imbalance | trent alexander-arnold¹

twelve.

[ warning: mentions of injuries, violence(ish) and anxiety ]

. . .

untold secrets

The sound of silence that devoured Wynter's room grasped the french girl out of her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times as she adjusted to the change in light intensity from the night before. Just as she went to grab her phone from the nightstand, she paused in her movements when she noticed Trent's arms kept her locked in her position.

His gentle snores fell against the back of her neck. His arms branched around her torso with a firm grip all while his front made contact with her back. He stirred and hummed a few times when Wynter tried to reach for her phone and yet, he managed to remain asleep.

She huffed in a quiet tone, not knowing what to do at that moment. Wynter rotated her head to glance at Trent who seemed like he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon. And so, she ignored his hold on her figure and just about grabbed her phone. When she believed she'd actually retrieved her phone without causing the scouse any disruption, she heard a raspy groan escape Trent's mouth.

"Merde, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Wynter turned around so her body faced his own.

He ran a hand through his face, wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he shook his head slowly. "Nah, it's alright. I should be awake anyway," his voice came through hoarse. He tilted his head to the side so then he could view her phone screen. "Hey, who are they?" he asked once he witnessed Wynter's lock screen wallpaper. It was a photo from the PSG match where the french girl's carrying Dylan in her arms with Milo and Iris by each side of her, showcasing their thrilled faces.

She unlocked her phone, immediately looking for the messages she was in search of. "The kids? They're my nephews and niece—my brother, Nate's children. The oldest Milo, then Iris and then the baby is Dylan."

"Cool, cool, cool," he mumbled in a soft tone. With exhaustion still cast over his body, he placed his chin on Wynter's shoulder so he could glance at her phone properly. "I'm guessing that's your mom you're messaging right now. What about?"

She froze in her position for a second but she allowed her body to melt again, realisation finally hitting. At that moment, the french girl internally praised those above that french was set as the default language on her phone so obviously Trent hadn't a clue as to what was going on in the messages between her and her mother.

Wynter didn't have the intentions of being untruthful towards the scouse. Though on the other hand, she wasn't keen on sharing specific, private information—information in which she had yet to share with her closet friends. If people knew what the french girl was going on about, most wouldn't even view it as a big deal. But Wynter did. Maybe further into the future, there'll be a time where she didn't feel such a way. However, until then, she'd preserved her business to herself and herself only.

"Uh, she just sent me my schedule for today," Wynter chose her next few words carefully, "and she reminded me that I've got an appointment in, like, an hour so I need to get already," as she was about to sit up, Trent pulled her back down him. "Trent, seriously! If I'm late, my mom will somehow find out and then she'll kill me," she whined against his chest.

"Oh, c'mon. You have plenty of time to get ready. Plus, why is your mum filling up your schedule when today is one of your free days? We could've spent the day together."

"Always thinking about your wants, huh?" she shook her head, laughing at his complaints. "To answer your question, it's my mom we're talking about; it happens when your mom just so happens to be your manager and your agent too. But enough of that, let me go."