neptune
分级：（好像只有G
cp：Marc/Rafa
lewandowskis
Summary:
A series of works about how Rafinha fell in love.
Notes:
this was inspired by the song 'neptune' by sleeping at last, you can check it out to get the mood of this story. hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: I
Chapter Text
I patched up every leak that I could, 'til the blame grew too heavy
Rafinha sat alone on his couch, news on his TV that he wasn't really watching. He was more like staring at his wall and scrolling through instagram, though seeing his teammates' happy pictures only made him sulk even more. He should be happy, but he feels like he really isn't, and is beating himself up over it, has been for the past few months. Don't get him wrong, his team had done an absolutely great job, had a good game against Espanyol that they won, and it was better than a tie.
Still, he just felt bitterness, because he wanted to be part of that too. He wanted to lift the FIFA Club World Cup on the pitch with his stupid teammates, hear the fans cheering deafening for them, but instead he just got to feel the cold metal against his calloused fingers as Neymar stared at his expression that should've been happy, goddamit, trying to hide his worry.
Rafinha is tired.
He looked up to the ceiling again, clenching his eyes and trying to blink the soreness away. He breathed out, in, out again. Repeat.
He knew he was going to go back to playing soon, but he wanted to do it now. He missed being on the pitch, missed the adrenaline. He'd been stuck in this apartment for so long, it felt like he never even went outside and was alone. In reality, he still went out to training and sessions, his friends and teammates visited, only Thiago hadn't.
"Call him," Dani had said, "He'd only be happy, you know."
So Rafinha did, and he realised how stupid it had actually been to keep finding excuses not to. He had team stuff to do, training, Julia, and his own stuff to deal with, but it didn't matter, because when Rafinha called, he picked up, and they talked and laughed and Rafinha had actually felt happy. He really loved his brother.
He heard the front door slam shut and jumped out of skin, eyes jumping to the entrance hall and seeing fucking Marc-André. He let out the breath he was holding and slumped back on the couch, not looking away from the blond as he approached.
"How did you get in?"
"I have a spare key?" Marc said, more like questioned, and he just looked confused, that nice guy, while Rafinha questioned his own sanity. Spare key, right.
"Sorry, I'm just tired," he explained, rubbing his eyes.
Blondie did his cute eye squinting thing before aking, "Why don't you go to sleep then?" and then sitting down next to him on the couch. "Are you okay?"
"I'm restless," Rafinha admitted, and stretched, feeling all his aching muscles. Fuck.
"You're not doing yourself any good with this," Marc said, like he knew, and Rafinha just cracked.
"I know, okay?!" he snapped. Marc just frowned at him, waiting for him to continue, but he never did. He just looked angrily at his knees, pulled up in yoga style, eyebrows drown together and the corners of his mouth down.
Marc sighed and patted Rafinha's thigh, before getting up and walking to the kitchen. "I'm gonna find something to eat, you're probably hungry."
And really, Rafinha doesn't even know how much time it's been since the game ended. He lifted his eyes up to the clock hanging up on the wall, and it had been 3 hours, flewn by unnoticed. Well, shit. Why Marc was even at his apartment this late, he didn't know. He was too nice for his own good.
When the blond came back, he looked at Rafinha pointedly before saying: "There's nothing in your kitchen, Rafa."
The younger man shrugged. "Grocery shopping wasn't really on my mind."
Marc squinted his eyes, asking, "What have you been eating, then?" like he already knew the answer.
"Take-out?"
Marc scoffed, looking down at Rafinha disapprovingly. "Seriously, Rafael, what's up with you?"
Rafinha shrugged again and averted his eyes, staring at one point of his living room, inspecting the blinds he's seen a million times. He'd be naïve if he thought Marc was going to let this whole thing go, and he felt his stomach sinking again at that familiar feeling. He didn't want to worry anyone again, but he's been doing it already.
Marc sat down next to Rafinha again, not saying anything, just looking, waiting. Rafinha fiddled with the material of his sweatpants, thinking what to say, how to word out the mess of his head.
"I hate being injured," he finally said, and instantly cringed because that seemed like it wasn't the right thing to say, like it's not what he wanted to say, and his stomach was in his feet again. Marc didn't say anything, as if he knew it. "I just- want to be there, you know. With the team. Football is what I do, and when I can't, I feel helpless," Rafinha said, and maybe his voice wavered, and maybe Marc noticed, but chose not to mention it.
Instead, he told him: "You're no less part of the team when you're injured, Rafa."
A weight lifted from Rafinha's shoulders; an invisible one that had still been dragging him down. How Marc did this, saying excatly the thing Rafinha didn't know he needed to hear, was hard for him to understand.
"No?" he questioned, as if to make sure. Marc just shook his head once, like he didn't at all think Rafinha's question was kind of miserable. Rafinha sighed and slumped against his friend's shoulder, saying a soft "Thank you."
