I don't do cute

I don't do cute - part one

Warnings: English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes. I do not want to offend anyone with this.

Zurich, January 11th 2015

"Goddammit this fucking shirt, I hate this shit"

"Damn this fucking ceremony, this suit and the award"

Well, it hasn't started that well the day for him. First of all, his alarm hasn't gone off at time because only god knows why his iPhone decided to change the time zone and join the fucking New Zealand parallel the night before. It was only thanks to Neymar (that stormed into his room with a spare key came from nowhere) that Leo managed not to sleep in till noon. Then, around 11.15 a.m., his manager called to let him know that the suitcase in which his change for the ceremony was in got lost at the airport and that was almost impossible tracking it down. Fucking great. Because of that Leo was forced (against his will, of course) to go last-minute suits shopping. The whole experience was a complete failure. Last but not least, an army of photographers and fans mobbed him out of the Dolce & Gabbana's atelier making him almost impossible leading at the hotel in time to proper get ready for the Ballòn d'Or gala.

So here we are, in a hotel room in Zurich with a cursing Lionel Messi unable to tie his shirt.

"Oh fuck it!" mumbled under his breath before storming out of his room and walking down the corridor in locksteps till the room next to his one.

In a rush of conscience he almost realized the immense stupidity of his move (because, come on, there could always be a crazy fangirl inside) but, once again, he whisper a "fuck it" to himself and knocked at the door.

He waited, and waited and waited again before deciding to knock one more time.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, mae de deus!" a voice with a thick portuguese accent yelled from the inside. Oh no. A second later the door opened reveling the built figure of Cristiano fucking Ronaldo none the less.

Why everyone hated him so much?

"Oh, Messi?" the Real Madrid striker said with a questioning look.

Oh... woh. Leo lost the faculty of talking and thinking for a couple of moments. All he was able to process was something near "oh my god". Dressed in his suit, with his hair perfectly gelled, his earrings on and all his sex appeal Cristiano was... woh.

Okay, was Karma against him today? No, because, come on. Cristiano Ronaldo? Seriously? Suddenly Leo was questioning his entire persona. There were no ways trough hell and heaven that he could ever compare to Ronaldo in term of style.

The Portuguese clearing his throat shot Leo down on earth again.

"Okay so, I'm late, it was a hell of a day and I can't tie my goddamn shirt. Could you please give me a hand?" sighed tiredly the Argentinian trying, with no success, to lace his right cuff once again.

"Uhm sure, come on in" Saying that Cristiano was a little shocked was nothing. The Barça captain was well aware to look like a huge mess of clothes but, what the fuck, his tie has already tried to chock him twice.

"If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your suit?" Cristiano asked trying but failing in hiding the smile that has formed on his lips.

"Suitcase got lost, had to find a new suit, got mobbed by fans and paparazzi. And now this" groaned Leo throwing his jacket onto the nearest armchair. God how he hates galas and ceremonies. He's not a chatty nor a party person so why the hell they have to always make him go to those... things? Okay, it was the Ballòn d'Or gala, the highest award a player could ever image to win but, still, he hates all of these.