Chapter Text
It was the second day of the World cup qualifier training, yet not a single soul argued when the session finished earlier than usual. Samuel said something to Scaloni, Scaloni nodded, blew the whistle once, and the balls stopped moving almost at the same time. The goalkeepers were still arguing over whether the last shot had counted, but nobody seemed interested enough to settle it.
Rodrigo handed the staff his training vest, at the corner of his eyes he saw Leandro do the same. They walked back together as the others quickly joined in, chatter started filling the space.
"I still don't understand– what mistake? What did I do?"
"Don't worry about it. You've been making mistakes since you got here," Leandro said.
"Are you serious.."
"You sat next to Ota during dinner yesterday."
"But I just wanted to ask him where the salt was..?"
"And he told you about the great tale of the 2014 run. For two hours straight."
Rodrigo nodded, which only made Leandro sigh in return. "Maybe your suffering is earned, not given."
Otamendi looked over. "I can hear you," then he paused, seemingly to consider something, "I've got another story."
"No."
"Listen first-"
"No!"
The corridor was filled with laughter, and Rodrigo laughed too. It had been a little over a year since he got called up for national duty, yet he still wasn't used to how easily everyone laughed here with the national team looking vastly different on tv. While it mostly showed anthems and lineups and substitutions, it had failed to show twenty grown men fighting over who stole whose towel from the shower stalls.
By the time they reached the mess hall, the conversation had become about something else. Then someone pulled out a deck of truco after lunch.
Rodrigo looked at them blankly. "This is embarrassing but I actually don’t know the rules."
"You don't need to," Papu said. "We'll explain as we go."
Rodrigo whipped his head back to stare in bewilderment, while Leandro continued shuffling the cards without missing a beat.
"But that's how you lose though?!"
"We’ve all learned it the hard way.”
Rodrigo ultimately accepted his hand. Then halfway through the first round he realized the explanations were lukewarm at best.
"I'm fairly sure you're just making new shits up."
"We are," one of them said simply.
"So you admitted it!"
"Yep. And?"
"You can't just keep inventing rules, big guy."
Otamendi shrugged, "We've been doing it for years."
"Against everyone?"
"Eh, mostly Fideo."
Di Maria looked up from his cards. "Oh, you guys are so gonna get it."
Leo smiled.
It was a small smile, hidden behind the metal straw sticking out from the mate in his hands. Both of them cupping the gourd as if he was seeking warmth in the middle of winter.
Rodrigo had expected Messi to be quieter, media demeanor and all. Instead, he laughed often and freely; sometimes at things that weren't especially funny, sometimes way after everyone else did. No one seemed surprised. They all spoke to him as if they had been doing it since forever. Though, Rodrigo still wasn't sure if that could also be said about himself.
Three rounds later, Angel actually won. The cards were gathered into an untidy pile with Rodrigo being the one responsible for counting them.
Thirty-nine.
He frowned. "There should be forty."
"No shit.”
"No, but-" Rodri argued, fingers pointing at the culprits on the table. “That’s thirty-nine.”
"Well you counted wrong."
"Hey! I counted twice."
Leo looked down at the table, and sure enough, the seven of cups hid beneath the mate gourd he’d put down some time ago. He stared at it for a second.
"Oh."
Leo picked the card up, held it out to Rodrigo who looked at it once with raising eyebrows, then at Leo.
"Planning to win the next round by yourself, capi?"
"No,” Leo laughed, his eyes crinkling. They quickly fell away from Rodrigo’s face. "I really forgot."
They turned to face the rest of the room, where conversation had already moved elsewhere. Papu was insisting toilet paper rolls can only face upward. Lautaro said that that made no sense, having them face down was the only correct way. Lo Celso asked whether it made any difference.
Someone threw a napkin, missing the bin completely. Leo watched it land on the floor, finger twitching but otherwise remained seated where he was, neither reaching nor looking away. Beside him, his teammates continued to argue about toilet papers as they played another round of truco.
Only much later would Rodrigo think back to the kind of expressions that had appeared on Leo’s face back then. At the time, he remembered only the sound of everyone’s collective laughter echoing through the hall.
***
Merely hours earlier, Leo had called Pep for the first time in eight years.
Jorge had asked him not to, as transfers had always gone through him. Coaches spoke to agents, agents spoke to clubs, clubs spoke to each other, players only had to wait. And Leo had waited.
He looked at the message without opening it, already knew what it said: Leave it to me. Don't contact him yourself.
He put the phone down and went to make mate. The kettle boiled for too long and the first sip burned his tongue. Kun would usually take the gourd from his hands after that first sip, saying it was still too hot, too bitter, drinking a little before giving it back. Rodrigo had also been taking over that duty lately, since Kun was plagued with a series of injuries. Leo never argued with them.
But it was the first day of training, Leo’d made a habit of arriving before everyone else could.
He stood alone by the counter waiting for the water to cool, his mind wandering to the phone again. When he picked it up, the old conversation had long since buried below the newer ones; Lio, the national team group chat, Luis, club staff, people he hadn't thought about for months. He scrolled for a while without finding it, then simply searched.