And when Marc turned to him and gave him his sunny smile, Rafinha got a sudden urge to do something, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
分级：（好像只有G
cp：Marc/Rafa
lewandowskis
Summary:
A series of works about how Rafinha fell in love.
Notes:
this was inspired by the song 'neptune' by sleeping at last, you can check it out to get the mood of this story. hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: I
Chapter Text
I patched up every leak that I could, 'til the blame grew too heavy
Rafinha sat alone on his couch, news on his TV that he wasn't really watching. He was more like staring at his wall and scrolling through instagram, though seeing his teammates' happy pictures only made him sulk even more. He should be happy, but he feels like he really isn't, and is beating himself up over it, has been for the past few months. Don't get him wrong, his team had done an absolutely great job, had a good game against Espanyol that they won, and it was better than a tie.
Still, he just felt bitterness, because he wanted to be part of that too. He wanted to lift the FIFA Club World Cup on the pitch with his stupid teammates, hear the fans cheering deafening for them, but instead he just got to feel the cold metal against his calloused fingers as Neymar stared at his expression that should've been happy, goddamit, trying to hide his worry.
Rafinha is tired.
He looked up to the ceiling again, clenching his eyes and trying to blink the soreness away. He breathed out, in, out again. Repeat.
He knew he was going to go back to playing soon, but he wanted to do it now. He missed being on the pitch, missed the adrenaline. He'd been stuck in this apartment for so long, it felt like he never even went outside and was alone. In reality, he still went out to training and sessions, his friends and teammates visited, only Thiago hadn't.
"Call him," Dani had said, "He'd only be happy, you know."
So Rafinha did, and he realised how stupid it had actually been to keep finding excuses not to. He had team stuff to do, training, Julia, and his own stuff to deal with, but it didn't matter, because when Rafinha called, he picked up, and they talked and laughed and Rafinha had actually felt happy. He really loved his brother.
He heard the front door slam shut and jumped out of skin, eyes jumping to the entrance hall and seeing fucking Marc-André. He let out the breath he was holding and slumped back on the couch, not looking away from the blond as he approached.
"How did you get in?"
"I have a spare key?" Marc said, more like questioned, and he just looked confused, that nice guy, while Rafinha questioned his own sanity. Spare key, right.
"Sorry, I'm just tired," he explained, rubbing his eyes.
Blondie did his cute eye squinting thing before aking, "Why don't you go to sleep then?" and then sitting down next to him on the couch. "Are you okay?"
"I'm restless," Rafinha admitted, and stretched, feeling all his aching muscles. Fuck.
"You're not doing yourself any good with this," Marc said, like he knew, and Rafinha just cracked.
"I know, okay?!" he snapped. Marc just frowned at him, waiting for him to continue, but he never did. He just looked angrily at his knees, pulled up in yoga style, eyebrows drown together and the corners of his mouth down.
Marc sighed and patted Rafinha's thigh, before getting up and walking to the kitchen. "I'm gonna find something to eat, you're probably hungry."
And really, Rafinha doesn't even know how much time it's been since the game ended. He lifted his eyes up to the clock hanging up on the wall, and it had been 3 hours, flewn by unnoticed. Well, shit. Why Marc was even at his apartment this late, he didn't know. He was too nice for his own good.
When the blond came back, he looked at Rafinha pointedly before saying: "There's nothing in your kitchen, Rafa."
The younger man shrugged. "Grocery shopping wasn't really on my mind."
Marc squinted his eyes, asking, "What have you been eating, then?" like he already knew the answer.
"Take-out?"
Marc scoffed, looking down at Rafinha disapprovingly. "Seriously, Rafael, what's up with you?"
Rafinha shrugged again and averted his eyes, staring at one point of his living room, inspecting the blinds he's seen a million times. He'd be naïve if he thought Marc was going to let this whole thing go, and he felt his stomach sinking again at that familiar feeling. He didn't want to worry anyone again, but he's been doing it already.
Marc sat down next to Rafinha again, not saying anything, just looking, waiting. Rafinha fiddled with the material of his sweatpants, thinking what to say, how to word out the mess of his head.
"I hate being injured," he finally said, and instantly cringed because that seemed like it wasn't the right thing to say, like it's not what he wanted to say, and his stomach was in his feet again. Marc didn't say anything, as if he knew it. "I just- want to be there, you know. With the team. Football is what I do, and when I can't, I feel helpless," Rafinha said, and maybe his voice wavered, and maybe Marc noticed, but chose not to mention it.
Instead, he told him: "You're no less part of the team when you're injured, Rafa."
A weight lifted from Rafinha's shoulders; an invisible one that had still been dragging him down. How Marc did this, saying excatly the thing Rafinha didn't know he needed to hear, was hard for him to understand.
"No?" he questioned, as if to make sure. Marc just shook his head once, like he didn't at all think Rafinha's question was kind of miserable. Rafinha sighed and slumped against his friend's shoulder, saying a soft "Thank you."
And when Marc turned to him and gave him his sunny smile, Rafinha got a sudden urge to do something, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.
