Holding her felt wrong in the most damned way possible but it also felt like heaven, if there ever was one. His hands travelled down her shape, taking in every single detail, kissing her in places that he didn’t think he’d ever see. Places that he never thought, she’d allow him. She was a maze to him, searching for a way out but she had him wrapped around her finger, wrapped around her body.

Her fingers dug on his back while he moved over her, leaving his mark in her skin and inside her. He couldn’t help but laugh in when he heard her slight moans. When she called his name repeatedly. When she cursed and held on his arm like she was holding on for dear life. His laugh would die out every time she took control, her lips leaving an invisible mark anywhere and everywhere.
They laid next to each other, as naked as they ever would be. She’d play with his fingers, tapping them and counting them. She didn’t say anything when they were done, she didn’t even look him in the eye, didn’t try to make a moment. He didn’t either. What could he say that would be enough to explain what he was laughing when he didn’t even know what he was feeling. It was all a chaos in his mind, was fucking her just a way to get her on his side. Was it anger? Pure jealousy? Was it real? He watched her fingers while she moved them in between his, interlocking with each other in just another way for the night. Her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, listening to every single part of himself, right after she had seen every single part of himself too. Suddenly she moved away, turning her back on him, and sleeping on her side of the bed. He laid on the side, lifting his body enough just to be able to look at the right side of her face.

“You, ok?” he asked. First time either of them spoke ever since the ended in the same bed. He kissed her ear, her shoulder, her arm, her elbow. His arm hovering over her, but waiting for her to respond before he put it around her. She nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She took his hand herself, holding it up to her lips. He moved closer, taking his place as the big spoon. He nuzzled in the back of her neck, kissing it too. She wasn’t fine, but neither was he because he had never been more confused in his life. Is this what they called hate fuck? It didn’t feel like it because he cared about this woman even if he didn’t know how to show it.
She fell asleep right there, in his arms. He couldn’t sleep. He heard something getting knocked over, jumped in the bed. Taylor moved slightly, but didn’t wake up. He could see something moving I the dark, something like a tiny ghost, but then it turned, two glowing eyes making a difference in the darkness. Luna threw another pen from the desk. Taylor moving again slightly. He got up, walking over to the cat. He laughed

“You must be Luna”
Meow.
“Sh. Your mama is sleeping. Tranquilles”

Luna seemed to be listening to him, she sat tall, curling her tail under her tiny body. Then she meowed again like she was asking for something, He smiled. “You must be hungry. Does she ever feed you?” he asked, laughing. He reached for the light on the desk, opening it. He could see Luna better now, she was pretty cat, looked as dangerous and sweet as her mother. He smiled at the comparison. Luna got of the desk, uncovering the file she was sitting on. It was a white one, labelled as “PSG PLAYER REPORTS”. Next to it was Taylor’s notebook that she always had with her. The urge to know what’s inside came back.

I shouldn’t. he thought. Looked over at taylor that was still sleeping. He should have gone back to her and sleep. He should have never gotten up from the bed. He glanced at the desk, stroked the notebook with his finger, opening it only for a second before letting it close again. He shook his head. “no” he whispered. Then looked at the white folder. Was he in there too? He had just seen everything most personal to her, he was allowed to take a peak at piece of paper, right? Especially if that piece of paper was about him.

He sat on her chair, stared at the notebook and the folder. He bit on his lips. Expecting her to wake up anytime now and yell at him for even thinking about it but she never woke up and he felt like he had too. He looked at the notebook first, her notes were so confusing, her handwriting so messy he could barely get anything out of it. He went back to the first page; her name was written on it. Her full name.

Taylor J. Wilock.

“TJ Wilock” that’s what Bellingham called her “She was on the under 8 team in Birmingham city. Lost touch after she was picked out by Chelsea.” Kylian’s wheels started turning “Yeah, she was the best they had in woman’s team. Almost joined national as well-“ he closed his eyes.

“He was a great a player…life happened and he had to let go of the sport.” That’s what she said when she was asked about JW playing.

Kylian could feel his stomach twisting. He looked at the folder next to him, opened it without thinking twice, meanwhile he thought about the things Jude had told him.

“She had an accident on the field. A heart attack— she stopped playing after it. She was diagnosed with a heart condition. It was a shame, they loved her.” Jude’s voice echoed in his mind.
Then Taylor’s voice: “He had to find a different way to get involved”
“You’ve made me watch it repeatedly for your stupid articles” that was Trish. “Have to say she is very unfair with you.”

He searched for his report, it was a bad one. Talking about how he needed a break immediately, he was threat for the team. It was brutal. He scoffed. Her writing on the report- he recognized it all too well. Same expressions, same stats.

“The golden boy” how many times had she called him that? The same nickname was on one of JW’s articles. The same use of vocabulary.
He remembered the first day he saw her, how she jumped in the conversation, introducing herself. “I’m the assistant.” She said to him. But she never looked just like as an assistant.

“You were right”
“About what?”
“Me.”

That’s what she said to him. He remembered the day that happened, same day Neymar was sad about his article. He wanted to throw up. Wake her up and fight. But she was never straightforward with him so why would he be with her? He sat up, rubbing his face. Sweating.

“Who is she?” he asked Marquinhos. And perhaps a part of him already knew by then but just wouldn’t process it until now. And now it hurt more than it would have hurt in any other day, any other time. Cause there was only one answer to his question.

She was JW.