‘Pep’ appeared immediately.
Years ago, there had been more messages– of the training times, recovery schedules, a blurry photo of tactical notes Pep had wanted him to read before morning. In the most recent one, Pep had texted him one sentence.
Rest well.
Leo had replied,
See you tomorrow, Mister.
He involuntarily smiled, thinking back to how towards the end, almost everyone called him Pep.
Once, while walking back from training, Busquets had nudged him with an elbow and said, "You know you can call him by his name too."
He recalled nodding and chuckling. The next day he appeared in the manager’s office, the word ‘Mister’ already on the tip of his tongue.
Then Leo suddenly opened his eyes, not realizing when he’d closed them, his body swaying. The early morning moonlight was beginning to dim– he had been lost in thought and almost slipped off the counter.
Another second passed, he hastily decided to press the call button. The phone rang only once.
"Leo."
The voice sounded exactly as he remembered.
Outside, the street below was empty except for a cleaning truck moving slowly along the curb, leaving a strip of wet asphalt behind it.
"Hi, were you asleep?"
"No."
"I didn’t wake you, did I?"
"No, no."
Leo nodded unconsciously, letting the other’s voice wash over him in waves.
"I heard things have been difficult," Pep said.
"Mmh."
"You still got your- what’s it called, nerve-soothing pearls?"
"Chupa. I even got them in my training shorts pocket now."
"I knew it."
Leo smiled despite himself. "You always do."
Pep laughed softly at that, "Oh, I used to."
For a while neither spoke. The truck disappeared around the corner, but the sound of water lingered for a little longer. The sky outside gradually brightened. The pale moon hung lower than before, its light fading into the approaching dawn, yet it stubbornly refused to leave the sky.
"Mister,” Leo looked down at the mate in his hand, "..Pep."
Pep, however, didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. He started with an exhale, "In Manchester we train very hard."
Something in those words made Leo straighten his spine.
"I'll train hard."
“It rains almost everyday here.”
“It doesn’t matter-”
“I still hold tactical meetings that are much too long. You’ll seriously get bored."
"I'll listen. I can put up with anything you do, Pep, I swear."
Leo lowered the gourd, completely rested it on the counter with a click. Likewise, he could hear something faint through the phone; perhaps a chair scraping on the floor, perhaps a marker scratching on the board. He imagined Pep standing in his office with coffee growing cold on the mess of a desk. But then again, he had no reason to imagine that.
"We're older now."
"I know."
"People change."
"I know."
"Maybe.." Pep paused, "maybe we won't get along anymore."
Those words brought forth the memories of the past. When Leo used to arrive at the training ground before sunrise, still half asleep, only to find Pep already standing on the pitch with a clipboard in hand. The dressing room after victories, music playing too loudly, Pique shouting somewhere in the back, Dani dancing on the bench, Xavi laughing so hard he had to hide his face behind his hands. The training pitch where everyone was complaining, then laughing, then complaining again. He recalled thinking football could be like that forever.
Those memories were so ordinary. Yet they had become the ones he missed the most.
Camp Nou was still there, standing tall. Even the dressing room smelled the same– so why?
Why was it that sometimes Leo would walk through the same tunnel and feel as if he'd taken the wrong turn. The laughter started sounding unfamiliar. Even after winning, the happiness never lingered as long as it used to. Was it because the people around him had changed one after another? He couldn’t find an answer. The same way he couldn't remember when Barcelona had started feeling like somewhere he merely worked instead of somewhere he belonged.
Leo turned the straw slowly in his hands. The water had finally cooled enough to drink, so he took another mouthful. It was still bitter.
"I just want it to stop."
Pep didn't ask what he meant– Leo would sometimes stop halfway through a sentence during video analysis. Pep would wait, and eventually Leo would continue. If he didn't, they simply moved on to the next clip. And this time was no different.
After a long while, Pep simply said,
"I can't."
Leo lowered his eyes to stare at nothing in particular.
I can’t.
Before, he would have asked why. He would have followed Pep into the tunnel, insisting he hadn't given a good enough reason. He would have believed there was still another conversation tomorrow, but there wasn't.
He remembered going home, convinced that if he became a better footballer, a little older, a little more patient, perhaps one day the answer would change. Answer from the first person he ever liked, the first person he imagined growing old alongside, the first person who taught him that sometimes love simply wasn't enough– he wanted to tell Pep all of this, but instead what came out of his mouth was:
"Okay."
Neither of them mentioned Manchester again. They spoke of mundane things; the weather had begun cooling in England, the pitches in Buenos Aires were still in good condition. Pep reminded him not to rush his leg, otherwise risking an injury. Leo replied that he knew, repeatedly. The conversation drifted back to football so naturally that, for a moment, it almost felt like nothing had happened. Or perhaps it hadn’t for Pep.
When the call ended, Leo remained standing by the counter, phone still in his hand. The water in the kettle had already gone cold, yet he foolishly poured another one anyway.
The second mate tasted exactly the same.
