#rosesonbreeze009

[confusionism]

Aiden blinks hard once. Then twice. Then one more time.

A tie.

Somehow, among the 12 seats occupied in this long stall — at a game that’s probably rigged in a way, given the nature of where they are — they’ve managed to sweep the competition together, at the exact same time. An impossible feat that, like many other impossible feats in the world, is actually possible, thanks to the whimsy of Team Ainna. Excitement sweeps Aiden up, effortlessly with the strength of Anna’s arms and sealed with the warmth of her kiss.

"That's just what we do," he says, making sure he squeezes her back with the same fervor. The older gentleman in charge of the stall waits for them, his patience fueled by the fact that really, the circumstances are impressive. Possibly once in a lifetime.

Once the energy has subsided, they're finally handed their prizes: four stuffed toy flowers with bendy stems. Blue, green, pink, and purple— a compromise of sorts, because how could two winners share one giant... Minion? Minion adjacent. Okay. The flowers are a little odd, but at least Aiden can sleep in peace, knowing that the king of counterfeit toys isn't waiting on his downfall.

At any rate, he accepts the flowers graciously, beginning to bend the stems and twist them together. He stops walking just in time to catch Anna's little dig. He bows his head low. Laughs.

"Hold still a sec." The product of his work is two leis, each comprising two flowers. The pink and green one obviously goes around Anna's neck, and once the other one, blue and purple, is on Aiden, he leans forward and mirrors her whisper against the shell of her ear. "Maybe we'll go for a threepeat tonight?"

Or maybe they won't make it that far, if their shared humor happens to overpower their better senses. At any rate, he presses a kiss on her cheek, as if he'd only had the sweetest things to say, before continuing their walk toward the Ferris wheel. It's his turn to hand over tickets, and wouldn't you know it? Their entire family manages to fit in the seat, with Aiden at one end, Anna snug against him, and Eliza taking up the rest of space.

Their safety bar is in place and the ride has begun its turn to unload one group and load in the next. There's no better time than now for him to admit: "You know I used to be kinda bad with heights?"

"Rude," she says, unoffended. "Which one of us really needs it?" The handsome, blessed-with-great-skin and unbothered coach. Or Anna, who wept her way into puffy-eye syndrome just a few hours ago. The sort of dark humor that's softened with a playful pinch to his arm. There are times when Anna wants her pain to be taken seriously. Other times, like now? Making it small helps, and she sticks out her tongue in jest when she gears up.

Speed is her game. Precision is always secondary to it. When it starts, Anna hits a fast stride. A little jump when she hits a 9 at the first round. But the waiting games makes her impatient, and every roll suffers as a result. She's cussing beneath her breathe. She's not so competitive that she wouldn't celebrate Aiden's win. But come on - surely this is rigged. One last hail mary, and Anna groans when she barely gets it into the 1. "Damn it." She huffs, praying that her early wins are enough to balance it out.

The look on her face is childish petulance and disbelief, rolled into one. "You're not serious." Anna expresses, to no one and everyone in particular. Then, after a moment, Anna finally lets out a laugh. Arms extended, she wraps them around his neck. A little jump and a squeal, tilting her head to kiss his cheek just right. "We're winners, baby!" Because that's better, isn't it? What's the point of standing on a podium on your own?

Winning is only worthwhile when they can do it together. Lit up like a Christmas tree, Anna gives her stuffed toys a celebratory shake.

"This is like the time we both hit the finish line at the same time." She whispers into his ear, a little scandalous and plenty flirtatious. Giving his shoulder a final squeeze and a little wink from beneath the cap. "Come on, we can celebrate on the Ferris wheel." And by celebrate, Anna may or may not mean some teenage-level making out at the very top. More on that later.

[confusionism]

( @rosesonbreeze )

Another spectacular showing from Chelsea!

Although today's press has been nothing but positive — from the remarks over the strong start of the match to the optimism over the rest of the season — Aiden can't help but feel... Tired. Just a little. Can you blame him? Despite his best efforts, he's back behind the long table, fielding questions from an over-curious crowd. He knows that they're all itching for more hints about the 'major announcement' that's been rumoured for weeks; he's avoiding them by letting Bailey field all of the curiosities, and only chiming in with a stoic-yet-encouraging little tidbit here and there.

It's a system. It always works. At least, that's been the case for years— so of course today would be the day that things are upended. Consider the way that the higher-ups have pulled just about every move to sideline the very manager, and all of it tracks perfectly.

Three minutes before the end of the time allotted for questions, one of the team's special liaisons takes the mic and calls for full attention. 'I'd like to take a moment to welcome the newest member of our ranks, who's so eager to start playing that he came all the way out to support his team.'

