Work Text:
1.
Come over.
No.
I see.
Sorry.
Don’t be.
But I am.
I get it.
No you don’t. You can’t.
Wouldn’t this be better in person?
Not really.
Talk to me.
I can’t.
I miss you.
*
Neymar missed him too. He was back in Paris, after what seemed like months—but was probably more like two weeks—of partying after his epic World Cup win. Being a social media addict, Neymar was aware—very, very aware—of all the goings on and shenanigans of the Argentine national team, as a group and individually.
Fair enough.
The doorbell rang and he jumped.
He let Antonia get it. Antonia was his cook, housekeeper, assistant, and auntie of sorts. Loud, quick steps on the wooden staircase. He knew who it was. He sat up in bed and placed the phone down in front of him.
Moments later a face peered around the half-open door.
“Yo.”
Kylian clucked and rolled his eyes, pulled his beanie off as he entered the room. He already looked unimpressed.
“Don’t tell me you’re in one of your moods,” he said. Kylian could be savage. Neymar put it down to his age. He meant well, but his delivery almost always sucked.
“So what if I am?” he said. He tried to smile.
He flung himself down on the bed and picked up the phone. Neymar snatched it away. Kylian covered his mouth and giggled.
“Shouldn’t you be happy? I hear your bestie is back?”
He didn’t bother to hide the bitter note in his voice.
“I am,” Neymar said, trying to give him nothing, “Why are you here anyway?”
“I left my ipad in your car last time and I need it for my trip.”
So he was going off to New York. He wasn’t even going to be here to greet Leo on his return. How mature.
“Yeah I think it’s downstairs, on the table outside the living room.”
“Already got it.”
“Oh alright then.”
Kylian was staring at him.
“What?”
The Frenchman’s eyes softened.
“You okay? Really okay.”
Neymar flashed a smile, a genuine one, touched by his concern.
“Yeah. Fine. Happy.”
“Happy, huh?” He started getting up.
"Hmm."
Of course his heart was about to be ripped from his chest any day now.
Neymar nodded and, keeping his voice even as he could, said, “I’ll be happy to see Leo tomorrow.”
Kylian froze.
He leaned down until he was lying on the bed on his side. His eyes were watchful, although his body feigned casualness. After quite a long moment of silence, he spoke again,
“You’re going about things the wrong way, you know?”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I know you know what I mean.”
“I don’t. What I do know is that at your age I was just like you.”
“Doubtful,” the Frenchman said coolly, “but what do you mean?”
“I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I was going to get everything I wanted. And I see that’s how you are.”
“And I’m not? Going to get everything I want?”
Neymar laughed, and Kylian sat up smiling.
They’d had many conversations like this. Where they half-joked about serious things. He wouldn’t call it a friendship exactly, it was too subtly combative to be that, but it was a kind of kinship.
“All I’m saying is. You’re young and you think you’re going to win everything and the world is yours for the taking. And before you know it, you’re thirty and people are calling you a failure.”
“Whooo!” Kylian got up with a little bounce, “And now it’s getting depressing. Besides, you need to be a bit ruthless, bro.”
“About?”
“About getting rid of the things that get in your way."
He paused.
"Or you know," his face took on a very knowing expression, or just a very French one, "letting them go."
He was at the door now, and maybe he was half-joking, but Neymar could hardly endure being lectured by a child.
“It’s football,” he said, sounding a little angrier than he wanted to, “you can’t just map it all out. That’s the beauty and the brutality of it. You can’t just decide that things are going to happen and they happen. Even you should know that by now.”
“Maybe not. But it doesn’t hurt to have a plan.”
“A scheme you mean.”
It wasn’t exactly a secret that he had schemed to remove Neymar from the club last season.
“We’re not talking about you and me right now. We’re talking about…him.”
Kylian gripped the edge of the door and swung it lightly back and forth. Neymar felt his face getting warm.
“Since I’m older than you,” he said, trying to keep his tone jovial, “my advice is to recognise greatness. And don’t be mad at it. Accept it. Enjoy being next to it.”
Kylian raised an eyebrow.
“If you really did that, you wouldn’t even be here in Paris,” he said.
Neymar felt a knot in his stomach. The child was savage.
Kylian gave him one last angelic smile and swung out of the room. His footsteps could be heard on the steps.
He lay down on the bed.
Eventually he picked up his phone and looked at Leo’s last text – I miss you.
*
It was dawn and he was awake, staring out of his window at the insipid sunrise, a steel-coloured streak across the sky approximating the light of the sun. He wasn’t worried about seeing Leo for the first time at training. He wasn’t worried about the correct reactions, for Leo, for the cameras.
Since he was a young boy, Neymar had been trained in putting his best face forward. And as such it wasn’t all fake. He would be genuinely happy to see Leo, his hugs and smiles would be real. Perhaps this was the bigger problem. At some point he’d begun to feel like he couldn’t fully tell his real feelings apart from the Great Façade called Neymar, the product. The brand.
And this feeling had increased with time. With age. The first time he properly noticed it was almost a year ago when he turned thirty.
He shifted in bed. The blanket was a leaden weight. He felt uncomfortable and annoyed. Suddenly on the verge of tears.
