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Neymar can hear Kylian from the other side of the locker room.
His laugh is undeniably familiar to him, loud and unapologetic like Kylian himself. It makes Neymar’s throat itch and he fights the urge to look over.
He knows what’s there anyway, Kylian and Hakimi, all buddied up and cozy hanging from each other’s arms. He’s seen it before, he’s not interested in seeing it again. The team thinks he’s being weird, the way he acts around them, but they chalk it up to the fight they think he and Kylian had.
Of course, they know nothing, because they didn’t fight over money, or missed penalties, but while Kylian is perfectly happy to show off his relationship with Hakimi, Neymar was a dirty secret. It was fun at the time, sneaking around hotel hallways to each other’s rooms, or having quickies in the locker room after everyone’s left, but that’s when Neymar thought they had a shared secret, something sacred.
Turns out Kylian just didn’t want to anyone to know it was Neymar he was fucking.
They win 4-1 and a yell bubbles from Neymar’s throat, his body automatically turning towards Kylian, his number 7, ready for the impact of his big body jumping in his arms, but there’s no Kylian, because Kylian is on the other side of the field, tackling Hakimi to the ground.
Cold douses the warmth glowing in Neymar’s stomach. Right. It’s not Kylian and Neymar against the world anymore.
Someone slams against him moments later and he accepts them, slapping them on the back and tearing his eyes from the slump of the two men intertwined on the ground. Disappointment burns heavy in his eyes.
They begin like this:
Kylian is only eighteen when he joins PSG, eighteen to Neymar’s twenty-five. He’s just a kid, really, baby-faced and full of childish energy. He’s still only Mbappé then, a new talent but not that important to Neymar.
He has his hands full with football and his son, and while he likes Kylian a lot, he’s not looking to babysit more teenagers at work. Somehow, Kylian latches onto him anyway, trailing behind him and yapping his ear off in a combination of French, broken English and even broker Portugese. They don’t really understand each other half the time, and yet they grow close anyhow, discovering a shared love for video games and pranking their teammates.
There’s no stopping after that. It’s scary how well they get along, even through the language barriers and the age gap. They go everywhere together, on and off the field, and soon Neymar’s body begins to expect Kylian’s weight on his back after a goal, his arm over his shoulders after a shower, his laugh in his ear.
It’s only natural, maybe, that they become something more. Sometime after Kylian’s twentieth birthday they fall into bed together, drunk and giddy off a string of wins, and the final piece of the puzzle slides to its place.
It feels so right, to kiss Kylian, slide hands over his ribs and the sides of his thighs, press him to the sheets, to make him come. It’s Neymar’s job to take care of him on the field, and now it’s his job to take care of him like this, in the quiet of the night.
There’s no weirdness afterwards, and it keeps happening. Friends with benefits, blowing off steam every once in a while, a win-win for them both.
And if Neymar’s heart starts pounding a little harder when Kylian smiles at him, well, there’s no one but him to know that.
They end like this:
Achraf Hakimi joins their team, something Neymar is in favor of. He’s a talented player, a cool guy and a friend. How’s he to know at the time that Hakimi’s arrival would be the beginning of the end?
Kylian is immediately taken by Hakimi, which is no surprise. They’re the same age, and their personalities mesh well. Neymar’s not worried, doesn’t even realize he has something to potentially worry about, because Kylian is still glued to his side.
It’s not until he starts pulling away from him during hugs, gravitating towards Hakimi on the field, that Neymar realizes something is so terribly wrong. By then it’s too late.
Kylian drops the bomb after they’ve had post-loss sex in Neymar’s ridiculous mansion, both of them panting and sweating beside each other.
“Me and Achraf are together.”
It takes a moment to register. Neymar lifts himself up on an elbow, watches Kylian slide off the bed in all his naked glory. “Huh?”
Kylian disappears to the bathroom, his voice echoing. “He asked me out. We’ve been getting closer lately.”
It’s like the words don’t compute. There’s so much to process, so many things wrong in that statement that Neymar doesn’t even know where to start. “You– What? You’re dating?”
“That’s what I said, no?” Kylian reappears in a bathrobe this time, cocking his eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t know about us so don’t tell him. I really like him, Ney.”
Neymar sputters. “And you didn’t think to tell me before we had sex? That’s… This is so fucked up, Kylian, do you even understand that? Fuck.”
There’s more he’s upset about than Kylian cheating on Hakimi with him, heartbreak and despair blooming behind his ribcage, but that’s not something he’s going to unpack here. He’ll save that for when he’s alone and can scream his heart out.
Kylian frowns at him, coming closer. “It’s just sex, Ney. It’s not a big deal.”
Neymar gapes at him. He thought he knew Kylian, inside out, better than anyone else. How did he miss something this big? There’s not an ounce of shame in Kylian for what he’s done, for what he’s suggesting.
He knew Kylian had his faults, but this…
“Go home, Kylian.”
