fic: Growing Pains [Deco, Leo Messi] (gen, PG)
Title: Growing Pains
Characters: Deco, Leo Messi (and tiny cameos by other FC Barcelona players, staff and Jose Mourinho)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Okay, so. Leo's actually 19 now. Deco should possibly stop thinking of him as a kid. It's just hard to remember, sometimes. Deco quietly freaks out about the person Leo's turning into. Set in 2006/2007.
Note: For colourreporter, she who feels much the same way I do about both of them.
Half the bottle's gone by the time Deco realises that the blanket of warmth all along his right side is a person. More to the point, it's Leo, curled up against him and somehow fast asleep.
In the middle of a club. He already feels kind of bad about bringing the kid, and this - really doesn't help.
*
Okay, so. Leo's actually 19 now. Deco should possibly stop thinking of him as a kid. It's just hard to remember, sometimes.
When Deco was 19 - no.
When Anderson was 19, he was a shit-scared kid who had never flown first class. (He's never felt as out of place as he did on that flight to Portugal, fidgeting in the cheap suit that they had made him buy, too nervous to even arrange his limbs into any kind of comfortable position.)
That wide-eyed kid - he'd be beyond horrified by the amount of money Deco's spent on fucking drinks tonight. Which is just the kind of thought that makes him want to spend even more money on expensive alcohol that's probably shortening his career right this moment.
Deco doesn't - can't - dwell on himself, these days. Increasingly, he thinks about - worries about -
On the pitch, he never thinks of Leo as a kid. There's no way he came out of his mother's womb a fully formed, scarily driven professional athlete - as opposed to a player, like Ronnie, like Deco himself once upon a time - but sometimes it seems frighteningly plausible.
And that's why...a couple of years back, Xavi had taken him aside and asked, in his usual quiet and endlessly tactful way, which Leo was more real.
("You, Sylvinho and Ronnie know him best. But...I feel that most of the squad would also learn to relate to him if they understood. A bit more.")
Sylvinho might - would - completely disagree with him, but Deco honestly thinks the shy kid thing's just surface gloss.
A shadow of the real thing - the real person who only turns up on the pitch.
(Rodrigo had looked at him funny when he asked how long Leo had been like that about football. "That's just the way he is.")
(Sometimes, when Leo's not looking, Jorge stares at his son like he's a stranger. He does it often enough that Deco's not the only one who's noticed.)
Either way, Deco's explanation makes sense to people. He knows it does because that talk with Xavi - and back in those days, talking to Xavi was pretty much broadcasting to the whole squad, in the best way - really did help Leo settle into the dressing room.
*
It's still far too easy to forget that the kid who takes care to laugh quietly at his dirty jokes, as if being loud would offend somebody, is the same guy who gives him that amused, conspiratorial look, almost a smirk, after one of Deco's better executed dives.
Leo doesn't do that. But he's worse than Deco about the dramatic death rolls when someone actually hits him, so he obviously gets the idea of playing to the ref just fine.
*
That kind of thing...sometimes it makes him wonder what Mourinho would make of Leo.
("That is why you're so infuriating. Wasting your talent - and if I can only make you behave like an adult for stretches at a time, what chance does anyone else have?")
It's a disturbing thought, all the more so because he has this vague sense, sometimes, of Leo as a newly-forged knife that justs needs a bit more sharpening - and a ruthless wielder - to be constantly deadly, all of the time.
Something tells him this is going to happen. And soon.
*
It turns out training at Anfield can be just as bad as training anywhere else. He wants, very badly, to just shower and get out of there.
Except that Leo's falling out of step with Ronnie as they jog off the pitch, pulling up next to him and tugging on his sleeve.
Sleeve-tugging means can we stay behind?, and Deco's not in the habit of ignoring that. The shower can wait if Leo needs to talk.
It takes him five minutes to open his mouth, which by Deco's count is actually a big improvement from even last year. Progress. Cracks in the shell, or something.
His voice is stronger now too, even when filled with worry. "Hey. You okay?"
Deco raises his eyebrows. There's no way he looks any more hangdog than usual.
Leo flushes. "It's just...you don't look too good. Even though." A broad, expansive wave of his arms gets his meaning across just as well as words.
Sometimes Deco forgets that Leo sees things. Like the fact that even if he's a miserable bastard about league games these days, he can at least usually get it up for the Champions League.
