It had been about three months since you had interviewed FC Barcelona. The article was a hit, which made you tremendously relieved. Your boss now assigned you to all the articles on the La Liga games and really anything that had to do with football. You sat at your desk, writing an article on the recent upset in the pre-World Cup friendly when your boss called you over to her desk. She handed you an assignment and went back to work.

Walking back to your desk, you read the assignment. You were to cover the friendly match between España and Argentina. You finished up the article you were working on, submitting it to the editors. You sipped on some water as you read over the rosters and current rankings of the Argentina and España teams. You also read through comments about both teams from past prestigious players and sports newscasters. Your eyes landed on a name on the Argentina roster, Lionel Messi. After the interview, you had looked up a few more facts about the Argentine, curious about him. You found him attractive but knew nothing would progress past the interviewer and interviewee relationship between the two of you. The most intimate thing you had ever done with each other was smile and shake hands.

You clocked out and walked home. You opened the door and placed your stuff down on the kitchen countertop. The match was in three days and you had nothing to do. Bored out of your mind, you decided to shower and changed into some comfortable clothes, curling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. You grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. There was nothing on, except for the Barcelona vs. Elche match that was being projected live. The score was two to zero, Barcelona in the lead at half time. The match restarted, one player on the pitch catching your attention: Lionel Messi.

He was a great player, no matter what anyone else said. He quickly dribbled past two Elche defenders and got a clear shot on goal. He scored, kicking the ball into the upper left corner of the net. You couldn't help but smile as he celebrated with his teammates. The match ended with Barcelona winning four to zero. You turned off the TV after the match had finished and went to bed.

Three days later, you walked to the Santiago Bernabéu stadium, where the España vs. Argentina match was to take place. You flashed the guards your press pass and they let you through. You met with the photographer from the magazine company you worked for, Luis. He was a guy in his mid-forties with three kids at home. He was nice and you had worked together before. You exchanged small talk as you were waiting for the match to start. The players emerged from the tunnel, all looking proud. You saw Lionel standing at the front of the Argentina line, as the captain.

You watched the match carefully. You were from Portugal, and therefore carried no bias in who you wanted to win. A little bit of you wanted Argentina to win, but you buried those thoughts and took notes as the match progressed. The match ended, Argentina winning with a goal from Messi in the last ten minutes. You smiled slightly and followed the rest of the press to where the press conference was to be held. You recorded everything, being able to ask only two questions total, but you were never the less satisfied with your work. You waved goodbye to Luis and double checked the recording and your notes before leaving, being one of the last to leave. You weren't looking where you were going, and bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was walking," you stuttered, picking up the notes you had dropped when you ran into the person in front of you. Cursing yourself and your clumsiness, you stood up with your collected notes and locked eyes with Lionel Messi.

"It's alright," he replied, a smile gracing his lips. You smiled back, walking past him to the exit. You returned home, thinking back to what had occurred just moments ago. You organized your notes and put them into your workbag. You decided to call you parents, who you hadn't talked to in a while. You reached into your pocket, looking for your phone. It wasn't there. You gasped and frantically searched for your phone. Realization hit you. "I must have dropped it at the stadium, when I bumped into Lionel," you sighed. Pulling on your shoes, you were about to leave to search for your phone when a knock sounded on your door.

You walked swiftly to the door, opening the door to see Lionel Messi standing there. He held out your phone. You smiled, grabbing your phone from his extended hand. "Thank you so much!" you replied.

"It's no problem. You dropped it when you ran into me. I hope you don't mind, but I looked for your address on your phone."

"Oh don't worry about it, thank you so much, again," you replied, looking into Lionel's eyes. He said goodbye quietly, and walked away. You closed the door and unlocked your phone. You opened your contacts list, looking for your parent's number when a new one appeared on the list. Leo the Lion. You chuckled, and continued to search for your parents phone number.

After you called your parents, you set your phone on the table only to have it light up with a text notification. You unlocked your phone, the text conversation popping up. I hope you don't mind, I input my phone number just incase one of us forgets their phone if we bump into each other again. You smiled, typing a response quickly. It's not a problem, thanks for returning my phone. Leo responded quickly: You're welcome.

You smiled and went to go change for bed. You drifted to sleep, thinking about the Argentine that seemed to capture your attention these past few weeks, especially over the course of the last few hours.