football imagines <3

(29) kiss me - trent alexander-arnold

The mid-evening breeze was a comfort to bask in; the petals of the cherry blossom tree you stood beneath falling to the matted floor gracefully. It was covered with the ombré pink to white flowers and, something inside you, reached to the ground and picked it up.

The sheer beauty, elegance and nimbleness that came with it made you smile as you reached down, again, to pick up a hand full. Something possessed you to throw it up into the air as you spun around in the falling flowers — a type of joy you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Having fun without me?" Trent asked, amusement laced in his voice.

He stood clad in his Louis Vuitton ensemble, different shades of matching white and beige, and a black pair of sunglasses settled on the bridge of his nose. Trent looked absolutely gorgeous — it's not everyday he dressed up — so when he usually did, it hit you just how attractive your best friend was.

The disappearing warm rays were just beginning to hit his caramel-toned skin, knocking the air out of your lungs.

He must've had such nice smooth skin — the way you wished you could feel it, caress it, kiss it and mark it with your mouth. There was a lot of things you wished you could do to Trent but couldn't.

"Y/N?" Trent called, so gently, that it woke you from the place you had travelled to. He shook his head, slightly smirking, as he noticed the red colouring your cheeks.

"Yeah?"

"I asked if you were having fun without me but it seems to me that you are." He replied.

The flowers must've been stuck in your hair because he made his way closer, invading your space, and picked the petals from your hair. It took everything in you to not pull him closer as you looked up to him, and his eyes met yours. There was a ghost of a smile on his shimmering lips as he tucked the last cherry blossom — he held in his hands — behind your ear.

Instinctively, your hand lifted to touch the cherry blossom but his long, burning fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled it back.

"Don't." He whispered, the cool mint-bubblegum flavour hitting your lips. "You look pretty like this."

Trent relished in the fact that he could make you blush so easily, a simple compliment had always done it. He never did things carelessly, every action planned and prodded at as he weighs the outcome or the options but with you, it was different.

You were different. With all your kind smiles, your glittering eyes, your caring nature and your ability to not take any shit from anyone. He had fallen for you since he met you — all those years ago — and it's been a constant battle of trying to admit his feelings.

As you could see, it hadn't gone to plan.

"Can I see how I look, at least?" You asked.

"Don't you want to take my word for it?" Trent teased, his thumb grazing against the protruding being on your wrist.

Looking away for a moment so you didn't lose yourself in his big innocent eyes, it landed on the bruised sky. Littered with different shades of purple (to announce the entrance of night-time) battling against the hues of pink and orange (the disappearing rays of the sun).

"It's not that I don't want to take your word for it, I'm never good at receiving compliments." You replied, honestly.

"I've always needed to check myself before accepting the compliment..." Chuckling drily, you continued. "...it's fucked up, I know. But it's my fuck-up, you know?"

The question was rhetorical, and Trent's head still shook side-to-side. "No, I don't get it."

Daring to look back at your best-friend, you noticed the creased lines on his forehead and the edges of his mouth drooping. Of course, he was confused. I mean, the question was not even supposed to have an answer.