@Taz_07 Heading back home to Sudan tomorrow, just saw Mateo in the flesh đ honestly it's so refreshing seeing a player with this much personality, the dude is WILD đ #ForçaBarça #DoubleIncoming #2for2
@KhalidFC replying to @Taz_07 dude tell me about it. the feeling from that clĂĄsico win hit different after all the trashtalk đ till now the madrid fans can't even respond back. what a day to be alive đđ
@Definitely_not_Thor replying to @Taz_07 i'm telling you. i'm so happy the dude is proud AND can back it up. messi's whole humble thing has been quietly pissing me off for years lmaooo it's good to finally have one who can talk đ
@xerxes33311 replying to @Definitely_not_Thor you can praise one without dragging the other, they're just different people. i love how mateo talks, lord knows madrid needed this humbling. but messi isn't humble as a gimmick, that's just who he is, he lets the football talk for him and that's admirable in its own way. you don't have to compare them.
@Taz_07 is this what barcelona away games are like?? fuck i need to start coming more to these đ
@FateRen genuine question. Knicks fans vs Barcelona fans. who's the more unhinged fanbase
@Wassim_Tegheri won't lie, tactically i wasn't blown away by tonight, it was scrappy and emotional more than anything. but man, individually we just have some of the best players alive right now and that's what edged it. messi, i don't even need to say anything. busquets phenomenal as always. pedri is xavi and iniesta in one body, genuinely, would love to see him pushed higher up though. and mateo, once in a generation, just wow. hundreds of millions spent across the market and la masia just coughs up another one. the irony. this is our year. #2for2
@Definitely_not_Thor replying to @xerxes33311 oh for sure i wasn't trying to drag him, i just really love mateo's mouth. we always used to say "imagine if messi had ronaldo's ego." guess we finally got the answer đ
@Asensii20 i'll be right here when he crashes and burns. disrespectful little prick.
@Kylberg FUCK did everyone see what mateo just posted on his ig. "Same old same old" đđ caption is INSANE. this has to be a top 3 day in football twitter history. football is so BACK
@Asensii20 i waited out coutinho. i waited out griezmann. i waited out dembélé. don't worry @Mateo_King. i'll wait for yours too.
@Qsk_ MATEO TOOK MY GLASSES. he's wearing MY glasses. fuck fuck FUCK greatest day of my entire life
@TehStorm still cannot believe what i watched tonight. away. at the bernabéu. four-one. i'm never recovering from this and i don't want to #2for2
@Asensii20 just posted a 30 min fail comp of the so-called "future of football." this bum is so overrated. watch below before he scams you too đ
@Asensii20 and how do you even disrespect your own NATIONAL TEAMMATE like that? what's the point of being good at football if you've got no character. tells you everything
@Special_snowflake are we all just gonna stay quiet about pedri?? the entire game changed the second he came on. we need to talk about this kid way more, he's the mateo of his position and he's only 18 as well
@BoyishVoid replying @Special_snowflake is Mateo being used as an adjective right now , ohh lord and people are still arguing if he is the future face of football đ đ đÂ
@xerxes33311 honestly i'm just so happy for messi. he finally, FINALLY has people around him who can carry it with him. and on that note, shout out koeman. he knew exactly what he wanted and he went and built it. i was one of the ones abusing him after the squad changes and i'll hold my hands up. i was wrong. #SameOldSameOld#2for2
@Asensii20 overrated. overhyped. classless. arrogant. a media product. he'll be exposed the second he plays a real defence and you'll all remember i said it first. mark this post.
@Axel_Nyiridandi replying to @Asensii20 bro you've made like ten posts about this in the last hour. shut up and take your L already. like this ratio. đ you all mocked messi for being humble for YEARS and now you can't handle one who talks back. this is karma at this point and i'm so happy you're all getting your dues đ€
@Asensii20 replying to @Axel_Nyiridandi real madrid is a bigger club than barcelona ever will be. this is a phase. we'll get over it. and mateo is a phase too, you'll see.
@Axel_Nyiridandi replying to @Asensii20 Ratio.
@b5_ ok serious talk for a second, cules. if no WHEN we win the double... who's our shout for the Ballon d'Or? đ
The internet was an insane place to be that day.
The ClĂĄsico had delivered everything it was supposed to deliver, and then some, and now every single person with even a passing interest in football was talking about it. The result. The goals. The mouth. The picture. The whole night had cracked open and spilled out across every timeline on earth, and nobody could look away.
