translated ♛ || a. griezmann

•dix-sept•

We stare at each other for a good thirty seconds. Both of our mouths are wide open, our eyes widened to the size of footballs, and the magazine slipping out of her hand.

"You must be ly–"

"Are you kid–"

We both speak up at the same time, before stopping.

"You must be lying." She continues, her eyebrows creased in confusion and agitation.

"Why would I be lying?" I respond, obviously offended.

"He wouldn't."

"Why not?" I urge, my voice level rising.

"Anto's scared of love." She says bluntly, looking downwards.

"What?"

"He's scared." She repeats, "He's scared of loving someone."

This takes me by surprise, and I have to think twice before speaking again. I then remember what Raphael had told me a while ago.

"He wouldn't tell anyone," Raphael said, "he wouldn't tell anyone he doesn't trust."

"I-Is there a reason why?" I ask slowly.

"I'm not one to tell. Who are you anyways?" She quickly responds in a rather cold tone.

"I'm Rosalie Fournier. Call me Rose." I tell her.

She bends forward to pick up her magazine, dusting it off and briefly responding, "Well I'm Maud Griezmann."

Sensing the coldness and disbelief in her tone, I pull out my phone.

"Hey, look," I sigh, "if you don't believe me, I have a picture."

She raises an eyebrow and I show her a picture of Antoine and I that Raphael had taken a while back. We were in front of the stadium and his arms were wrapped around me in an embrace.

I watch as her eyebrows raise, obviously showing her clear surprise.

"I still don't understand, though."

"Do you believe me? I don't want his sister to think I'm some kind of fake person or whatever," I chuckle.

She doesn't smile, but she nods.

"I do believe you, but I guess I'll have to talk to him about it."

This sends a slight shiver down my back. It's almost like she doesn't approve of me. Like the instant I told her that Antoine and I were more than just friends, she completely shut me off. Almost like she's the deciding factor of our relationship.

"I... I'm not a bad person," I start, "at least I don't think I am."

She stays silent, but looks up at me.

"How did you meet?"

"He's my language partner for school," I continue, "that's how we met."

Her eyes then widen again.

"So you're his language partner?" She suddenly says, dropping her magazine again.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Oh, I see. Whenever I call him he always manages to bring up his 'language partner' into the conversation," she smirks.

I feel my face heat up and my ears turning red.

"I–Uh... I..."

"You're so cute," she begins laughing, her face lighting up with humor.