In the past he was comfortable with expressing almost all his feelings, even the bad, rude ones. Like in his Barca days, when he'd told Pique to fuck off over a tackle in training, or when he'd picked a flight with Suarez over a misplaced pass.
Leo was harder. He'd always had to control himself around Leo. He doubted Leo realised this, because compared to Leo he was an excitable puppy, or a toddler, or whatever else indicates a freeness of emotionality.
In the beginning it was because Leo was his idol, and a stranger. The weirdness of sharing a locker room, pretending that it was all perfectly normal that they were now on the same team, potentially even friends. He couldn't let anyone see just how big of a mess he was over this absurdity.
Later, once they got closer—and that took no time at all—he had to control himself for different reasons. Complicated reasons. But reasons that mostly boiled down to fear.
Fear of what?
He wasn't sure.
Still, he had been able to explain to Leo why he was leaving Barca. His emotions. His big realisation after their epic Champions League comeback against their current club.
It was Leo who had actually brought it up. He had apologised. He had heard that they were going to put up a poster of Leo outside the Camp Nou— the photo of him amongst the fans, the madness of the celebration. Leo wanted to forbid it. But he had been advised not to make a big deal about it.
Neymar didn't even know it was going to bother him so much before Leo brought it up. But Leo knew. It was like he could read his mind. He also knew that Neymar would leave. He had been utterly unsurprised, and he didn't even make a move to dissuade him. He just knew.
He also knew Neymar would regret it. He knew all those things before Neymar did. Leo made him feel quite stupid sometimes.
He got out of bed and stretched. His alarm went off and he bent down to swipe his phone. He saw a text from Leo.
Dying to see you today.
Dying.
He straightened up and put a hand on his chest, his heartbeat had quickened. Always the same shit. Always.
He wanted to scream. He got into the shower and yelped hoarsely into the cloud of steam.
*
"You faked that quite well!"
Marco slapped him on the back, grinning. He seemed quite giddy. He had been the first to training this morning and Verratti had arrived soon after. He'd gushed that he couldn't wait to see Leo, the world champion.
Marco loved Leo. He was one of the few people who understood, really understood, just how good Leo was. No, really. Everybody loved and admired Leo, of course. But few people had the football IQ to really, fully understand the magnitude of his greatness, and Marco was one of them. He had fallen in love.
"Faked what?" Neymar asked, after a pause.
"Meeting Leo? Earlier?"
It turns out Marco was referring to when he had met Leo earlier, the air filled with the sound of camera shutters.
"How's the world champion?" he'd managed to say, embracing Leo. Taken a half-breath to feel the weight of Leo's body on his.
He knew there would be a clip, and a gif and it would be broadcast, tweeted, posted, millions of times and consumed by millions of people. Marco obviously assumed they'd already met beforehand and this was just for the cameras.
"Oh yeah," Neymar said vaguely.
Just then Leo walked into the gym. He stood in the doorway for a second and ran a hand through his hair. From the corner of his eye, Neymar could see Marco straightening up, for no reason. Then he approached and stood in front of Leo, shaking his head and smiling. He was practically glowing. It was ridiculous.
As if he couldn't help himself he suddenly gave Leo a bear hug, before patting him on the chest and leaving the room. Leo was smiling, embarrassed. You'd think by now he'd be used to people hugging him. Neymar was now still on the bike, watching the interaction.
He particularly loved watching Leo with other people. How weird people could get around him, and how awkward Leo actually was. Leo caught his eye and held it.
He felt a fluttering in his chest.
Leo came over and leaned on the handle of his bike. He was so close, he could smell him. Sweat and grass.
"So," he said, under his breath.
"Hey," Neymar said, fighting to be normal.
To control himself, again in a different way.
"Can I....Can we?"
A pause so delicate that Neymar closed his eyes, as if to stop from breaking something fragile that was flitting in the air between them, like a bird, or a butterfly.
"Ney."
A syllable so soft that he almost couldn't be sure it had been uttered. Neymar, eyes still closed, slid off the bike and stood still.
He felt Leo's hands on his shoulders, and then down his arms caressing softly.
"I know you're angry," he finally said.
"Angry?" Neymar's eyes flew open. Now where did he get that from? Angry? He almost felt offended. Who was Leo to assume he knew how he felt about anything?
But a hand had landed on his cheek and was gently drawing him down. And then Leo's lips on his.
The chemistry of them. That always reliable creature. Exploding upon the point of contact.
For a second the kiss threatened to get away from them. Especially when Neymar couldn't help briefly slipping in the tip of his tongue and brushing it against Leo's.
Leo patted Neymar's chest, hard, two times, three, and then stepped away firmly. He quickly brushed a hand through his hair and looked up, biting his lip and smiling. Neymar had to look away, as if from the direct sun.
"We'll talk," Leo was saying, his back already turned, "Later? I have a dinner thing, but afterwards?"
Neymar leaned against the bike and watched him walk away.
*
2.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Leo had been the first to speak. It wasn't what Neymar was expecting. They were all back in Barcelona after a world cup to forget, for both of them, to say the least.