Meanwhile, after a flight of one hour and fifteen minutes, the Barcelona team had finally touched back down in Barcelona.
The players were gathering their things, pulling bags down, shrugging coats on, a few of them rising on their toes to stretch out the stiffness of the flight, staff moving among them sorting kit and cases. Koeman was up at the front doing what a coach does after a night like that, running through the housekeeping.
"No training tomorrow."
A small cheer went up.
"Rest. Properly. Nothing intensive, nothing stupid. If anything feels off, anything at all, you come into the club and you get it looked at. Don't sit on it. We have too much in front of us to be hiding knocks."
He worked through the rest of it, the recovery, the timings, the small managerial details, and then he paused, and his tone shifted.
"Hey. Guys. Guys" He lifted a hand, gathering them in. "One minute. All eyes here. Just one minute."
The cabin settled, every face turning to him.
Koeman looked around at all of them, and a smile came over him.
"We did it."
He let it sit.
"I am so proud of you. Every one of you. I mean that." He nodded, looking down the rows. "I know that was a hard one. I know the noise, the media, all the rubbish that came with this week, I know what you all carried into that stadium tonight. And you still went out there and you did it. Not me. You. You did that."
He held up two fingers, shaping the number.
"Two more games."
He looked at them, the smile steady.
"Two more games. Let's go and finish this thing."
...
"Okay, man. See you."
Mateo and Pedri stood off to the side of the private lot, travel bags at their feet, the rest of the squad filtering past them toward their cars. The goodbyes came one after another.
"Pedri." Dembélé slowed as he passed, swinging his keys, heading toward a matte-black Mercedes-AMG GT. "Make sure this one actually gets home, yeah?"
Pedri laughed. Mateo gave a flat fake laugh. "Good one."
"What are you two even waiting out here for?" Dembélé said.
"Uber," Mateo said.
"Ahh, come on. I'll drop you. Get in."
"We're good, bro, honestly," Pedri said. "It's close."
"Okay, okay." Dembélé clasped each of their hands in turn. "Good game tonight, eh."
"Same, bro. Same," Mateo said.
He folded himself into the AMG and was gone, the engine a low growl rolling out of the lot.
Busquets came by next, on his way to a deep blue Audi RS. He stopped in front of Mateo and looked at him a second.
"Dude. Good job out there tonight."
Mateo nodded at him, something quieter in it than the banter. "Thanks, Busi."
Busquets tapped him on the shoulder as he laughed saying "Yeah let's not do that nickname " Mateo nodded instantly saying "yeah I heard it also " as they both laughed and carried on.
Then AraĂșjo, already laughing before he reached them.
"Hahaha, I saw your IG post. I SAW it." He was shaking his head, grinning. "'Same old same old.' You're insane, man."
Mateo cracked up with him. "You like that?"
"I love it. Catch you later, yeah?" He dabbed Mateo up, then Pedri, then threw them a little salute as he backed away toward his car. "Later, boys."
Piqué rolled past last of the seniors, easing his white Porsche 911 toward the exit, window down.
"Make wise decisions, you two," he called, pointing at them, mock-serious.
"Always, Geri," Mateo called back.
Piqué just shook his head and pulled away.
Mateo and Pedri stood watching the cars go, their eyes following each one out.
"Right." Koeman came over to them, his own keys in hand. He turned to Pedri first, and the lightness dropped out of his face into something more careful. "How are you? Honestly. The thigh, the workload, everything. How's the body?"
"I'm fine, gaffer," Pedri said. "Really. I feel good."
Koeman held his eyes a second, then nodded, satisfied. He turned to Mateo.
"And you. Great one out there, kid."
Mateo smiled. "Thanks, gaffer."
"Keep it up." Koeman looked at him, and then included Pedri in the look. "Keep this up, both of you, and you'll be legends here. I mean that. Both of you."
The two boys grinned.
"Okay. Bye, you two." Koeman started toward his car, then turned back, and the worry crept back in. "Make sure you both head straight home, eh? I know you're young. I know what young is. But..."
"Gaffer, it's nothing like that," Pedri said.
"Yeah, I'm so tired," Mateo said. "We're literally just going home."
"Alright. Alright then." Koeman raised a hand. "Bye again."
