Somebody to You (Neymar Jr) ✔

#31, I don't get it.

When Lorelai got home later that night, the first thing she did was go to the dogs' room and take a look at the paintings for her art assignment. For a long while she just sat on the floor, eyeing the canvases that leant against the wall in a row, and contemplated her current situation, her parents, the media, Neymar, pretty much everything that had happened in her life recently. Khan and Dante were lying next to her, both of their large heads resting on her crossed legs as she caressed them softly, all the while deep in thought.

What a crappy Christmas this had turned out to be. First the wonderful ending to the family dinner, highlighted by her abrupt leaving after her father's outburst — which meant she'd foregone the midnight mass at church the family attended every year. What a bummer that was not.

Then she'd gotten home to an empty apartment, because Diego had gotten free from work after all and was now spending Christmas and New Years with Jane in Ireland, which meant Lorelai had to cope without her two best friends until next year. At least they'd promised to be back by the Holy King's parade in January.

Now here she was, depressed and down and definitely still detached from her feelings when it came to Neymar — her mind just hadn't had the time to make itself up yet, and her heart wasn't faring much better. It had serious trouble with making itself clear and wasn't able to convey feelings that she could understand. Did that make her an emotional cripple?

Lorelai sighed deeply, gaze locked on the as of yet to be finished painting of Leo. He'd been particularly nice and forthcoming to her when she'd asked to accompany him to individual training to get his natural movement right — she wasn't particularly knowledgeable in football, but even she was aware of the fact that his painting held so much more importance than any other. Such a great and fun guy, once you got to know him.

He'd even sent her a picture of the Messi family in front of the Christmas tree, wishing her a Merry Christmas. He must have gotten her new smartphone number from somewhere, as must have the rest of the squad, because his was only one of many wishes she'd gotten on her »Neymar phone«, now turned »FCB phone« — Dani, Marc, Rafinha, Gerard, even Ivan had written a short wish, and all of them she'd answered in kind as soon as she'd seen them.

There was just one particular person she'd yet to get in contact with.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She was feeling utterly miserable right now. It didn't help that she was all alone, animal company excluded. Since the ice cream in the box in front of her was starting to melt, she decided to be active now and take some measures. So she stood up, her knees feeling weak from the heavy side of Bailey's liqueur she'd used instead of chocolate sauce, and stretched her legs, ignoring the whines escaping Khan's and Dante's snouts. Then she grabbed the ice cream box and Bailey's bottle empty now, and trotted into the kitchen to put the things back to where they belonged: the ice in the freezer, the bottle in the sink. To be fair, there hadn't been that much liquid left in it anymore anyways. After that, she went into her bed room, grabbed the smartphone lying on her small desk and plopped down on the bed.