***
The days continued with training as planned. Leo did the courses, ate lunch with the team, then another session in the afternoon. By the time everyone returned to their room, it was already dark. Someone would knock on the other’s door, a tournament of truco would somehow establish in the room of an unwilling host, Tagliafico, and before anyone realized– another day had passed.
Leo still arrived before everyone else. If he wasn’t the first one in the gym, Rodrigo would announce that it’d been their fault they came too early.
On the fifth morning, the physiotherapist stopped Leo halfway through a sprinting drill.
But the session wasn’t stopped, the others continued running. The physio crouched beside him, speaking quietly while pressing two fingers against the taped thigh. Leo answered with a slight nod. After a while, the physio stood and walked over to the head coach, they exchanged only a few words.
Scaloni looked towards the far end of the pitch where Leo remained standing alone, one hand resting absentmindedly on his hip. Then he raised the whistle.
The sound pierced through the field, and the chatter immediately died. The last ball to stop rolling went a little further before someone caught it under a boot.
"Leo."
Leo looked over.
"Enough for today."
The morning breeze carried the smell of grass across the training ground. Somewhere on the outer field a sprinkler slowly turned– its steady clicking being the only sound.
Leo stared blankly at Lio, their eyes meeting. He blinked, then lowered his eyes.
"..Okay."
Only after the captain had disappeared behind the treatment building did Scaloni blow the whistle a second time. Nobody moved– they were all frozen still with the face of a deer caught in headlights. All pairs of eyes locked in on the direction Leo had gone to. The head coach turned back to them a fierce glare.
"What are you waiting for!"
The drills resumed almost immediately. Rodrigo fumbled the first pass that was sent towards him. His touch was shakier than a couple of minutes ago, and the ball rolled a little too far
"Nahuel!" Otamendi shouted. "Your left, not your right."
"It was my left, dumbass."
Rodrigo retrieved the ball without joining in on the conversation brawl. Leo didn't return for lunch, and he usually loved milanesa. By two in the afternoon, his training vest was still folded on the bench where he'd left it that morning.
When training finally ended, the vest was gone. Rodrigo looked for him in the main lounge first, then the gym, the treatment room was empty except for the physiotherapist packing rolls of tape into a drawer.
"Looking for your captain?"
Scaloni was standing by the doorway.
Rodrigo nodded, swallowing the urge to stammer out a denial. Scaloni looked at him for a moment. His gaze similar to the previous game against Bolivia when they were down one nil, then said,
"Take him somewhere."
Rodrigo waited, expecting a further explanation, but none came.
He wandered through the corridors for a while before finding Leo behind the west wing of the camp. The wooden porch faced the trees, quiet enough that even the whistles from the training pitches could not reach. Leo had already showered and changed; his hair was still damp with a small towel draping over the shoulders. His neck and downward swallowed by the oversized grey hoodie. An open book rested across his knees.
He slowed his steps.
"You reading?"
Leo looked away from the woods.
"Eh.. I found it on the chair." He offered nothing else.
Rodrigo leaned over to see the cover.
"I've read that one."
Leo let out a surprised huff, “Okay, I believe you.”
Rodrigo sat down beside him. The reclined cushioned chair felt sturdy, and the warm wind kept turning the corners of the pages in soft ruffling.
"How's your leg?"
"I’ll probably come off the bench in the next game."
Rodrigo stared, used to the dismissive answer. Leo kept looking at the book, but he hadn’t turned a single page.
Then Rodrigo was reminded by what Scaloni had said. He’d just stood there, mouth slightly opened, while the head coach put his hands in his pockets and walked away unceremonially. The vague and questionable order still hung in the air.
Take him somewhere.
Suddenly, the thought of spending a rare private time alone with Leo crossed his mind, along with the older man’s scarily blank face and stiff shoulders this morning. Rodrigo decided not to dwell on it, thinking that since the profe trusted him with a task, he shouldn't pry.
Rodrigo looked towards the path leading out of the camp, his leg started to bounce up and down.
"Wanna get out for a bit?"
He was met with Leo’s bewildered gaze.
"..Now?"
“Uh, yeah?”
There was a brief pause where Leo glanced towards the direction where Rodrigo had come from. A ghost of laughter and a light thud of someone kicking a ball carried over the trees before disappearing into the wind. He would usually still be there.
His fingers slipped into the pocket of his hoodie. He paused for a moment, touching something inside, then withdrew only his hand.
“Daniel said he wants to see me at five,” Leo said.
“We’ve got plenty of time before then. Come on, I know a quiet place- I could treat you something nice? Empanadas?”
The greedy captain finally perked up at the last part.
“Yeahh, famous goat cheese filling. Heard it’s in the middle of nowhere so no one will come bother you. I can promise that much,” Rodrigo continued.
“..In Buenos Aires?”
“In Buenos Aires,” he replied with a grin.
A pair of dark eyes stared back at him for a couple of seconds. Eventually Leo said, “What’s up with you? Your smile is all weird today.”
“Mmh, are you saying yes?”
