Chapter Text
Neymar knew this would be a tough, almost impossible game. Although he had played for Barcelona for going on two years now, he never seemed to grow comfortable with all his teammates. Mainly Lionel Messi. It’s not that he had any negative feelings toward Messi, quite the contrary.
He was intimidated by him- by the way he so easily controlled the pitch, controlled the ball, controlled the game, and controlled Neymar’s feelings. When Neymar was just a kid, he would find any and every excuse to watch football, most especially when Barca was playing. Because it’s true he’s always been a Barca fan, but when he first saw Lionel play in 2004, he was enamored.
Of course, he told himself it was just because Lionel was so artistic in the way he played. Each kick of the ball akin to a brushstroke- meticulously planned and masterfully executed. And so what if Neymar watched Lionel a bit too intently, a bit closer than he watched any other player. He reasoned that anyone else would do the same. Anyone with sanity would see Lionel’s beauty, in the way he moved the ball of course. He would analyze just how Lionel would twist his exquisitely muscled thigh at just the right time and angle to hit the ball. He would watch it so attentively because he wanted to replicate it for himself, and not because he felt something inside him change when he saw the way Lionel’s muscles would be highlighted by his sweat. It was most assuredly not that.
And he would watch every game, and he would watch Lionel celebrate. He would watch him jump into Ronaldinho’s arms, and sometimes he would catch himself wondering what it would feel like to be able to hold Lionel so close— as a teammate of course, nothing more.
Then Neymar was signed to FC Barcelona, and he was elated. He smiled like it would be his last chance too. His cheeks hurt from the constant muscle strain, but no matter how hard he tried to stop smiling, he could not. That was until he realized what this really meant. He would be playing on the same team as Lionel Messi. The same Lionel who he watched, admired, with an almost religious fervor everyday of his life. How would he ever stomach playing side by side with him? How would he focus?
And so, two years later he is still yet to answer that question. Ever since he joined Barcelona, he tried to distance himself from Messi. And Lionel made this plan of his exceedingly difficult to execute. For whenever Neymar scored a goal, passed him an assist, or simply stood by himself, Lionel was always there. Neymar would exchange a few cordial words and flash a small smile, but then he would scamper off, leaving Messi confused. Messi knew he was still new, and he was still young; however, the harder Lionel seemed to try, the more skittish Neymar became. Lionel thought it was just because Neymar put him on a pedestal, like most people did. He thought Neymar was just frightened, and in a way that was true.
But even someone as perceptive as Lionel didn’t know the real reason Neymar avoided him. Messi never noticed how Neymar’s eyes would linger on him for a split second too long at practice. How his eyes would’ve burned Messi’s skin from how hard he stared. How he would always gaze right where Messi’s shirt met his waistband, secretly hoping for his shirt to ride up just the slightest bit, and he would be satiated. And whenever Lionel was slighted during a game, no matter how small the offense, Messi never noticed how silently infuriated Neymar would grow. Neymar knew he was prone to emotional outbursts, so he always worked to keep himself calm when Messi was hurt. Because he knew if he made a scene, it would reveal his true intentions. But, for all his efforts, if you looked close enough, you could still see his muscles strain, his eyes burn, and his nostrils flare. Small details, yes, but if you listened to them, you would be told all you needed to know.
But today? Today was different. It was Barcelona verses Real Madrid. The timeless rivalry. Barcelona was up 5-0, all from Lionel. And for his efforts, he was brutalized. Every chance they got, Madrid tackled him, beat him, and ridiculed him. Neymar had lost count of how many times Lionel had been hurled to the ground. He had lost count of how many times he had seen Lionel’s smile fade, his eyes darken. But Lionel didn’t fight back. He never did. Lionel would ignore it, get back up, and score another goal. Which only infuriated the other team ten fold.
After scoring his fifth goal, Messi found himself face down on the turf. He once again had been brutally tackled by another player, but this time it was different. His leg burned like never before, and he could barely move it. He whined into the ground, praying and willing his body to move. He then felt an arm snake around his waist and lift him from the ground. And he was surprised to see Neymar’s eyes meet his. Neymar’s arms supported Lionel at the waist, encasing his trim waistline. And in Neymar’s eyes Lionel finally noticed the fury that had been there hundreds of times before. Lionel was taken aback, for although he had seen Neymar angry, he had never seen him furious.
“Are you okay Neymar?” Lionel asks; his concern quite evident.
