𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 [mason mount]

chapter two

A win it was; Chelsea beat Manchester City one-nil, which could have been more according to the team, nonetheless qualifying for the FA Cup final the next month. The empty stands at Wembley radiated a bleak atmosphere, opposing the elated footballers running on the pitch to celebrate their victory with one another, as well as with the gaffer. The triumph had lifted the spirits of all players and made them confident for upcoming matches, including both important semi-finals and finals.

"Neala Avella." Neala had introduced herself with a smile, minutes before kick-off, to the head coach who appeared to mirror her enthusiasm. Thomas Tuchel spoke with much delight of her addition to the staff, having heard of her value to Ajax' run to the semi-final of the Champions League and titles earned in national competitions to which she nodded her head in gratitude in between his sentences. Their introduction was cut short by the whistling of the referee, each jumping back in their work mode as both wanted to keep their job. Neala went to seat herself in the dugout meant for Chelsea staff with her laptop propped on her lap, eyes flicking from the field to the screen within seconds to annotate her thoughts and comments concerning her footballers in blue.

It was well in to the second half of the match, Chelsea already up one-nil, when Neala's eyes were taking off both her screen and the pitch as she heard her name being called.

"Neala?" Hakim Ziyech was substituted by the Italian Emerson Palmieri after nearly 80 minutes in the field of both creating chances, and scoring the only goal thus far. He had high-fived Emerson when he noticed a familiar face fiercely concentrated on the game before her fingers quickly danced over the keyboard of her laptop.

"Hakim," Neala noticed the Dutch born Moroccan look as befuddled as ever whilst he trudged to the dugout instead of the predestined stands in the Wembley tribune. "I must admit, red and white suits you better." She smiled smugly as she referred to the home colours of their previous club.

"It's actually a bit of a shame you're not wearing blue, where is your support?" He jested with a lazy grin before hugging her across their seats, taking her focus off of her work. He resumed his words in Dutch as he felt more comfortable in the language whilst speaking to her. "Why are you here?"

"I really should have worn blue, hm?" Neala ignored his question, knowing off his impatience, in addition taking a seconds long pause before she continued her sentence. "Not a great first impression as someone recently signed to Chelsea."

"What? Are you serious?" Ziyech raised his eyebrows in surprise at the girl who has spent hours upon hours of tracking his performance and enhancing his capabilities, bringing him to the point he currently is.

"I might have been transferred to West London this week." She grinned proudly, eyes finally back on the pitch as the opposing team seemed to have created quite a few chances, even within the six-yard box."It's all because you lot will reach the UCL finals this year."

"As if we don't have to face Real in the semis." The footballer scoffed playfully, sinking further in his chair as he really was nervous to play against the football club based in Madrid.

"That's why I'm here," Neala said in a matter of fact tone as she eyed him for a second, no doubt detectable in her voice. "Your favourite performance analyst is at your service, ready to take you to Portugal for that win." She saluted, the features of her face serious as to both her concentration and act. "Besides, we have faced them before," Neala shrugged, hands resting for a moment on her keyboard from all the typing she has been doing the past hour and a half. "and I do vaguely remember you scoring—twice!" She boosted, a knowing glint in her eyes as she brought memories back of Ziyech's celebrations in both matches against the Spanish rival.

"Alright, alright, maybe you do support us." Ziyech finally gave in to his best mate with a smile, in his head still going over the fact they really were reunited at the same club again. After he parted ways with Ajax, he never expected for Neala to join the same football team as him again.

       The last minutes of the game both were fixated on any final chances created by either team, preferring Chelsea's and hoping their defence could hold Manchester City's offence a little bit longer. As the referee gave the end signal after six extra minutes of playtime, the West London footballers and staff all erupted into cheers.

       Ziyech was still sat in the dugout next to Neala as the qualification was celebrated by the eleven Chelsea players on the pitch.

       "Go already! You scored an important, and only, goal. Celebrate with them, you're in the final of the FA Cup!" Neala pushed him sternly away, pointing to his teammates running to the sidelines. Hakim swiftly rose from his seat with a wide grin, hands held up in surrender, mocking her jokingly before sprinting away. Neala shook her head amused, finally glad she did went through with the transfer to England, forgetting she despised herself earlier that day for the same choice.

With the end of the game, her work at Wembley was done for the day but her workload at home of dissecting the footage of the match was already waiting in her mailbox. She switched her laptop off and gathered her personal belongings back in her leather bag to ready her leave.

"Hello, love." Chelsea coat, wide grin and soft brown eyes—he was still so full of himself.

"I see you made it on time." Neala looked up from her bag to see the same footballer she bumped shoulders with earlier leaning on the dugout, his hands casually in his pockets as he lazily watched her.

"Just a few minutes late but the gaffer decided to wait for me this one time." He joked with a wink, knowing she already did not appreciate his presence.

"So you just could have helped me gather the files I have on you that I dropped?" Neala tilted her head slightly whilst she feigned a perfect smile to him as she stood up, her backpack and phone in her arms.

"You bumped into me just as much as I bumped into you," He raised his hands innocently, aware she could not counter his argument. "And should I be concerned that you're stalking me?"

"Yes you should be concerned, but no I'm not stalking you," Neala poked him in his chest to emphasise her words. "Rather fixate those nerves on my reports from today," She slung her bag over her shoulder before quickly scanning the crowd on the field. "Neala Avella, Chelsea Performance Analyst. Pleasure to meet, love."

"That still sounds like stalking," Neala rolled her eyes as she strutted past him to say her goodbyes to both Hakim and the Chelsea coaches. "Mason Mount, but you knew that."