imbalance | trent alexander-arnold¹

bonus.

inked stories in my journal

The pair sat cuddled up in Wynter's living room, the faint sound of football highlights sounding from the TV softly, bouncing off the thick wall of the grand space. Not too long ago, Wynter and Trent returned back from training and with all their energy drained out from chasing after a football, they favoured wasting the remainder of their day by carrying out absolutely nothing, silently downing each other's comforting presence.

With her mere focus trained on the tv screen, Wynter hummed in content, letting her eyelids fall shut as the scouse pressed a series of butterfly kisses along her neck. Trent grinned against her skin, adoring the mesmeric sight of his girlfriend utter a mumbled moan due to his touch. He created a malformed trail of pecks from her collar bone all the way up to behind her ear where one of the french girl's four tattoos were scattered across her body—a body in which Trent believed resembled in a canvas.

He pulled his face away from her skin slightly, so he could have a kind view of the inked butterfly that fell along her skin, the scouse running a soft finger over it with caution. He never really brought it up to Wynter's attention but he absolutely loved her tattoos as if they were his own, always finding himself fascinated by them as he traced them while himself and Wynter were in close proximity.

I mean, he knew many people who carried such unique art all along their bodies but with his girlfriend. . . I don't know, he couldn't describe it. Somehow, her tattoos held a hint of captivation which only made Trent enamour Wynter more than initially thought.

When she noticed the abrupt lack of contact, Wynter glanced at Trent with a pout on her lips. "Why did you stop?"

Trent chuckled, his eyes still fixated on the butterfly. "I'm just admiring your tattoos for a second."

At the mention her tattoos, her facial features embraced a soft smile. Though he didn't voice his opinions on her tattoos on frequent occasions, nonverbally, Trent definitely showcased his love for them on the regular; when the pair were cuddled or just simply in each other's arms, Wynter always felt his fingers trace the tattoos as if he were an artist drawing on her body of a canvas. And whenever the two found themselves indulged in an intimate session, Trent's hands always trailed along each one across her body, if it fitted the position.

"You know, if you love them so much why don't you get some of your own?"

"No way," the scouse shook his head immediately, eyes widened. "My mum would kill me if I got one. Wait, now that I think about it, how did you get all your tats in the span of two years? You're only twenty years old!"

"The legal minimum age in France is sixteen, unlike here where you've to be eighteen," she explained, rolling her eyes. "It wasn't even my idea to get it at first. It was the day after my sweet sixteen and Nate came back to Paris for my birthday and suggested that I should get one since I was finally legal to get one at the time."

Trent sat up from his position, adjusting himself by her bare feet. "And so you decided to get a spider on the ball of your foot as your first tattoo?" He laughed, grabbing her foot cautiously as he pointed at the inked black widow on the sole of her foot. "Nice one there and weirdly, it's my favourite one."

She lightly slapped his hand away. "Don't blame me! Getting it was a last-minute decision so I didn't even have any good ideas when we got to the tattoo parlour. But anyway, let's get you a tattoo, T!"

"I already told you, my mum would kill me." He managed to brush her idea off again.

Wynter folded her arms, a pointed look on her face. "Okay, that's a lie right there. I talked to your mom the other day and she said she's surprised that we haven't gotten matching ones yet, meaning she wouldn't mind if you got one."