[Football] Bad Boy Batty

Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was still not good. After all, a whole season's hard work ended up with someone else's glory, and no one would feel good about it.

After all the people who wanted to ask "Are you okay?" left perfunctorily, Batty picked up a towel and planned to take a quick shower while there were no people in the bathroom (everyone was using the freezing pool). In the words of his Chinese friends, this would get rid of bad luck.

Another reason was that he had heard too much comfort today.

Yes he cried because he didn't win the game, so what?

His heart wasn't made of iron, so of course he would be sad after losing the final, but it would only be for a moment, and no one could stop him from moving forward, not even himself.

Batty turned on the switch and let the semi-hot water sprinkle from the top of his head. He closed his eyes and looked up, listening to the 'crackling' sound of water hitting the floor in the bathroom. He felt calm inside.

Maybe losing isn't such a bad thing.

As his godfather once told him: Every man I sleep with has something I can learn from him, even the worst of them, Edward Furlong.

Maybe it's not quite appropriate here, but the meaning is right, Batistuta thought. The match against Real Madrid could be compared to rolling into bed with the worst bed partner. When he woke up the next day, he could just kick the other person off the bed and act as if nothing had happened.

There is no substantial harm, and you can even gain feedback from this experience and strive not to make the same mistake again with your next bed partner.

Thinking this way will make you feel much better.

Suddenly, a faint sobbing sound was heard in Batty's ears.

Ok?
what happened?

"HELLO?"

There was only the sound of running water in the bathroom, and no one answered.

Batty was sure that the sound was not his imagination, so he turned off the shower, brushed his wet hair back, rubbed his eyes and looked around.

"Hello?" he asked again, "Who's there? Come out quickly."

This time someone finally answered.

“…Go away.”

Batty narrowed his eyes, wrapped himself in a towel and walked to the corner. When he got closer, he realized there was a compartment there, which was not obvious from the outside. It was where the cleaners stored mops and other sundries.

And hiding inside——

"John Stones?"

Stones was squatting on the ground and hugging himself into a ball. Like Batistuta, he was a new transfer this season and was not very old. Similarly, this was his first time to stand on the stage of the Champions League final.

The Manchester City defender looked up upon hearing the voice, and happened to meet Batistuta's eyes. His eyes and nose were red, and he couldn't help sniffling while looking at each other.

"Oh, Buddy, why are you here?" he asked in a nasal voice, "Are we leaving?"

"I should ask you this question." Batty walked over and stroked his hair twice, "Why are you hiding here crying?"

"...It's all my fault, because of my mistake we lost the championship." The English boy sounded very sad, and even banged his head against the wall next to him. "I should have kept an eye on Ramos. If I hadn't done that, we would have been celebrating now. The same in overtime. If I hadn't passed the ball to Caballero, Benzema wouldn't have..."

Batty tapped him on the top of the head.

"I'm not the captain, I don't know how to comfort people, but I can tell you it's not your fault," he said. "The fact is - we didn't win the championship, and we can end it here. It's meaningless to discuss who is responsible."

Yes, it's meaningless.

But human beings like to do all kinds of meaningless things, such as finding someone to be responsible and throwing the problem on him. He himself almost fell into this vicious circle just now.

Stones looked up and stared at Batty in a daze.

"you……"

"Stop talking nonsense and get up quickly. It's just the Champions League, there's nothing to be afraid of. There's still next season." Batistuta clamped his chin, then bent down and looked him in the eye. "I promise that the championship trophy will be ours next season, and then you can use that cup to catch your tears however you like."

Use a trophy to catch tears?

Only he could come up with such a strange metaphor.

As he thought about it, Stones suddenly felt relieved. Yes, it's just the Champions League. So what if it's the first time to participate in the final? There are some people who can succeed in their first try. They still have next season, and if next season doesn't work out, there's still the season after next. The trophy will be theirs one day.

They have so many great companions, and—

Stones took a deep breath and looked at the light-haired boy in front of him again.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thank you, Buddy."

Batty smiled and held out his hand to him.

Stones took the hand, and then—

Then it was tragic.

Perhaps because he had been squatting for too long and his entire body below the knees was numb, Stones was unable to use the force to stand up, but instead staggered a few steps and pounced on Batistuta.

Batty reacted quickly and took two steps back, but he avoided the fate of being pinned down but not being exposed.

Stones pulled off the towel around Batty's waist, and because his legs had not yet recovered, his feet went weak and he knelt in front of the opponent.

Batty: ...

Batty: I know you appreciate me comforting you, but you don't have to do this.

Stones became as famous as a Boston lobster.

Half a minute later, in the locker room.

Kompany, Hjelda and Fernandinho had just finished their journey in the freezing pool and before they even sat down on the bench, they felt a gust of wind beside them.

