ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 Unspoken Lessons (João Félix.)

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In the quiet of the night, João found himself lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. His phone was beside him, silent, no notifications lighting up the screen. But he didn't need messages from you tonight. Not anymore.

Since the beginning, João had known there was something different about you. You didn’t just listen; you understood. It was like you were silently studying him, taking in all the little details he sometimes wished he could hide.

He’d catch you noticing the way his fingers tapped nervously on his thigh during tense matches or the way his gaze drifted to the floor when he was too tired to keep up appearances. And even though you never pointed it out, he felt that you saw it all.

He wanted to say something, to tell you how much this meant to him, but it was as if the words got caught somewhere between his chest and his throat. He wasn’t used to being loved this way, and at first, he hadn’t known how to accept it.

People usually loved him for his skills, his image—the polished side of him that was splashed across magazines and television.

But you? You loved him in moments when he didn’t even love himself.

João closed his eyes, remembering the night he felt this realization truly sink in. You were both sitting on his balcony, the city lights blinking far below like stars in reverse, and he was quiet—too quiet, maybe.

He couldn’t shake the weight of his thoughts, worries about his performance, the expectations, the constant pressure. He hadn’t said a word, but as he sat there in silence, you didn’t push. You just sat beside him, your shoulder a comforting warmth against his.

I don’t know how you do it,” he finally whispered, almost to himself.

How I do what?

"Understand me without needing me to explain." He turned to you, trying to convey with his eyes what he couldn’t put into words.

You smiled softly, and then it was your turn to look away.

"You don't have to teach me to love you, João. I’ll study every part of you and learn on my own. Even if you’re silent, I’ll know."

In that moment, he knew he could be flawed, imperfect, and still be understood. It was a new kind of comfort—one he hadn’t known he needed until he had it.

And as he leaned back into the silence, feeling the closeness between you, he felt something shift within him.

The following weeks were a blur of training, games, and travel, but through it all, João felt the weight on his shoulders lightened.

He didn’t have to wear his perfect facade around you; he didn’t have to fear your judgment. You loved him in his silences, in his doubts, and that was something he’d never thought possible.

One evening, after a particularly long day, he walked into the apartment, tired but relieved to see you waiting. You had a way of calming his nerves without even trying, and it amazed him.

As he settled in beside you, you leaned against him, quiet as always, and João felt an overwhelming urge to tell you how much he appreciated this.

"I hope you know," he started, his voice low, "that you make me feel things I didn’t know I needed."

Your gaze softened, and you placed a hand over his, lacing your fingers together.

"You don’t have to thank me, João. I’m just here."

But he wanted you to know. He wanted you to understand just how deeply your love had reached into the most hidden corners of his heart.

And maybe he couldn’t say it all out loud, but he would show it. He’d take every moment of silence, every small gesture, and he’d make sure you felt the love he’d been too scared to express.

As the night went on, João stayed there with you, both of you resting in the comfort of shared silence. There was no need for words, no need for explanations.

In that space between you, he knew he’d found something real. And maybe he didn’t have the words yet, but he knew he’d learn—just like you had—to love in a way that needed no teaching, only understanding.

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