He climbed into his car and pulled out of the spot, and as he rolled past them he wound the window down and lifted his hand one more time.
"Bye."
"Bye, gaffer," they chorused, waving him off.
Then it was just the two of them, standing in the emptying lot.
"Dude," Mateo said. "We need cars."
Pedri groaned, checking his phone. "I told my brother I was coming. I don't even know why he didn't leave the car for me." He sighed. "Ride's almost here, though."
"Man." Mateo shook his head. "I'm not talking about a Cupra."
Pedri looked up. "Hey"
"Dude." Mateo turned to him, eyes lit up. "Did you see that thing Griezmann left in?" A McLaren, low and silver, had prowled out a few minutes earlier. "Did you SEE it?"
"Nah, man." Pedri shook his head. "I've got my eye on that Porsche."
"Brooo." Mateo stared at him.
The two of them broke up laughing.
A voice drifted over from a few yards away.
"Anto. I'll be home in fifteen, twenty minutes." A pause. "Yes, yes, leaving the airport now." Another pause, and the voice softened. "Love you too. Okay. Bye."
Mateo and Pedri turned in unison.
"Ooohhhh," they went, both of them, pulling faces, leaning into it.
Messi finished the call and lowered the phone, and he just laughed, shaking his head at the two of them.
"What are you both still doing out here?"
"His brother took the car out," Mateo said, jerking a thumb at Pedri.
Pedri held up his phone. "Booked a ride. It's coming."
Messi looked around the lot, at the dark, at the late hour. He turned back to them.
"It's already late. Come on. Let me drop you both."
"No, no," Mateo started. "You don't have to"
"Yeah it's fine," Pedri said. "Ours is like a minute out."
"It's no trouble," Messi said.
"Plus," Mateo said, a grin spreading, "we wouldn't want to delay your little reunion with Antonellaaa..."
Pedri burst out laughing. Messi laughed too, shaking his head.
"Seriously," Mateo said, softer. "We're good. Go. Go home."
Messi looked at them a moment longer. "Okay. Okay then."
He turned and walked off toward his car. And not even a minute later, his Audi rolled back around and pulled up alongside them, the window gliding down.
"I'll wait until your ride actually shows," Messi said.
Mateo started, "You really don't have to"
"Ride's here," Pedri said.
They all looked. A car had pulled up at the front of the airport pickup line, idling. Mateo turned back. "You sure that's it?"
"I'm checking." Pedri lifted his phone to confirm, and it lit up and started ringing in his hand. He answered it. "Hello? Yeah. Yeah, we're coming now. Okay." He tapped Mateo's arm. "It's him."
The two of them stood, hauling their bags up.
"Okay, we'll talk later, yeah?" Mateo said to Messi. "Bye, captain."
Messi just lifted a hand and waved, but he did not drive off.
Mateo and Pedri walked up to the car. Pedri checked the plate against his phone, nodded, and they came around to the driver's window as it wound down, the man inside leaning to look at them.
"Hey, evening," Pedri said. "You're here for Pedri?"
"That's me, yes." The driver nodded. "Pedralbes, the address?"
"Yeah, that's us." Pedri reached for the back door.
Before they got in, both boys turned and threw one last wave back at Messi, still parked there watching. Only then, seeing them safely to the car, did the Audi finally ease away into the night.
They climbed in, bags between their feet.
The driver glanced at his mirror as he reached for the gearstick. "Altos de Pedralbes, Carrer, yes?"
"Yeah, that's it," Mateo said.
The driver's eyes came up to the mirror properly. And they stopped.
They went wide. His whole body went still.
"Mateo?" His head whipped around in his seat. "MATEO?"
Mateo blinked. "Uh yeah, hi I'm"
"Oh my, oh my God." The man's hands were up at his face. "It's you, it's actually you, I, I'm sorry, I just, I'm such a huge fan, man, a HUGE fan, the hat-trick, tonight, the HAT-TRICK, I was screaming in my living room, I love you, I love what you" The words were tumbling over each other. Then his eyes shifted. "Wait. Wait, is that Pedri? PEDRI?"
He grabbed at his own collar and yanked it down to show the Barça shirt he was wearing under his jacket, his voice cracking with it.
"I'm a culĂ©, look, look, I've been Barça my whole life, I can't believe this is happening in my carâ"
Mateo and Pedri were both laughing now, warm with it.
"Thank you, man, that means a lot, honestly," Mateo said.
