Alessia Russo Oneshot

Bitter Tang of Acetone

The sun was setting over London, casting a warm, golden glow across the city as Alessia Russo sat in her apartment, exhausted yet exhilarated from a long day of training. Her feet ached, her muscles were sore, but the thrill of a victorious game still danced in her veins. She'd barely had a moment to unwind before a last-minute call from the team had sent her back to the stadium. Now, as she finally settled onto her couch, her thoughts were a tangle of relief and lingering excitement.

You were in the midst of a creative frenzy, seated at your desk surrounded by an assortment of art supplies. The dim light of your lamp illuminated the splatters of paint and markers scattered across your workspace. You were working on a new piece, a mixed-media collage that you hoped would capture Alessia's dynamic energy on the field. The challenge was balancing the vibrant energy of her performance with the tranquillity you felt in her presence.

As you dabbed a brush into the container of acetone, the sharp, bitter tang filled your nostrils. It was a scent you associated with creative focus and late-night art sessions. Tonight, however, it brought with it a hint of nostalgia. Alessia had always been a muse of sorts for you, inspiring countless sketches and paintings. She was more than just an athlete; she was a force of nature that seemed to break through any barrier.

You were so absorbed in your work that you didn't notice the quiet buzz of your phone until it persisted. Glancing at the screen, you saw a message from Alessia. It was a simple text: "Can I come over? Need to unwind."

You felt a thrill of excitement. You hadn't seen Alessia since the game and had been thinking about her all day. "Of course," you typed back quickly, "I'll see you soon."

When the doorbell rang, you rushed to open it, greeted by the sight of Alessia's tired yet radiant face. Her cheeks were flushed from the cool evening air, and her eyes held the familiar spark of determination and warmth. She looked at you with a grateful smile.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping inside. "Sorry for dropping by unannounced. Just needed to get away from all the noise."

"No need to apologise," you replied, guiding her to the couch. "You're always welcome here."

Alessia settled in, letting out a long sigh of relief as she relaxed. You could see the weight of the day lifting off her shoulders. "I've been meaning to ask," she began, her voice tinged with curiosity, "what are you working on?"

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "It's a piece about you," you confessed, leading her to your desk where the half-finished collage lay. "I'm trying to capture what I see when you're on the field."

Alessia's eyes widened as she examined the work. The collage was a swirl of colours and textures, reflecting both the intensity of her gameplay and the calm moments between matches. "Wow," she said, genuinely impressed. "I never realised how much of an impact I had on you."

"You have a huge impact," you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. "You inspire me."

She turned to face you, her expression softening. "Thank you. That means a lot."

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the hum of the city outside. Alessia leaned back, her eyes drifting closed as she relaxed into the cushions. The bitterness of the acetone on your hands seemed to mingle with the warmth of the moment, creating a unique blend of artistic focus and personal connection.

After a while, Alessia sat up and looked at you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, what's the story behind this collage?"

You smiled, feeling a mix of shyness and affection. "It's a bit of a personal journey. I wanted to show how you're both fierce and calm—how you balance these two extremes so effortlessly."

Alessia's smile widened. "That sounds amazing. I can't wait to see it finished."

As the evening wore on, you and Alessia continued talking about art, football, and everything in between. The initial rush of adrenaline from the game faded into a comfortable, intimate conversation, and the bitter tang of acetone became just a distant memory.

By the time Alessia left, the night had settled into a peaceful quiet. You stood at the door, watching her walk away, and felt a deep sense of contentment. The creative process had never felt so intertwined with the personal connections you cherished, and tonight had been a perfect blend of both.

You closed the door, returning to your desk with a renewed sense of inspiration. The collage would wait until morning, but for now, the memory of the evening would keep you company—sweet, bittersweet, and everything in between.