He's...really, really fucking tired. But Leo's right, even they aren't at a place like Anfield everyday. Back when he was young enough that the desire to play football was the only important thing - if he was still that person, he'd be disgustingly excited, probably jumping up and down in his beaten up boots at the mere idea.
"I think - I think we messed up too much in the first leg."
Which is - not what's bothering him. Not entirely. It's just the easiest part to explain, and Leo won't ask for more. That's how they work.
"Yeah, but that was then. I don't care if scoring two goals here is supposed to be hard. We can do anything."
Leo glances around the towering stands as if daring them to disagree before beaming up at him, and it's times like these that makes Deco wish really hard for the whole disillusionment-of-adulthood thing to pass the kid by entirely.
It's times like these that makes him stupid enough to believe that it's not already too late.
*
Thing is, Leo had his first six-figure contract by the time he was 13. It took Deco til fucking Porto before he got that - which makes him a hell of a lot luckier than most of the guys he'd played with back in Brazil.
That - makes a difference. Just like the fact that Leo's been Barca since he was 13. He hasn't quite gotten to the level of outward smoothness that the other academy grads like Xavi and Andres have, and maybe he never will, but.
He's 19, and a massive training ground bust-up, complete with photos and fucking quotes all over the local papers? To him, that's just Tuesday. Press conference with a forest of microphones in his face? Friday.
The press thing still drives Deco crazy, even after all these years. Guys like Xavi, Andres and Leo have been trained for years to just go with it, and it - really does make a difference.
*
Apparently not to everything, though.
"What's the problem with awards shows?" You should start getting used to them, he doesn't say.
"I. I don't own a suit." Leo's blush goes right up to his hairline. "And. Um. Rodrigo's too busy to take me shopping."
And his dad's away on business, like he usually is these days.
Deco wants to sigh, make one of his many long-suffering faces, but he doesn't. It's Leo, after all, who never asks for anything unless he really needs it.
And it's not as if Deco doesn't understand where he's coming from. At that age, he -
Nevermind.
"Come on, I'm taking you to my tailor."
*
Even in a training match, the sight of Leo bearing down on him with the ball, fully prepared to blow right past as if he's one of the fluorescent cones is really, really unpleasant. It's even worse when Leo - pauses, ball at his feet, waiting-but-not. Ronnie would sell a dummy with a flick of his eyes, but Leo doesn't do that, much. When he actually stops, it's more likely that -
There. Slight shift of center of gravity, not much movement but a clear enough statement of intent to anybody with defensive instincts. It telegraphs his next move on purpose.
It makes no difference. When Leo moves, fast with the ball like almost no one else, he's still too late to react.
*
He should - possibly - feel at least a little bit envious some of the time, because Leo makes it all look so damn easy that some of the new guys actually stop to stare in training in their first few weeks, and when's the last time he saw experienced professionals do that?
But of course he doesn't. Not ever. A part of that's just - Leo. He's really just a quiet kid who actually counts sleeping in as one of his hobbies. As for the rest...as much as technique that perfect looks innate, he's seen how little time Leo spends without a ball close enough to touch. And even those short separations make him twitchy enough to juggle all sorts of insane, sometimes not even vaguely ball-shaped things.
*
Raised voices in training isn't so unusual these days, but Leo's being one of them definitely is.
Deco probably should have noticed something was wrong before all the shouting started, but that would require sacrifices such as actually paying attention through the headache that feels like his skull's about to crack open.
(And there's not even a good - worthwhile - reason for the pain. He just couldn't sleep. For the past - oh, 3 weeks. The ankle was bothering him too much, and before that it was the hamstring, and - )
It has to be okay to feel this way, now, because he's been doing this for a long time, and he's so damn sick of feeling old and missing what it used to be like, before the aches and pains and stupid outside complications set in.
But. Leo shouting. He can drag himself out of his own head for that.
Carles is breaking it up even as he jogs over, but one look at Rafa's face tells him all he needs to know.
Since the last injury, they've all been pulling their tackles in training against Leo, being extra careful with any contact. It wasn't even Rijkaard's idea. Everyone knows that Leo's fragile, and they need him fit, simple as that. Problem is, Leo's never liked being coddled. Not on a football pitch.
The practice game is as bad as Deco thought it would be. He might be only half there, but it still puts him one up on Ronnie, and what the hell's going on there, anyway?
