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The game was a disaster. Honestly and truly. In the first half, any good gameplay had been practically non-existent. In the first few minutes, Kylian had a perfect opportunity to score, but he unselfishly decided to pass the ball to Neymar. Unfortunately for him, the pass was completely off-target, and the chance to score just moments ago had vanished. Leo had missed a shot on goal. Things weren’t looking good.
The second half started, and things started to look up when Marco got subbed in. Immediately PSG was off to a good start, and within minutes Neymar was able to score the first (and only) goal because of Leo’s shot being perfectly deflected for him to shoot from the side and score.
They were on a high... but then Marco misjudged the timing of one of his tackles against an opposing player — resulting in an immediate red card.
With 10 players on the pitch now instead of 11, PSG managed to stay in lead — somehow. Leo was given a golden opportunity to score, but he completely mistimed his striking of the ball after it bumped off his chest, going just the slightest bit wide at the bottom of the left goalpost.
It was in the 80th minutes when it seemed to Galtier like they would win, so he decided to sub off Neymar. An interesting decision, being that Neymar was the clear man of the match. Sure he was a bit fatigued, but, in hindsight, he would’ve been a much more valuable player to keep on in comparison to Kylian or Leo.
The clock hit 90, and 5 minutes of overtime was awarded. The game wasn’t pretty, but considering they were down a key player, the win would’ve gladly been taken… well, except for the fact that in the 95th minute, Reims equalized the score. It was unfathomable. PSG, who had gone from being the dominant and undefeated force in the league before the World Cup, was now only a measly 3 points ahead of Lens.
The Champions League was coming up, and it was certainly not looking good, and Leo knew that. And Leo knew the loss today was his fault, at least he felt like it was. Of course, the midfield hadn’t done much to help him, but when he was given a perfect chance to score and he missed… he knew there was no one else to fault except for himself.
Leo quickly rushed into the tunnel. He was overwhelmed. He felt like a failure, which was quite ironic being that only a month ago was he crowned as a World Champion.
He beelined for the bathroom, taking a good look at himself in the mirror. He met his own gaze first, and he frowned when he noticed just how tired his eyes had looked. The creases around them also seemed much more prominent than before, and he brought his fingertips up to divets that marked his pale skin. Sure he was 35, and 35 was arguably quite young, except he felt old. And he had never really felt all that old before, at least not until he was staring at his reflection in front of him.
He looked at his hair next. It was short, shaven on the sides — it was more convenient that way. Convenient… He hadn’t realized when he stopped caring about his appearance to settle for convenience, and he frowned deeper as he averted his gaze to his gingered beard. He turned his head to the right, then left, noticing the patchiness of it near his jaw. He looked to his chin next, his beard not extending too far beyond it. The length was somewhat awkward. Not short, not long, but someplace in the middle. Leo wondered when and why he let himself become so unkempt.
It wasn’t long before his lips started to quiver and tears stained his newly flushed cheeks. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the bathroom, but he also knew he couldn’t stand to look at himself for one more second.
Leo wiped his tears and forcefully closed his eyes, trying to shut out the last image of his disheveled self in the mirror. He took in a deep breath as he walked out towards the locker room to collect his stuff.
As he approached the entrance of it, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t alone.
“Leo! There you are! I was looking around for you.”
Neymar. Probably the only person Leo could stand to see despite his fragile state.
Leo raised his brow. “You were?”
“Of course I was, bobo. Who else would I want to talk to after that horrible game we just played? Can you believe we conceded at the last minute?” he scoffed whilst rolling his eyes. “Just our luck, right?”
Leo shook his head in agreement as he made his way over to his cubicle, his back turned to the younger man who was now behind him. “Yeah, I know. But you didn’t play horribly though. I mean your performance today was absolutely amazing.”
Neymar couldn’t help but feel bashful toward the Argentine’s words, reaching his hand up to the base of his neck, soothingly rubbing it from side to side. “You think so?”
“Ever so humble, Ney. Of course I think so. There’s a reason you were man of the match today,” he said, removing his shin guards and placing them towards the back of his wooden alcove.
Neymar loved receiving compliments, especially when they came from Leo, so he couldn’t help but smile upon hearing his words. “Thanks. That really means a lot,” he stopped for a moment, inhaling before speaking once more. “I… I feel like I’ve been in a rut recently, and… I don’t know. I’m glad I’m starting to kinda feel like I’m getting out of it. Y’know?”
Leo had now turned around, sighing deeply as he sat in the confined space of his cubby. “Yeah. I get it.” But he didn’t actually get it, because Leo was going through a rut himself — one in which he felt hopeless that he was ever going to get out of.
“Hey… you okay? Did I say something wrong?” Neymar’s eyebrows furrowed. He took a few paces towards Leo, taking a seat in the cubicle next to him, his bronzed hand contrasting atop the white of the other man’s knee.
