Neymar Request - Mistakes
Dang this is the longest one by far. But I hope you enjoy cause I sure did!
You didn’t know how long you’d been waiting for a reply from him. Almost three hours, or four and on some days you would understand but today it was particularly unnerving and sad. It’d been like this for weeks. Too busy for you, too busy for anything else except football and you understood. You tried your very best to, at least. It was good that when he came home he was still the same Neymar, he still loved you, he gave you hugs and that look in his eyes was still there but he barely noticed that you were hurting from the lack of attention
'Alright… It's okay… It's just training… Get your sh*t together Y/N, you have your own work to do. Be understanding, please. For your own sake and his sake.' You thought. Sitting on your office desk and staring at the stack of papers you had to sort through. This whole thing had affected your working pace as well, you found yourself thinking of him more rather than doing work but you know on the other side of your mind that while you’re thinking of him, he probably was hardly thinking of you.
"Hey baby, text me when you’re free okay?"
You wondered if he would remember to pick you up today. He promised he would pick you up from work, but that promise was made a week ago. With a very heavy heart, you sighed and started your work, feeling a bit soulless.
____________________________________________
"Hurry up we’re going to miss the game." Bartra urged Neymar to rush his packing, he shoved his phone into his sports bag without a glance at it and followed Bartra to the carpark.
Tonight, La Liga was on. Sevilla vs Real Madrid. A match to watch if you wanted to know your opponents more. Tonight it was only a couple of people from the team watching, including Neymar and Bartra, at Bartra’s house and some others. Half of them team had something else to do.
By the time he had settled on Bartra’s couch he whipped his phone out, thinking of you and missing you, wanting to come home to your warmth. He hadn’t been a good boyfriend for the past few weeks, at least he thought so but you seemed to be alright with it. Thank goodness for you, he though, a very understanding partner that he needed at this stage of his career.
"Baby, I’m at Marc’s house. Watching La Liga. I’ll be home in a while, I love you <3"
______________________________________________
The small beep from your phone actually resulted in a heart leap. You knew it was him and it was like a miracle getting a text from him nowadays. You smiled at the little heart at the end but your own heart sank at the message. He’d forgotten.
You but your lip and wondered if you should tell him, or even be mad. It was a promise but… Sigh, you didn’t even know what to think anymore. You’d catch the bus.
"I love you too :) I’m going home now, you’re supposed to drive me back tonight remember? ;) Hahaha, that’s alright. I’ll take the bus. Enjoy."
You wondered if your message had a hint of bitterness in it, but on second look, it seemed just like a normal message and you replayed your mantra in your head. 'Alright… It's okay… It's just training… Get your sh*t together Y/N, you have your own work to do. Be understanding, please. For your own sake and his sake.'
"You ok there Y/N?"
Your boss, a female in her mid-40s peeked around your cubicle and raised an eyebrow at you. She had probably overheard you sighing while she was passing by to get herself a coffee from the pantry.
"Umm.. yeah, yeah. Just, overwhelmed. I mean not by work, you know, it’s totally good. Just…"
You sat quiet for a few seconds, not really knowing what to say and actually feeling some tears trying to escape your eyes. He hadn’t asked, no one had actually asked in a long time if you were okay and hearing your boss ask it pushed you to that realization. You blinked the tears back.
"Just a bit tired."
Your boss was a wonderful woman, and whether she noticed you struggling with your emotions or not she sent you home early. “Have a rest, we all need one sometimes.”
Half an hour later and there was still no reply from Neymar. He was probably too into the game. You stood at the bus stop, fiddling with your phone every five minutes and hoping that somehow, he would check and come to your rescue just like he always did during the old times. There wasn’t anything at all and so you resorted to flipping through your photos of you and him, reliving the nice memories and telling yourself that everything would work out fine in the end.
There was a honking sound, quite loud, too loud for your liking, making you look up from the phone. Your bus was approaching.
____________________________________________
There was a commercial break through the game and this was the only time he quickly snatched his phone from his bag, before he could check the messages, the news came up in the middle of all the advertisements and his team mates was imitating the soundtrack of the newsflash blaring through the TV. He laughed a little at the silliness and joined in the little chorus.