It was the first day of training, just after. Neymar had gone hard, as if he had something to prove. And he noticed that Leo was the same. In the end, they were on the training pitch long after the others had left. They sat on the grass, watching the sprinklers spraying water drops into the warm air.
Neymar glanced at Leo. Still weird to see him with his right arm suddenly almost covered in tattoos, but he liked them. He wanted to reach out and trace his fingers over the lines.
And then Leo's voice cutting through the muffled, compressed air.
"You know, after you got injured," he said.
Neymar didn't know what to say. What exactly was it that Leo was confessing to? Because it sounded like a confession.
"You know I was rooting for you," Neymar finally said, his own confession.
Leo chuckled, "Yeah. You said so on TV."
Neymar laughed. They looked at each other. His comment about rooting for Argentina, for Messi, in the final, after Brazil's humiliation against Germany, had caused some raised eyebrows in Brazil. But he didn't care. He meant it. If not him, if not Brazil, why not Leo?
"I meant it," he said, "That would have made everything a little better."
There was a heavy silence.
"Sorry," Leo whispered, finally.
"Oh no." Neymar scooted closer and impulsively put his head on Leo's shoulder.
"I didn't mean..."
"I know."
He felt Leo's hand on his neck, warm and firm, and closed his eyes.
I couldn't stop thinking about you.
Isn't that what Leo had just said? Or did he imagine it?
In any other situation, place, or time, with any other person, this would be the moment before. The moment right before. You know the moment. Neymar felt lightheaded.
One of them would shift and. Suddenly they would kiss.
But it was Leo, and they were on the training grounds at Barca. It was complicated, and it would always be complicated. And, as if to prove him right, Leo stretched and then stood up. He looked down with a smile and gave Neymar a hand. They walked back in together.
*
3.
"Is it okay to say that I was rooting for you then, but not this time?"
Leo shifted on his sofa, a slight smile playing about the sides of his mouth.
"It's okay to say anything," he said, finally.
It was hard to describe the change in Leo. Of course he was happy, oh so goddamn happy. That much was clear and obvious. But more amazing than that was the aura of peace that seemed to emanate from inside him. A calmness, like a still, icy lake. Here was a man who couldn’t ask for more, because he had everything. Or, as he put it modestly, he had been given everything.
Neymar didn't say anything more. He just paced up and down Leo's living room. He had ended up in Leo's house because Leo had summoned, he'd decided. He'd said come after dinner. And he had. But now he wanted to do something drastic, something that would hurt himself and maybe Leo.
So when Leo patted the space next to him and called him with his eyes, Neymar found himself shaking his head.
"No," he said, voice shaking slightly.
"Ney, what's up?"
"I don't. Want...to. Do. This anymore"
He was broken. His syntax all mixed up. Voice hoarse. He saw the tiniest flicker in Leo's eyes. Had he almost cracked the still, icy lake?
He fled.
*
4.
The first time they had sex, Neymar had cried.
How embarrassing.
The season after the World Cup in Brazil, they’d gotten closer. They’d both come back from the summer with their own personal swarm of demons eating into them. They’d clung to each other from the beginning. It felt like they had nothing else, nobody else but each other.
It happened in Neymar's house. Leo had shown up, with some excuse, after they lost the first clasico of the season. Neymar had scored in the opening minutes, but it hadn't been enough. They were both angry. They'd ended up in each other's arms, right in front of the front door. Leo had pushed him against the doorframe, gripped him by the hair and bit into his lower lip. Neymar felt the skin break and himself go hard, extremely hard. He, in turn, grabbed Leo by the waist and pushed him inside.
His hands became aware of Leo's hardness, but Neymar had still managed to control himself and push and push until they dragged themselves into the living room. On the floor, they writhed against each other.
By the time Leo had bent him down, forehead grazing the carpet, and pushed his cock inside him, Neymar was a mess.
He had never done this before. Not with a man. And certainly not with a man he loved with a kind of desperation.
Yes. With Leo's cock deep inside him, and his whole body shuddering with pleasure and pain, Neymar discovered that he might die for Leo, if it came to that.
That made him cry.
"Why did you cry?" Leo whispered later, in the dark, when they were cuddled up together in bed.
Neymar laughed, and Leo put an arm around him and drew him closer. Bent down and kissed the top of his head.
"Because it was too good, and I'm scared."
He had never said anything like that to anyone before, man or woman.
Leo didn't say anything back.
Eventually he bent down and kissed Neymar. Kissed him with soft movements of his lips, no tongue, and for a long time. This was him trying to tell him something. How do you express your feelings without words? Neymar felt that Leo was trying.
The next morning when Neymar opened his eyes, Leo was sitting up and staring down at him intently. It felt like he'd been awake for some time, watching him sleep.
Neymar rubbed his eyes.
"Hey."
"Should I bring you breakfast in bed?" Leo said, rather chirpily.
"Huh? Why? We can just go to..."
He stopped when he noticed Leo blushing a bright red.
He wondered what the hell was happening. Was Leo trying to be a boyfriend?
They'd stared at each other for a few seconds, grinning like idiots, before they both burst into happy laughter.
And yet, for reasons Neymar could never quite put his finger on, they never got back to that happy morning, or anything close to it.
