godspeed | marcus rashford

one.

pilot

Within the room of KYRIE JAMES thrived concentration and productivity as the young adult carried on with her packing in solace. Scattered around the bedroom laid whole luggage and random items, clothes folded in strict order where ever they were situated. Much of her personality had been stripped off of the walls; the room now naked and open to redecoration. She was scheduled to venture to her destination within the next few days and so she decided upon keeping herself in check knowing she had to keep others in check once she was to play an active role as an assistant to a sports agent.

With the setting sun came a sky of fire, the golden warmth slowly dripping into the room. The atmosphere was light and fluid in the cube room; smooth lyrics of NICE by The Carters softly bounced off the four walls, Kyrie bobbing her head and tuning into the song every now and then; the mixture of the divine scenery and root tunes bringing Kyrie a sense of serenity.

When she finally found some form of satisfaction Kyrie let out a soft hum, stretching out her limbs to drain out her sudden fatigue as she took a seat on her bed. I mean, it wasn't too abrupt; in truth, the young woman had been organising herself along with her belongings for the past few hours so it could be said that her exhaustion was justified. Not to mention her job required the young woman to be active in all ways possible so even the domestic work that she had to crunch within a small time period didn't phrase her that much before indulging back into her regular job schedule.

A hand flew up to her timid blond roots before she let out a stretched puff. Kyrie was set to travel away permanently within the next few days back to her motherland, England. And as much as she sourced needed excitement at the single thought of returning back home for good, she also carried a string of disbelief as time slowly, but naturally passed. She had been stationed in Leipzig (partially in Liverpool too) for the past while and for a moment, had grown used to the new air. Sure, it would be missed by Kyrie. However, the thought of returning home knowing that it wouldn't be labelled as a holiday anymore had Kyrie high on exhilaration.

Not to mention, she had to endure a wave of somnolence for her efforts in organising herself and her roommate on the side as a bonus.

Speaking of her roommate.

Just then, a knock on her bedroom door caused Kyrie to glance the other way to catch sight of her friend and roommate, TIMO WERNER. Well, semi-roommate. Since her time in Germany, the two have been living in the same building complex for the last few years. It was rather convenient for the two because one, Kyrie had someone to aid her in venturing the country (despite speaking fluent German). Two, Kyrie was one of the assistants of Timo's agent, Claire Reyes, so it was much easier for the two to come in contact with another.

Timo took a glance at Kyrie's near-bare room. "Woah, okay. You almost done packing?" he asked as he strolled into the room quite freely, and his appearance gave off the same impression; simple Nike shirt and shorts paired with matching sliders.

She nodded. "Yeah, I just have to make sure I have all the necessaries and leave out all of the small things for tomorrow. Why?" After she placed an item to the slide, her eyes grew narrow as she turned to Timo again—the football player's stance grown stiff and timid. Kyrie soon came to a conclusion. She sighed. "You haven't started, have you?"

"Of course I have!" Timo said but Kyrie noticed the crack in his voice. "It's just that I-I still got a bit to do, you know."

Kyrie tilted her head as she folded her arms. She let out a low hum. "So you came here to ask me to help you?"

"What? No. . ." he trailed for a moment as his hand found the nape of his neck. "But if you were willing to give me a helping hand then I wouldn't reject it."