𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, olive

                                    

                                          
❝ but i say that i hate you with a smile on my face. ❞
⇄ ◃◃   ⅠⅠ   ▹▹ ↻
Out of everything I thought might happen when I walked into that stadium, never did I imagine getting out with a new job. Especially an assistant coach job.
It might be fun. Bossing people around. More specifically, bossing Pedri around. I'm rephrasing, I'm gonna have so much. 
I got Paul a football spot in his dream academy and took care of Aya's college tuition. That might be the only reason I even accepted this job. Plus the bossing Pedri around thing.
I'm trying to get a hold of my dad now but he's not answering, neither did mom earlier. I think I'll just call Nour after all.
We agreed to close the deal on the job tomorrow around noon with the official contract and all the paperwork.
They all got back out to celebrate their win with the rest of the team. I told them I'd catch up with them and I just had to make a call first.
However, none of my family members are answering which is weird because I'm sure they've been watching the game since their huge Barca fans and can't be too far away from their phones.
Even Aya isn't answering her phone and the woman is glued to that thing. I try not to think of the worse like a something exploded again or someone got killed again.
I notice that Aya declined my call instead of not answering. That's an alive sign. A couple seconds later I receive a video with the words 'too busy to talk rn, call u in a minute'.
I open the video only to see my whole entire family — including grandma — dancing around, celebrating with the game clearly on in the background.
I find myself chuckling at their dancing around and cheering. I made them happy too. And now I'm sure I made the right decision to accept this out of the blue job offer.
"What could Olive Larsen possibly be laughing about!?" A voice snaps me out of my moment. I look up and see Pedri stood in front of me. Still sweaty from his match.
I don't come up with a snarky come back and just show him the video instead. I admire him looking at the video, a smile on his face which turns into a soft chuckle. "This your family?" He looks back at me when the video ends and I put my phone back in my pocket.
"Uhu." I nod.
"Pretty big."
"Some would say." We're four children in our family. My mom's sister has two children but her brother doesn't have any. He lives with his wife up in France anyway. Her other brother has two boys.
Then there's grandma, grandma's siblings and they're kids and so on and so on.
Dad's side of the family is even bigger. He has six siblings, three of them being step siblings. But we're not that close as mom's side.
"Some would say?" He mocks. "There's like fifteen people alone in this video. My only blood family is Isabel." The way he added the word blood makes it so precious because he counts Pablo as his brother and Barca as his second family.
"Well, what can I say? We Lebanese like to procreate." I kid, a small smile on my face.
I know I can be mean. I know I can be scary. But that's just when I want to. And I'm not always. Because there's no reason to put up a wall right now. We're just two humans having a conversation.