His grin widened at Leo’s narrowing eyes. Rodrigo thought with great amusement that getting his captain to agree was not unlike coaxing a child with a lollipop. And against all odds, it’d worked.
The book was laid forgotten on the very same chair.
Ten minutes later, they were already on the road. Rodrigo drove with one hand resting loosely on the wheel– the two had argued on their way to the car about how Leo should rest his leg, hence no driving. The camp disappeared behind the trees almost immediately.
On the passenger seat, Leo kept his hand in the pocket of his hoodie, fidgeting with something. Rodrigo had noticed the pensive look on his face since before they left the camp, but he’d also promised himself not to pry. So when Leo eventually pulled his hand out, the reveal almost felt anti-climatic; it was just his phone.
“Hey, are you that bored already?” Rodrigo pouted, “We’ve only been out for like two seconds.”
Leo chuckles, “I’m just asking Fideo if he wants empanadas.”
Rodrigo raised his brows, glancing at the car display screen.
“At this time? Leo, you know how addicted he is to beating our asses at truco, especially when he’s all cranked up after training.”
“Fideo is not that cruel.”
“Oh I’m sorry- ‘our’ doesn’t include you, your highness.”
Rodrigo felt something twitch inside his chest when he heard Leo’s soft laughter again.
“No, seriously, you’ve gotta see him as soon as you’re not around. Even profe’s scared of him sometimes,” Rodri said with a shudder, Di Maria was definitely not someone you cross.
Leo shook his head, a hint of smile on his face as he lowered the phone.
“You wouldn’t want me to get his favorite fillings wrong if he’s so scary then.”
Was that a tease?
“You still don’t believe me, do you..” Rodrigo muttered mostly to himself. Of course he wouldn’t– Leo Messi had never been subjected to his friend’s ire after all.
The car turned right into an even narrower road. Apartment buildings disappeared one after another, replaced by stretches of open land broken only by scattered houses, little grocery stores with faded signs, and football pitches enclosed by rusting fences. Laundry hung between balconies, moving lazily in the slow wind.
At his side, Leo’s gaze wasn’t fixed on the view. He kept swiping idly at the phone on his laps, his neck bending at an uncomfortable angle, the towel on his shoulders slid down to rest beside his thigh, yet he didn’t seem to notice nor care.
“If you’re waiting for him to text back or call, don’t. Let’s just get him spinach and cheese,” Rodrigo continued after a while.
Leo looked up, startled.
“Huh? Oh– Fideo,” he blinked, “How’d you know?”
“‘Cuz he told me.”
Leo tilted his head skeptically.
“You guys talk about empanadas?”
“Aww, don’t be jealous, capitan. I still like talking to you the most,” Rodrigo flashed him another smirk, fingers wiggling on the wheel.
He enjoyed the way Leo rolled his eyes, exasperated. Yet when he turned away to face the window, the redness on the tip of his ears peeking over the hood betrayed his true feelings.
“You’re impossible,” the ball of grey hoodie grumbled.
Rodrigo then felt a sudden burst of misplaced confidence; he wanted a front-row seat to his captain’s reactions.
“I love you, Leo.”
Leo whipped his head back, mouth agape.
“W-what–”
“Come on, say it back.”
“Rodri-”
“Say you love me too~”
“Absolutely not!”
They continued to bicker back and forth. Leo laughed, unrestrained, and Rodrigo drank every drop of it like drugs– realizing that he’d been waiting for this all morning. He rested both hands on the steering wheel, unable to wipe the huge grin off of his face.
He wasn’t going to tell Leo that he’d been asking around. It had started with Angel, then Kun, then Ota. He’d asked whether he liked sweets, whether he added sugar to his mate, or wanted extra olives on his napolitana. But it turned out that asking about Leo Messi was a difficult thing. Somewhere along the way, he’d naturally learned everyone else's favorites too.
Bzzz.
The sound interrupted his reverie; it was Leo’s phone.
Rodrigo spared him multiple glances from the road. He watched him pick the phone up, then his expression changed. He’d expected the call to be from Angel, until Leo answered–
“Pa.”
Rodrigo looked away on instinct, turning his attention back to the road as if that could give the older some privacy. Without any sign, rain began to patter against the windshield. The wipers swept once, then again, pushing the thin sheet of water aside.
“..Yeah. I know…Mmh…That so.”
The engine hummed steadily, followed by soft taps on the window. Rodrigo frowned. He couldn’t hear the other side at all– not that he was actively listening– only Leo’s sparse answers filling the car.
The call didn’t last long. He didn’t see which side pressed the end button but when he turned, Leo was staring blankly ahead. Rodrigo followed his gaze, beyond the rain-streaked glass there was nothing except soggy road and never-ending barren field.
He drove another few hundred meters before speaking,
“..Everything alright?”
Leo seemed to come back from elsewhere only after hearing his voice. He lowered the phone and looked at it for a moment before slipping it back into the pocket entirely. Rodrigo waited.
Another stretch of road passed. The rain had grown a little harsher now, forming more puddles the further they drove. Just when he thought he wouldn’t be getting any answers, Leo instead said:
"Pa talks a lot," almost apologetically.