Then there's Leo, running rings around everyone, not even with any sense of purpose. With the ball at his feet, he doesn't need to look up, possibly hasn't ever needed to, but usually it's not this obvious.
Not this much of a taunt.
Leo is angry.
Thankfully, Deco's not the only one who notices. It only takes three minutes before the boss stops the game and quietly, kindly but firmly asks Leo to go take his shower early.
It's the work of five minutes to look for an appropriate window, mutter something about his headache and go after him.
He's not remotely surprised to find Leo sitting on the corner bench, legs dangling off the ground. No fading bruises on the shins, at least today. For a moment, the image of the boy Leo had been three years ago (curled in on himself in that corner as if willing himself to disappear) is overwhelming. Then he blinks and Leo's staring at him.
To someone else, that expression would read as blank, but Deco knows him. There's plenty of frustration and anger underneath.
"You shouldn't - protect me." A roomful of journalists would probably be shocked to hear that Leo has a setting other than 'mumble', and maybe that would be funny another time. Not now. Leo only talks like that when -
"We're just worried about you."
"The Getafe leftback's not going to pull out of a tackle because it might hurt my ankle."
- when he's seriously not feeling right. Which is why Deco's acting like Leo's a frightened animal he's hoping won't bolt on him.
"Leo - don't - " Don't what? Make yourself into someone that can deal with all this effortlessly? Who makes it so that you can do what you've always wanted? "You know you're not - "
You're too hard on yourself. You need to slow down and actually deal with everything. Like a normal person.
Deco chokes back the laugh.
"I have to do this." He's back to mumbling, the words soft and quiet. That shouldn't be reassuring. "Don't treat me differently. Please. That stuff's - not important."
Leo looks at him - and suddenly it's not the kid anymore. Just the guy in the football jersey, comfortable with a ball at his feet. Model professional since day one.
And yeah, Deco gets it. He's seen this coming since - the beginning, really. Doesn't mean he can just stand there and -
"It's going to affect your play - "
He's cut off by little more than the shift in expression on Leo's face. The slightest hint of desperation, there and gone in a flash, smoothed over by blank determination like everything else.
If not for that expression, he'd take a step closer, get his arms up and maybe just clap Leo on the shoulders, ruffle his hair, or give him a hug, something. But that's what he does to comfort the kid. Who isn't really here right now.
Leo's fingers are clutching at his too-long sleeves hard enough that the knuckles are white.
His tone is perfectly even.
"I can play. I can always play."
*
It's not as if Leo doesn't have cracks. It's just that they all have to do with not being able to - do what he's supposed to? ('Play' sounds far too weak for the way Leo needs.) God knows Deco gets that. He really does.
He gets going to crazy lengths to be able to run onto a football pitch in front of tens of thousands, and remaking yourself inside and outside just to be good enough, becoming a different person if that's what would work.
After all, once upon a time, he used to know what it felt like to need it, that intensely, with that edge of desperation underneath. He used to be that stubborn bastard.
"[Leo]'s very shy and does not speak much but on the pitch he changes completely. He transforms." - Carles Puyol, 2006.
"Earlier on, when it was the Golden Ball, I already said to him 'don't worry, even if you don't get it this year, you will next year.' Because this world isn't short of new stars, but most of them will turn out to be mere shooting stars. Messi is different, he will dominate football for many years." - Deco, December 2007.
Notes:
1. The 'kid' thing - a lot of the players used to refer to Leo as just 'el pibe' or 'el nino' (only the Argie NT guys use 'el pulga'). It seems to happen much less these days.
2. Sometimes, the extent to which Barca's other players - especially the newer ones - almost worship Leo is a bit scary. The way they talk about him is far, far beyond the polite praise that's normally offered for a skilled colleague. It's kind of like the way Ronaldinho used to do crazy shit in training and everyone else would just gape.
3. I really couldn't have written this in 2007. From the comfort of 2009, when Deco's painful divorce from Barca has actually finished and when a lot of what troubles Leo has been fixed (not just mentally, but in terms of physical fitness), it's a lot easier to think about.
4. Rodrigo is Leo's eldest brother, who lives and works in Barcelona. Leo has lived with him and his family for years. Jorge is Leo's dad, who manages his career much like the William sisters' father does theirs.
5. The stuff about Deco's past comes from this article from Champions magazine [ scan 1, scan 2].
Feedback would be greatly appreciated.
