gag reel | trent alexander-arnold³

four.

wynter in paris

[literally right after EIGHTEEN of IMBALANCE]

Trent rubbed his hands together quickly, a weak attempt to warm himself up. Late nights let the temperatures drop in Liverpool, and it was no different in Paris. He looked to his girlfriend, who had yet to find the light switch in her shed. All that could be heard was the constant rummaging and knocking over of items. "You sure we should be going out this late?" He glanced around the back garden as if anything would come to him as familiar. "I swear your mum told us not to go out."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt-- oh!" Wynter's lips curled up as the shed lit up. The light was faint, but enough to see everything in the small space. The job of finding what she wanted was easy too; everything was in their reserved places from when she was last in France. "We're going out because I want to, and you're tagging along with me because what else would you do?" They were in Paris for the Ballon d'Or ceremony, and Wynter had other ideas in mind. Claire couldn't expect her daughter to hold back from doing something else with the limited time she had there.

Wynter scoffed out a laugh, nodding to Trent as he took a step into the shed. "And what about my mom, Trent? What? You scared that she's going to tell your mum about this or something?" I mean she wouldn't be surprised if Claire did. She knew their parents have spoken on a few occasions.

"Well, no—" Trent stopped in his speech when Wynter threw something in his direction. He caught it and adjusted the item in his grips. A bicycle helmet.

"Okay, so stop worrying for a minute and c'mon." He stepped back as Wynter pulled bikes out from the back of the shed. Wynter hummed low as she picked up a bike helmet, her bike helmet. "We'll get there quicker with these, and the ride over will help you warm up a bit. We have a few places to stop at."

Beyond the weather, beyond Claire's concerns over the two, Trent did have his questions over why Wynter wanted to venture into the night. From the ceremony to their long conversation from some time ago and knowing they were set to leave in the morning, he thought she would be ready to rest for the night. To step from all the media attention that probably wouldn't die down until a later time. To prepare herself for training the day after.

What was there to do at one in the morning? In the dark when everyone but yourself was asleep.

What Trent thought would be a calm bike ride to wherever came around to be something else. Wynter simply couldn't hold back. There was so much to see in so little, so much for her to obsess over. She would observe everything they passed by, gasping when she saw something familiar in her sight, maybe even wonder if those memories remained today. She would point at buildings, avenues and footpath art as if they were landmarks (and maybe they were). She would bike beside Trent to explain her contribution to the neighbourhood, smiling when he would ask her to explain something further.

Wynter was happy, more than beyond that, and giddy. Or maybe it was just excitement that she felt. Excitement to be home, a place she came to know and experience since the beginning of time. A home in theory though not so much in practice in recent times. To experience this moment without interruption, to share everything that was her life before with someone like Trent. Excitement that was childish and original and honest, one that refused to mature or appear appropriate.

A feeling, felt by Trent, that couldn't be felt by Wynter when she was in Liverpool. A feeling, felt by Wynter, that was no longer felt by Trent when they arrived in Paris.

Trent came to understand why.

It wasn't something that you just missed out on. How relieved and excited she was when she found her bike and helmet intact. How she got when she got to eat at her reserved seat at the dining table. How she closed her eyes, leaning back when she had the first taste of Claire's homemade food. How she took her first step into her bedroom, falling asleep in her bed with no trouble. How she rearranged the items she chose to keep in Paris. Every interaction, whether that be with a who or what, was followed with a reaction.