Rodrigo laughed.
"Dads, am I right?"
Leo smiled, but it only lasted as long as a flap of wings.
"It was more about work stuff.”
Rodrigo nodded. He knew enough not to ask about the details unless offered– transfers, contracts, sponsors– not wanting to infringe. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t puzzled. Just one phone call, and the effort to get Leo to smile had all but vanished. The person beside him suddenly looked worn out, his shoulders hunched, his eyes vacant as they refused to meet anyone’s.
"Soo.." Rodrigo tapped the steering wheel lightly. "Good news?"
He inwardly cringed as soon as that left his mouth, but didn’t backpedal.
"I..I don't know," Leo said so softly that it almost disappeared into the rain.
Rodrigo finally glanced at him. Leo was still looking out the window. His hand fidgeting, absentmindedly rubbing against what Rodrigo now knew was the phone.
"Then let's not decide whether it's good or bad yet," he said. "We've still gotta deliver Angel his empanadas."
He didn’t turn to see what kind of face Leo was making. His sweaty palms tightened their grip on the wheel, hoping with every inch of his heart that it would be a smile.
“Rodri.. I-”
A sharp jolt from the seatbelt cut him off.
All of the sudden, the car lurched violently. One tire slipped off the edge of the narrow road, and before either of them could let out a yelp, the car sank into the mud with a wet, miserable squelch.
Neither of them made a sound apart from the rain pouring down the window. Rodrigo blanked out, his hand automatically put the gear into reverse. The tires spun for a while and he could hear the splat of the mud. But alas, its effort was to no avail as the car shuddered, then sank even deeper into the earth.
“..Oh, fuck”
They were stuck. They were very very stuck, and Scaloni was going to slit his throat in his sleep– if Leandro didn’t beat him to it. He let out a slow breath, forehead nearly touching the steering wheel.
“Fuuuck.. no no no-”
“Rodri,” Leo’s hand found his arm. “It’s fine, calm down.”
It was, in fact, not fine. Rodrigo was grateful for his captain’s generosity when he’d just run Leo’s car head-first into the mud. But he was more concerned about not bringing his passenger back in time.
“I will get you home before five,” he said with such conviction that Leo could all but blinked back owlishly.
Rodrigo didn’t wait for the response as he nearly kicked the door open and took a leap onto the solid ground, not caring when the rain soaked through his shirt almost immediately.
“Don’t worry capitan!,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll go see if I can find a plank or something! You stay there!”
And then he shot off like a bullet.
Leo stared at the still-opened door. Rain entered through it and onto the seat with the constant tap tap tap. After such a passionate display, he didn’t have the heart to tell Rodrigo that they could have just simply made a call for help.
He leaned across and pulled the door shut. The car quickly became quieter again.
Outside, Rodrigo had already become a blur under the rain, stopping every few steps to look into the ditch, then further ahead towards the scattered houses. He bent down to tug at what looked like a loose fence board, gave it an experimental pull, yelled out a string of curses, then abandoned the idea altogether and broke into another jog.
Leo watched, letting the scene unfold before pulling his phone out– there were several new notifications, one of them was from Angel:
I wouldn’t mind some spinach and cheese.
Leo raised his brows at the message. Rodrigo had indeed got it right, he thought with a faint smile.
He quickly told Fideo they might be coming back empty-handed today. The reply came immediately, followed by several more messages from the group chat that he didn't bother opening. Just as he was about to put the phone away, a shadow appeared beside the passenger window– it revealed to be something one would expect the least in this situation.
A little boy stood outside.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping endlessly from the yellow raincoat that was obviously no match for the weather. He was cradling a small paper bag tightly to his chest, staring right into the car with open curiosity.
Leo blinked. Then blinked again. He lowered the window all the way down. The rain rushed in, carrying the smell of wet soil and grass.
Neither of them spoke. The boy looked at Leo, and Leo looked right back.
After a long beat, Leo instinctively glanced around; where’d this kid even come from?
“..Hi,” he said eventually, fingers unconsciously rubbing the tip of his nose. “Ah.. what are you doing out here?”
The child ignored the question.
“You’re stuck,” he said matter-of-factly.
“..Yeah.” Leo looked around once more. Beyond the rain there was only the empty road, some fence, and fields stretching into the far distance. “Where are your parents?”
“At Sergio’s house.”
“Is that near?”
The boy promptly pointed through the window, towards the direction Rodrigo had gone to.
“Over there by the farm!”
Leo followed the little finger. He distantly thought, which farm exactly?
“I came from there,” the boy continued, drawing Leo’s attention back. This time he was pointing behind himself. “I bought some medicine.”
Medicine?
Leo's eyes dropped to the paper bag, then slowly travelled back to the child. Only then did he notice the rainwater seeping through the raincoat, gathering at his shoes before disappearing into the mud.
“Oh, cariño, you’re shivering,” Leo almost gasped. “Come in here? It’s warmer in here.”
Despite the urgency in his voice, he made sure the other was out of the way before pushing the passenger door open. The little boy climbed in without hesitation and Leo wondered if he beared any sense of self-preservation at all.