Characters: Deco, Leo Messi (and tiny cameos by other FC Barcelona players, staff and Jose Mourinho)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Okay, so. Leo's actually 19 now. Deco should possibly stop thinking of him as a kid. It's just hard to remember, sometimes. Deco quietly freaks out about the person Leo's turning into. Set in 2006/2007.
Note: For colourreporter, she who feels much the same way I do about both of them.
Half the bottle's gone by the time Deco realises that the blanket of warmth all along his right side is a person. More to the point, it's Leo, curled up against him and somehow fast asleep.
In the middle of a club. He already feels kind of bad about bringing the kid, and this - really doesn't help.
*
Okay, so. Leo's actually 19 now. Deco should possibly stop thinking of him as a kid. It's just hard to remember, sometimes.
When Deco was 19 - no.
When Anderson was 19, he was a shit-scared kid who had never flown first class. (He's never felt as out of place as he did on that flight to Portugal, fidgeting in the cheap suit that they had made him buy, too nervous to even arrange his limbs into any kind of comfortable position.)
That wide-eyed kid - he'd be beyond horrified by the amount of money Deco's spent on fucking drinks tonight. Which is just the kind of thought that makes him want to spend even more money on expensive alcohol that's probably shortening his career right this moment.
Deco doesn't - can't - dwell on himself, these days. Increasingly, he thinks about - worries about -
On the pitch, he never thinks of Leo as a kid. There's no way he came out of his mother's womb a fully formed, scarily driven professional athlete - as opposed to a player, like Ronnie, like Deco himself once upon a time - but sometimes it seems frighteningly plausible.
And that's why...a couple of years back, Xavi had taken him aside and asked, in his usual quiet and endlessly tactful way, which Leo was more real.
("You, Sylvinho and Ronnie know him best. But...I feel that most of the squad would also learn to relate to him if they understood. A bit more.")
Sylvinho might - would - completely disagree with him, but Deco honestly thinks the shy kid thing's just surface gloss.
A shadow of the real thing - the real person who only turns up on the pitch.
(Rodrigo had looked at him funny when he asked how long Leo had been like that about football. "That's just the way he is.")
(Sometimes, when Leo's not looking, Jorge stares at his son like he's a stranger. He does it often enough that Deco's not the only one who's noticed.)
Either way, Deco's explanation makes sense to people. He knows it does because that talk with Xavi - and back in those days, talking to Xavi was pretty much broadcasting to the whole squad, in the best way - really did help Leo settle into the dressing room.
*
It's still far too easy to forget that the kid who takes care to laugh quietly at his dirty jokes, as if being loud would offend somebody, is the same guy who gives him that amused, conspiratorial look, almost a smirk, after one of Deco's better executed dives.
Leo doesn't do that. But he's worse than Deco about the dramatic death rolls when someone actually hits him, so he obviously gets the idea of playing to the ref just fine.
*
That kind of thing...sometimes it makes him wonder what Mourinho would make of Leo.
("That is why you're so infuriating. Wasting your talent - and if I can only make you behave like an adult for stretches at a time, what chance does anyone else have?")
It's a disturbing thought, all the more so because he has this vague sense, sometimes, of Leo as a newly-forged knife that justs needs a bit more sharpening - and a ruthless wielder - to be constantly deadly, all of the time.
Something tells him this is going to happen. And soon.
*
It turns out training at Anfield can be just as bad as training anywhere else. He wants, very badly, to just shower and get out of there.
Except that Leo's falling out of step with Ronnie as they jog off the pitch, pulling up next to him and tugging on his sleeve.
Sleeve-tugging means can we stay behind?, and Deco's not in the habit of ignoring that. The shower can wait if Leo needs to talk.
It takes him five minutes to open his mouth, which by Deco's count is actually a big improvement from even last year. Progress. Cracks in the shell, or something.
His voice is stronger now too, even when filled with worry. "Hey. You okay?"
Deco raises his eyebrows. There's no way he looks any more hangdog than usual.
Leo flushes. "It's just...you don't look too good. Even though." A broad, expansive wave of his arms gets his meaning across just as well as words.
Sometimes Deco forgets that Leo sees things. Like the fact that even if he's a miserable bastard about league games these days, he can at least usually get it up for the Champions League.
