.
They’re writing it down, Pablo! Every blink! Every twitch!
Celeste’s normally calm voice was gone. She was screaming. Was his name truly Pablo?
Shut up! He’s already gone! He’s a statue! No! He’s a mannequin! Stick a coin in him and see if he dances!
Güiñón’s voice was so loud, h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ felt his sinuses thrum with the vibration.
It was so loud. The voices. The crying infants. The mechanical drone of the triage desk. The ambulance sirens outside. It all reached a crescendo. And something just… snapped.
It was like a breaker switch flipping in a dark basement. The connection between his mind and his muscles severed. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was still there, but the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ he inhabited was cold marble. His gaze locked onto a chipped tile on the floor, and the world froze.
Pablo, what’s happening?
‘Pablo? Pablo, look at me,’ his mom’s voice came from another country. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ felt her hand shake his shoulder. His head didn’t move. His lungs continued to draw robotic breaths, but h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ couldn’t even blink to moisten his stinging eyes.
This isn’t good!
What’s happening, Pablo? Why can’t you move?
‘Nurse! Something’s wrong! He’s not moving!’ his mom screeched desperately.
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ heard the squeak of rubber soles. A shadow fell over him. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ wanted to scream. To tell them h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ was still in there. That h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ was screaming in the basement of his own skull, but his jaw was locked in a tectonic grip.
‘He’s just dissociating,’ a voice said. Flat. Bored. Unimpressed.
It was a nurse. A woman whose scent was a sharp mix of coffee and industrial soap.
‘He’s probably faking it to avoid intake. Boys usually do this when they’re brought in by police or family.’
‘He’s not faking! Look at his eyes!’ his mom sobbed.
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ felt a hand grab his own. Cold. Clinical.
Where are they taking you?
Breathe, Pablo! Please!
‘Let’s see,’ the nurse muttered.
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ watched, helpless, as the nurse dug her fingernail deep into the finger pad of his index finger. It hurt. Then she took his index finger and bent it backward. It was a sharp, aggressive snap. Pain bloomed. Shadows danced. The floor swam. Every instinct told him to flinch. To yelp. To pull away. But the b̷̫̋ọ̴͒ḏ̵̈y̶͓͒ refused to acknowledge the agony.
‘Nothing,’ the nurse’s tone sharpened. ‘Boys can be very stubborn.
She’s a butcher, Pablo!
Take it like a man, you fucking statue!
The nurse reached for his forearm. She gripped the flesh between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. It burned. The skin tore and the muscle bruised beneath the pressure. Blood pooled under the surface. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ felt every milisecond of the cruelty.
H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was there. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was there. Why couldn’t she see h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ was there? H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was there!
‘Still nothing,’ the nurse announced, a flicker of genuine uncertainty finally creeping into her voice.
She pressed harder, her nails digging into the bruise she had just made. His vision began to darken at the edges from the sheer effort of not screaming.
‘I’ll get Dr. González.’ The panic in her voice what the only victory h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ had.
They lifted him, his body remaining in the seated position even as they laid him back. His legs were stuck in the air like a broken doll’s. The lights above him strobed like a countdown.
You’re a ghost now. You’re finally perfect. You’re nothing at all.
Güiñón truly was insufferable.
You’re still you, Pablo. You’re just trapped.
Through the haze of pain and the rhythmic thrum of the wheels, h̴̻͇̄͑͆ẽ̷̡͓ watched his mother’s face disappear as they pushed him through the double doors. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was officially a patient. H̶͕̺̚e̶͎͋̂ was officially a number.
That night meant nothing in hindsight. Gavi had to visit a psychiatrist for many months afterward. It was a struggle, but he pushed through, because he wanted to play football again. And Barcelona wouldn’t let him play if he vibrated like the air around him. Gavi went through many diagnoses and treatment plans. All under the club’s doctor and supervision. Some pills made the air stop vibrating, but gave him trouble with his heart. Some pills took Celeste and his energy away. He heard many labels. Catatonia. Hallucinations. Mania. Major depressive disorder. Early onset schizophrenia. Bipolar disorder with psychotic features.