Leo caught him under the arms before he slipped, lifting him onto his lap almost by reflex– wincing slightly at the weight on his strained thigh. They made a small adjustment, letting the boy sit slightly sideways so his muddy shoes wouldn't knock against the dashboard. The cold wetness inevitably soaked through his hoodie and pants. He glanced down at the spreading darkened patch, made a tiny face that lasted less than a second, then pulled the door shut.
“I’m Ney.”
Leo blinked at the unexpected name.
“Hello, Ney. I’m Leo.”
The little boy frowned.
“But you’re Messi.”
Leo couldn't help but smile. So he knew after all. The immediate familiarity made a little more sense now.
He rolled the window back up. The rain instantly became quieter, and it reminded him of what he’d intended to do:
“Let’s get you dry.”
The towel was still lying where he'd discarded it earlier. He fetched it and gently covered the damp curls.
“Wow, it's soo soft. And it smells reeally good!”
Leo found himself chuckling, infected by little Ney’s cheerful chatter.
The boy spoke without restraints, like towels could be so interesting, while Leo absentmindedly dried his hair. His mind wandered to Rodrigo, to the camp, to whether they should call someone first, but every few seconds Ney shifted on his lap, pointed somewhere, or looked back up at him, demanding his attention without realizing it. Somehow, Leo found himself listening.
“Ours is red and blue and super scratchy, but Grandma says soft ones can't dry my hair!”
True to his words, the unruly curls refused to stay down. Every time Leo smoothed one side, another sprang back up. He patiently threaded the towel through the locks with his fingers, careful not to tug too hard.
A memory suddenly resurfaced. He had done the same for Neymar– his Ney, post-match. The latter had kept complaining how his hair had too much curl, how much of a hassle it was to dry them by himself, and that his arms always felt dead by the time he was done. Ney would sit on the floor, while Leo on the bench. He hadn’t done that for anyone else since.. well, since the younger left.
Leo hummed softly.
“I think my towel might disagree.”
“Mmh!”
Ney nodded enthusiastically. His head bobbed so much that Leo had to steady it with one hand before continuing. He looked down at the crumbled bag.
“What medicine did you buy?”
He folded one corner of the towel and carefully wiped away the rain still clinging to the boy's cheeks. Tiny droplets had gathered around his eyelashes, making him blink rapidly.
Ney immediately lifted the paper bag with both hands.
“It’s for mom!”
“Is she hurt? Or sick?”
“Not really.” The boy thought for a moment, head tilting. “Grandma says she doesn’t rest well?”
Leo's hand slowed just a little. Ney frowned harder, seemingly trying to recall something.
“She says.. she says- everyone has to look after her ‘cuz she doesn’t look after herself.”
The towel stopped moving.
Unfortunately, Ney mistook it as a sign that movement was finally allowed. The boy immediately turned around on Leo's lap, nearly driving a knee into his stomach.
“So I take care of her!”
Ney exclaimed with a smile, and Leo was stunned by the radiance of it. He only looked at him quietly, his eyes softened.
“You’re a very good kid, Ney.”
“‘m not a kid, I’m grown up.”
The little chest puffed out with obvious pride. Leo reached over and patted the damp curls– his hand rested there.
For some reason, Kun suddenly came to mind.
He thought of how his friend would always take the first sip of mate before passing it over, saying it was too bitter, too hot for Leo. He thought of Lio's expression this morning when he said nothing except that Leo should rest. Rodri insisting on dragging him out of the camp, smiling so strangely that Leo had laughed despite himself. Fideo always standing beside him whenever the room became too noisy, somehow appearing at the right moment without being called. One fragment followed another endlessly, but one thing stood out; they had all been taking care of him.
Leo lowered his eyes.
Ah.
Seems like he'd made them worry.
At some point, the rain had stopped. The sky was still grey, but no longer as suffocating. Sunlight broke through the thinning clouds little by little, falling onto the muddy puddles. They reflected the sky in broken pieces, shimmering whenever the wind passed. Leo found the sight difficult to look away.
He smoothed the boy’s damp curls once more.
For a brief moment, another pair of hands overlapped with his own in memory, gently taking the wet towel away with a helpless sigh.
‘You can’t just play football whenever you want, Leo.’
‘You'll seriously catch a cold one day.’
Leo had only spoken to him through the phone the other day. Yet hearing his voice and remembering him were never quite the same.
He could almost taste yerba mate at the back of his throat. The bitterness should have been unbearably painful, but strangely, Leo smiled. To be valued, cherished, and treated with such gentleness; all of his little tantrums and whims were tolerated and even satisfied by that man. Reliving those moments again, no matter how briefly, made his chest feel impossibly full that Leo had to close his eyes, a phantom warmth of a hand cupping his cheek–
–only to be startled by the abrupt opening of the door.
"Hey, sorry it took me so long but I found some-"
Rodrigo stopped.
Leo whipped his head up, too lost in thought to conceal his expression, arms instinctively tightened around the middle of the child.
