unbearable, trent alexander-arnold

²⁰i don't know

december, twelfth.

ALTHOUGH TRENT HAD NEVER BEEN the most outgoing personality in the group, he had always had this habit of having something to say, especially about tosca and how annoying she could be. he could talk about it all day, and thus show the others — despite himself — how much he cared for the young woman without knowing it. from the locker room to the green field, from the showers to the bus, from the stadium to his car, he never stopped: "do you know she did this?", "and when i thought she was done...", "and then she said...", "anyway, she's so annoying".

but since the other night in milan, his silence was worrying his teammates. from the locker room to the green field, from the showers to the bus, from the stadium to his car, he had nothing to say anymore, and everyone noticed it. robbo was the first.

the footballer looked sad all the time as if he was empty inside. his eyes were constantly unfocused, replaying the scene of his fight with tosca the other night. football was the only thing that kept his head above water lately. without the games, he didn't know what kind of state he would be in. playing was the only thing that made him smile, even his best friend's stupid jokes didn't make him lift the corners of his mouth.

luckily, he was very good at pretending in front of the cameras, so when a microphone was handed to him after their game against newcastle, he put on a fake smile before politely answering the questions he was asked.

"when you were 2-1 up in the second half, they weren't giving up, but you sunk them with a scorcher!" the reporter exclaimed, forcing trent to let out a small laugh at his words.

"yeah i've been waiting for that for five years now, hitting it clean like that," he responded with a smile, "i've had a few ones from the edge of the box and i've dragged them. i've caught that one sweet, it's nestled in the top corner and obviously put the game to bed."

the player was talking about something while his mind was thinking about something else. he was very happy with the wonderful goal he had scored, but what was the point of scoring one like that if she wasn't there to see it and congratulate him? he knew that once he got back to the locker room, there would be no message from her on his screen, and that broke his heart.

now sitting in his seat taking off his cleats and sweaty shirt, he didn't notice when robbo sat next to him, being absent-minded, nor when he congratulated him on his goal, only continuing to change his clothes. it was a nudge from him that brought him out of his thoughts.

"congrats on your goal, that was a beauty," andy repeated.

"yeah thanks," simply muttered trent, without giving him even a glance.

"hey what's wrong?" robbo pushed his shoulder, a little worried about his friend's behavior. "since the other night you're weird, what happened with tosca?"

"nothing."

"com'on, you don't talk about her anymore, something must have happened."

"nah."

robbo rolled his eyes before standing up to remove his shirt. trent could be so stubborn sometimes. "look, i don't know what happened, but whether it's her fault, your fault, or yours, you shouldn't—"

"it's my fault."

in response to his answer, he quickly sat down beside him, "then why don't you apologise?"

"trust me, i've tried, but she doesn't answer."

robbo looked at him with a grimace, indicating that she must have been really angry at him for not answering. usually, their arguments only lasted for a short time, three days at the most, but they had been on the outs for a week already, so trent knew that she wasn't going to forgive him anytime soon — if she forgave him at all.