"The Champions League," the driver said, breathless. "The final, you're, you're actually going to" He couldn't finish, just gestured at the air, overwhelmed.
"That's the plan," Pedri said, grinning.
Mateo leaned forward a little. "Hey, listen, I'm really sorry to do this, we're kind of in a rush to get back, but, tell you what, hand me your shirt and we'll both sign it for you. Right now."
"Oh oh, sorry, yes, of course, I'm sorry" The driver fumbled, turning back to the front, flustered. "Sorry, I'm holding you up"
"It's okay, it's all good," Pedri said, laughing.
The man started the car, and as he pulled out he kept stealing glances at the mirror, shaking his head, muttering to himself.
"I can't believe this. I genuinely cannot believe this." He found his voice again, riding the high of it. "I watched your debut, you know that? The home game, against Huesca. I was there, I watched you come on and I turned to my brother and I said, that one, that kid is something special, I called it, I CALLED it" He laughed, giddy. "And that hat-trick tonight. Insane. Absolutely insane."
"That means a lot, man, really," Mateo said.
"I joined your fan club, you know." A pause. "Okay, okay, not me. My son joined it. But I'm going to join it too, I've decided, after tonight, I'm joining it"
The car pulled out of the airport and into the dark, the driver still glowing, the two boys settling back into their seats, and the lights of Barcelona rising up ahead of them.
The streetlights outside were already blinking on, the city sliding past in that slow amber blur you only get when you're almost home and too tired to care what anything looks like.
Mateo pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Check this out."
Pedri glanced up from his own screen, eyebrows raised. "What's that?"
Mateo held the phone toward him, grinning. "It's the new Audi RS5."
Pedri took the phone.
Mateo watched him. There was always this half-second where someone took the phone from his hand and his jaw tightened slightly, dude you can literally see it from where you are, but he shrugged it off and watched as Pedri tilted the screen toward the window light. It was a pet peeve of his, he didn't like showing someone something on his phone and the person grabbing it.
"You serious about this whole car thing?"
Mateo took the phone back. "I mean, dude." He pulled it close again. "Look at this. Four hundred and forty-four horsepower. Silver." He made a small sound in the back of his throat. "Silver, bro."
"Wipe your drool."
Pedri shoved him by the shoulder, laughing, and Mateo laughed too, pulling the phone closer to his chest like he was protecting it. Pedri was already back on his own screen, thumb moving fast, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he typed something. He looked up briefly at whatever came back, then down again, that same quiet little grin.
"I don't know," Mateo said, watching the road. "I've just always wanted cars. Been a fan since I can even remember."
"Since you was, was, ehm." Pedri glanced over, smiling.
Mateo turned to him slowly. "Dude. You haven't forgotten about that."
Pedri burst out laughing. He looked back down at his phone a second later, still smiling, thumbs moving again. Another message came in. He read it and his lip twitched upward.
Mateo watched him.
Then he turned with eyes narrowed, one side of his mouth pulling into a smirk.
"Who have you been chatting with since we landed?"
Pedri looked up. The smile dropped just slightly. "Eh?"
"It wouldn't be my cousin, would it."
Pedri blinked. "What, I - " His voice caught.
Mateo started laughing. "Dude, just chill."
"I - "
"I'm serious, just chill." He waved a hand. "I'm cool with it, I mean." He paused. "I don't understand why. I mean she's a brat, but hey. If that's what you like."
"Hey, I -"
Pedri's phone beeped.
He looked down. His eyes went wide for half a second before he could school his face back into something neutral, and then he said softly, "Ooh."
Mateo leaned in immediately. "Is it her?" He was already craning his neck, grinning. "What did she say?"
"No, it's my agent."
"Oh." Mateo leaned back. "Is everything good?"
Pedri stared at the screen a moment longer. "Yeah. He was just saying how the agency wants to get a team around to, ehm." He looked up at Mateo. "Golden Boy award."
Mateo smiled. He reached over and shoved him. "Dude, congrats, man."
Pedri laughed. "Yeah, ehm. He also said he thinks I might have a good chance at it."
"Yeah, for sure, mahn." Mateo looked at him. "Why are you acting so shocked? I mean who else was even competing with you for it?"
Pedri hesitated. Then he tilted his head slightly and sort of pointed. In Mateo's direction.
Mateo stared at the gesture. Then he pointed at himself. "Me?"