Rodrigo was standing outside the open driver's door, his upper body half-leaning in. Behind him were two adults he had probably found nearby. The older man was still holding a wooden plank over one shoulder. The younger one carried a shovel.
Rodrigo looked at Leo. Then at the boy straddling Leo's lap. Then back at Leo.
His mouth worked before his brain did.
"Leo.. did you give birth to a child while I was gone?"
The boy took one look at Rodrigo and made up his mind with astonishing confidence.
“Your friend is stupid,” he deadpanned.
“Ney!” “Hey!”
The shout came from behind Rodrigo, along with his own indignant protest.
The older man nearly dropped the plank as he hurried over. His face, which had been anxious the entire walk here, finally eased the moment he saw the child. Ney excitedly wiggled off Leo's lap.
"Uncle Sergio!"
The man caught him with one arm, checking him from head to toe.
"I told you to wait at the house! Do you know how worried everyone was?"
"But I brought the medicine."
"The medicine can wait!"
Only then did Sergio notice the state of the inside of the car; the mud all over the dashboard, the dark stain spreading across the man in the passenger seat, where his nephew had sat. And his face instantly turned pale.
"Oh god,” he covered his forehead. "I'm so sorry."
He looked at Leo, who had just stepped out of the car, like he had just committed an unforgivable crime.
"I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know he'd climbed into your car. He always runs off like this, I left him for a minute and.." Sergio looked back at Ney before turning to Leo again. "He didn't trouble– t-trouble.. you.."
Words died in his mouth.
For the first time, he properly looked at the man standing in front of him. His eyes slowly widened until they were the size of a saucer. But before he could say anything, Ney interrupted with a pout,
“I was just taking care of him!”
“That you did.”
Sergio couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d experienced a tiny heart attack when Rodrigo De Paul came knocking on his door for help. Never in a million years would he have expected this turn of events. He continued to stare at Messi, all hundred and sixty-nine centimeters of him, with the wet stain on his clothes and mud on his face, chatting softly with his nephew. Oh, his troublemaker of a nephew.
The younger man beside him finally came back to his senses and cleared his throat.
"Uh. We should probably get the car out first.."
The three of them sans Leo, who Rodri insisted he stood with Ney on the side, spent the next several minutes pushing while Rodrigo alternated between driving and digging mud away from the tires. When the wheels finally climbed back onto solid ground, everyone was splattered with mud from the knees down, and a small crowd was gathered.
Rodrigo turned to see three more people had appeared from somewhere inside, followed by a grandmother who insisted Leo couldn't leave without drinking something warm first. Someone brought out a phone. Then another. A football shirt materialized out of nowhere.
In the end, his captain ended up signing various kinds of objects, taking multiple photos where he crouched down so the smallest child wouldn’t have to stand on tiptoe.
He remained crouching until there was only Ney left. The boy automatically stepped closer, seemingly gravitating towards the older man. Rodrigo who stood by the car could only catch a part of their farewell.
“Looks like I owe you one, cariño.”
Rodrigo didn’t know what Leo meant, and apparently, neither did Ney, as the boy frowned. Then, after thinking very hard about it, he nodded solemnly.
“You’ll have to pay me back next time then.”
He heard a gasp.
“Ney! You can’t say that to Messi-”
“But Leo promised!”
The adults all began talking at once. Someone hurriedly apologized, someone else tried to pull the boy back. Ney stubbornly refused to move, standing his ground with all the dignity a child could muster. Leo only laughed. He reached out, gently ruffled the kid’s hair one last time, then finally stood up. He went around to thank the people who had helped them.
By the time he returned to the car, the whole village had gathered outside to see them off.
Rodrigo waited until they had driven a fair distance before glancing into the rearview mirror. Ney was still standing in the middle of the road, waving both arms above his head. Something white and blue bounced up and down with him; his captain’s towel.
Rodrigo looked at Leo– really looked at him. Leo didn’t seem like he had noticed something was missing. He was still watching the side mirror, the corner of his mouth lifted as he returned the little boy's enthusiastic waves with two absent-minded fingers resting against the window.
Only when the crowd disappeared behind a curve did he lean back against the seat, the view outside passing by in a faster blur.
After another few quiet minutes, Leo jokingly said,
"So much for no one bothering me."
Rodrigo let out an exaggerated groan, and Leo laughed. The sound lingered in the car for the entire ride back.
***
It disappeared the moment the car rolled through the gates of the national team camp.
Rodrigo frowned.
"Huh? Why is everyone outside?"
Every single member of the squad seemed to be gathered near the entrance. Angel stood in front with his arms folded. Beside him, Leandro wore the expression of someone preparing to attend a funeral. Several others looked like they were trying very hard not to laugh.
Rodrigo cut the engine, a very bad feeling settled in his stomach at the welcoming committee waiting for them.
"..Well fuck me."
He’d barely finished speaking before the driver's door was pulled open from the outside.
Leo looked over; Otamendi stood there with his arms folded. He didn't look angry, if anything he looked strangely calm. Rodrigo seemed to understand that this was somehow worse as he obediently climbed out of the car.
