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Even if you were to tie him to a chair and point a gun to his head, Sergio Ramos wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between the two cans of tomato sauce.
Same price, same net weight, same ingredients.
This was ridiculous.
Still, he knew better than to return home without buying one. Normally, he would’ve called Luka by now, panned his camera along the rack of canned sauces, pausing to grab the one his partner pointed out. This time, however, he was determined to do it on his own.
Dani had visited last week, bottle of the whiskey they both liked in hand, grinning as he pushed past Sergio and made himself home in their new house.
Their house. The house he shared with Luka.
Sergio couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips.
“Quit dilly-dallying, where’s your glasses at? I’ve waited so long to open this,” Dani asked, setting the bottle down, the glass clinking against the marble countertop.
“Somewhere in the cabinets, I think,” he replied, making his way to his friend.
“Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?”
Truthfully, he didn’t. He hadn’t been paying attention when the real estate agent toured them. How could he? Luka looked so happy, clinging onto the woman’s words as she led them to the second floor. In that moment, Sergio knew this would be the one.
“Man, can you even buy groceries yourself? How have you made it this far without Luka covering your sorry ass?” Dani chided, his whole head inside one of the overhead cabinets, rummaging around for any sign of glass.
Sergio was ready to retort, fire on the tip of his tongue, when light footsteps padded behind him. Just as he was about to turn around, a pair of arms wrapped around his midsection, the comforting heat of another body pressing into his back shortly after. He could feel Luka rubbing his nose in between his shoulders, his light honeysuckle scent wafting in the air between them.
“Hey,” his omega greeted, voice still raw and sleep-heavy.
He turned around, returning the other’s embrace, arms full of silk-soft skin as his hand entangles itself into unruly blond locks. Luka always did have the craziest bed head he’s ever seen. It’s one of the alpha’s most favourite things about his mate. “I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmured, “did we wake you up?”
Luka hummed noncommittally in response. “Nah,” he retorted, “was a’ready awake.” He yawned on cue, as if trying to convince the other.
Sergio couldn’t help but chuckle as he ruffled Luka’s hair. “Sure, sure,” he agreed, “whatever you say.”
“Ugh, what the fuck,” Dani gagged, popping the bubble his two friends always seem to find themselves in whenever the other was around. “Disgusting. This is why I hate mated couples. You guys couldn’t wait until I left?”
“You’re the one who came uninvited,” Luka bit back only to do a double take, burying his face into his hands and groaning in embarrassment as his brain caught up with his mouth.
All Sergio could do was hold back his laughter. He knew better.
Dani clearly didn’t. No, screw that, he most definitely did, he just didn’t give a shit.
He cackled, like a witch from children’s fairytales, loud and obnoxious as he doubled over with his hands clutching his stomach, doing the most. As always. “Oh my days,” he gasped dramatically.
“Oh my days.”
“Dani!” Luka whined, half-furious half-mortified.
“Pregnancy hormones are wicked, man. I can’t believe that just happened,” he teased as he whipped his phone out of his pocket. “I gotta tell the others.”
Luka smooshed his face into his sternum, his cheeks reddening further at each notification sound that rang from his teammate’s phone. Not that Sergio could see, with the position they were in, but he knows his mate’s habits like the back of his hands. Besides, the tips of Luka’s ears felt hot to the touch when his fingers brushed against them, and a quick downward glance was enough to cement his theory.
Somehow, that encounter has led Sergio here, standing in the pasta aisle of the local grocery store at 11 in the morning. He really hopes his disguise holds up well. This was an impulsive outing. His shirt looks like it’s been through the wringer, faded with a few holes at the seams. He’s pretty sure there’s chilli oil stains on his sweats.
Maybe it’s some primitive caveman instinct, or maybe it’s the sheepishness he felt when Luka opened the cabinet to reveal the rows of crystalline glasses, hands on his hips as he raised his eyebrow at him. Whatever it was, it urged Sergio to do more, to step up.
Maybe it’s time to call it quits. With the rate he’s going at, he’d spend the whole day here.
Just as he was about to dial Luka’s contact, he felt a tug on the leg of his pants, followed by the sensation of something warm and…wet? His instinct told him to kick. He was glad he didn’t.
