– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, uses of y/n, angst (?), short, not proofread.
Hearing you say it so casually, as if it wasn't anything serious, made his stomach turn in a way that felt disgusting. Rashford sat with his elbows leaned on his knees, his body language telling you that he was tense.
"Yeah." It was less like a word and more like breath that he needed to release, his head not moving for even a split second. This felt as embarrassing for him as when his last game had ended – when they embarrassingly lost 4:1 against Sevilla.
You didn't seem to notice, or maybe you did and felt pity for him and didn't say anything about it, or maybe you genuinely didn't care any less about what he was going through. At least not enough to mention it, much less acknowledge it – the way his shoulders sagged, his hands trembled, his gaze stayed focused on his hands (if he could even focus, that is.)
"Where does it hurt the most?" Merely pointing at his right ankle, Rashford watched as you slightly lifted his leg before he moved it on its own, which made you content. It didn’t seem to be a serious issue and neither did the doctors say that when he had complained about the pain after the match, but a check up was still relevant for his own sake.
Even if Rashfprd wanted to be pretty much anywhere else than in a dull white room, relying on you as one of the nurses that were responsible for their health. He tried, really tried, to not make a noise or sound so goddamn frustrated when you were literally right in front of him.
However, he still covered his face in his hands and muttered some English slang phrases for which he would probably get a red card, but he wasn’t on the pitch, so he was safe.
Rashford wanted to be on the pitch, wanted to give it his best and train until he would collapse. That last game was haunting him like a bad nightmare that he couldn’t get out of his mind and it was taking a toll on him.
"Nothing serious." Your sudden voice snapped his out of his trace, yet the words had to be processed before he sighed in relief. If it had been a crucial injury, best believe he would still come to training and work out until the evening. "Just like they had said."
"Thank God." Rashford mumbled under his breath while staring at you, who was still standing on your feet and scribbling down some notes. He felt vulnerable, bare, but he guessed it had always been like that whenever he was around doctors. "So, I can go back?"
"Go back where?" Your voice was a tiny bit less intense, showing how focused you were on your notes rather than on him.
"To training." Firstly then did your pen stop to move as you glanced up at him, raising your eyebrows in an unamused manner, whereas Rashford was hopeful.
You had the feeling that he was always hopeful for something, as if he needed something more than just goals and assists. Nonetheless, it wasn’t your business to ask about his personal life and thoughts. "You could, technically, but I wouldn’t recommend it."
The words 'why not?' laid on the tip of his tongue as Rashford wanted to ask you that, yet he knew better. He knew that nobody wanted to show up to training again, at least not after such an embarrassing loss.
Maybe it was also due to the aching pain that screamed at him not to go, yet he doubted that you knew just how much in pain he was and solely recommended resting for the international break. Rashford had top show up and play for the English national team too, after all.
"Will any other check ups be needed?" Shaking your head, you watched as he nodded quietly and looked around, his hands now on his knees instead of hiding his face. Awkwardness stretched out, disguised as silence, and none of you two truly acknowledged it.
"Well, I guess that’s it." So mindlessly throwing him out of your office, Rashford couldn’t blame you for not wanting to have him here anymore. His aura practically scream negativity. "If you feel any discomfort, feel free to come over anytime."
"Yeah, uh, thanks." All of a sudden, the clock was much more interesting while he listened as it ticked, knowing that time was too fast to catch up with. Rashford had to improve if he wanted to prove his worth as a FC Barcelona player, and he had to do so quickly.
On the other hand, walking away from this tiny office made him feel odd, as if you had some maternal scent that made him feel safe around you. While you were busy with keeping up on the data around the players, Rashford stood by the door and held the knob, but didn’t twist it just yet. He didn’t trust himself to open it.
"Can I, like, come back tomorrow?" A low hum was the thing audible that he got as a response, and it was also the only thing necessary to make his smile beam. Who knew that satisfying him would be so easy?
Once Rashford was gone to who knows where, silence appeared to the room and settled in quite easily, since you weren’t much of a talker. Whenever you were scrolling through your notes, your mind would go back to how you could hear him smile at you, even if you hadn’t seen him.
It didn’t take long for one of your colleagues to enter the room, handing some things to you that were useful for the next games after the break. "We play Girona after Olympiakos? I thought it was the other way around."
"Apparently not." She shrugged her shoulders, taking in the room when she spotted the scent of a male. Raising her eyebrows, she didn’t comment and still knew well who had been here, letting you have your time before thanking her for the notes.
"Oh. And, by the way…" Gesturing at the room, more specifically the spot where Rashford had been seated on just ten minutes ago, she gave you a bitter smile.
"… don’t fall for the loan players."
It made you halt your movements to just stare back at her, yet she already turned around and left to approach her office and deal with her own job. You felt your fingers squeeze the pen, before rolling your eyes and muttering some words beneath your breath – almost to yourself, almost to her.
"I don’t do mistakes twice."
– A/N : sometime I forget that footballers age each year and I today found out that he's 27. Twenty. Seven. This dude?? Is he also a father or what