Gavi was sixteen when the doctors found the right one. Schizoaffective disorder. Therapy followed. The treatment they gave him after that was a better one. He still had energy. The world had clear borders. Celeste was still there. She would come and go. Like a broken phone conversation. Güiñón still stuck around too. Just like Gavi couldn’t get him out of his town, he couldn’t get him out of his brain. Other voices never stayed for long. Gavi didn’t bother to get to know them. The shadows briefly made their presence known. And most importantly, Gavi could still play football. It wasn’t without its challenges. The pills made his hands tremble, made him constipated, and made him forget all the time. But he pushed through everything to play.
And it helped. He was promoted to the first team. But his happiness wouldn’t last. His dad took his mom on one of his drives. The same drives he went on for so many years. It just happened to be one that ended with the car jumping off a bridge and crashing into a lamppost. Neither survived. It was just Gavi and Aurora from that point. No one else besides Barcelona’s doctors really knew how much Gavi had to fight to stay afloat.
Gavi wasn’t antisocial. He really tried to make friends and develop relationships. When his friendship with Fermín turned more serious, Gavi welcomed it. They kissed. One time. It was really nice. Then another. And it led to something deeper. They held hands. They went to the movies together. They visited each other in the late night hours. Sometimes to hang out and chat. Sometimes to play video games together. But after a few months of dating, sex was naturally on two young men’s lips. Gavi was nervous. The scent of Fermín’s perfume was overwhelming. His touch felt like an electric current.
Gavi’s brain, fearful of the intensity of the intimacy, did the only thing it knew how to do to protect itself. It pulled the plug. Gavi’s body stiffened. His eyes remained closed, his lips pressed against Fermín’s, but the catatonia made him a passenger in his body. He could feel the velvet of the couch under his legs. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. He could feel the heat of Fermín’s body. But he couldn’t move a single muscle to respond.
Fermín pulled back confused, while Güiñón jeered and sneered endlessly. But Fermín quickly came to his senses, convinced Gavi was playing the shy type. He leaned back in, kissing Gavi’s neck. His hand moved down, confidently palming Gavi through his jeans. Gavi felt like a man buried alive, watching the dirt being shoveled over his face. He didn’t want to be jerked off like this. Fermín stopped finding the situation funny after five or so minutes. He got angry, and left Gavi alone in his stupor. Gavi came about half an hour later.
They broke up a few days after that. Fermín couldn’t wrap his head around catatonia, and as revenge just let it slip in the locker room that Gavi had a freeuse fetish. It was his reason as to why the two grew apart. The mockery that followed rivaled that of Güiñón’s.
A year later, Gavi tried again to find that special someone. Ana, a friend of Aurora’s. She was way more understanding of Gavi’s “quirks” than Fermín. At first, at least. Gavi’s antipsychotic had that little pesky side effect of causing delayed ejaculation. Which quickly turned into Ana feeling weird after sex, and then accusing Gavi of getting his pleasure elsewhere. After eight months of these fights, Gavi couldn’t take it anymore. They broke up.
Gavi really had no one he could trust like that. He focused on few else besides his career, his matches, his workouts, and managing his body and symptoms. Gavi learned to live with voices and hallucinations. But he wasn’t always quite successful in taking care of his body. He tore his ACL. It was one of the most challenging times in Gavi’s life. But nothing compared to the meniscus injury he suffered in 2025. The recovery was hell on earth. Returning to the game hadn’t been easy. Pundits and journalists began speculating if his career was over. Culers began to mourn their warrior as if Gavi had already retired. But Gavi wasn’t about to give up. And he went to Flick for help.
‘Rayo?’ Gavi quizzed from the chair in front of Flick’s desk.
‘They want you,’ Flick spoke slowly in English to make sure Gavi understood what was being said to him. ‘One year out on a loan. How does that sound?’
What the fuck? You’re going to Madrid?