The door shut behind him. Through the window, Leo watched the two of them talk– or rather, watched Ota talk while Rodri listened. Every few seconds the latter tried to explain something with increasingly elaborate gestures, the former remained unmoved.
Then the passenger door beside him opened.
"Let me see."
Angel leaned inside before Leo even had time to greet him. His eyes slowly travelled from Leo's face to the dried mud on his sleeve, then stopped on the dark patch spread across the front of the grey hoodie. Seeing this, the captain patted his friend’s arm lightly in reassurance and got out of the car.
Angel’s narrowing eyes still followed his movement like a hawk; they noticed another muddy mark on the side of his pants, along with more dark patches on the front.
"That guy, he really..”
Angel clicked his tongue as he sent a glare over Leo’s shoulder disapprovingly. He could only assume it was meant for Rodri.
The whole sequence of gestures was so familiar that for a fleeting second, Leo was reminded of Sergio kneeling in front of Ney earlier, fretting over his nephew.
"I’m sorry," Leo said, drawing his friend’s attention back. "We couldn't get you empanadas."
A brief gust of wind rustled the leaves on the ground around them. Angel simply stared at him before waving a dismissive hand.
"Of course you’d still think about that."
The same hand reached up to brush a bit of dried mud away from Leo's shoulder.
"Next time just tell us if you want something, gordo."
Leo nodded despite having no intention to obey that wish, and he knew Fideo knew. So instead of voicing it, his eyes wandered across the courtyard.
"Why were the guys waiting at the gate anyway?”
Angel raised a brow, his tone suspiciously amused, "Oh, you haven't seen it then?"
He unlocked his phone, quickly tapped it twice, then held it out. A bold font of news article filled the screen:
“MESSI STRANDED ON RURAL ROAD AFTER DE PAUL CAUSED CAR MISHAP”
Below it was a blurry, clearly zoomed in photograph of Rodrigo where half of him had disappeared into the mud. His shorts were soaked to the thighs. One hand clutched a broken plank while the other pointed determinedly at absolutely nothing. Behind him stood a tiny farmhouse. Leo swiped down, and sure enough, there were three more photos where Rodrigo somehow looking muddier in every consecutive one.
Leo couldn't help but laugh, "Ah, so that's where he went."
He handed the phone back.
Across the courtyard someone shouted Rodrigo's name. And Leo looked over.
Rodrigo had apparently given up defending himself. Leandro still had his arms crossed, trying very hard to demonize his blue eyes despite the corners of his mouth refusing to cooperate. Licha was enthusiastically demonstrating how the car could’ve sunk into the mud. Gio doubled over laughing halfway through the reenactment. Even Otamendi had quietly looked away, hiding what was very obviously the beginning of a smile.
Some people were sharing mate. Some dragged a hose across, intending a public shower. The equipment staff walked by carrying boxes as if nothing unusual had happened.
Leo watched it all happen.
"..Thank you."
Angel turned to him.
"..What?"
Leo only looked back. A drop of water slipped from the edge of the roof and onto the stone. Another followed, then another, until the sound blended into the distant voices across the camp. The corners of his brown eyes bent ever so slightly, creating crests. That seemed to be all the explanation he intended to give.
Angel stared at him for another second, then let out a helpless sigh.
"What nonsense."
He reached over, hooked an arm loosely around the smaller man’s neck, pulled him closer as naturally as if he'd done it a thousand times– and placed a kiss on the side of Leo's temple.
"You don't have to say things like that." His voice carried the familiar exasperation reserved only for Leo, "We already know."
His captain giggled as he lightly pushed Angel off of him.
“I have to go see Daniel,” Leo announced instead.
“Right now?” Angel frowned, unlooping his arms. “Just go change first, I’ll let him know.”
"No no, it’s fine,” Leo shook his head. “I've already kept all of you waiting long enough.”
Fideo looked at him strangely, as if sensing he’d meant something different. Before he could ask, Leo had already started walking.
As he passed the main entrance, he heard Otamendi said,
"Profe's waiting for you.”
Rodrigo froze at that.
“Wait- no, please, Ota-”
“You can explain it to him directly.”
“Nooooo– mercy! Have mercy!”
The entire courtyard burst into laughter, just as the afternoon sun began setting. Rodrigo’s pitiful wail followed him through the hallway. Life at the camp went on as it always did.
Leo headed towards the medical centre with even pace.
He had thought, for a very long time, that if he had tried hard enough then some things could still be mended. Yet today, in the middle of one ordinary afternoon, it had suddenly dawned on him that perhaps life hadn’t been trying to return to the past. Perhaps all this time, it had only been nudging him, carrying him forward, while teaching him to bear the weight. People would come and go. Some grazed him with small marks, some left deep dents. One had carved out a piece of him and left him bare. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to resent any of them. And before he noticed, others had already begun walking beside him, taking away a little of that weight.
Leo thought about all of this, the smile he gave Angel never left his face. His stride paused slightly when he arrived at the medical room, then he pushed the door open and took a leap of faith.