"I love you too :) I’m going home now, you’re supposed to drive me back tonight remember? ;) Hahaha, that’s alright. I’ll take the bus. Enjoy."
His mouth dropped reading your text message and there was a very, very deep feeling of guilt stabbing at his chest. “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath and prepared to write a lengthy reply that included saying sorry in five different ways and promising to make it up to you. What worried him a little was that this was the only text message he got from you, he was expecting you to send him one more message, saying that you were home cause you would usually be home at this time of night, but he didn’t think much of it in the end.
"—A bus had haphazardly driven through its stop, crashing through its waiting area and critically injuring several commuters on their way home."
His head slowly turned towards the TV, his eyes glued to the reporter on the screen.
"What-What bus number is that?"
Neymar asked cautiously to no one in particular. Xavier looked at him weirdly and tried to look for the answer on screen.
"Uhhh there. It says right there at the back of the bus H10. Man that part of the waiting area is completely destroyed."
Neymar couldn’t hear anything for a split second, it was as if there was just buzzing in his ears and the loud sound of his heart thumping. He started to get anxious. No, God couldn’t do this to him. It couldn’t be.
"—A lady in her early 20s had been rushed to the hospital. She has yet to be identified in the abruptness of the situation. The bus driver has been taken to the police for further questioning but it is clear that he had been driving under the influence of alcohol."
"That’s farking stupid." Martin piped up crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief.
Out of instinct Neymar grabbed his bag, in his head he had already been repeating a prayer for the 20th time. “Wh-What street is this?” He was shaking, "—A lady in her early 20s had been rushed to the hospital" The line kept repeating in his head, interfering with his prayer. He wasn’t even praying now, he was just begging God that it wasn’t your bus stop.
"You look f*cked Neymar, the hell is wrong-" Martin had been cut off by a sense of urgency in Neymar’s voice.
"What. Street. Is. This?" He fumbled with his phone, he felt like he was going to die. His phone dropped to the floor in his panic and he bent down to pick it up, dialing your number.
'Your call cannot be connected at this time, please try-'
"It’s Valencia Street…" Xavier watched the boy with a bit of worry, he’d never seen Neymar so flushed and worried all at the same time. The boy had turned towards the TV, as if talking to reporter, "Don’t fucking give me that… Valencia what? There’s about a thousand Valencia Streets."
Then it hit Xavier. Neymar’s girlfriend took the bus regularly, the bus H10 near Valencia Street. ”Neymar, don’t get too worried it can’t be the exact same-“
"—This has been Adria Carme, reporting on site at Valencia-Villarroel Stree—"
He hadn’t stayed around for the last bit. That was the exact same street where you took the bus from. He left the room with an earsplitting "SH*T!", slamming the door with an equally earsplitting intensity and ran out. He ran as if he was playing in the World Cup. His hands sifted through every pocket, looking for his keys. The wind was hard against him and he was by now, feeling like he was having a heart attack.
"Sh*t. Neymar you f*ckhead." He pushed his things through the front door, things spilling over on the passenger’s seat as he had forgotten to zip his bag closed. The speed at which he drove out of the carpark rivaled that of Fast and Furious.
He couldn’t breathe properly. The thought of you hurt, prayers, how stupid he was, more prayers, anger, regret, guilt and hope all pumped in his veins. His car halted, wheels screeching at a sudden red light and he hit the steering wheel in frustration. “F*ck.” His fingers stumbled over his mobile phone, setting it on car speaker, dialing your number,
'Your call cannot be conn-'
He swore some more and put his forehead against the steering wheel. He couldn’t take it if he lost you, not like this, not because of a f*cking silly mistake he did. Not ever. Not in this lifetime. “Don’t take her away from me…” He whispered. He could feel himself succumbing to fear, his heart withering away at the ends at the thought of a world without you. He realized now how much he had taken you and your presence for granted. He felt like crap, he felt lower than crap, he felt like dirt under someone’s feet. This wasn’t the way to treat you and this was probably God sending him a message. “I’m sorry…”
He looked up, the traffic light had turned to yellow and he sped through the road. When he arrived at the scene he couldn’t bare to look at the crash site a second time. It was bad enough at first glance, even worse than what they showed on TV. There was a police line and he’ll be damned if no one recognized who he was.