He's...really, really fucking tired. But Leo's right, even they aren't at a place like Anfield everyday. Back when he was young enough that the desire to play football was the only important thing - if he was still that person, he'd be disgustingly excited, probably jumping up and down in his beaten up boots at the mere idea.
"I think - I think we messed up too much in the first leg."
Which is - not what's bothering him. Not entirely. It's just the easiest part to explain, and Leo won't ask for more. That's how they work.
"Yeah, but that was then. I don't care if scoring two goals here is supposed to be hard. We can do anything."
Leo glances around the towering stands as if daring them to disagree before beaming up at him, and it's times like these that makes Deco wish really hard for the whole disillusionment-of-adulthood thing to pass the kid by entirely.
It's times like these that makes him stupid enough to believe that it's not already too late.
*
Thing is, Leo had his first six-figure contract by the time he was 13. It took Deco til fucking Porto before he got that - which makes him a hell of a lot luckier than most of the guys he'd played with back in Brazil.
That - makes a difference. Just like the fact that Leo's been Barca since he was 13. He hasn't quite gotten to the level of outward smoothness that the other academy grads like Xavi and Andres have, and maybe he never will, but.
He's 19, and a massive training ground bust-up, complete with photos and fucking quotes all over the local papers? To him, that's just Tuesday. Press conference with a forest of microphones in his face? Friday.
The press thing still drives Deco crazy, even after all these years. Guys like Xavi, Andres and Leo have been trained for years to just go with it, and it - really does make a difference.
*
Apparently not to everything, though.
"What's the problem with awards shows?" You should start getting used to them, he doesn't say.
"I. I don't own a suit." Leo's blush goes right up to his hairline. "And. Um. Rodrigo's too busy to take me shopping."
And his dad's away on business, like he usually is these days.
Deco wants to sigh, make one of his many long-suffering faces, but he doesn't. It's Leo, after all, who never asks for anything unless he really needs it.
And it's not as if Deco doesn't understand where he's coming from. At that age, he -
Nevermind.
"Come on, I'm taking you to my tailor."
*
Even in a training match, the sight of Leo bearing down on him with the ball, fully prepared to blow right past as if he's one of the fluorescent cones is really, really unpleasant. It's even worse when Leo - pauses, ball at his feet, waiting-but-not. Ronnie would sell a dummy with a flick of his eyes, but Leo doesn't do that, much. When he actually stops, it's more likely that -
There. Slight shift of center of gravity, not much movement but a clear enough statement of intent to anybody with defensive instincts. It telegraphs his next move on purpose.
It makes no difference. When Leo moves, fast with the ball like almost no one else, he's still too late to react.
*
He should - possibly - feel at least a little bit envious some of the time, because Leo makes it all look so damn easy that some of the new guys actually stop to stare in training in their first few weeks, and when's the last time he saw experienced professionals do that?
But of course he doesn't. Not ever. A part of that's just - Leo. He's really just a quiet kid who actually counts sleeping in as one of his hobbies. As for the rest...as much as technique that perfect looks innate, he's seen how little time Leo spends without a ball close enough to touch. And even those short separations make him twitchy enough to juggle all sorts of insane, sometimes not even vaguely ball-shaped things.
*
Raised voices in training isn't so unusual these days, but Leo's being one of them definitely is.
Deco probably should have noticed something was wrong before all the shouting started, but that would require sacrifices such as actually paying attention through the headache that feels like his skull's about to crack open.
(And there's not even a good - worthwhile - reason for the pain. He just couldn't sleep. For the past - oh, 3 weeks. The ankle was bothering him too much, and before that it was the hamstring, and - )
It has to be okay to feel this way, now, because he's been doing this for a long time, and he's so damn sick of feeling old and missing what it used to be like, before the aches and pains and stupid outside complications set in.
But. Leo shouting. He can drag himself out of his own head for that.
Carles is breaking it up even as he jogs over, but one look at Rafa's face tells him all he needs to know.
Since the last injury, they've all been pulling their tackles in training against Leo, being extra careful with any contact. It wasn't even Rijkaard's idea. Everyone knows that Leo's fragile, and they need him fit, simple as that. Problem is, Leo's never liked being coddled. Not on a football pitch.
The practice game is as bad as Deco thought it would be. He might be only half there, but it still puts him one up on Ronnie, and what the hell's going on there, anyway?
