imbalance | trent alexander-arnold¹

ten.

When the sounds of football boots slapping against the ground reached the scouse's ears, he pushed back the current emotions that consumed his body and brought his mind into a concentrated state so he could maximise his performance out on the pitch.

. . .

While the match commenced, Wynter was stationed in Liverpool's dugout with Joe by her side. During the warm-ups, a surge of pain suddenly coursed through her thigh, the squad's team doctor quickly coming to her aid. Even if she wasn't remotely injured, Wynter knew better than to put something like that on hold because ultimately, it would only get worse. After a few evaluations, it soon came to the player that it was only extreme cramping. However, since the cramps never faded away, Wynter felt as though it'd be better not to play in today's game.

If she was honest, she actually wasn't upset that she didn't get to play. With such a hectic schedule sometimes she simply needed a break even if it were for just one game. Plus, she knew very well that the boys could hold their own against Southampton so she felt no guilt as she witnessed the match unfold from where she was situated.

Ten minutes into the match, Liverpool found themselves with the upper-hand as Southhampton's Hoedt conceded a goal, causing the Reds fans' cheers to increase throughout the stadium but soon after the atmosphere died down as the game remained neutral.

As the match went on, the french girl scanned the pitch of players until her eyes fell upon the scouse who was keen on maintaining his position effectively on the pitch. Her curious eyes soon found their way down his fit figure. Small, damp drops of sweat cascaded down his face as he played the game of football. His oblique arm muscles easily noticeable through the skin-tight jersey. His torso exposed to the air every once and a while whenever he swiped the sticky substance off his face.

Wynter was never one to focus on one's physical features before their personality—it just didn't sit right with her. She never found herself attached to the idea of the perfect body because her job required her to be surrounded by muscular, toned bodies and so, she never focused on that aspect with all her previous partners. However, when it came to Trent, her tan eyes struggled to glance anywhere else other than his sculpted body while her lips unconsciously hung at the sight of the scouse.

"Close your mouth Winnie before the cameras pan on you," Joe nudged the player, snapping Wynter out of her short-lived daydream. "You were staring at Trent, weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't," she denied, shaking her head. "I was, uh,  just watching the match like everyone else."

"Sure you were." 

"Oh mon Dieu, leave me alone," Wynter groaned, pulling the hood of her Liverpool's jacket over her braids, soon folding her arms.

"Awe, c'mon Winnie. Joe's only messing with you," Daniel laughed, lightly bumping her shoulder.

"I'm sure he is," she let out a tired huff as she tried to concentrate back on Trent⁠— I mean the game.

"Yo, she so likes him."

"I know right!"

"You guys are talking about me like I'm not even here!" Wynter exclaimed, causing the two players to burst out in laughter and soon she joined along.

When the stadium's hollers suddenly rose, Wynter quickly tuned into the game. She watched on as the Reds prepared themselves for a free-kick which would be taken by none other than Trent himself. Wynter leaned forward in her seat, clasping her hands together as she watched on along with the Kop, anticipation quickly building up in her veins. 

"C'mon Trent, you can do this," she whispered to herself.

The whole stadium remained silent for an anticipatory moment before the referee called the shot, blowing the whistle. It all occurred so quickly⁠—the opposing team's players shifted around in their penalty box as they all attempted to shrug off Liverpool's players, but none of that even matter because Trent's low-aimed kick managed to set the ball into the back of the net anyway.