football imagines {premier league}

Trent Alexander-Arnold

- happy birthday.

Seeing him was strange. Arriving at his birthday party, walking through a house that should have been yours wasn't just strange, but just plain weird.

The kitchen was busy, crowded with people shoulder to shoulder all around the kitchen island and the countless empty bottles, cans and food just littering the table. The atmosphere light and jovial the golden fairy lights giving the room a magical glow. You continue to nurse your gin and tonic, every now and then grabbing a salted pretzel from the bowl. You didn't want to be such a "debbie-downer" but you've just seen him with his arms wrapped around her and now any attempts at a smile or dance would be futile at best.

It's weird to you that instead of celebrating the weekend and catching up with your best friends, you're stood there, stationery and seemingly trapped, watching Trent laugh and sway side to side singing 'shout out to my ex'. The song of choice stupidly ironic, and horrifically embarrassing, your thoughts can't help but jump to the events that had caused your downfall only a few months ago. You down your drink and then realise you want nothing more than to go home and drown your sorrows in a nice bottle or red wine you'd been saving for a big occasion.

- freaking out over your ex getting a new girlfriend surely classes as a big occasion, right?

Then your eyes fell on her. Her name already been mentioned multiple times you had picked it up earlier, it had been mentioned in cheery conversations, you didn't need nor enjoy the sympathetic glances.

"She's his..." a mutual friend trailed off.

"Girlfriend" you tried to act cool, calm and collected, as though the thought of him being with someone new didn't effect you in the slightest, but your voice said different.

They shook their head "too soon for that, she's a new girl he's seeing."

And he tells you her name, but your quick to forget it, quick to act as if the pretty blonde floating around his apartment doesn't exist, doesn't bother you. You nod, croaking out a quick "that's cool" and poured yourself another drink far too quickly and adding a bit too much vodka, your friend picks up on your eagerness to hurry the effects of alcohol and asked you quickly "you okay?"

"Perfect" you grimace.

It's pretty evident your lying, your tightening knuckles and locked jaw also implying that you would much rather be alone. "Here if you need me."

"Thanks."

You watch Trent's fingers grip her waist, laughing at something she's saying, you feel your stomach churn. The girl- her name is Emily, shes whispering something into his ear whist running her right hand up and down his sleeve, and god, you want to hate her so badly, you want her to be annoying, bitchy, fake, anything so you can justify the bitterness and hatred swirling around, but she's so outgoing and seems very friendly and apparently her and Trent are a great match.

It's been a few months - five months, three days but who's counting, right? since you had both broken up, since he had laid it all out on the line in front of you and like a deer in the headlights, you stuttered out a 'i don't think i feel the same way yet' and bolted. You'd told yourself, and all your friends, over and over again that you didn't care, you was totally over him and was looking forward to being single again, because that's how you was.

Strong, independent, headstrong.

He needed you a lot more than you needed him.

Unknown and misplaced confidence burns up through your stomach, and you found yourself tapping him on the shoulder. Trent turns around, an unrecognisable look of confusion, surprise and hurt flashes through his eyes.. "Hey Trent."