What an end that would’ve been. Spanish football player Sergio Ramos was caught dropkicking a toddler in a local grocery store.
“Thomattiu,” the toddler slurred, saliva dripping down his chin.
“Lamine!” A man’s voice rang in the aisle as he hurried their way, closing the distance between them.
Sergio’s instincts jumped. This man could be anybody. Just because he looked worried didn’t mean he has any relation to the pup clinging to him. For all he knows, the pup could’ve been running away from his captor and latched onto Sergio as a last ditch effort. A million possibilities ran through his head before they all fell short.
That voice.
The man finally arrived. He kneeled down to the toddler’s eye level to scoop him up into his arms.
“Never do that again! I swear, you almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Neymar?”
Sergio willed his hands still as his fingers grasped the plastic tray. On top of it, a steaming cup of white coffee for himself and a warm mug of mocha for Neymar. Neymar.
His friend that he hasn’t seen in 4 years, Neymar. The Neymar that he only saw in dodgy snapshots of gossip tabloids when curiosity got the best of him. Neymar, who looked mortified when their eyes met before snapping out of it and seizing him by the wrist, dragging him to a nearby coffee shop.
It’s nostalgia, it must be, the way he just lets it happen. Memories of late night escapades flooded his mind, back when things were easier. When the world was just football and having fun. Dani’s obnoxious laughter-snort, the smell of Suarez’s aftershave, the ever fading red of the shirt Kroos always wears.
The scraping of the chair grated his ears as he pulled it back to take a seat. He suppressed the urge to wince, more so for the person sitting across from him than himself.
He watched as Neymar took small sips from his drink. His brain registers that it’s a pretty creepy thing to do but he couldn’t help it. It just all feels so surreal, like a dream that you know will leave you the moment you wake up.
The little pup napping peacefully in his stroller, nursing a pacifier as he clutched a blue stuffed octopus to his chest, seemed to be the only one unaffected by the tense atmosphere surrounding their table. The silence that stretched between them was long and heavy and wrong. It’s not supposed to be like this, not with Neymar. Neymar is loud and obnoxious and knows just what to say. Silence was never supposed to be a thing when he was around.
How did it come to this?
His mouth felt dry.
He’s thought about it, every now and then. What he would say if they ever crossed paths again.
Sergio, having been influenced by the soap operas Luka likes to put on in the background while they go about their day, settled on something dramatic and theatrical. Where have you been, he’d cry, somewhere between fury, joy, and relief. How could you do this to us, he’d demand, Benzema holding him back from wrapping his limbs around the other and squeezing, begging, pleading for him to never leave again.
He had chortled at it a few times. In that scenario, hopefully someone would be recording. It’d be a good story to share around the table when they go drinking again.
Still, fantasy and reality are two different things.
Sitting here, across from someone whom he had shared many easy, meaningless conversations with, he’s at a loss for words.
He wants to ask so many questions, wants to hear exactly what Neymar’s been doing all these years and where the hell he’s been, but most importantly why he didn’t tell them. Why the messages Sergio sent remained unread.
One upward glance and he loses all his fire.
Neymar looks scared of him.
He jumps at the clinking of utensils against porcelain. His eyes dart around, flicking to and fro ten times a second. A bead of sweat threatens to roll down his temple despite the fact that the AC could make an ice fisher tremble.
“I can leave, if that’s what you want. I’ll pretend I never saw anything,” he tumbled out in one breath, mouth moving on its own accord before he could really process the words he was saying. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Luka, I swear.”
Because this is wrong.
The answers he’s been looking for are less than a stride away from him but he can’t bring himself to reach out and grasp it. He would much rather cling onto the memories of their bond than risk completely severing any severance of their friendship.
“No!” Neymar’s voice rang through the air, his chair screeching as he stood up abruptly. The combination drew the attention of a few onlookers and caused the cafe to silence for a few beats. Thankfully, Neymar quickly realised his folly and bowed his head as he offered quiet apologies to the room before returning to his seat.