"Yeah, mahn. I mean who else you think?" Pedri laughed.
"Dude, no way. I barely even played half the season. There's no way I'm considered."
"Mahn, have you seen your stats? Ain't no way you're not winning it." Pedri shook his head, still smiling. "I mean, before you came I guess it was between me and Jude. But mahn. No one is blind." He laughed again. "I mean, thank God it's a one-year thing, or I may never even have the chance."
Mateo's face was going warm. He looked away, shaking his head. "Nah, man. I don't think â "
"We are here."
The driver's voice came from the front, easy and calm, and both of them looked up. The car was already slowing, pulling toward the gate at Pedralbes, the familiar stone wall catching the last of the evening light.
They climbed out onto the pavement. Mateo stretched his neck as he stood, then turned back toward the driver, who had his window down now, resting his elbow on the door.
"Serious, man. Thank you." Mateo smiled at him. "Best ride home I've had."
The man laughed, shaking his head. "The pleasure is mine, I promise you that." Then he pointed two fingers at Mateo and shouted out the window as he started to pull off, "Two For Two! Visca Barça!"
Mateo grinned and raised a hand after him. "Visca Barça."
He watched the car ease around the corner, then turned back toward the gate.
Pedri was standing five steps ahead of him, still on his phone.
"Okay, man. Let's go." Mateo started toward him, rolling his shoulder back. "Bro, I need a hot bath and about fourteen hours of sleep." He yawned, long and theatrical. "Let's go, come on."
"I'm coming. I just want to " Pedri glanced up from the screen. "She said"
"We are here."
The voice came from in front of them. Soft and clear.
They both looked up.
Olivia and Aina were standing just past the gate. The streetlight behind them caught the pale of Olivia's shirt and the dark fall of Aina's hair, the light running soft and silver over both of them, and they were just standing there, and the moon was up somewhere behind the building, and it was a nice night, and Mateo barely had time to get his mouth open before Olivia was already moving.
She hit him hard enough that he had to take a step back. Her arms went around his neck and she squeezed, face pressed against the side of his jaw, and he caught her by the waist without thinking.
"I'm so happy for you," she said, quiet against his ear. "Good match. You were brilliant."
He closed his eyes for exactly one second.
Then he smiled.
Around that same time, not far across the city, what the little one was having the big one was also having.
Antonella had been waiting at the door.
The moment Messi stepped out of the car she was already there, coming down the two front steps, and she didn't slow down. She hit him the same way Olivia had hit Mateo, both arms wrapping around him, face tucked in against his shoulder, and Messi's bag dropped from his hand somewhere onto the driveway and he let it.
"Congrats," she whispered. She was smiling. He could feel it against his collarbone. "Congrats, congrats, congrats."
"Why are you crying?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were wet and shining and she looked absolutely furious about it. "I'm just so happy for you."
He laughed, low and short.
She hugged him again, even tighter this time, and Messi stood there on his own front step with his bag on the driveway and the night air cool against the back of his neck, and he let his arms come up around her, and he closed his eyes.
"I'm also happy," he said softly.
And he meant it.
...
The next morning came. El ClĂĄsico was over. The pundits would carry it for weeks, analysts pulling it apart frame by frame on every screen in the country, but for the players the final whistle had already closed it. It had done what it needed to do. For some of them, it had done more than that. It had made a legend start thinking, quietly, about the future of his career and what it remained for him if it remained for him here. It had lit something in a dismissed winger who had watched from the field and sworn to himself he would never be dismissed again; He would be a No The talking point of a match. It had made a national coach close his notebook and nod. But mostly, for the Barcelona players, it had made them light. And nobody wore that lightness better than Lionel Messi.
He woke up smiling.
It was the first thing he was aware of, before the room, before the light, before anything â just that his chest felt different. Loose. Like something had been sitting on it for a long time and now it was gone.
He stretched his arms out across the bed, still half in sleep, reaching sideways out of habit.
"Anto."
Nothing.
"Anto."
He blinked. The room came into focus slowly, the ceiling, the pale morning light pressing through the curtains, the empty pillow beside him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, and looked around. The room was quiet. She wasn't there.
He sat there for a moment, just looking at the window. The sun was already up properly, cutting in warm and yellow through the gap in the curtains, and he watched it move on the floor, and he felt it again, that strange, buoyant feeling, like he'd woken up inside a day that had already decided to be good.