It was the best two or three years of Neymar’s life. The friendship he had with Leo and Luis and the rest of the team, and the beautiful football they played! He and Leo hooked up when they had a big win, or when they had a bad loss. Anything that happened on the pitch, whether joyous or frustrating, made them seek each other out in dark corners of the locker room, in the showers, anywhere they could find a moment to grab each other, hot mouths panting.
They couldn’t get enough of each other.
But then things changed. And when he said goodbye to Leo for the last time, before leaving for Paris, he felt like his heart might fail.
*
5.
He walked across the pitch towards the wildly celebrating Argentines. His vision was blurry with tears, rage, and exhaustion. The pitch of the Maracanã spread out vast and green before him, with the white and sky blue dancing across it like a flooding river. He had no problem spotting exactly where Leo was located in this chaos, for he knew his body, his colour, his movement, his silhouette from anywhere, any distance, through blurred vision, even in the dark, if it came to that.
Leo's face was ecstatic, shouting the Argentine chants and songs that had already started. He turned a little and must have seen Neymar striding towards him because his face changed, sobered up and became gentle. He separated himself from his boys and came towards Neymar. He extended his hand, but of course they ended in an embrace.
He wanted to kiss Leo, and he knew Leo wanted to kiss him too.
They hadn't seen each other properly in the last few years, since Neymar moved to Paris. Of course there had been meetings, and phone calls, many texts. But they hadn't been alone with each other. They weren't alone now, but the intensity of the emotions—Leo ecstatic and Neymar despondent— made the walls vanish momentarily.
He could feel Leo's heart thud-thudding against his. As if to suppress their desire, they both held each other tightly. Leo's hand was in his hair, his weak point always. His body convulsed with tears—this loss and others, football and otherwise, becoming physical ache. Leo gripped his hair hard, his strong arms around him tightened. Neymar babbled. Words. Who knows what words.
When they parted they kissed and they kissed again. He could see in Leo's eyes that he wanted to kiss him more. He'd kissed him twice on the side of his mouth, close enough. With difficulty he separated himself. He did it for both of them, because he realised that Leo, in his delirious exhilaration, was in no condition to do anything sensible. Any minute he would reach for Neymar and devour him. He could see it in his face, and the way he held him. So Neymar had to let go. Control.
*
That night of the Copa America final, Leo phoned Neymar very late. He had woken up from a sleeping pill induced haze and been annoyed. Soon he realised that the Argentine celebration had never ended.
Yet Leo sounded like he was in a car somewhere, voice slurry.
Neymar sighed, "I really, really hope you're not driving."
"And if I am?"
"Why would you do that?"
Neymar sat up, suddenly wide awake.
"Because. Ney."
And the way he said it. Ney.
"Be happy Leo," Neymar said, with what he hoped was a sense of finality.
"How can I be happy?"
"What do you mean?"
"You left me."
A long pause, because Neymar could not imagine what he was supposed to say to that.
"I thought it was fine. I thought we were good."
"We are not good!"
A rare temperamental eruption from Leo.
"Sorry," was all he could think of saying. And then, "Are you driving Leo?"
"No." His tone was a little sulky.
Neymar exhaled.
"Good," he hissed, annoyed again, fear having left him, relief quickly taking its place, "Now leave me alone, okay? Go enjoy yourself."
Leo huffed. It sounded like he had dropped his phone. Giving instructions to someone, "back to the hotel."
Neymar wondered where he was. How close. His stomach lurched with want. He closed his eyes.
*
Summer was almost over when he got a call from Leo.
"They're kicking me out," he whispered over the phone.
Who?
Where?
When Leo explained, he couldn't believe it. None of it made sense. The world was upside down.
Barca letting Leo go? Just like that? Was it some kind of joke? Was Leo pranking him for some reason?
Then Neymar realised that Leo couldn't fake the pain in his voice.
"Come here," he blurted out. He kicked himself. Why did he say that? Of course that's what he wanted more than anything else in the world. To be with Leo. To see him every day again. To play with him. Win things together.
Again.
Them again.
Even with so many years gone by.
He heard Leo carefully clear his throat. The way he did when there was something he had to say. But he didn't say it for a few moments.
"What?" Neymar almost shouted, "You're going to Man City aren't you?"
His heart sank but he accepted it quickly. When Leo had tried to leave Barca the previous summer, he had been headed to City. It was almost a done deal. It made sense. Leo in the EPL, back with Pep Guardiola.
Neymar closed his eyes and waited for Leo to confirm. He was already over it. Whatever. There were no second chances in their world after all.
But, "No," Leo said, "We are thinking...Paris...Maybe..."
He might have blacked out for half a second. He might have yelped out an ungodly sound. He could hear Leo chuckling softly. He wanted to hug his phone.
But then his voice sounded serious when he spoke again.
"Ney, there's only one thing..."
"What?"
"Would you be okay with this?"
"Leo."
"I know you left Barca because of me."
"Leo!"
"Ney," Leo said, "I know and accept it. That doesn't just go away and I don't want to..."
"Please Leo, forget it."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
*
And just like that, at the end of summer, Leo was in Paris.
