football imagines {premier league}

Jadon Sancho

- the bad; part 1.

Your name was the last name he thought that would appear on his phone screen at quarter to one in the morning. It'd been six weeks since you'd spoken to him. Even the it was a painful goodbye as you packed the last of your belongings into a flimsy carboard box. Voice strained with tears as you hand his hoodie back, your smell still lingering on the material, he only knew because he it so often ever since you walked out the door- looking down at the material on his body, he had it on right now. The grey material frayed at the hems where you used to fiddle with it when you was nervous, fake tan rimmed around the collar, the strings in the hood now completely uneven, remembering how you'd always get him to help you balance them out, the perfectionist inside you coming out whenever they weren't perfectly aligned.

Panic washed over him as his phone sat in front of him, vibrating against the coffee table, a picture of you brightening up the screen. There was still a heart next to your name. The only un-broken heart left over. Letting it ring a few times before he picked it up, not wanting to seem desperate. A muffled broken noise comes through the speaker, frowning at the noise and not the usual 'hi' he'd receive when you would call him everyday, the familiar greeting he missed so desperately. There was a mixture of several voices, letting him in on the fact you weren't alone- instead in a busy area by the racket that followed just before your voice.

"BabbYyyyyYYy" he hears slurred through the phone, your voice muffled and unclear. It was your voice, but it didn't sound like you- it wasn't the gentle caring tone he was praying for. The initial panic washed over him, wondering where you were and if you were okay, but the little nickname he'd grown to love made his heart tighten in his chest- unaware of whether it was a good emotion or a bad one, to hear you call it him again after six agonisingly long weeks was like music to his ears, but he was brought back to reality as he realised you're not in the normal state, evidently not having the same genuine love behind the nickname as you once did. "Y/N?" he asks in confusion, double checking the contact name just to make sure it was you calling. Waiting patently for a response, finally sighing in relief when he receives one- certainly not the response he expected. "Jadooooonn, I wanna-" you hiccup mid sentence and giggle uncontrollably before continuing, "I wanna suuck that dickk, the fat di-" It sounds as if someone tells you to shut up, your sentence interrupted with another laugh as you stumble around aimlessly. Jadon swallowing thickly at your drunken confession, certainly not the phone call he expected to be receiving tonight. "Where are you love?" he asks, patiently waiting for a reply, overthinking the nickname he'd just used. Knowing that if you were sober you'd of picked up on him calling you ''love', you would have told him to 'watch himself' with a strict glance, instantly shutting down the shimmer of hope, ensuring he knows he's got no chance- that was a confusion he struggled to come to terms with the most.

He loved that nickname, he remembers the way you smiled whenever he referred to you as 'my love', the little blush on your cheeks as you wiggled under his stare. A weak 'stop it' which he'd learnt meant 'keep going', the infectious giggles and the flutter of your long eyelashes which was so captivating. But he'd lost it, lost it all, lost you.

"At the clurbbb" you sing, his daydream flicking back to reality under one drunken sentence. Of course you where, it was a stupid question to ask. Not only did your state of expression give that away, but also the fact you'd seeked comfort in alcohol. A girl that once never went out, who preferred a night in watching movies and eating takeaways in her pyjamas.. had now turned into a party animal. Truthfully he hated it, he hated seeing you turn into something he knew you weren't, he missed you, the real you.

"Y/N" he calls through the phone, it felt weird referring to you with your name, so accustomed to using your nickname or a pet name. "JadoN" you hiccup back with a giggle, the sound off his name falling of your tongue again made his tummy flip. "What club? can you tell me the name of it please?" he asks gently, not wanting to pressure you, the tone works, hearing you tell him the name of the club you were at. The same club were his birthday party was held last year; when you were still together. Without second thought he was getting in the car and making his way to you, he'd never be able to forgive himself if you found yourself in trouble, and he knew you were vulnerable the whole time.

He see's you sat on the curb outside the club, one of your friends making out with someone you'd never seen before, beyond grateful that it wasn't you. His heart was broken enough. It was like you had recollection of your previous actions as you watched him pull up. Looking at him with bewildered eyes as he approaches you. "My knight in shining armour" you speak, trying to get up but your knees buckle under your weight, one heel on your foot and the other thrown across the pavement. Slurring your words as he helps you up, arms wrapped around you to guide you to the car, opening the passenger door and making sure you was strapped in.

It felt weird having you sat in his car again, the familiar scent of your perfume mixing with a tang of alcohol. Your hand coming to play with the curls of his hair felt so comforting, whether the loving affection still had the same meaning as he wished it did or not. But, in his heartbreak the sun didn't shine the same, songs didn't play the same- but this, this felt normal, like it once was, before his life was torn into two.