“I mean, no, no, there’s no need. I…” He gulped, throat raw and unsteady as he inhaled. His hands shook slightly as they covered his face. Sergio couldn’t help but let out a low, comforting purr. Neymar was the picture of a scared, nervous pup and while he knew in his right mind that his friend was much too big and much too old to be one, his instincts couldn’t care less.
For all that he cursed his instincts, his purring did seem to have the intended effect. Neymar’s shoulders relaxed, letting the fabric of his jacket blanket them instead of jutting out. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured.
“I’ve missed you. And Luka. And everyone else,”he exhaled. As if weights had been lifted off his shoulder, he removed his hands from his face, wet eyes meeting his. “I’ve missed you guys so much, you have no idea.”
“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, a genuine smile stretching across his lips.
Now would be a good time to steer the conversation into an easy topic, something that his friend wouldn’t be reluctant to talk about, something to thaw down the ice that had formed between them. Quick, Sergio, think.
He cleared his throat as subtly as he could before gesturing to the stroller. “What’s his name?” Shit. The last time they saw each other was four years ago and the first thing he decided to bring up was the baby that most definitely was born after Neymar decided to ghost them? Good job on shooting yourself in the foot, dumbass.
“Lamine,” Neymar breathed the name with pure adoration that he almost had to do a double take. The syllables flowed smoothly off of his tongue as if he had said them a million times before, which is probably impossible considering the little lad couldn’t be kindergarten age yet. Not that Sergio could really tell. He’s never been good at estimating kid’s ages.
A chuckle left his throat. “Really? I always thought Messi was the type of guy to name his kid after Pelé, y’know?” He paused and took a sip of his coffee. “Not because he wants his kid to be the next Pelé, but because he loves Pelé that much.” Damn, how many times did he say Pelé? That’s got to be a world record or something.
Neymar’s back tensed, his face screaming disbelief. He was never the best at controlling his expressions. At least that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. “How did you—”
He almost spit his drink in Neymar’s face. “No way, he was actually going to name your kid Pelé?” He was only cracking a joke to try and lighten up the mood.
Surely Leo didn’t actually…?
He totally would, though.
“What? No,” he balked. “Of course not,” Neymar shook his head as if he could not comprehend the other’s insinuation.
A lightbulb lit up over his head.
There’s no way.
“Then,” he paused, leaning across the table for flair. He shielded his mouth from the general public with his hand, as if they were school girls gossiping about their crush, though it did nothing to hide his signature shit-eating grin from the man across from him. “You really thought nobody caught on?”
In a flash, Neymar’s hand flew and slapped over Sergio’s mouth. Sergio didn’t think twice before poking his tongue out and licking a fat, sloppy stripe on the other’s palm. He couldn’t help but laugh heartily when Neymar recoiled, a look of pure, unadulterated disgust on his face as he hurriedly wiped his hand over his jeans.
“C’mon, Ney, everyone and their mom knew you guys had a thing going on. Besides,” he motioned to the pup who had buried his face into the cotton-filled body of his octopus, “the little lad reeks of you two.”
Not that the greater public would be able to tell anyway. Pups mostly wafted off the same creamy, milky scent, usually mixed in with their parents’ scents not only due to biology but also accredited to the amount of time they spend together. Neymar’s own honey and cardamom stuck out the most, but beneath that was Leo’s unmistakable sandalwood and sage. It makes him wonder about what his own pup would smell like. Would his cedar and petrichor overpower Luka’s honeysuckle and tea or would their scents mix wonderfully with milk?
“So it’s true?”
Damn, did he say that all out loud? He’s way too old to be slipping up like this.
Neymar grasped both of his hands in his own, elbows bent on the table. If they didn’t look like school girls before, they sure do now. Sergio nodded in response, smiling softly. Luka had fallen in love with the idea of “soft launching” their pregnancy, posting vague captions onto his instagram story every once in a while.
“Oh, I knew it!” He squeaked in excitement, shaking their intertwined hands side to side.
“Congrats! How is he? Is he doing okay? Is the baby doing okay? Do you know the gender yet?” Neymar rapidly fired one question after another, barely giving him time to process.
His smile widens. Now this, this was familiar. This was the Neymar he knew, bright and cheerful and unafraid to wear his heart on his sleeve.