Then there's Leo, running rings around everyone, not even with any sense of purpose. With the ball at his feet, he doesn't need to look up, possibly hasn't ever needed to, but usually it's not this obvious.
Not this much of a taunt.
Leo is angry.
Thankfully, Deco's not the only one who notices. It only takes three minutes before the boss stops the game and quietly, kindly but firmly asks Leo to go take his shower early.
It's the work of five minutes to look for an appropriate window, mutter something about his headache and go after him.
He's not remotely surprised to find Leo sitting on the corner bench, legs dangling off the ground. No fading bruises on the shins, at least today. For a moment, the image of the boy Leo had been three years ago (curled in on himself in that corner as if willing himself to disappear) is overwhelming. Then he blinks and Leo's staring at him.
To someone else, that expression would read as blank, but Deco knows him. There's plenty of frustration and anger underneath.
"You shouldn't - protect me." A roomful of journalists would probably be shocked to hear that Leo has a setting other than 'mumble', and maybe that would be funny another time. Not now. Leo only talks like that when -
"We're just worried about you."
"The Getafe leftback's not going to pull out of a tackle because it might hurt my ankle."
- when he's seriously not feeling right. Which is why Deco's acting like Leo's a frightened animal he's hoping won't bolt on him.
"Leo - don't - " Don't what? Make yourself into someone that can deal with all this effortlessly? Who makes it so that you can do what you've always wanted? "You know you're not - "
You're too hard on yourself. You need to slow down and actually deal with everything. Like a normal person.
Deco chokes back the laugh.
"I have to do this." He's back to mumbling, the words soft and quiet. That shouldn't be reassuring. "Don't treat me differently. Please. That stuff's - not important."
Leo looks at him - and suddenly it's not the kid anymore. Just the guy in the football jersey, comfortable with a ball at his feet. Model professional since day one.
And yeah, Deco gets it. He's seen this coming since - the beginning, really. Doesn't mean he can just stand there and -
"It's going to affect your play - "
He's cut off by little more than the shift in expression on Leo's face. The slightest hint of desperation, there and gone in a flash, smoothed over by blank determination like everything else.
If not for that expression, he'd take a step closer, get his arms up and maybe just clap Leo on the shoulders, ruffle his hair, or give him a hug, something. But that's what he does to comfort the kid. Who isn't really here right now.
Leo's fingers are clutching at his too-long sleeves hard enough that the knuckles are white.
His tone is perfectly even.
"I can play. I can always play."
*
It's not as if Leo doesn't have cracks. It's just that they all have to do with not being able to - do what he's supposed to? ('Play' sounds far too weak for the way Leo needs.) God knows Deco gets that. He really does.
He gets going to crazy lengths to be able to run onto a football pitch in front of tens of thousands, and remaking yourself inside and outside just to be good enough, becoming a different person if that's what would work.
After all, once upon a time, he used to know what it felt like to need it, that intensely, with that edge of desperation underneath. He used to be that stubborn bastard.
"[Leo]'s very shy and does not speak much but on the pitch he changes completely. He transforms." - Carles Puyol, 2006.
"Earlier on, when it was the Golden Ball, I already said to him 'don't worry, even if you don't get it this year, you will next year.' Because this world isn't short of new stars, but most of them will turn out to be mere shooting stars. Messi is different, he will dominate football for many years." - Deco, December 2007.
Notes:
1. The 'kid' thing - a lot of the players used to refer to Leo as just 'el pibe' or 'el nino' (only the Argie NT guys use 'el pulga'). It seems to happen much less these days.
2. Sometimes, the extent to which Barca's other players - especially the newer ones - almost worship Leo is a bit scary. The way they talk about him is far, far beyond the polite praise that's normally offered for a skilled colleague. It's kind of like the way Ronaldinho used to do crazy shit in training and everyone else would just gape.
3. I really couldn't have written this in 2007. From the comfort of 2009, when Deco's painful divorce from Barca has actually finished and when a lot of what troubles Leo has been fixed (not just mentally, but in terms of physical fitness), it's a lot easier to think about.
4. Rodrigo is Leo's eldest brother, who lives and works in Barcelona. Leo has lived with him and his family for years. Jorge is Leo's dad, who manages his career much like the William sisters' father does theirs.
5. The stuff about Deco's past comes from this article from Champions magazine [ scan 1, scan 2].
Feedback would be greatly appreciated.