imbalance | trent alexander-arnold¹

twenty-five.

While Trent rambled on with his speech, Tyler and Marcel shared a knowing look between themselves. They caught on with not only Trent's words but the way in which he conveyed them with such admiration for the player whose heart he broke without even knowing it when he did so. There definitely came a sense of guilt in his sweet words—whenever he referred to their relationship in the present rather than the past tense, allowing the scouse to reminisce on the only good thing he lost within a short amount of space.

When the scouse allowed himself to fall back into the past, a bizarre idea popped up in the back of his mind but he didn't want to be consumed in the idea as he knew it could've been mind games. However, Tyler and Marcel saw through Trent's uncertainty and focused on his heartfelt words for the certain player.

As much as he hated to do so, Tyler cut off Trent for a brief moment, a look full of hope on his face. "So, Trent, what are you really trying to say?"

Trent opened his mouth to speak up but then closed his mouth. He came to the realisation of how he actually felt. As wrong as it felt to feel such a way, as guilty as he felt for feeling a sensation he didn't deserve, Trent welcomed it with open arms, perhaps a sense of love towards a certain player—a sensation he purposely lacked for the last few months.

When Trent's eyes widened in realisation, his brothers smirked at his now nervous state. "I think I'm in love with Winnie."

And just as he uttered those words, his phone ringed, indicating he received a notification. Trent scrambled for his device because he knew it was Wynter—let's just say he muted everyone's notifications except for the french girl's ones just in case something came up.

He opened it up which immediately sent him to Wynter's insta story. There, only held one snap with very few words that got Trent, his brothers, his teammates and the football fandom in a fit of somewhat excitement.

I'm alive. Insta Live at 19:00 (GMT)

. . .

Wynter sat curled up on her couch, an oversized hoddie keeping her warm along with a blanket. Ever since the whole incident, Wynter didn't dare to leave her house especially with the glare of publicity on her figure twenty-four/seven. Once again, her name was pushed into the limelight but not on the terms that she would've liked them to be.

After Virgil successfully fused her panic attack on the pitch and she'd been escorted into the stadium by the medics, she couldn't help but question her place on the team. Question exactly why she's on the team. After the whole incident which occurred in the stands across the stadium, Wynter's mind quickly raced back to the offer she approached Kylian with in Bulgaria. Should she return back to women's football? In all honesty, her answer was still pending so it remained unknown to those who knew about the french girl's football doubts.

And like her best friend mentioned, if she moved back to women's football then it would impact her movement to thrive for the best for female football players. Though, it soon came to the french player that the amount of money the FA and FIFA tried to stuff into her bank account only muted her from being heard in the football community.

"Hey, sweets. You good there?" Claire's voice pulled Wynter out of her daze as she walked into the room.

"Uh, yeah. I'm okay I guess," she nodded, speaking in a timid tone.

"Have you talked to Trent?" Her mom questioned out of nowhere.

"Have you spoken to dad today?" Wynter dodged the question in a swift manner.

"I will take that as a no then," Claire sighed. Wynter rearranged herself on the couch so she and Claire were both wrapped in the thick blanket. "Yes, I have. He couldn't come sooner since he has to take care of the kids for a while because Nate and Peyton are on a little holiday since the playoffs are soon. But don't worry, he'll be here by the time you have to go against Barcelona again."