He reached to the nightstand and picked up his phone.
He stared at the screen for a second.
One hundred and sixty-seven unread messages, and that was only since last night.
He exhaled through his nose, almost laughing. He had a system, at least. The people who actually mattered were pinned at the top, and he worked through those first, family, close friends, the ones whose messages he'd feel bad leaving on read. His brothers. His mother. Rodrigo, who had sent three voice notes and one all-caps text that made him laugh out loud. Old teammates. He typed back to most of them with one hand, yawning into the other. Below the pinned chats were the others - Adidas, Nike's partnership team, the Messi Foundation board, two different production companies, a film director whose project his team was still considering, three banks, a luxury watchmaker, the Ballon d'Or organizing committee, four national sponsor contacts, and he left all of those exactly where they were. His assistants would handle it. That was what assistants were for.
He was midway through a reply to his father when the door opened.
Antonella came in holding two dresses, one in each hand, making her way straight for the large mirror on the far wall without looking at him.
"Between this one and this one," she said, holding both up, studying them side by side in the glass. "Which should I wear?"
Messi was still typing.
She caught his reflection in the mirror. The phone. The focused expression. The complete and total absence of any indication that he had heard a word she said.
"Leo."
He put the phone down.
"Sorry," he said. "It was my dad. He's still having issues with the negotiations at the club."
She turned from the mirror. "Still? Till now?"
"It doesn't normally take this long," she said a little apprehension in her voice " I know." He shifted against the headboard. "But the presidency just changed, and I heard there's a new sporting director, so maybe that's what's holding it up."
She held his gaze for a moment, something moving behind her eyes, then nodded. "Okay." She turned back to the mirror and lifted both dresses again. "Between this and this. Which one."
He looked at them properly this time. Left, then right. Then left again.
"The blue one," he said. "It makes your eyes pop."
Antonella studied the blue dress. She turned it slightly, held it against herself, looked at her own reflection for a long moment.
"It makes me look fat."
She dropped it, picked up the second dress, and walked toward the closet.
"Breakfast is ready," she said over her shoulder, disappearing through the door. "Come out soon."
Messi lay back against the pillow and smiled at the ceiling.
Hulk heard him coming before he reached the kitchen.
The dog was on his feet by the time Messi appeared in the doorway, tail going, the whole back half of him moving with it, and Messi crouched down and let him come.
"Okay, boy. Here, boy." He pulled a piece of steak from his plate and fed it to him by hand, rubbing behind his ears while Hulk ate, the dog's big head pressing up into his palm. Messi smiled, scratching his jaw, and looked up to find one of the house staff nearby.
"Can you take him outside for me? Let him run a bit."
"Of course, sir." The young woman came over, smiling. "Come on then." She clicked her tongue. "Here, boy."
Hulk glanced at Messi once, then trotted after her willingly enough, and Messi watched them go through the kitchen door before he turned back to the table.
His three boys. Rubbing their heads as he went towards his sit at the head of the table.
Mateo was working through his eggs with the intensity of someone who had decided breakfast was a competition. Thiago was doing the same, though pausing every few bites to check what his brother was doing. And Ciro, small and entirely unbothered by either of them, was in a private war with a piece of melon that kept sliding off his fork every time he thought he had it.
Antonella, without looking up, reached over and steadied his plate.
"What are you guys up to today?" Messi asked.
Mateo shrugged. Thiago shrugged. Ciro stabbed at the melon.
"Ion know," Mateo said.
"I guess watch a movie," Thiago offered.
Messi looked between them. He set down his fork.
"Should we go to Castelldefels?"
The table changed.
Thiago's head came up so fast he nearly knocked his juice over. "Are you serious, Dad?"
Mateo had gone very still, looking at him with an expression that was trying very hard to appear calm and was failing completely.
Messi smiled. "Yes. It's been a while since we - "
Mateo was out of his chair.
He got his arms around Messi's neck from the side, half-standing, and squeezed.
"Thank you, Dad. I love you, I love you, I love you."
Messi laughed, catching him, patting his back.
"Okay, okay. Go change. All of you, go change, eat the rest of your food first. "
Thiago was already shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth. He swallowed, stood, pointed at his empty plate, and said: "First."
Then he was gone.
"Wait for me!" Mateo shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth and scrambled after him, nearly catching the back of Thiago's shirt in the hallway before Thiago broke into a run.