"Huh? What passed by?" Fernandinho looked up and asked blankly.

"It looks like Stones." Kompany squinted his eyes and looked over there. "Why is he all red?"

"I don't know." Fernandinho leaned over to look for a long time but couldn't come to a conclusion. He waved his hand and took a towel. "See, he came out of the bathroom. He might have been scalded by the hot water... Never mind. Let's go take a shower too."

"Yeah, that's true. Cardiff Stadium's water supply system has never been very good." Kompany nodded. "Let's go."

……

After changing his clothes and sitting on the bench, Batty took out his cell phone.

I don’t know what’s going on with Neymar and his godfather.

Just as he was about to make a call, Snapchat reminded him that there was a new message from Cristiano Ronaldo.

A voice in his heart told Batty not to open the message because it would not contain what he wanted to see, but his hand seemed to have its own ideas and opened the message before his brain gave the order.

then--

A picture of the big-ear cup appeared before his eyes.

And it's not just the big-ear cup, there's also a shirtless Portuguese guy smiling at the camera with eight teeth showing and giving a thumbs-up.

C Ronaldo: [Look, is this the trophy you wanted? Come on, come to the Real Madrid dressing room, we welcome you, you can touch it as much as you want]

Batty: ...

After cursing "puta" under his breath, Batistuta decisively blocked the guy who showed off on his face. He blocked him not only on Snapchat, but also on various media and social platforms.

The media will definitely explode within half an hour, but it doesn’t matter.

As for when it will be released, it depends on when Batistuta is in a good mood, or whether someone is sincere.

"Hey, Batistuta, I just saw you blocked Ronaldo." Aguero came over with his phone, "What happened?"

"Nothing." Batty shrugged. "I just want to do it, is that okay?"

"...Yes." After a strange pause, Aguero replied in a long voice, "But I still want to know what happened. Did he make you angry?"

Before he could answer, more people in the locker room noticed this and they all looked at Batty with puzzled eyes.

Tsk, I still underestimated the efficiency of modern media.

It only took a few minutes for the news to spread.

Seeing that Guardiola was about to step forward to ask a few questions, Batistuta quickly found an excuse to leave.

"I'm not going back with you today. I'm going to look for Dudu." He waved his hand, took his backpack and ran out the door. "See you in Manchester, everyone."

The players and coaches left in the locker room staring at each other.

After a long silence, someone finally spoke.

"Who are they all?" De Bruyne asked.

"It's Edmundo, Batistuta's godfather. His nickname is Dudu, don't you know that?" Aguero nudged him with his elbow. "Don't wait. The godfather won't come with us if he's here."

De Bruyne looked in the direction where Batistuta disappeared, and his expression became increasingly complicated.

……

When Batistuta arrived at the VIP box upstairs, Edmundo had already left. Only Neymar was leaning on the back of the sofa, frowning, and no one knew what he was thinking. When he saw Batistuta coming over, he came back to his senses as if waking up from a dream.

but--

Neymar didn't know how to start.

He wasn't very good at comforting people.

Moreover, he had just received an extremely explosive piece of news a few minutes ago. It might not be considered news, but a possibility, but it still shook his entire worldview.

It turns out that there are people who can talk about hundreds of millions or even billions of dollars so easily.

Neymar has no intention of telling Batistuta about the director's proposal to him, as this would be of no benefit to either of them.

To be honest, this was not quite what he had imagined after the game. How could he have no reaction? Batistuta should at least feel disappointed, as he had just missed the Champions League trophy, didn't he?

He didn't mean that he didn't want Barty to win the championship, what he meant was -

That way he'd have a chance, wouldn't he?

To be honest, he had already thought about what he would do if Batistuta looked at him with his crying blue eyes. He would hug him, kiss the corners of his eyes, wipe away all his tears, and then tell him that no one deserved a trophy more than him, and no one was more perfect than him.

Then?

Then he'll have more hugs and more kisses.

He wants Batty to rely on him more. (Just don't hit the ball straight, it's annoying)
So he licked his slightly dry lips and thought about how to break the silence in the room, but before he could, Batty spoke first.

"Where's my godfather?" Batty asked.

"Uh, he, he left." Neymar answered dryly. He didn't expect that Batistuta would ask this first. "River Phoenix has something to do with him."

"Phoenix again." Batty was a little disappointed. He scratched his hair that hadn't dried yet, then went to the bar to get himself a glass of tequila. "This is the umpteenth time he left early because of that guy. You know what, Ney, I would rather Leonardo be with my godfather than him."

After hearing the gossip, Neymar struggled to recover from his depression.

"Are you talking about the Leonardo who just won the Oscar?" he asked. "Have you met him too?"

