selfdevouringwomb
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Neymar considered himself to be anything but fragile. Yeah, he might have cried on several occasions during all those angsty scenes that always lead up to the predictable happy ending that every Romantic Comedy has, but that doesn't mean he wears his heart on his sleeve. Avoiding serious relationships was working just fine. Until it didn't. Now he's drunk, heartbroken and lost in the streets of New York, a week away from the wedding that the guy he aches for is celebrating with one of the most beautiful women Neymar has ever seen. Shit, this might be the worst month of his entire life. Dampened in rain, lost luggage, dead phone; he just wants to reach his friend's flat. Fuck this, fuck Thiago and his stupid apartment, fuck Piqué and fuck this damned city. It's gonna be a long night.
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On that ill-fated day Neymar met his current partner, it all seemed so amusing to him. He felt like he was hallucinating, so many night shifts, so few hours of slumber. He couldn't help but laugh a little when that man, eyes beaming like a golden wristlet, told him he was a star. That Neymar would be a star. The truth was, the Brazilian was tired of carrying trays of disgustingly greasy food in a gloomy diner late at night. He was tired of rude customers and meager tips. Of the drunks and the fourth-rate sycophants. So, he decided to believe him. It was the only thing he had left.
He seemed different, different from the others. And for better or worse, boy, how right he was.