London is Pink

Chapter six

Dele showing us all how many times Arsenal have won the league at White Hart Lane ;)
Thanks Del, appreciate it. How's the bump on ur head? Love ya. Don't score against us again pls. xx

PS we can all ignore that scoreline in the top corner. 4-2 is the only important one.

Okay sorry you can read the chapter now xD

~.~.~.~

Dele was silent.

He was silent for the rest of our conditioning session, and for the break in between. In the session which followed, we were split into groups to play one touch boxes, and he continued his silence, barely even breaking it when one of the others spoke to him. To me, it was a little unsettling. I hadn't realised I'd grown used to how he was until suddenly it was gone.

Not that I was complaining.

I'd been far from expecting him to actually do what I'd asked, and shut up for the rest of training. I couldn't help watching him curiously as we flicked the ball deftly to one another, preventing it from leaving the box which was marked out by cones placed on the ground, but also guarding it from the players in the middle. Dele moved the ball with a smooth fluidity that made you forget his almost disproportionately long arms and legs. In a way it was... it was kinda beautiful.

My thoughts drifted to the day when Auba had forced the confession out of me that I thought Dele was good looking. It was the same confession I made to myself here, and it made him all the more infuriating. He knew how he could make me feel, and he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna use it too.

I knew our teammates had noticed our silent looks, Kyle in particular was glancing between us with a slight knowing look adorning his features. However none of them said anything, perhaps a silent assent that we were trying, for the sake of the team, to avoid antagonising one another.

Apart from this, the talking and laughing continued as normal. Jesse and Marcus bickered like a married couple, and Trent complained when he got in the middle, and the two ganged up on him. Tripps nutmegged Maguire, and laughed at him continually until Tripps was megged himself by Anya, and he had to shut up after that. Perhaps the competitive streak that lived within all of us was part of what drove us to become successful. For a moment, however, it meant we went at the game with the same energy we'd give to an actual football game.

The metaphorical peace didn't last long, however, because, forgetting the possible consequences, I made a particularly reckless tackle on Dele, knocking him to the ground. He stood up again quickly, and looked at me, his face expressionless.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"You aren't though," he said quietly, so that only I could hear.

I shrugged, not about to deny it.

"Well excuse me for telling you what you want to hear."

After that, Dele retaliated with a tackle of his own, and then I got him back, and this continued until Dele almost broke my ankles, and I really went down.

"What the hell!" I exclaimed, finally letting go, and allowing my steadily growing anger to consume me.

"Sorry," Dele said sarcastically, mimicking how I'd said it earlier. "Get up, stop being dramatic."

"Does this look dramatic to you?" I yelled at him, indicating to my left ankle, which was already swelling up. "I'm left footed too, idiot. There goes my England debut. Thanks a lot."