“Calm down, Ney,” he reached his hand over to ruffle the other’s brown tresses. Well, what would’ve been his brown tresses, given the cap and hood that covered his head. Neymar didn’t seem to mind though, leaning into the touch as he hummed just like he used to all those years ago.
“Luka’s fine. Excited, that’s for sure,” he assured. “He’s been trying to convince me that we should make the nursery safari themed.”
The thought is hilarious to Neymar, as made evident by the laughter that followed. “Who brainwashed him this time?”
“An influencer he saw on Instagram.” His laughter transformed into wheezing.
Sergio felt like the worst person ever for what he was about to say.
He knew they needed to talk about it, but that’s easier said — well, thought — than done. The bullet tasted metallic and sat heavy on his tongue. All he wanted was to spit it out. Nevertheless, he pushed his instincts aside and bit down.
“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Ney,” he started, already dreading the road they were about to head down, “but you know that’s not why we’re here.”
The silence that followed gave life to an awful, suffocating squeeze on his heart.
They needed to do this.
Sergio was tired of waiting and searching for someone who left him in the dark.
He knew Neymar was tired of hiding too.
“Why’d you disappear, Ney?” He tried to keep his voice light. It wouldn’t do good to scare him off when he’s established rapport. Even though Sergio was so, so damn tired of waiting, he tried.
“…It hurts, seeing you all playing,” Neymar whispered under his breath, voice wet and cracking. Sergio looked up and was met with his red rimmed eyes. Judging by Neymar’s barely noticeable flinch, he’s sure he’s not looking too good himself. “I wanted to play too, I wanted to play so damn bad. I wanted to pass to Luis more, hug Xavi after a goal, even wished that you’d tackle me one more time.”
“It’s ridiculous, I know, ghosting all of my friends because I couldn’t play football anymore,” Neymar chuckled humourlessly, his voice tight and strained as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, what was I thinking?”
“When I realised how childish I was being, it was already too late. Been months since I last spoke to anybody from the team. I couldn’t bring myself to face you all after I ran away like a coward,” he scowled, a hard line tugging his lips down as he criticised his past actions. They didn’t stay that way for long, as his eyes softened and his mouth relaxed, a look of longing casting over his visage.
“Then he came,” Neymar turned to face the stroller beside him. He reached inside to caress the tiny hand of his pup, chubby fingers and all, rubbing small circles into the soft skin. In return, the pup squeezed back, hand barely able to wrap around two of his mother’s fingers.
“I love him so much, Sergio,” he confessed. “He’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Sergio felt like an observer.
“Lots of people return to football even after having children,” he started. Wait, no, damn. Doesn’t that sound like he’s patronising him? Abort, abort! Rephrase!
“What I’m trying to say is, you’re still young. Life is too short to waste wallowing in fear of what other people might think of you. Having a kid doesn’t make you less of a player.” He hoped the sincerity in his face can offset his awful phrasing. Seriously, it’s like he’s the one with Spanish as a second language.
Neymar sighed dryly. “It’s not that, Sergio.”
“Is… is there something preventing you from playing?”
His blood ran cold.
“…Someone?”
Is someone blackmailing Neymar into hiding? The thought sounds absurd at first, until he took a second to realise the implications.
Right, the stakes were different now. Lamine’s whole existence has been hidden from the public. Not only that, Leo’s bachelorhood was still seen as the status quo. If someone managed to find out that Neymar had not only mated with Lionel Messi of all people but that they also have a pup together…
Sergio feels like throwing up.
Neymar glanced side to side, observing their surroundings (which did nothing to help alleviate the tightness in his chest). After ensuring the coast was clear, he beckoned Sergio forward, leaning in to whisper into his ear.
“It’s…” His breath fanned hot over Sergio’s ear. He could barely hear it over the pumping of his own blood. He had to restrain himself from bouncing his leg anxiously.
“It’s…my knee.”
Huh?
“Oh my days,” Neymar gasped, having pulled away while Sergio was still stuck in his stupor. “You’re as easy as ever,” he cackled breathlessly, wiping away imaginary tears with his finger.
“I’m fine, man. Nobody’s blackmailing me or anything. It’s just this stupid knee,” he exasperated, patting the joint in reference.