Batty nodded, then half-lying on the sofa lazily, eating two cherries with tequila. He played with the cherry stems in his hands and said, "I've met him a few times. He is the most interesting of my godfather's many lovers. The one that impressed me the most was when Edmundo brought him to see me. He gave me a complete set of Darth Vader costumes and a bunch of lightsabers, and they were all authentic, the kind used by the prop team."

Neymar didn't know what to say in response and could only reply with one phrase or interjection after another.

The situation was now going off the track, and he had no idea how to correct it.

Maybe this is Batty's way of escaping the pain?
It makes sense to divert your attention to other things and forget the frustration brought by the loss of the game. "Are you distracted? Is it boring to listen to me?" Batistuta finished his tequila, and the strong liquor made his cheeks red. He randomly gave Neymar a middle finger, "Just because I lost the game, you are annoyed with me?"

Oh, now the topic is finally no longer about the great director but returns to what he is good at, Neymar thought.

"No, Barty, I'm not annoying you. On the contrary, I really like listening to you talk." He walked in front of Barty and squatted down on the sofa. "I thought you hated people talking about this after losing the game, so I didn't know how to start the conversation... Losing the game 3-4, really, I can't imagine how sad you would be."

Batty tilted his head and looked at him, slightly tipsy from the alcohol: "Sad? I'm not sad, or rather - my bad time is over."

ended?
Neymar didn't believe it.

"It's okay, Batistuta, I'll be with you." Neymar reached out and took the wine glass from Batistuta and placed it on the coffee table. "Don't run away. There are many unexpected things happening on the football field, reversals, buzzer beaters. Sometimes you are the protagonist, and sometimes the protagonist is your opponent. The championship is not everything in life. You have to look forward."

Batty looked at him with confusion in his eyes.

"What the hell are you talking about, Ney? Why are you giving me chicken soup?" He blinked a few times. "I'm not feeling well right now, but that's not what I need. I need—"

Halfway through his words, he suddenly reached out and grabbed Neymar's collar and pulled him towards him. Neymar, who suddenly lost his balance, subconsciously put his hands on the back of the sofa and stepped over Batistuta's legs. When he steadied himself, he realized that Batistuta's nose was less than 2 centimeters away from him.

"you--"

Face to face.

One on one.

Warm brown against cool blue.

"This is what I need." Batty looked at him, "Comfort me."

The heat mixed with the smell of alcohol hit Neymar's lips. His heartbeat was so loud that he could not hear anything else. From the moment he came to this action, he lost the ability to communicate with the outside world. He could only see Batistuta's lips moving.

His lips looked soft but a little dry, less endor-colored than usual, and in need of moisturization.

but--

He was awake now, they were all awake.

Can I kiss you?

Does kissing make everything clear?

Do you want to make it clear?

wait a minute...

Batty was drunk and had just lost the game. Did he really know what he was doing?

What to do once it’s made clear?
Is this considered a confession?

Did Batty want him to confess?

Or was he teasing him again?
……

As time passed, all kinds of questions filled Neymar's mind and he turned into a stone statue again.

As for Batty, he looked at the person in front of him who had no response to his initiative and smacked his lips in annoyance.

Most people who encounter this situation would definitely kiss her without thinking, but unlike last time, this has gone beyond the level of explicitness and is almost equivalent to an invitation.

Why can't Neymar succeed?
There have been several reactions, haven't there? Batty thought a little irritably. If it were Kevin, they would have rolled onto the carpet by now.

[Bang, bang—]
There was a sudden knock on the door of the VIP box. It was the stadium manager.

"The cleaning staff will begin a thorough cleaning shortly. If you have nothing else to do, please take your valuables and leave through the emergency exit."

Very politely remind them that it's time to go.

Batistuta took out his cell phone and checked the time. It was indeed very late. Even the Real Madrid team that had just been having fun in the locker room had probably left the stadium.

"Thank you. We'll be leaving now."

After saying that, Batistuta pushed away the stone statue on his body and went to the bar to pour himself another glass of wine. After drinking it all, he opened the list and called the head coach who was packing up in the hotel at the time.

"Pep? It's me. I changed my mind... Nothing. When does the plane take off? Okay... OK, I'll go directly to the airport and tell them. Don't be too surprised to see me then... Loach will help me pack the things."

Neymar sat on the ground, scratching his hair, and then realized something. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes." Batty looked at him without any emotion, then brushed his hair back. "I'm a little angry with you now, so I don't plan to go back to the hotel with you."

"But didn't we agree to go back together?" Neymar stood up to stop him. "Listen to me, Batistuta, I just--"

"Don't." Batty made a gesture to silence, then he put the cap on the bottle of tequila and stuffed the whole bottle into his pocket. "I don't want to hear you talk now. Losing is annoying enough. You should spend the night alone."

After saying that, he walked out.

Neymar was dumbfounded when he saw the box door being slammed shut.

