Alessia Russo x Ella Toone - The Winner Takes It All, The Loser Has to Fall.

Damp Smoke And Unhealthy Vices.

The smell of damp permeates the crisp air, twisting with he freshness of her spearmint gum. The puddles around Alessia's feet are muddy and icy cold. Streetlamps buzz at random intervals, occasionally sparking in the rainy weather.

She'd so very nearly been caught slipping out - she had been caught, by Sarina Weigman. Sarina had watched her with knowing, lense-covered eyes, scanned her once-perfect makeup , and noted the scratch in her voice as she tried, through gritted teeth and bitten lips, to explain herself - why she was leaving the party at barely 2am, and sneaking out instead of doing the rounds and saying goodbye.

"Go on, Alessia. You don't have to stay. I am trusting you to stay safe and stay away from the paparazzi. But make sure you are here for training, hm? We are not wanting you to be slacking off!" Sarina had joked, soft yet firm, grammar mixed up and infinitely comforting, in that unmistakeable, familiar accent of hers.

And then she'd left, leaving Alessia to flee in peace, away from Ella's absence and boyfriend and leering security guards who stood just a bit too close, and who never looked her in the eye. Away from Lucy's questions and Kiera's quick brain, who would most likely put two and two together before the night was over. Away from Mary, and all that particular mess entails. She had to get out.

Bidding a bittersweet, yet slightly relieved farewell to that loud, sticky club, she trudges along a wet road, devoid of all life, save for a few men stumbling drunkenly along. Moonlight bounces off of the puddles that litter the potholed pavement. Water splashes up into her new trainers, so she kicks them off and walks, damp socked and freezing, along the pathway.

As she slips past the group of rowdy, beer-drunk men, a few cheer and look her up and down, calling out lewd suggestions as to what she could do with her gloss-covered lips.

"Sweetheart!" One yells. "You wanna come home with me tonight? Medal stays on, doll, don't have to worry about that. We can go all night long, like winners do!" He sticks two fingers up in a v and licks a stripe between them, raising his eyebrows as he does. Alessia wrenches off the medal and shoves it into her pocket. She carries on walking, shoving roughly past the gang of men. The tall, bearded one bumps into her, apologises, and then tries to grope her ass as she carries on walking. She tells him to fuck off and continues her trek. His phone camera clicks as she walks on.

She has no idea how long she walks for -five minutes, an hour, five hours? Who knows? certainly not Alessia. She walks until the heady rush of the (too many) shots she'd done starts to fade, and she can start to tell the difference between stoplights and pedestrians, stopping twice to vomit her guts up into a foul-smelling public bin. Her shoes swing by their laces from her wrist.

A shock of pain lances through her foot.

"Fuck!" She hisses, under her breath. Her foot had stepped straight down onto a jagged loose rock. It cuts through her thick socks and blood begins to seep through the muddied white fabric. "For God's sake." She feels a sudden, embarrassing urge to cry. An dover what? She'd been hurt far worse on the pitch and took it like a footballer should. Hell, she'd been hurt worse as a dumb kid, dicking around with her brothers on her bike. So why was this effecting her so much?

Sitting heavily down on the cold concrete pavement, Alessia puts her head in her hands. What was the point? Why was she even out here, moping, like a fucking kid instead of celebrating her World Cup win with her girls? She hits a fist against the ground. Damn Mary, who couldn't have waited until after her celebratory night to fucking ruin her life. And damn Tooney, for being so lovable and so nice and so fucking straight.

"All of this." Alessia slurs, the alcohol she'd chugged earlier threatening to make a reappearance as her stomach lurches uncomfortably. "Such a mess.". She picks a shard of stone from the soft flesh of her foot. "Such a fucking mess." Knowing she needed to find somewhere, preferably drier, to sit down and rest her torn-up legs, Alessia hauls herself to her feet with only minimal stumbling and trudges further on.