“Every doctor I went to told me to not risk it. One bad day is all it takes for my leg to give out. Best case scenario, I’ll walk with a cane and a limp for the rest of my life.”
“The first year was the hardest,” he admitted, fingers twiddling with the handle of his mug. “I didn’t want to accept it. My legs were still intact. I could walk, run, and jump. I fought like hell with my doctors and…” he paused, “And with Leo, too.”
That took him by surprise. Logically, he knew it was normal. Expected. Healthy, even. Your significant other isn’t a copy of yourself. It’s natural to have disagreements with one another. He loves Luka with his whole heart and more, but they’re not an exception. They too have their tussles every once in a while. Somehow, though, he could never picture Neymar and Leo like that.
Neymar and Leo. Leo and Neymar. Always together. Always smiling, laughing. To him, they were more like couples in valentine chocolate ads more than anything. It exists. Cute, sure, but like, not the main point, y’know? The chocolates have the spotlight. The couples only exist to tell a narrative. You look at them once and let them fade into the background. You accept it, no questions asked. The sky is blue, grass is green, Neymar and Leo are together.
“I knew he was just looking out for me, that he wanted me to be safe but I just…” he trailed off, melancholic. “Then he asked me, if our places were switched, if it were him, would I let him play?”
Would you? He wanted to ask, more reflex than anything. Sergio was never the best at reading subtext, always needing other people’s analysis to write his book report. This time, though, he didn’t need to.
The person in front of him now was proof enough.
This Neymar doesn’t play anymore, no new jersey with his name plastered across the back will ever be sold at any match. He will never be a part of any Ballon d’Or race. He’ll never pass to Suarez on the pitch again. He’ll never hug Xavi after a goal again. Sergio Ramos will never tackle Neymar Jr. again.
But none of that matters, because this Neymar is here. This Neymar can walk, run, and jump. This Neymar can smile and laugh. This Neymar got married and has a kid.
Most importantly, despite everything that happened to him, this Neymar is happy.
“Lamine is turning 2 later this week,” Neymar said as he twiddled with his hands on his lap. With an edge of uncertainty he continued, eyes shifty. “Would you…” he gulped.
“Would you like to come? To his birthday party,” Neymar quickly clarified.“It’s nothing big, just me, Leo, and a couple of our friends.”
“Of course, Ney,” a smile found its way to his lips. “Send me the location, okay?”
——-extra——-
Retired Brazilian Football Superstar Neymar Jr’s First Public Appearance In Half a Decade
Orion Times
2 December — Neymar Da Silva Santos Junior needs no introduction. In the span of a few short years, he had managed to cement himself as one of the most beloved players to have ever stepped on the pitch. From his flashy dribbling to his outgoing personality, it’s hard to not fall for the Brazilian-born forward. All of this made his untimely disappearance after he sustained an injury in the 2014 World Cup all the more difficult for fans all across the globe.
Despite their hopes and prayers, fans were heartbroken when FC Barcelona released an official statement stating that Neymar Jr. would be leaving the club before the upcoming season.
Since then, sightings of the ex-player has been few and far in between, leaving many worried about his wellbeing.
The world need not hold their breath anymore after Neymar was seen attending tonight’s Balon d’Or banquet held at the Théâtre du Châtelet, Paris, France.
His sudden reappearance tonight begs the age old question. Will we be seeing the football star shine on the pitch once again? One thing’s for sure, we will all await the answer on the edge of our seats.
BarcelonaFX @barcelonafx
[SUPER ROUGH TRANSLATION MY SPANISH IS BAD]
Interviewer : “Will we be seeing you throughout the night?” (Referring to Neymar’s party-crazy days)
Neymar : “I’d love to, but my pup gets cranky when I don’t tuck him in. Honestly, all I’m thinking about is my bed right now. They’ve turned me into a homebody, truly.”
isa—!! @brclnfngrl
NEYMAR?????
Soonny @tripletoppings
mama left us for 5 years and came back with a mate and a pup oh ney the diva you are
maddie || seeing laufey<33 @madarista
Always knew they weren’t just friends the way they looked at each other was unreal
chuu @hhannies
TGE PUP HAS NEYS CURLS AND LEOS NOSE