Paris that rejoiced at his arrival. Neymar went to see him in his hotel the day after he came. His suite was full of people milling about, doing things with clipboards and armfuls of clothing, trainers, hot beverages, cold beverages.
One woman was walking around with a heavy coat in her arms, looking dazed.
"It's too big for him," Neymar called out as he passed her, flashing a friendly smile when she froze in place, "And it's Paris not Moscow."
Then he saw Leo, looking small and overwhelmed in the midst of all this confusion. He smiled, kind of shyly. Neymar had stopped in the middle of the huge living room and Leo didn't move towards him, so they just gazed at each other for a few moments, through the bodies of other people.
Then Leo inclined his head slightly to the right, and said a few words to the man next to him. The room slowly emptied and it was soon just the two of them.
They embraced. Then they sat down. They talked. Neymar told him all about life in Paris.
"Oh and of course you take the 10," Neymar said, at some point in the conversation. He tried to be casual about it.
Leo smiled. Beamed, in fact.
"No no," he said firmly. He shook his head.
Neymar persisted. Of course he knew Leo would refuse. But it was simply right. It was wrong for anyone else to have that number in a team with Leo Messi.
"Leo," he said, "You know I respect you too much. I can't just let you take some random number."
"But it's not random." Leo paused, "It’s a new beginning."
They looked at each other, and it almost felt like maybe he was talking about things other than football and shirt numbers.
Leo had flushed pink.
“Okay. A new beginning,” Neymar said.
Leo laughed and did the thing he always did when he was nervous. He reached up and pushed a hand through his hair. And soon they were giggling together like no time had passed at all.
*
6.
"Call me pretty."
Of all the absurd things he said to Leo, in the throes of passion.
At least this one was in a dream.
He'd been dreaming of Leo since the season had restarted, since Leo had come back victorious from the World Cup, and since Neymar had told him that he didn’t want to do it anymore, whatever it was they had been doing.
Yeah, it might have been obvious, to Leo, that he was striking preemptively. That he was cutting ties before Leo had the time to confirm what he already knew. That he was leaving him.
The dream felt real, not because it was so very lucid, which it was, but because it might as well have happened.
The way it had happened so many times in their seasons in Barcelona.
Him clinging hard to Leo, burning marks on his porcelain skin, dragging his nails down the soft skin of his back.
Leo murmuring, shifting a little so he could get a centimetre of space between them, to be able to whisper in Neymar's ear, “Let go just a little.”
And the tickle of his breath on his ears.
There was a time when most days after training they ended up in Leo’s house. They would barely make it inside the house, clawing at each other’s clothes. Leo muttering and complaining about the complicated and tight-fitting garments Neymar favoured. And he, always triumphantly getting Leo naked first, every time a fresh revelation, the thrill of his naked, tightly muscled, compact body.
He remembered one time, Leo sprawled on the floor and Neymar riding him, the shiny, black beads of his crucifix scattered all over the white marble of Leo’s lobby.
And then both of them coming at the same time and rolling around the cool floor, laughing.
"That was expensive," Neymar gasping, sweeping an arm across the floor over the beads.
"I'll buy you another one," Leo saying, quite seriously, before pulling Neymar back onto his body, and putting two fingers into his mouth and pulling it wide open before pushing his tongue inside.
And that had made Neymar's body spasm, and the leftover cum spurt out of his still hard cock.
And Leo had kissed him and said, "My pretty Ney."
His eyes were squeezed shut, and Leo had said, “Open your eyes and look at me.”
And he had done it, eyes hazy but open like Leo wanted.
“I can’t take it,” Leo said, looking away, “they’re too beautiful.”
He was hard when he woke up, and the dream was mixed up with this other memory. He had a sense memory of it, the cold marble, Leo’s warm fingers in his mouth, the friction of his cock inside him.
He distractedly worked his hand up and down his cock.
His phone vibrated just then. He flipped it to have a look.
I can’t stop thinking about you, it said.
One hand clutching his phone, and the other his cock, Neymar had to laugh.
I was dreaming of you, he wrote back.
Me too.
*
“What is wrong, amore mio?”
Marco slid next to him with a plate full of food, and slung an arm around him. He snuggled against him a little.
“Nothing,” Neymar tried to smile. The Italian was so warm and affectionate that he wanted to be cheerful whenever he was around.
But Marco made a sad, pouty face, indicating that he couldn’t fool him.
“Are you and Leo…” he began.
“Him and Leo what?” Ramos, of all people, sat down next to him, drawing close, too close, and expectantly looking at both of them.
Marco laughed.
“Ney is not his usual self, no?”
Ramos nodded his head vigorously, “I knew it. I knew something was wrong with him.”
“Him? He is right here,” Neymar snapped.
“I think it’s because of Leo,” Marco said, seriously.
“Oh?” Ramos drew back and looked at Neymar, like all this was news to him.
The truth was that Leo and Neymar’s relationship was not news to anyone on the squad. There was always confusion about what the relationship actually entailed, but that there was some kind of relationship was not a secret.
“I think they broke up,” Marco said.
“You guys broke up?” Ramos said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, looking extremely serious, “So…you were together?”
Marco laughed out, but Neymar wasn’t in the mood. He shook his head.