And that’s how they end.
It does irrepairable damage to their friendship. People notice, they make their own assumptions and Neymar feels no need to correct them, because how is he supposed to explain anything they’ve done?
What’s worse is Kylian is happily showing Hakimi off, telling anyone in the team who’ll listen how they’re in love. They can never be open about it publicly, but their team has known of his sexuality for years, and they don’t care.
Which means Neymar sees Kylian and Hakimi every single fucking day, holding hands and trading quick kisses, things he used to do with Kylian, except never in front of others. It stings more than he ever expected it to, and it just solidifies what he’s suspected for a long time.
He’s in love with Kylian.
Still is, even though Kylian betrayed both him and Hakimi, and maybe that’s the worst part. Because he knows he can never hold a grudge against Kylian, can’t be mad at him even when he tries.
He’s just sad.
And then something happens. He’s just come out of a shower where he’s let cold water wash down his back while he stares blankly at the wall when the doorbell rings. He goes, frowning, because he doesn’t get that many visitors, not uninvited anyway.
It’s Kylian, because of course it is. Neymar stares at him for a still moment, before letting the door slam close.
Kylian raps his knuckles on the door immediately, calling out, “Come on, Ney, let me in. Are we not friends anymore?”
Neymar rests his forehead on the door, closing his eyes. “You tell me. What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
Fury shoots through Neymar and he yanks the door open, glaring at Kylian who’s looking oh so innocent with his hands clasped behind his back. “No, I don’t know. I obviously don’t know anything about you anymore. What do you want?”
Kylian’s eyes widen and Neymar hates how he softens at that, some remnant of him still so damn protective. “Achraf’s visiting his family. He’s out for a couple days.”
Neymar suddenly feels old. He slumps against the doorframe. “And what do you want me to about that, Kyky?”
“Don’t you miss what we had, Ney?” Kylian asks, earnest, like he’s not the goddamn snake tempting Eve. “He doesn’t need to know, it’s okay.”
Neymar shakes his head. “It’s not okay. He doesn’t deserve it. Be a good boyfriend for once.”
“I treat him good,” Kylian scoffs and moves closer. Neymar doesn’t step back, because he is so weak when it comes to Kylian. “But he’s gone and I’m horny. It’s nothing bigger than that.”
“So why don’t you tell him?” Neymar challenges, even when his hands wander to Kylian’s waist like they’ve missed being there. “If it’s not a big deal.”
Kylian purses his lips. “He doesn’t need to know.”
“So you keep saying,” Neymar sighs and pulls Kylian inside, the door closing behind them. “Fuck you, for doing this.”
“To him or to you?”
Neymar winces, stepping back. Kylian’s smiling, a tiny thing that’s so wrong on his face. “So you know.”
“That you’re in love with me? Yeah, I know. So what? You want me and I’m here. Why don’t you take the opportunity and fuck me?”
Kylian drops to his knees in front of him, looking up with big eyes and Neymar feels his resolve crumble. He doesn’t stop Kylian’s hands from undoing the strings of his sweats and that’s when he knows they’re too far gone.
Hakimi doesn’t need to know, he chants in his head, he doesn’t need to know.
Somehow, it doesn’t help. It still doesn’t stop him from spilling down Kylian’s throat, from fucking him right there on the floor with only spit and no condom.
It’s hard to look at Hakimi in the eyes after that.
Maybe he thinks something will change if he lets Kylian sit on his dick enough times. Like he’ll change his mind and come back to him for good. He’s torturing himself, trying to keep Kylian in his bed as long as possible because he knows the moment he lets him go he’ll go back to Hakimi and the thought destroys him.
It’s not fair for him to hurt, he knows, not when Hakimi’s the one being lied to here. Maybe that’s why he keeps doing this to himself, to punish himself. Or maybe he’s just trying to make himself feel better for being so fucked up.
It doesn’t work anyway. Every time Kylian goes back to his boyfriend, posts on Instagram about Hakimi and how they’re such best friends and everyone just eats it up, Neymar forgotten on the back shelf. Sometimes he wants to tell everyone that he and Kylian are fucking, just so people stop thinking he’s not in the picture anymore.
“This is the last time we’re doing this,” he whispers against Kylian’s skin one night, slowly rocking him closer and closer to release.
“Uh huh,” Kylian gasps, hands clawing at his slick back, legs trembling around his hips.
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, yeah, come on, go faster–“
It’s not the last time. He keeps letting Kylian in when he knocks, over and over and over again. He’s so weak when it comes to Kylian, always has been.
He wonders when it’s going to end, when they’ll finally stop lying circles around everyone. It’s not tonight, and some treacherous part of him is relieved.
He doesn’t have to let go of Kylian yet. He can still close his eyes and imagine things are like they used to be. That he’ll wake up and Kylian’s sleeping face will look back at him with no Hakimi back home waiting for him.
He can still pretend.