Leo felt himself flush as the warmth from the Brazilian’s touch spread throughout his leg. Leo always loved how caring Neymar was, especially towards him. But then he began to feel shame. He felt contrite for causing Neymar to think that he had somehow made him upset, and was even more penitent with himself for being the reason that Neymar’s face was now riddled with unfounded guilt. “No, of course not. I’m fine. Honest.”
“C’mon. I know you better than that.” Neymar averred, desperately trying to get the older man to look back at him as his thumb caressed his light flesh.
“It’s nothing, Ney… I just played like shit today is all,” he waved his hand in the air. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even be talking about this right now.” Leo went to stand up, only to ever-so-gently be held down by the man beside him, his touch now moving from his knee to the top of the Argentine’s hand.
“Leo, I always want you to come and talk to me if you need something,” Neymar’s eyes had gone soft, the pads of his fingers tracing circles on the inner of Leo’s palm.
Leo finally looked up into the younger man’s eyes. They were beautiful. Hazel. Some days they looked greener, others more brown. And that’s what Leo loved about them. Regardless of their ever-changing color, they were captivating. Mesmerizing. Leo quickly averted his gaze to his right eye. It was slightly pink. Irritated. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it earlier. Leo reached his fingertips out, placing them gently beside Neymar’s temples.
“When did this happen? You okay?”
Neymar grabbed Leo’s hand, holding it against his own beside his face. “I’m fine, but you’re deflecting.”
Leo pouted ever so slightly as the Brazilian brought both of their hands down from his face, but eased upon realizing their fingers had suddenly become entwined. “Ney, I don’t want to make this about me. You were incredible today. We should be talking about that instead.”
“But your feelings matter to me. Way more than any goal I scored.”
Leo simpered to himself. “You care about me too much.”
Neymar shook his head. “There’s no such thing. Talk to me.”
Leo stared into his hazel eyes and was immediately compelled. How could he not say no to Neymar? Especially when he was looking at him so endearingly. “It’s just… the World Cup went so well. Winning was all I ever dreamed of as a child, and I swear I had never felt so high in my life. And then I came back here… and something was different. I was different. I don’t know,” he exhaled. “I want us to win the Champions League. I really do. But… I’m lacking drive and… and chemistry with the team. I mean I really only like Gianluigi, Sergio, and Marco. And of course you,” their gaze met each other’s briefly, only for Leo to quickly look back down at the ground. “Maybe I’m washed…”
“Lionel Messi. You are the farthest thing from washed.”
“Ney, I’ve been terrible recently. My passes are inaccurate. I missed two open shots on goal…” he took in a deep breath. “I feel like I’m losing myself.” Leo shuffled his feet, the tears creeping their way back up again.
“Hey… look at me.” Neymar brought his free hand to the Argentine’s chin, ever so lightly raising it so that they were only looking at each other. “You are the greatest footballer in the world. One bad performance does not define you,” he paused for a moment, silence lingering for a few seconds until he abruptly began to laugh. “Honestly there’s no reason to blame yourself. Not when our midfield and defense fucking sucks.”
Leo chuckled, a smile now plastered across his face as he placed his head on the Brazilian’s shoulder. “It really does.”
Neymar squeezed his hand. “It’s not a you problem, Leo. It’s them. It’s hard to play when they don’t know you like I do,” Neymar slightly shifted, his head now gently resting on top of the other brunette’s. “If it’s any consolation, there’s no way I would’ve been able to score today without you.”
Leo scoffed. “Yeah. Me and my horrible shot that got deflected—”
“I got the ball. That’s all that matters,” Neymar responded curtly as he gently ran his fingers through the Argentine's hair, to which he received a hum in response. Neymar began to speak once again, this time in a hushed whisper. "You have no idea how much more at ease just your presence makes me on the field. I feel like I can do anything.” Neymar gently lifted his head off of Leo, coyly turning to the side as their eyes locked once more.
“Thank you. I needed this. You being here, I mean.” Leo uttered, his hand finding its way to caress Neymar’s flushed cheek.
“Of course, Leo. I’ll always be here for you.” They looked at each other in quietude, eyes boring into each other until they were suddenly jolted by a booming voice infiltrating from just outside the room.
“Neymar! What the hell is taking you so long? I’d like to get home before tomorrow seu burro!”
Neymar looked at Leo apologetically. “Shit, sorry. I completely forgot I was Marquinhos’ ride home tonight.”
Leo watched as Neymar jumped up to collect his things from his cubicle. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you on Tuesday?”
“Bright and early.” Neymar winked, and he swiftly turned to shuffle out the door.
The locker room was now desolate. Leo finally finished collecting his things and made one last trip to the bathroom before he left.
He looked at himself in the mirror again, and this time, he liked the reflection that was staring back at him. His eyes and lips were so slightly upturned, and the faintest dash of pink was dashed across his cheeks — a different kind of flush from before. Leo closed his eyes and walked out the door feeling content. This was the version of himself he wanted to remember.