“How can you be broken up, you’ve been giggling together non-stop since he’s been back.”
“That’s how they are,” Marco said, with a knowing look.
Neymar clicked his tongue in impatience.
“We weren’t really together. No. Not really. Just…sometimes. But not now.”
“So not now, meaning not after Qatar?” Ramos really sounded like he was trying to unravel a great puzzle.
Neymar nodded.
“But definitely yes at the beginning of the season. Hmm?”
Neymar looked at Marco. Yes, definitely yes. He tried not to think about Leo, pushing him against a wall, catching a glimpse of them grinding against each other in the huge mirror in his bedroom. Why do you have that there? Leo had laughed, but had turned him around so he could watch them.
Marco was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, as if expecting a confirmation. Unbelievable.
“Yes,” Neymar murmured, “How did you know?”
Marco leaned back in his chair triumphantly, “I knew it. Because the football was fire. You two! I could tell.”
“Don’t be so Italian,” Neymar snapped.
Marco looked wounded.
“What the hell does that…”
“Wait,” Ramos waved his hand at Marco, “So what happened? You went to Qatar and then what? What went wrong?”
Neymar didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.
It seemed Ramos was really serious about getting to the bottom of this.
“Did he hook up with someone else? Kun? One of his boys on the national team? They’re all in love with him.” He looked disgusted.
“Pffftt.” Neymar rolled his eyes. As if.
“What then? Is it jealousy? You’re jealous of him?”
Neymar felt his face going warm.
“I guess I am a bit, yeah.” Confession might be the best way to get Ramos to shut up, he thought.
Marco looked disappointed.
“Ney! Leo won the World Cup. It’s Leo.”
“I’m happy for him.” He sighed.
“At least you were there.”
Neymar looked at Marco, and the Italian genuinely looked crestfallen. He felt stupid.
“Yeah you’re right.”
They both looked at Ramos.
“What? World Cup? Yeah it’s great to win it because when something goes wrong, you can always think about that. You always have that.”
Who asked him anyway?
“But you know what it doesn’t fix is when your heart is broken. Doesn’t matter then. It means pretty much nothing.”
Ramos stopped his sermon and something flickered his eyes.
"Wait," he jerked forward, crossed arms on the table, "he's not renewing? He's really going back to Barca? Are you kidding me? Can they afford him even on a free?"
He might have asked other questions, but Neymar wasn’t hearing it anymore, because Leo had walked in. He was turning his head this way and that, like he did on the pitch, scanning the room. Finally his eyes landed on Neymar, and he smiled tentatively.
“Shut up now,” Neymar growled under his breath.
“Hey,” Leo came over. He didn’t sit down, “What are you guys talking about?”
“You two,” Ramos said, and Neymar kicked him under the table.
Leo looked over at Ramos and chuckled nervously. His eyes came back to Neymar quickly.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Okay?”
He jerked his head towards the door.
He stood up and moved away from the table, not looking at Marco or Ramos.
They walked down the hallway and Leo indicated one of the rooms normally used for massages.
“So serious talk then?” Neymar joked, feeling nervous.
“No, no, not really. I have something for you.”
Neymar hopped on to one of the beds. Leo took out something from his pocket and held it out. It was a small glass jar. Some kind of balm.
“This,” he said, “is like magic. It’s a healing balm I was given, in Qatar. I thought your ankle…”
He stopped and looked at his hand, rolling the jar around it.
“Ney,” he said, eyes fixed on his hand, “I know you came back hurt. I know you’re in pain.”
A few moments of complete silence, when the world seemed to stop.
“Yes,” Neymar murmured finally. He pushed his shoes off and swung his legs onto the bed, “Black and blue.”
Leo came closer and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Lie down,” he said.
Neymar lay down and closed his eyes.
He felt Leo’s hands on his leg, pulling his sock down. And then a cool, gel-like sensation.
“It will warm up right away.” Leo’s voice was low and soothing. He was rubbing it into his ankle gently but firmly, in circular motions. The balm became warm and then quite hot.
Neymar squeezed his eyes shut. Tears were flowing down his face. He felt immense relief on his ankle, the warmth radiating outwards and up his whole leg.
“What is it?” His voice was choked. He knew Leo could see he was crying.
“A doctor in Qatar gave it to me. They make it in his family. You can’t buy it.” He was still massaging his ankle. It felt so good.
“I want you to use this twice a day,” he continued, “Of course you still need to do all the other stuff, but this will help.”
“Why are you giving it to me? You could use it? The doctor must have given it to you for something.”
But Leo didn’t say anything. Just continued to massage for a few more minutes.
“There,” he finally said, sounding satisfied. He gave his ankle two gentle pats, “Don’t forget to use it daily eh?”
Neymar opened his eyes and saw Leo looking down at him. He tried a smile, but more tears threatened.
“What’s wrong?” Leo said.
“I miss you.”
“But I’m right here.”
"You won't be here forever."
"Neither will you."
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
"Well now that you've won the World Cup..."
"Yes."
"Things are different."
"They are."
"You're looking at things differently."
There was a pause.
"I guess I am," Leo said thoughtfully.
