hey lover - c.g.

26.

wednesday - 31/1/2024
anfield, liverpool

THE FINAL whistle blew, and Chandler shook her head angrily, listening as the sea of red erupted in cheers.

The girl tiredly placed her hands on her hips, trying her best to catch her breath. She watched as her teammates walked around the field, clearly disappointed with their performance.

Chandler walked towards the center of the pitch, mumbling congratulations to Liverpool players as they came up to her.

"You okay?" Malo spoke, approaching next to the girl's side.

She could only shrug, trying to not show any expression. The two began to walk towards the bench, the two avoiding the approaching cameras. Once she reached the edge, she noticed Conor already waiting by the sidelines.

"Hey."

"Hi." She sighed, her face void of any expression. She took a spot on the seat, bending down to remove her shin guards. 

"You sure you're alright?" Conor asked with genuine concern, his brow furrowing as he lowered down to meet the girl at eye level. She shook her head, strands of disheveled hair falling across her face, and she felt a surge of frustration coursing through her veins.

"Conor, we fucking lost. I don't know what you want me to fucking say," she retorted, her voice laced with a mix of anger and disappointment. Angrily untying the laces of her boots, her fingers worked swiftly, betraying the tension that simmered beneath the surface. The defeated atmosphere hung heavily in the air, the weight of the loss palpable.

Conor didn't say anything, realizing the girl wasn't in the best mood. The two didn't notice Trent and Dominik Szoboszlai walking off the pitch, both laughing to themselves. The Hungarian noticed the two Chelsea players still standing by their side.

"Is this supposed to be their star player?" A player snickered, approaching the girl. Chandler looked up and noticed the Hungarian standing in front of her, a huge smile on his face. She raised her eyebrow and stood up, feeling herself grow angry. 

"Dom, come on," Trent whispered, nudging his teammates forward. 

"What? I thought she was like her brother." He shrugged, not finding his comment offensive in any way. 

"Dickhead," she mumbled, grabbing her things and walking into the tunnel. Her cleats knocked against the concrete dramatically, filling up the silent void of the hallway. 

It was a sentiment she had encountered before—the assumption that she would replicate her brother's success on the field. The weight of those expectations only added to the burden she felt after the defeat.

Chandler sighed, the weight of disappointment lingering in the air. She couldn't shake off the feeling of frustration that had settled in her chest. As she glanced around the locker room, the subdued atmosphere was palpable. The stinging awareness that the team had fallen short hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

Her mind flashed back to the game, recalling the moments of missed opportunities, misplaced passes, and the collective struggle that had unfolded on the pitch. The disappointment was etched on the faces of her teammates as they quietly went about the post-game routine.

As she waited for Pochetino, she couldn't help but replay the crucial moments of the game in her mind. The silence in the locker room spoke volumes, with each player wrestling with their own frustrations and self-reflection.

Locking eyes with Cole, Chandler detected a shared sense of disappointment. His somber smile conveyed understanding, acknowledging the collective struggle the team was facing. The unspoken connection between teammates resonated in that moment, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges they were confronting.