Gasps and whispers run through the crowd. Before they can fully sink into the air, however, the 'star' in question appears: Leo Gutierrez.

Slicked back, bottle-bleached hair. Overgrown (in Aiden's opinion) facial hair. Dressed in a coat that costs more than the average Brit's yearly income, and with a flashy smile to match, the volume of his appearance is somehow surpassed by that of his mouth. The room lights up in a flurry of cheers and flash, and at the end of it all, Aiden can't get out quickly enough. Did he shake the guy's hand? Yeah, sure, just like he did a few weeks back, but the handful of meetings since then hasn't put things in better perspective.

Especially not now.

Breathe. Aiden won't be worked up. He'd already anticipated the announcement coming this weekend, and although he was hoping for something more subtle on the social media channels, he can't say he's entirely surprised by the stunt pulled now. He shakes his head. It's a problem for Tuesday. He's officially off the clock.

His only concern now is making a beeline for the parking garage. When he finally spots Anna and Hayley, both seated exactly where the former said they'd be, Aiden feels one of the knots in his shoulders loosen.

"Hey," he calls out. He greets Anna first, with a hand on her side and a kiss on the cheek. He nods toward Hayley after. "Bailey's on his way. Couple'a folks wanted shots of him and the new guy." Then, toward Anna, "Ready to go?"

[confusionism]

Her favorite? "I mean, I better be," he quips back, slinging his arm over her shoulder and giving her a shake. It's the kind of gesture that one would only give to their bro-est of bros, one that he's on the receiving end from the most daring players (read as: Ramon, usually), yet he'd never offer back himself. Again, this is part of Anna's magic— pulling out the parts of Aiden that, at times, even he isn't aware of.

Because he can be polite and thoughtful, all on his own. But to be open? To be affectionate? This is a new realm of learning, and he figures he's got a long way to go.

They continue on like this, with him anticipating her energy and keeping up with it, even as they approach their final stop. "Yeah." It's as simple as that. It always is. When she puts up her little challenge, Aiden nods back, going so far as to posit, "Winner gets first dibs on those new masks." The latest delivery to their London flat, a pre-Fashion Week preparatory move and marketing stunt, all in one. And yeah, there may be an unspoken agreement between them, to peruse the contents of her brand deal offerings together, but he still acts otherwise, saying, "I could use another one'a those collagen treatment things."

Aiden Fitzgerald: esteemed Premier League coach by day, luxurious face mask aficionado at night.

It would only make sense to select the blue lane, but in his heart of hearts, he still picks purple. No matter what the rest of the sporting world thinks, some of the best teams in history use it, especially some of his personal favorites back overseas. A little extra good vibes wouldn't hurt, right? He picks the darker shade, then gives the entire setup a long glance. The ball is as smooth as stone. This shouldn't be too difficult.

And they're off!

There's an understated kind of elegance to this game, that isn't quite the same in Whack-a-Mole. Sure, it's still every bit as competitive, but between the roll of the balls and the slipperiness of both the lane and the colors lining the holes, the players are made to wait in between their boosts of progress. So Aiden does. As best as he can. His rolls are unhurried, more precise, hitting the higher numbers more frequently, but at a pace that's much slower than Anna's. Where her lane fills with the sounds of the ball bouncing in the under-track, his is quiet.

"Almost," he mutters quietly, looking up and seeing the way his horse is so close to the finish line. Anna's further along, but if he can just hit that '9,' he can...

Ding ding!

Gasps fill the air. Eliza and Timmy as their unbiased, non-participant witnesses. Aiden's brow raises sharply. "A tie??"

It's immediately evident that Henry is like her; excitable, obnoxious, and painfully passionate. Sure, she may not be outright weeping at a few losses. But the similarity makes her smile, and Anna beams with a second wave of pride (arguably more substantial) because of Aiden's genuine reaction. Standing back, listening in - she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming. She's with Aiden Fitzgerald, the football manager that brought Chelsea to new heights. A big shot, even if he's too humble to say otherwise. Of course, he would be recognized.

"Look at that!" Anna marvels, slipping away just enough to watch Henry takes the board for a whirl. Really, it's impressive, and Anna decides the decision is a right one even before he says 'thank you.' "You're a natural." The compliment makes Henry beam, and Anna gives him an extra squeeze back when he lands against her leg. "Give them hell, kid." Clearly, he didn't need any reminding. He skates off, and his father Phillip is grinning like a kid in the candy store.

"I think you made both of their nights." Though she's inclined to agree with Phillip. Time with Aiden trumps any shiny, new toy. Just don't let Eliza or Timmy hear that part, she thinks. "Thanks for doing that. You're my favorite, know that?' He should but Anna feels the need to remind him anyway.

