He’s a bad example," Dawson said from the doorway.
Leo turned in his chair and saw Dawson step inside, pointing lazily at the screen.
"ssi," he added.
"That is."
The manager didn’t say anything for a mont while Leo also turned back to face the projected screen and joined his manager, who just watched the clip replay itself on the screen with ssi gliding through a cluster of defenders in a Barcelona shirt, the ball glued to his boots in a way that still didn’t look remotely possible, but the evidence was there.
Dawson walked over and settled into the chair beside Leo.
"Still a bad example," he said, nodding toward the screen before he continued down the stairs to the front of the room with his arms folded.
"ssi’s just... him."
Leo glanced sideways and, seeing the slightly puzzled look, Dawson carried on.
"His body’s built for the way he moves," he said.
"Everything about it. The balance, the centre of gravity, the way he shifts his weight before people even realise he’s moving."
He gestured toward the screen.
"He’s inventive, imaginative, ridiculously agile, and his balance is absurd. There are a dozen reasons why he can do that and nobody else really can."
Dawson leaned back with a satisfied little nod, clearly pleased with the explanation.
"And that," he concluded, "is why he’s a terrible example to learn dribbling from."
Leo let the clip play out once more before quietly saying,
"But I wasn’t learning how to dribble from him."
Dawson’s expression after hearing that faltered.
"What?" he questioned while turning to face the forr.
"I said I wasn’t learning how to dribble from him."
With that said, Leo turned his notebook around and slid it toward him.
The pages weren’t filled with notes about touches or feints.
Instead, they were covered in small diagrams and quick observations, mainly those of the number of tis ssi was scanning in a minute and his positioning in loose and tense monts of the ga, where ssi checked his shoulder before receiving the ball.
Leo tapped one of the notes.
"He’s always scanning before he gets the ball," he said.
"Sotis twice in like a split second. That’s why he already knows where the pressure is coming from."
Dawson stared at the notebook while Leo watched him, enjoying the mont a little too much.
"You looked really proud just now," he added.
Dawson squinted at him.
"Did I?"
"Very. And that’s why I didn’t want to kill your mood."
Imdiately, Leo finished saying that, Dawson reached out and grabbed Leo’s head, grinding his knuckles into his hair.
Leo twisted away with a laugh, pushing the chair back before the noogie could really land.
"Alright, alright!"
Dawson chuckled as Leo fixed his hair again.
A second passed, with neither of the two speaking.
Then Dawson’s expression changed slightly.
"We’re starting to pile up injuries," he said.
Leo nodded.
"I know."
"You know?"
"I am still part of the team, you know?" Leo added while Dawson sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"The end of this season isn’t going to be gentle," he said. "The guys are tired, and honestly, I do not really trust myself bringing us this close again after this season. Especially not with the funds and players we have currently. All in the league are talking about how we are overperforming all our expected trics in the league, and now, what gives is finally giving."
He hesitated before adding,
"I even thought about throwing the FA Cup ga against United."
Leo looked at him like he’d just insulted his family.
"You what?"
Dawson shrugged.
"Prioritising the league."
Leo scoffed at that before staring back at the screen.
"I’d play that match with one leg before throwing it."
At that sentence, Dawson shook his head slowly.
"Why not?" Leo said, already lifting the remote.
The screen flicked, as ssi vanished and a second later, Andrea Pirlo appeared instead, wearing Juventus black and white.
Leo pointed the remote toward the image.
"He played the 2011–12 season with a bad leg," Leo said. "Thirty-three years old. And he had it worse than , even, I think?"
Dawson squinted at the screen before shrugging once more.
"Well... he had experience."
And in response to that, Leo also shrugged.
"And I’ve got youth."
Dawson almost smiled at that.
But Leo’s tone softened a mont later.
"Honestly," he said quietly, "I’ve been a bit depressed lately."
Dawson turned his head fully now at the ntion of that word while Leo kept his eyes on the screen.
"I know everyone says the sa thing. That I’m young. That there’s ti. But it still feels wrong sitting here."
He paused.
"I should be on the pitch. And I’ve worked hard towards it. To others at the club, it might seem like a gift, but this, I think, is my reward and sitting out because of a fucking injury really hurts."
The room fell quiet as Leo didn’t say anything else after that, while Dawson, listening, also really didn’t know what to say.
Then, before any of them could utter a word again, the door to the room burst open.
Nolan stepped inside, breathing slightly harder than usual.
"I have been looking all over the place for you," he said, his gaze alternating between the faces of Dawson and Leo until the forr gave a reply.
"Why?" Dawson’s brow furrowed as he questioned, but the words that ca out of Nolan’s mouth made Dawson’s brows crease further before he left the room, leaving Leo once again all alone.
Leo, with the silence invading the space around him again, suddenly stood up and grabbed his crutch before making his way out of the room, too.
.....
"He landed on his shoulder after he went for an aerial challenge with Fletcher," Nolan comnted as with Dawson by his side, the duo made their way towards the examination room where the extent of Cousins’ injury was being assessed.
"Does it look like sothing that could keep him out for a while?" Dawson questioned as they made the last turn, but Nolan only shrugged and sighed.
"I do not really know!"
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