Ciro was still at the table. Still looking at the melon.
Thiago reappeared in the doorway, grabbed his little brother under the arms, hauled him up against his hip, and ran.
"Be careful, don't fall!" Antonella called after them. The sound of three pairs of feet thundering up the stairs was her answer.
She turned back to the table.
A staff member had come in quietly behind her and was gathering the plates the boys had left, stacking them with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this many times before.
"Sorry, SofĂa," Antonella said. "The kids are..."
SofĂa smiled. "No problem, ma." She took the last plate and slipped back toward the kitchen.
Antonella looked across the table.
Messi was looking at her.
She looked back at him. Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing."
He picked his fork back up.
She kept looking at him.
"What?" He was starting to smile.
"Nothing." But she was smiling too, leaning her chin on her hand, watching him.
"Antonella."
"I said nothing." She tilted her head slightly. "You just seem so - "
"So what?"
She paused. "Happy."
He laughed.
"I'm serious." Her voice softened. "Recent years - you haven't really looked like you were enjoying yourself. With the club. The team. All of it." She said it plainly, without drama, the way people say things they've been holding for a long time and have finally found the right moment for. "But now you look so " She stopped. She just looked at him. "It's like you've found your joy back."
She didn't say the rest of it out loud. But she felt it all the same.
She had watched it happen across these past few years, the slow, quiet change in him. Football had always been the thing that made him himâ the part of his life that never needed explaining because it was simply what he was. But somewhere in the last few seasons it had started to feel different. She had watched friends leave some get pushed out of the club, watched the weight settle onto him even as he refused to let it show at home, refused to bring it through the front door. She had seen the small signs â the tired set of his shoulders some evenings, the way certain conversations made him go somewhere else behind his eyes. He never complained. He never made it her problem. But she had loved him long enough to read the silences.
And then this season something had shifted. Slowly, and then all at once.
The small boy from Rosario she had fallen in love with had started coming back.
Messi reached across the table and laid his hand over hers.
"I don't know," he said. He looked at their hands, then up at her. "Even with the games coming up, I just feel so relaxed." He smiled, and the smile made her smile before she could help it, the way it always had. "I just feel happy. Like everything is how it's meant to be."
She squeezed his hand.
For a moment the kitchen was just the morning light and the distant sound of the boys upstairs and the soft noise of SofĂa moving around somewhere, and neither of them needed to say anything else.
Then Messi leaned slightly toward her, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial murmur.
"How about â when we're done with the kids â we dump the little monsters with sofia, and you and I go have some fun outside."
Antonella raised an eyebrow. "What, like a date?"
He set his fork down and straightened in his chair with great dignity.
"Would you, Mrs Antonella Roccuzzo, like to be my date this evening?"
She looked at him for a long moment. "I dunno." She tilted her head. "I'd have to check my schedule. See if I can pencil you in."
He started laughing.
"My love." She squeezed his hand again, her voice dropping into something warm and real. "Of course I would love to go out with you."
He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it, slow and deliberate, and somewhere behind them, the two staff members who had slipped back in to finish clearing the table both found reasons to look somewhere else, smiling at the wall, at the floor, at anything, before one of them caught the other's eye and they both quietly carried their stack of plates back out the way they came and left the room to the two of them.
"Where are we going?" Antonella was already thinking, sitting up straighter. "I need to know what to wear. There's this restaurant I heard about â Carles mentioned it, the new one near the port â I've been wanting to try it, and I could wear my new necklace, the one I just got, and you could wear that charcoal suit, the Italian one, the one that â "
Messi was laughing quietly, watching her.
" â and we could book a table for eight, maybe half past, somewhere with a terrace â "
His phone lit up on the table.
He glanced at it out of habit, meaning only to check and ignore, and something made him pick it up properly.
He read the message once.
The smile didn't disappear all at once. It faded the way sunlight does when a cloud moves across it, a slow dimming, and his brow drew in slightly, and the lightness that had been sitting in his chest all morning tilted.
" â or actually maybe earlier, seven-thirty, because then we could walk a bit after, it's a nice night for â Leo?"
She had stopped talking.
She was watching him.
"What's wrong?"
Messi lifted his face from the screen. He looked at her for a moment, something settling behind his eyes, and then he said:
"It's Luis."
He paused.
"He says he wants to meet."
A/N
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