unbearable, trent alexander-arnold

²¹us

december, nineteenth.

SAT IN FRONT OF HIS DINING TABLE, he observed the items scattered all over it. with his arms crossed and his elbows resting on the wood, he finally decided to put them away one by one in the box provided for that purpose. the idea had come to him after a conversation with robbo where he had learned that maybe all was not lost with tosca. 'i don't know' was what she had said when the scotsman had asked her if everything was really over between them, and 'i don't know' didn't mean no, so trent was doing everything to make up for it now.

so, all this afternoon he had turned his house upside down, looking for every little thing, every little detail that reminded him of her, and he had made some finds.

for starters, there was his chelsea jersey which, as if by fate, had fallen out of his wardrobe. it was that time when he had drawn the game and tosca had mocked him by telling him it was his fault, but they had ended up laughing about it and had played loud music to try to forget about the disappointing result. he held it up in front of him before he put it down to fold it and put it gently in the bottom of the box.

then, he grabbed the tea bags he had bought especially for tosca, who drank them every day while he rarely did. the scene on the balcony after the chelsea match came back to his mind and he couldn't help but smile. as trivial as this moment was, trent had nevertheless classified it as a good memory, the kind that made you smile tenderly and comforted you when you weren't doing so well. a few bags were placed by him on top of the red shirt.

a large packet of spaghetti was then facing him, his cupboards were full of them because of the young woman who only swore by them, but also because it was the only thing he could cook properly. he let out a small laugh as he thought back to the scene in the shop where the team had sent them on a mission to buy pasta because alex's fridge was empty and trent had ended up buying spaghetti for tosca so that she would stop being angry with him. without thinking twice, he placed the packet of pasta in the corner of the box.

the white book on his bedside table had immediately caught his eye on his quest and he had quickly grabbed it and brought it into his living room. it was the one she had forgotten while packing her things after they had decided to put some distance between them. so even though it was certainly not their best memory, he put the book down next to the pasta, thinking that she would probably like it back and that it was part of their history after all.

no sooner had he taken between his fingers the photo he had printed of tosca with her mouth half-open as she was asleep than the corners of his lips turned up and he let out a little laugh of amusement. it was surely his favourite photo of her, and he couldn't just offer her serious things in this box, it wouldn't be like them otherwise. it then took its place in the box in turn.

and as the holidays approached, trent had decided to go out and buy her something special for christmas. his gifts for her had always been something horrible and totally ironic. for the last two christmases, she had been given a sweater that said: "trent is the best-looking footballer in the world" and was forced to wear it for a whole day. then, for the next christmas, she was given a beautiful pasta necklace made by trent's own hands, which he had gone to great lengths to make, knowing tosca's obsession with pasta.

she had obviously repaid him by giving him a book entitled "learn english with a perfect accent in three steps" because she had said that she didn't understand half of what he said and that his accent was unbearable to hear. the next christmas, in response to trent's pasta necklace, she offered him an appointment at the beautician's to get his legs waxed. she then dragged him there and watched him suffer for many minutes with a machiavellian smile on her face while trent called her names.