Alessia Russo x Ella Toone - The Winner Takes It All, The Loser Has to Fall.

Envy.

Lucy had suspected that Alessia wasn't alright for a while, but now she was sure. The event that really tipped her off had seemed so minor at the time, barely worth noticing, but Lucy had noticed. And she had remembered.

It had been just after a game, a relatively minor game they'd won by a considerable goal margin (and clean sheet, thank you very much.) Lucy'd been a few feet away from Alessia, chatting with another gang of fans, red-faced and more than a little sore but grinning from ear to ear and cheerfully signing autographs and posing for photos. Alessia leaned back against the wall, stretching out her sore legs and chatting with a little gaggle of fans. In true British fashion, they were complaining about the weather.

"I'm roasting, mate!" Alessia puffs out a stream of air and pushes her sweaty hair out of her eyes. She takes another bite of the chocolate bar she'd liberated from Mary's stash earlier."Proper boiling, Australia is. Didn't expect it to be so hot, to be honest." The huddle of fans laugh, and one offers her a bottle of water, which she declines with a laugh.

"Nah, it's yours, keep it, I've got an air conditioned changing room to go back to!" Her shirt's currently in possession of an eager young fan, so she's clad in just her black (no logo, of course, gotta keep up those brand deals) sports bra and shorts. A tall, willowy ginger girl has been making eyes at Lessi all afternoon, much to the disgruntlement of Tooney, so Lucy's been making sure to subtly steer the blonde girl away from any potential admirers.

The small crowd of final stragglers is mostly teenagers and young adults, overwhelmingly female, and all with garish England flags slapped across their cheeks. One turns round, something like relief written across her face. "Oh, there you are, Ally." The fan exclaims. A girl, presumably Ally, approaches, clad in a cute cropped shirt and baggy jeans, blonder hair pulled up into a sporty high ponytail.

Lucy takes one look at her and instantly feels ill. Ally's frail figure resembles that of a living corpse, her skeletal form so alarmingly thin that it sends shivers down Lucy's spine. She's thin, unhealthily so. Her ribs jut out like sharp knives and her pallid skin stretches painfully tight over pearly bones. Gaunt and sallow, her face seems to be falling in at the corners and her exhausted, deep-lined eyes are unnaturally large in her tiny face. She has cheekbones are like cut glass; they rip their way out of her paper-thin, veiny skin. What few strands of thinning hair she has left are pulled back harshly from her face, exposing the sharp angles of her jawline. Lucy's sure, that if she reached out her hands, she fit just one of them around the girl's emaciated waist, and cross her thumb and pinky finger easily around Ally's stick wrists.
Lucy suppresses her gasp. Watching Ally slowly pick her way towards the group on stick-like legs is like watching a funeral march, each step carefully measured and a slow snap of gum in time with her steps. Lucy thinks she's going to be sick, and she turns to Kiera as if to say 'Get me out of here, I can't deal with this today.'
But, when she turns, Kiera's worried, frowning gaze is focused on something else. Or rather, someone else.

Alessia.

Alessia's mouth is slightly open as she stares, enraptured at the skeletal figure walking towards them. Lucy looks at Alessia's eyes, and she startles herself.
There is such need shining in them, such desperate envy. A white-hot, burning flame of pure jealousy flares in her eyes as she looks the girl up and down. How could Alessia be so jealous of this sickly, pale, girl who could barely walk, she was so thin, whose hair fell out in great, matted clumps, whose ribs could be seen clearly through her shirt? Alessia, who was all sculpted, sun-kissed muscle and shiny golden hair, was yearning for this sickly, emaciated form. Ally stretches one elongated, angular arm above her head, revealing the sharp contours of her hip bones. Alessia's breath catches in her throat, a mixture of awe and longing consuming her. A strangled half-gasp, half-sigh escapes her and she starts, glancing guiltily around. No-one notices.

No one but Lucy, who catches her eye and gives her an encouraging, slightly shaky smile.
Alessia grits her teeth and smiles back. It barely convinces herself, let alone Lucy. The older defender watches as Alessia bites off the dried skin on her lower lip, drawing small beads of blood. She glances at the half-eaten chocolate bar in her trembling hands and allows it to slip and fall to the ground. It lands, face down, in a pile of dirty gravel on the stained concrete. Stepping back slightly, removing herself from the situation, Alessia stops talking. One hand rubs absent-mindedly along one of her collarbones. The other encircles her strong wrists and forearms, manicured nails digging into the flesh there.

Lucy sees this. Lucy sees all of this, and yet she is utterly at a loss of what to do. She does not know how to help.