football imagines {premier league}

Phil Foden

- ours.

People don't seem to understand the two of you.

They can't seem to grasp the fact he a million-pound earning footballer, with the million-pound smile and the body of dreams, would choose to be with you.

You. Little old you, an exhausted overworked and underpaid student whose days' alternate between lectures, the library and working overtime for your shitty boss at a shitty restaurant with a shitty wage and shitty customers.

Sometimes you don't even understand it, unable to comprehend why he would pick you, endlessly over and over again, when he has VS angels only a phone call away, gorgeous models begging for his number. "Because you get me." Is what he would tell you. "You understand."

And everyone- seriously everyone, regardless of whether your relationship is the topic of conversation or not- feels the need to voice their opinion. Apparently coming up with a decisive verdict about your future is pretty high on their priorities. As if what they think about your relationship is going to be some sort of great importance and value to you.

"He'll end up hurting you eventually, you know"

"Footballers don't have a bad reputation for infidelity for no reason, you know"

"Its going to be hard making it work long distance, you know"

"He's going to spend lots of time being bombarded with models, clubs and alcohol, the girls will do anything to be famous, you know"

"There's always the possibility that he'll get sold and be forced to move across the continent on whim, you know"

It makes you want to scream and tear your hair out because yes, you do know that his career is very unpredictable and his profession has a rather shameful reputation for commitment, and yes, you are pretty fucking aware of the fact that he'll be tempted by many, many women who are much more glamorous than you and that more often then not, you'll be falling asleep in different beds, in different cities, in different time zones.

You don't need to be told this- no, to be lectured at- as if you're a twelve year old being shouted at by your teacher for speaking out of turn and not a 22 year old women who was most of her stuff together.

You don't need to be reminded of the things that put a strain on your relationship. It's not like they don't cross your mind regularly, anyway.

But when he comes home after a victory, his eyelids droopy with exhaustion, a big careless grin on his face, he picks you up and twirls you around in the kitchen telling you "you're the prettiest thing i've ever seen" you realise why you do it.

Why you put up with the jet lag, why you smile politely in response to the overwhelming comments from your friends and family, why you nod, shrug and bite your tongue instead of lashing out at your classmates, why you fight back tears every time you'd say goodbye to one another at the airport and most importantly, why you never ever give up because you realise you love him so much you could fall to pieces.

Because he always knows how to put you back together.

Because having him is a perfect sufficient consolation for the annoying, nit picking voices that feel the need to criticise your relationship 24/7 and tug at your last nerve.

Coming home to him after a long, tiring shift and a computer that you swear was built in the 80's, walking into your kitchen smelling the freshly cooked dinner makes it hurt a little less. Whenever he smiles at you, pressed his head into your shoulder and kisses the skin between your shoulder blades all yours doubts and worries miraculously fly away.

So to you, it was pretty obvious why you do it.

You do it because you have him. And for some reason, some strange bizarre, unfounded reason that you couldn't imagine, he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky and tells you every night without fail, how lucky he is to have you.

How lucky he is to have you. The peculiarity of it is something you can never quite get over, nor fully understand. Unsurprisingly, it's something other people can't seem to comprehend either.

But it doesn't really matter, because those that criticise don't get to see behind the scenes. They don't notice that your hands seem to fit perfectly in his, like the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle, or understand how you just get one another without even speaking a word. So it's not theirs to speculate. Not theirs to discuss, gossip, criticise, discount or write off.

It's yours, completely, utterly entirely yours. And at the end of the day, that's all that really matters.

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