Neymar quietly scoffs, angered by the thought of Lionel being so obviously injured and then asking him if he was okay. It wasn’t right. He should be focused on his leg. Why was he asking about Neymar when he wasn’t even the one in pain? Well, not physical pain at least.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry about it Lionel.” Neymar quickly said.
Messi noticed in this moment that Neymar never called him Messi of Leo, always Lionel.
As Neymar was about to loosen his grip and turn away from Messi, a Madrid player strode towards them. Neymar was prepared for whatever verbal onslaught the player had readied, but he was not prepared for the elbow that came flying at Lionel’s mouth. And then he was back on the ground.
Messi whimpered into the ground, hiding his pain from Neymar. Neymar quickly dropped to the ground, turning Lionel’s head to the side. The green grass now had turned red, and Neymar winced seeing the blood pouring from Lionel’s mouth. Messi was in pain yes, but Neymar was the one crying. Tears of sadness or anger, Neymar didn’t know which. Neither did Messi. He didn’t understand why Neymar cared so much, especially when he always seemed to ignore him.
“Fuck Lionel are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. Jesus I’m so sorry.” Neymar rambled on.
“Ney.” Lionel said assertively.
Neymar was silenced both by the nickname, which he never would admit made him twitch, and by the slightly commanding edge in his voice.
“…Yes?”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“…Because… I don’t know. I don’t know. I just- I just should’ve seen it coming you know. I should’ve stopped him, and if I had then you wouldn’t be hurt.” He sputtered out through fiery tears
When Lionel’s hand came up towards Neymar’s face, he flinched back, afraid he had angered Messi. Lionel’s eyes softened at this and he placed his hands on Neymar’s face. He slowly brushed away his tears.
“It’s not your fault Neymar.”
And there it was again. Neymar felt his rage returning. Why was Lionel comforting him when it should be the other way around. The man was bleeding on the ground for Christ’s sake and he was wiping away Neymar’s tears? Neymar questioned himself as to why he was always so selfish.
“Stop Lionel. Please.” Neymar said, gazing at the blood on the ground instead of meeting his eyes.
Lionel froze slightly, jerking his hand back, afraid he had over stepped his boundaries.
“Oh. Of course, sorry I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t my place too.”
And Neymar had done it again. He had the bloodied, injured man apologizing. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he do this one thing right? That’s when it hit him. He knew he could be angry right. He was always good at that. So he turned away from Lionel, eyes training on the man who caused Messi to bleed. And he forced him to the ground.
Hands swung in all directions. Curses flew from his mouth like it was the only language he knew. He felt his knuckles start gushing blood, and so he smiled- knowing he had hurt the other man so intimately, just like that man had hurt Leo. Leo. He liked the sound of that. And so he kept swinging, chanting “Leo, Leo, L-Leo, L…” until he felt himself being pulled away from the other player. He felt his cheeks grow wet again and his vision was blurred. His head was pounding and he couldn’t think straight. His hands hurt. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. His eyes were gleaming with tears. And he still found himself smiling. He had hurt the man who hurt Leo, and that’s all that mattered to him.
When he finally seemed to have regained his sense of self, he realized the game had ended, and he saw all the other Barca players celebrating at the end of the pitch.
They were jumping in each other’s arms and even a hundred yards away he could still hear their celebratory yells. He imagined that Messi was with them, probably in the middle of the group, that’s why Neymar couldn’t see him. He was too dazed to realize Messi was the one who pulled him from the other player- too dazed to realize Leo sat right beside him, eyes filled with concern and hands anxious to comfort him. And Neymar nodded off, exhausted after his fit of rage, and his head fell just slightly to the side, towards Messi’s shoulder.
Messi tensed a little, because no matter how much his body ached to place Neymar’s head on his shoulder and give him a semblance of peace, he didn’t wish to overstep again. Neymar being asleep gave Lionel time to consider what had happened. He knew Neymar was upset, that much was clear, and he knew, or at least he thought he knew, that Neymar got uncomfortable after Messi had wiped away his tears. Of course he would, Messi reasoned. Why did he think Neymar would be okay with that after he basically avoided Lionel for two years and counting. But on the other hand, why was Neymar the first one at his side, and more importantly, why had Neymar attacked the other player so viscerally? He knew Neymar was emotional, but he couldn’t figure out what had triggered that reaction. It was irresponsible of Neymar, to do that so brazenly. So openly. With such risk. He could’ve gotten seriously injured. Messi’s fists involuntarily clenched, dried blood still visible on them. How could Ney think putting himself in danger was a good idea?