"You're really writing an epic football fairytale," Neymar smiled, although he couldn't deny the bitterness he was feeling, "you win the World Cup. And then you return to the club of your life. I can't be mad at that."
Leo put a hand on his shoulder. Neymar shrugged him off.
"I have no right to complain. I left you first, right?"
He didn't let Leo answer.
"I should be glad you're leaving. I should focus on my football anyway, and fulfil my potential. Stop being such a failure."
“The next world cup…”
“It’s too late,” he quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear it.
“No, no. You’ll be the same a…
“I’m not you Leo!” he cut him off again.
“Thank god for that.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have this fight in you, specially when it comes to Brazil. And there have been times when you’ve had more fight than me. You know this.”
“If you’re talking about that match. I wish it had never happened.”
“How can you say that? It was one of the greatest moments of our lives.”
“It made me crazy. It made me jealous. It made me leave you.”
There. He’d said it now.
Leo looked pale then. He shook his head and spoke, as if with great difficulty.
“Ney, you can’t change what’s already happened.”
“No,” he said sadly, thinking of all the time together they’d missed. Because of him.
“But it doesn’t hurt to admit that it was a mistake.” He sat up, pulling up his socks, feeling agitated.
“Ney…”
“It was the biggest mistake of my life.” He slid down the bed and pushed his feet roughly into his trainers. He looked at Leo.
“Not just my career,” he said, “my life.”
He moved towards the door.
“Ney…Neymar!”
He turned back. Leo was holding out the glass jar. He went back to get it. Leo placed it in his hand, but didn’t let go of it. They stared at each other.
“I always wanted to live my life with no regrets,” Neymar said, “But I have so many regrets.”
Leo actually smiled.
“You have to be quite young to think you can live a life of no regrets.”
He released the jar into Neymar’s hand and withdrew his arm.
“And I’m not that young anymore?”
They stared at each other again.
“No,” Leo said, “but you have enough time.”
He placed a hand on Neymar’s cheek briefly, “for everything.”
They walked out of the room together.
*
“Aren’t we too old for magic shows?” Neymar muttered while passing quickly through the bank of cameras.
“The joy has really gone out of you!” Marco whispered back, sounding genuinely disheartened, “anyway it’s for charity!”
When they got to their table, Marco offered to switch seats so he could sit next to Leo, but he waved him off. He continued to be in a bad mood.
Leo’s state of calm contentment had started to bug him. Deep in his heart, he knew that it wasn’t Leo who was bugging him. It’s just that he was so far away from being in that state himself, the dream like a shore that got further and further as he got swept away by the waves of the ocean.
He tried to remind himself that Leo had gone through it all, and worse. There was a time when he’d felt hopeless, past it, unloved by his own country.
“You have enough time for everything,” Leo had said. And surely that’s how it felt to him now. Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.
A man was next to him. Crouching a little he was doing some kind of trick. Biting into something and spitting it out on the floor.
What the hell?
He pulled out a paper.
“See? It’s you?”
He handed it to him. It was a picture of him. Neymar nodded, not sure what was expected of him. He clapped unenthusiastically.
He could hear Leo to his right, saying something to Marco, who giggled.
He just wanted to go home.
“This is nice.”
Someone grabbed his arm and stroked the material of his jacket, as Neymar got into his car to leave. He had a micro-second to freak out, before realising it was Leo.
“What happened to your car?” he said, as Leo settled down next to him.
“Nothing. I just wanted to go with you.”
Neymar shook his head.
“I told you we’re not doing that anymore.”
The car started moving.
Leo was staring at his chest, just below his neck where his diamond necklace sat.
He touched it.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“You want it?” His fingers went to the back towards the clasp.
Leo smiled and shook his head.
“I like it on you.”
Neymar looked away, out of the window, at the lights of the city. Despite being heartbroken when he’d left Barcelona, he’d fallen in love with Paris. For some time he’d even felt that maybe it would be a new life for him, maybe he’d be happy.
That maybe he could live without him.
They got to Neymar’s house without exchanging any more words.
Neymar went up to his room and Leo followed.
He took off his clothes, and Leo watched. Soon he was just wearing his briefs and the diamond necklace.
“How about now?” he said, “Do you want it?” He touched the necklace.
Leo swallowed hard and nodded. He took off his coat and put it on the chair behind him, without once taking his eyes off Neymar.
He sat down on the bed and leaned back on the pillows, watching Leo undress. He took off his shirt, but left his trousers on. Neymar shifted to make room next to him.
They leaned on each other.
“Things are weird, I know,” Leo said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You don’t know how to feel.”
“About?”
“About me. About your career.”
“How should I feel?”
“About your career, just have faith like you’ve always had. It will all happen for you, it’s not like your time is finished.”
Neymar shook his head. This wasn’t the pep talk he needed. But Leo went on.
“And about what you said the other day, that you made a mistake with Barca. We both know there are so many issues with Barca, so who is to say…You can still turn it around here. Imagine winning the Champions League here? Where it’s never been done before? Imagine doing that for the people here. You can do that.”
“It’s not that,” he said, his voice suddenly loud and agitated.
Leo stopped mid-sentence and straightened up.
“What then?”
“It’s you.”