"Officer…" He pleaded. His energy had been depleted from all the emotions running through him. He just wanted to see you again but he couldn’t reach you anywhere. He’d sent you a desperate text message at another red light before he arrived at the scene: "Baby… Y/N… Please, please message me when you get back home. Where are you? Please answer my calls. I’m sorry for not driving you back home. Please call me if you’re safe."
The officer turned and his face was not short of surprise, Neymar Jr, eyes slightly puffy standing behind the police line. “Please… Please tell me the name of the girl in the ambulance. I need to know.”
"Boy, the ambulance left, they hadn’t identified her, you’ll know at the hospital." Before the officer could even ask for an autograph Neymar had countered him,
"What hospital? Which one?" He was close to crying again. Not the hospital, not her, not my Y/N, not because of my mistakes and stupidity. At that moment a message from heaven was sent to him, his phone rang and his heart leapt, almost through his throat when he saw that it was you. He turned from the officer and got back on the car, disregarding everything else except your voice.
"Baby? Baby where are you?"
You stood in the house you shared with him, slipping into your nightie and you wondered what all his fuss was for.
"Neymar? What’s with your message? Are you ok? I’m at home."
Fireworks erupted in his stomach, he revved the engine of his car and drove home in record time of ten minutes. He managed to choke out a small “Good, I’m coming home.” amid his sobs and you wondered what was wrong but he wouldn’t answer and said he wanted to see you really badly.
When you opened the front door for him, his sports bag fell to the floor and he embraced you in a hug that you hadn’t gotten from him in years. He was in tears. Crying like a little boy and it didn’t seem like he had any plans of letting you go. You hugged back, closing the door behind him and rubbing his back.
"Neymar, what-what happened?"
He shook his head, silent now and buried his head in the nape of your neck, breathing in your scent. You were here. You were alright. You were safe. He didn’t want to relive that moment again. “I just thought… The accident…”
It didn’t click in your head what he was talking about but you knew that he had been beyond terrified. You pulled away from him and told him to sit down on the couch while you got water for him but he didn’t let go. “Don’t…” He sat down in the end but didn’t let you go, holding on to your hand as if you were going to get lost in space. He explained to you, slowly, what had happened, because you hadn’t even been watching the news.
"Oh dear…" You touched his face and kissed his forehead and he looked down. "Neymar I think that was the 6:00 bus, I wasn’t in that one and I hadn’t noticed that my phone died when I came home. I’m sorry." You smiled a little and tapped on his chin, making him look at you momentarily. "Which bus did you take?" He asked in a small voice.
You hesitated for a moment, “…The 5:45 one.” Fifteen minutes. A difference of fifteen minutes and you could have been the one injured in that tragedy. If your boss hadn’t let you off early…
He seemed to get even more upset and agitated at this. “I’m stupid. I’m f*cking stupid for not being there when I was supposed to.” He pulled away from your gaze and buried his head in his hands. “Sh*it I’m so angry at myself.”
Seeing him like this broke your heart and scooted closer to him and enveloped him in a hug. “It’s okay… I’m here.”
He lifted you, quite easily and placed you on his lap before crushing you in another hug. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” He kissed your forehead, “I’m sorry… I won’t be stupid anymore… I love you…” he continued on, “I’m sorry for not having enough time and I’m sorry for being ignorant.” You could actually feel how much he hated himself at that moment and you smiled up at him, rubbing his cheek.
"It’s okay, don’t beat yourself up for it. Don’t… It hurts me to see you like this."
"I thought I lost you…"
"You didn’t, I’m fine… Hey look at me, don’t okay? I love you. I forgive you."
"…Doesn’t mean I forgive myself."
You sighed and knew all too well how much he was going to think about this now. He would probably never completely forgive himself or erase everything that had happened today.
"…Well… You can make it up to me, how’s that?"
A little sparkle glinted in his eyes, that mischievous look you knew all too well.
"How?"
"That’s up to you Ney."
There was a short silence and he looked thoughtful for a moment, then lifted you up in his arms and stood, “Do you want a massage?”
"…A full body one maybe?"
He headed towards your bedroom, a slight smirk forming at his lips at your statement. ”…No clothes involved right?”
"…There’s the cheeky man I know :D"