……

Batty called a special car to take him to the airport. On the way, he drank the whole bottle of tequila, and as expected, he vomited twice on the side of the road.

The private car driver was very professional. Not only did he wait patiently for him to recover, he also gave him warm water to rinse his mouth.

This caused him to spend a lot of time on the road, and when he arrived at the terminal, the entire Manchester City team was already seated in the lounge.

As soon as he stepped into the lounge and greeted his teammates who were surprised to see him, he received bad news - due to weather reasons, their flight would take off an hour later.

There was a wailing in the lounge.

"What the hell." Batty muttered as he sat down on the sofa. "Did the goddess of luck go to the bar and get hungover? Why hasn't she been online all day?"

Aguero came over and asked: "Why are you back? Where is your godfather?"

"The plan has changed." Batistuta didn't seem to want to say too much. He lay on Aguero's legs and rubbed his pants with his cheek. "Kun is still the best."

this--

Aguero pursed his lips and then lifted the man off his legs.

"Don't interrupt." He said seriously, "Why do you smell like alcohol?"

"I drank a little in the box. I swear, not much." Batty shook his hair and said, "Really, just a little."

But you sound like you drank a lot, Aguero thought helplessly.

Suddenly, Batty jumped up again like a spring.

"This sofa is uncomfortable! It feels the same as the one in the VIP box just now. I hate it!" The boy yelled, "I have to go wash my face, cool down, and get rid of this annoying feeling."

"Hey, Barty—"

Looking at the figure jumping to the bathroom, Aguero shook his head, then turned around to report the matter to Guardiola to see if the coach could think of a way to find something to sober up for Batistuta.

Alas, losing to Real Madrid had a bigger impact on Batistuta than they imagined.

……

Most drunk people do not consider themselves drunk, and most of them can maintain a certain level of rationality, provided that they do not reach the threshold of being completely drunk.

Batty was like this, a bottle of tequila wouldn't make him drunk, but it would give him a reason to relax. He went to the bathroom mirror and splashed water on his face.

Including this time, Neymar has rejected him twice.

He couldn't figure out why.

Really, there was obviously a reaction, wasn't there? All the signs showed that even if he was not interested in him as a person, he was at least sexually attracted to him.

But why is it always that last step that is missing?

It made it seem like he was in a hurry.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Batistuta thought, maybe the problem lies with himself. He shouldn't have such a strong obsession with Neymar. Isn't it just a lack of reaction? What's the big deal? And he just thought of it. No one would be able to bear it.

such as--

[Crash]
The door behind Batty was suddenly pushed open and a familiar voice was heard.

"Buddy? Why are you here?"

Oh, like Kevin De Bruyne.

Speak of the devil, just as I thought of him, he really appeared.

Batty reached out to wipe the water off his face and turned to smile at him.

"My plan just changed. My godfather can't take me back, so I had to come back." He said, "What's wrong? Are you unhappy to see me back?"

"No, no, I'm just a little surprised." De Bruyne came over with a weird look on his face and wanted to hug him, but soon he, like Aguero, was attracted by the smell of alcohol and stopped in front of Batistuta. The Belgian put on a serious expression: "Where were you just now? Why do you smell so much alcohol?"

Asking the same question over and over again, annoying.

Barty rolled his eyes at the ground.

Then, just as he glanced at his disheveled self in the mirror, the aftereffects of the tequila kicked in and he was now very hot.

What did you just say?

If it were Kevin, it definitely wouldn't be like that, right?

So Batistuta raised his red eyes and looked over, then moved his shoulders and neck, grabbed the strap of De Bruyne's sweatshirt on his chest, took him into an empty compartment and pressed him on the board, then he leaned forward to shorten the distance between them.

De Bruyne was stunned.

Before he could react, the scene before his eyes was occupied by a magnificent and mysterious blue.

"Barty, you—"

"Hush boy." Batty said a little forcefully, then blocked his mouth with a kiss.

Looking at the shocked Belgian midfielder on the opposite side, his mood suddenly brightened, and even his tone was a little excited. He continued, imprinting countless kisses from the corner of the opponent's mouth to the place where the jaw and neck joined.

"I want this right now, can you help me---!"

Sure enough, Kevin is different.

Feeling the crazy plundering in his mouth, Batty felt inexplicably relieved.

See, this is a normal reaction.

So he reduced his strength a little, allowing the opponent to turn over and press him against the partition, then he put his arms around De Bruyne's neck and began to respond to his rhythm.

This is the advantage of being of similar height, kissing is effortless.

……

However, what none of them expected was that next door to them, there was a guy who was using his cell phone while squatting on the toilet.

Stones opened his eyes wide in horror, and at the same time covered his nose and mouth tightly, not even daring to breathe.

Jesus is above.

Kevin and Batty?
Kevin and Batty!
(End of this chapter)