He shivered. He felt scared of what Leo might say next.
“What about me?” Leo’s voice was flat.
“I’ve been heartbroken over you.”
“I’m right here, Ney.”
“Are you? We’re not just fucking you mean?”
Leo turned his body to face him. His eyes looked hot and intense.
“We’ve never talked about…any of that. We’ve never talked about what we were doing.”
“I know. And now we never will, because you're leaving."
Leo’s eyes dropped.
"I'm not sure why we never talked properly," Neymar continued, "We never got to that level and now things are complicated.”
“Why are they complicated?”
“Because we are in different worlds now. Different mindsets, different streams. You’ve won everything. You got everything. At least before, we wanted to be together and play together. Win the Champions League together again. I thought maybe if we could do that, we’d get that feeling back. That feeling we used to have.”
It all came out of him in an uncontrollable rush. Leo had moved and taken him into his arms. They held each other, and he was momentarily transported back to Barcelona. The sky was blue, and the Camp Nou was singing their names. He and Leo and Luis were walking back triumphantly to the locker room, and in the air was the smell of sweat and grass. They were young and their time was unlimited. Leo was in his arms, and they were doing ridiculous things on the pitch, loved by all.
And now Leo would go back, but things would never be the same. Not for him, and not even for Leo.
Leo drew away until Neymar was facing him. He was smiling.
“You idiot,” he said, “that feeling was not from football. It wasn’t football, great as football has been for us.”
“What then?”
Leo just looked at him, his smile fading slowly.
“Tell me the secret, since you have everything now. You’re perfectly content, no?”
“I don’t have everything.”
Leo bit his lip and looked down. Neymar couldn’t bear it. He reached out and put his hand under Leo’s chin, made him look up at him.
Something flashed in Leo’s eyes.
“I love you,” he suddenly said, his voice hard, “Does that help?”
Yes.
Neymar couldn’t speak, but Leo didn’t seem to have that problem.
“Should I have said it eight years ago?”
Neymar closed his eyes. He remembered exactly the day eight years ago that Leo was thinking of. When they’d fucked for the first time and Neymar had cried.
Because he loved Leo and he was scared.
And then when Leo had stared at him the morning after, that beautiful morning, and offered him breakfast in bed.
Maybe because he loved him too.
“Or maybe I should have said it five years ago?”
Neymar couldn’t hold back his tears. His body trembled.
“Maybe I should have said it then, asked you not to leave?”
Leo took him in his arms again.
“Maybe,” now his voice was a whisper, “Maybe last summer, after the Copa final. When I had the thing I always wanted, but I could only think of you.”
His arms were so tight around Neymar that it hurt, but he didn’t want Leo to let go.
“But maybe now I can say it,” he said, “Now with the greatest prize in my hands.”
He separated himself from Neymar.
“I have the gold I’ve always dreamt of, since childhood.”
He reached out and grabbed Neymar’s necklace – “And I can only think of the diamond I don’t have.”
Just when Neymar thought he would break down into sobs, Leo pulled him by the neck and kissed him.
He pushed Leo down on the bed and hovered over him.
"Is this the last time?"
Leo shook his head, "If that's what you want." He reached out and put a hand on Neymar’s waist. His hand moved down stopping low on his hip, before stroking slowly.
Neymar melted down and traced the line of Leo's jaw with the tip of his tongue. Leo moaned.
"Do you really want to keep doing this?”
Their mouths came together again, tongues snaking against each other. Leo cupped Neymar’s ass and drew him down, pressing him against his hard cock.
He put a hand on Neymar’s head and pushed him down. Neymar kissed Leo’s bare chest, kissed again lower, the hard stomach, the ridges of muscle. And then lower still. He looked up with hazy eyes. Leo’s eyes were sharp, staring at him, mesmerized.
“You want to keep doing this? For months? Until you leave me?”
Leo’s grip on his hair tightened. He closed his eyes and went down.
Leo never let go of his hair, as he bobbed up and down his cock. He thrust deeper and deeper and Neymar still wanted more, moving his mouth up and down faster, going into a rhythm that felt like a trance. He needed this.
He could hear Leo moaning, and he wanted him to moan louder. So he sucked harder, faster. At some point Leo sat up and bent forward, and put one hand on Neymar’s shoulder. He was close.
And then, with one last moan, shouted out hoarsely, he came hard, his cock throbbing. Neymar swallowed. And Leo fell back down on the bed.
He breathed hard, his fingers clutching the sheets. He tried to calm down.
Leo shifted above him groaning a little, and Neymar slid up to lie next to him. A minute passed.
“I’m not leaving,” Leo said quietly.
Neymar burst into laughter. He felt crazy. He wanted to cry, but he was also laughing.
Leo lifted his head and shoulders and looked at him.
“It’s funny?”
“I mean. I knew I was good but damn.”
And then Leo laughed too. They both moved onto their sides, facing each other.
“I love you,” Leo said.
And there he was, grinning like an idiot.
“Do we have enough time?” he said.
Leo took his hand and kissed it.
“There’s time for everything cariño.”
And although they were both old enough to know that there was never as much time as you imagined when you were young, he had to believe there was enough. So he leaned forward and kissed Leo.
*