ᶠÚᵗᵇᵒˡ Oɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs ⎳⎳

More (Neymessi)

Requested 🙉

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My mom couldn't tolerate my dad's ridiculous antics anymore, and neither could I. We didn't deserve to stay up night after night worrying that he was out late overworking when all he did was club and spend all the money he promised to deposit to keep in me and my mom's name, half and half.

But ofcourse that was just a dirty lie. And although whatever he did was wrong and when we began to realize it was intolerable, neither did my mom didn't react to it righteously, nor maturely.

Without talking it out, she began to look for someone else. And my dad didn't budge either, which I considered somewhat of a very heartless act that I'd never expect him to do. He showed no sympathy or regret of his actions, and thus continued to do what he had always been doing behind our back.

I never wanted us to come apart, but eventually it was bound to happen, and I couldn't just expect them to magically bind back together. The damage had been done. There was no going back.

It broke me to see my parents seperate and what hurt me the most was to choose who to live with, although I could've just chosen to live alone. But I decided to go for my mom, since she needed me for being financially stable. She can't do the work alone.

I tried my best to help her out while she worked. For example, I did the house work immediately after coming back from school. And although it was tough considering I had to study and had bakc to back football practice, I couldn't avoid helping mum.

One day she'd bring a man home, probably around the same age as her. He looked fairly nice for his age, and didn't prove of any signs of harm. He seemed humble, I could tell.

But I began to grow suspicious as my mom began to bring him on every weekend. It didn't seem quite normal, considering the fact she'd told me he's just a 'close friend'.

Apparently he's my dad now. No, step dad. But yes, he is a great man. He loves my mom and my mom loves him too, but it's just hard for me as a son.

It's even harder to flush the fact that we have to move to his house, and that he has a son of 16 living there with him. I can only imagine how awkward it'd get once we'd meet. The worst that could happen is us having to share the room, one bed.

That wouldn't be quite nice.

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It's been a few months since we've moved. And in all honesty, it isn't even that bad. It's nice to have my father, Digeo, around.

And I would say the same about his son. Even better, as a matter of fact.

Neymar. He's quite shy, but not too much around me. We've grown close over these few months and i've got to know so much about him, and how precious he is.

Neymar is a beautiful boy. He has the bold, striking hazel eyes to prove his might and the sparkle to humble it. His body frame is small and skinny, amd his hair comes in short, soft curls that I love to keep twisted between my fingers.

He has a soft place in his heart for football just as I do. His smile, his voice, his personality, everything about him never fails to fascinate me.

Sometimes I do wish that we wouldn't have been step brothers. Although it's just a thought that's held within the barriers inside my head, it makes up a huge part of my sleeping routine.

There have been nights I couldn't sleep thinking about it. What if we weren't step brothers? It feels almost illegal to think about it as it sounds a tad bit creepy describing Neymar like that, but I can't help it.