𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦

Part I: Solitude

My mind is clouded with thoughts as I stumble into a grimy apartment, my legs are numb from walking and my throat, lips and tongue are parched, dried up. The lights are switched off and it's nighttime and I can barely see where I am going. I wince as I trip over a bench, the hard metal crashing against my shin.

Until I realise: it's a bench. It's a place to sleep.

Maybe not forever, but just for the night until I can beg for enough money on the streets to afford my own room for a while. I sigh contentedly, and slowly slowly slowly sit down on the cold steel seat, and relax as my aching back slumps across the bench and I close my eyes, sinking into an uncomfortable slumber in another night in another country.

My sleep is disturbed by a series of loud noises, consisting of a dog barking, glass smashing and the shrill, high-pitched yelling of a woman. Groaning, I toss to my side, only to be hit in the gut by the backrest of my bench. I wince in pain, opening my eyes and rubbing my stomach, turning over and I can barely manage to stop myself from screaming as I see another boy, clad in pale green pyjamas.

"Excuse me?" I ask, trying to be as polite as possible. "What are you doing?"

He remains silent, looking down at his feet. "Do you talk?" I ask once again, watching the dark shape of his lips move yet they don't make a sound, almost as though he was practicing what to say in his head.

"I was going to go for a walk. My name's Leo," He finally answers quietly, and I almost gasp out loud at the softness in his voice, and he steps one step closer to me, into the sliver of moonlight slicing through the thick, dark, silent air.

And I hate myself for this. I hate myself for saying this, for thinking this, for knowing that he is the most beautiful boy I have ever laid my eyes on.

"Struggling to go to sleep?" I ask, in a weak attempt to be sympathetic; he nods. "Me neither," I add. He nods again. Silence is all there is around us. He doesn't talk much, I notice.

"Do you live here?" Is all he says, just staring down at his smooth white hands, clean and unscarred.

"I guess I don't really live anywhere," I laugh a cold laugh, so bitter that I can taste it as the words escape my mouth. "I'm only staying here so I have a place to sleep without paying rent."

He doesn't laugh.

"Your face is familiar. Have I seen it on the news?" He tilts his head, taking in my facial features and I don't need a mirror to know I'm blushing out of my mind when he brushes his thumb against my cheek.

"Um, no, maybe my face is just common." I cough nervously, yet his touch still lingers on my cheek long after he removed his finger from my face. "Do you live here?" I ask stupidly. Of course he lives here.

"Yes. I don't want to, though. I'm sick of this ratty apartment. I'm sick of the world, of everything." He draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face in the crook just between. "My world is fine. I have a place to live, I have parents and I have food to eat." He pauses, and I wait for him to keep going. "But I don't have myself."

"I know what you mean." I lie. I don't have have a clue what the fuck he's talking about. But I do understand by his tone that he doesn't want this. He wants a life where he can be happy, where he can properly appreciate what he has. "But, Leo look. I don't have a place to live, my parents might not even exist anymore and I have nowhere to buy food. But I'm happy because I can be myself without worrying."

"Whatever your name is, I don't have what you have. You're free to do whatever you like, you have nobody telling you to stop. I have to follow rules, I have to try and stay as far afloat as I can even if there's water pulling me under. I have to keep going no matter what."

"My name is Neymar. Ney is fine too," I breathe out. "I know what you feel like. It's tiring to keep doing what you have to do. Sometimes you need a break. Sometimes you need to do your own thing." I lay a hand on his knee and oh my god I'm filled with little tingles.

"Thank you, Ney." He whispers, and I catch a glimpse of a smile on his face. The little curve of his lips are so hopeful, like a star in a sky clouded with smog, or like a fresh blade of green grass in a dead garden.

"You're welcome." I grin back. I stop breathing as he turns his head to the side and just simply gazes at nothing, into the distance. Eyes warm and brown like burnt wood, hair thick and skin brushed with tiny, imperceptible brown freckles. Lips smooth and without cracks, full and blooming like a rose blossom.

"I need to go now. But I don't want to." He says, confused. It's almost like he says his thoughts out loud, but then he doesn't say much. He is quiet.

"Well, stay. If you want to, I mean." I stammer out nervously, blushing. And then he laughs. He finally laughs, a soft and beautiful sound that is so sweet, a kind of pleasure I had never heard before. Real and raw, pure and true. Leo's laugh.

"I do want to stay. I want to get to know you better, Ney." He decides, repeating the words quietly to himself. I found that interesting, how he always said things to himself.

"Why do you talk to yourself?" I ask curiously. He sighs and nods to himself, saying a couple of words, rolling them around on his lips and tongue and and teeth before finally uttering them out loud.

"Why do I talk to myself? Because I need to practice saying them to myself. Words can hurt other people, you know. I don't want to hurt anyone." He says quietly, casually almost, like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Because everything in life is a question. You just need to find the right answers. The answers will lead you to the place you need to go. The person you need to be." I breathe, looking away from him. I never really thought about it, I guess. I only asked questions because I didn't want to answer them.

"That sounds... real. I guess I never saw it that way." Leo fingers his knees, before they gradually slide onto my lap, and then onto my hand. I smile down to myself, where my hand is. My hand is dark and young and scarred like cinnamon, underneath Leo's paler, smoother fingers.

I can't help but think that they look so good together.

His thumb is soft against my knuckles, subconsciously brushing against the base of my fingers every once in a while. He then moves closer to me so that our shoulders are pretty much touching, his light green pyjamas contrasting against my exposed shoulder of my ratty tank top. I can't help but feel a touch of comfort that I had never felt before: never the love of a mother's embrace, never the protection of a father's hug.

He looks me in my eyes, and his face moves closer to mine, so close that I can catch the fresh and minty toothpaste-y scent of his breath, feeling the coolness of it on the tip of my nose, and I look down and chuckle, watching him lean back on the bench and start to laugh as well.

Tonight.

It was tonight, the night I would finally get pulled out of this sickening sense of solitude.

By the beautiful, quiet boy I love. 

Leo Messi.