football imagines {premier league}

Jadon Sancho

- confession.
*part two..

He used to be a confident guy.

The funny one, the loud one, the life of the party with a permanent smile on his face who was always guaranteed to produce a laugh, and assured smile and a whitty comment.

- i mean just ask any of his clubs supporters or watch one of the many 'top 10 funny moments' compilations he had featured in, scattered around youtube with thousands of views and hundreds more comments.

Not recently though.

Recently smiling had become much more of a chore.

He had grown accustomed to feeling those familiar face muscles stirring every time he was in your presence, used to feeling laughing and feeling like a giddy teenager with his first crush every time you looked at him or he heard your voice, sweet, gentle, like a song he wanted to play on repeat. But now, the realisation of what could- or perhaps what couldn't, was starker than ever and smiling was forced, it was a difficult task that was only attempted when there was a camera was shoved in his face, or when a supporter approached him.

It was foolish and naive of him to have faith that this time things would be different. Surely it was far to optimistic for him to believe that meeting a girl that was so perfect for him would happen easily, to believe that things would miraculously change, like a switch had been flicked, this is romance life would suddenly be taken over by a director of a shitty rom-com.

He probably should have known better, or at least expected something like this was bound to happen. Your fiancé -the word still left a sour taste in his mouth was 28 after all, four years older than you, and he had often expressed his desire to settle down and start a family. He was a sentimental guy, he couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want to be your husband.

To make matters worse, he cant for the life of him think how he was going to tell you. Would be start things as normal, exchange meaningless, empty small talk, maybe over a congratulatory hug on the engagement and then shoot you down and ask you to leave your fiancé?

Probably not his finest idea, back to the drawing board it was.

Maybe he should just ask you flat out, no frills and no embellishments, just a straight out confession of his feelings and then take things as they come from then on.

-but he's nervous, more nervous than he thinks he's ever been, he thinks it might be a better idea to ease into things more subtly, dip his toe in then reassess.

-then again, one glance at her and his brain would probably turn to mush.

Its unfair and he wants to curse at the world and blame the universe for what they've done and what they've put him through. How fucking cruel, how awful, to introduce someone like you and to tease him with your presence so often only to tug you away at the last moment, right out of his grasp, eliminating any possibility of a chance with you in the future. Dangling you right in front of him in a cruel, torturous taunt.

Its humid outside, and the sunset gives the whole street a warm, pinkish hue. The streets are busy and people are flurrying back and forward and his new shoes are pinching his toes.

He's at his local florist. Its the week before Valentines Day, so there are roses plastered up and down and across the walls.

He's about to throw up.

"Engaged doesn't mean married. Don't give up." The florist, a middle-ages women with paint stained dungarees and a kind smile tells him.

He knows you aren't married yet, knows that just because you said yes to a dumb stupid romantic question it doesn't mean that all roads will be closed off forever. Its as close to terrible as things could probably be.