"One more game before the Ferris Wheel?" Anna has one more game in her, and the sunset is approaching just in time. The sort of perfect, calming view that gives them both some needed separation from everything on the ground. "But what..." Strongest man alive game? Nah, Anna objects to the name of the game. Ring toss? Too precise, and besides, she might get frustrated to the point of breaking glass.

Eyes land to the roll-a-ball game, glamorized by plastic horses in a race to the finish. "Yeah?" One word, and nothing else. Anna gives a little skip when she walks over with Aiden. "Winner takes all?" It's not like they bet on this, and Aiden knows they are a team first. But what's a little friendly game between a boyfriend and his girlfriend? Handing over the last batch of tickets, Anna rolls the ball in her hands as she selects the green lane with the corresponding horse.

[confusionism]

“Enjoy what?” He maybe says it a little too loudly — by British standards, at least — but don’t come for him. Skateboarding is another hobby that he’d tried out a couple times, that just didn’t stick. No, he much prefers kicking in other ways— on the green, and with an actual tally looming in the distance. But then it dawns on him, that Anna’s not-so-discretely looking over.

The brat from before, far more dejected now that it’s his second round of loss. His dad is waving around the cotton candy, so spiritedly that the sugary cloud almost looks to have a life of its own.

Well. Don’t take this as a sign of Aiden’s ‘good heart’ or anything like that; it only makes sense if you look at the facts. A guy with a board he has no intention of using, a weepy kid with a dream. Aiden tilts his chin up and calls out in that same, full-intentioned voice of his, “‘Scuse me.”

It’s enough to catch a couple of curious eyes, not just the ones he’s addressing. The father looks up, apologetic as ever, throughout his kid’s theatrics. “Yes?”

“You want this?” And when it’s clear that the father is a mixture of disbelief and hesitation, Aiden looks down to the boy and holds out the board. “I’m serious.” He almost always is. “Here.”

The boy tugs on his father’s arm, and it doesn’t take more than two pleads for him to receive the ‘all clear.’ The board finds its way into its new owner’s hands, and amid a chorus of the boy’s little whoops and hollers, the father steps closer and begins digging into his coat’s inner pocket. “Let me—”

Aiden holds up a hand. “It’s cool, sir. No problem.” He looks over to the boy, admitting, “Better his than mine.”

Although his eyes remain on the sheer energy, the way the boy’s already unwrapping the board to give it a spin, the father’s gaze is relentless. His voice returns, softer than before. “You’re… Aiden, aren’t you?” From the way he glances around, he looks to have Aiden’s last name on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t say it; he probably knows better. “Blues?” Yeah. He definitely knows better.

“Um— yeah.” For all of the publicity in his life, this kind of attention isn’t actually so common. Especially this quiet. He keeps it lowkey. “That’s me.”

The father holds out his hand. “Philip. I’m a big fan.” From somewhere close by, if his accent is anything to base the guess off of— even if the boy sounds tried and true, stars and stripes. “That’s my boy Henry. He’s, ah— he’s also a big fan.” Despite the calm demeanor, he manages to catch the energy and quell it. Henry returns. Cue the classic dad-reminds-son kind of exchange.

“Thank you!” Henry isn’t shy, not with the way he bounces in place and waves his new prize, and certainly not with how he lunges at both Aiden and Anna, squeezing them in unbridled gratitude.

Oh. Oh, wait. Aiden knows exactly where this kid is from.

Like Anna, Henry isn’t too keen on waiting much longer. The world is his oyster and he has a brand new board to test the limitations of. He’s gone in the span of a minute. Philip follows shortly, albeit not without another expression of “Thanks,” as well as a business card slipped into Aiden’s hand.

Aiden glances it over once and shows it to Anna (and their family) before tucking it away, into his pack. “So, uh—” strange encounter over with, “—where to next?”

The older gentleman at the center of the game says it best; it's like fishing, except with ducks and magnets. Calling upon the tenants of the former, with the flourish of the latter. Anna takes her rod, neither talented nor embarrassing with her attempts. Her knee bounces too much, and the bells and whistles pull from her focus. This slower, tactical speed works for Aiden though. Shoulders ever relaxed, with a touch that's determined yet gentle.

For a seemingly "easy" game, more than a number of people quit by the fifth attempt. A game of patience, or wherewithal as is the case with the blonde kid and his fly-fishing attempts. Anna scoots a bit closer beside Aiden, just in time to catch a peak of red. "Ooh!" She bounces beside him, nodding at the scoreboard. Red is for a premium prize, with the only one left hung high over the wall; an aptly colored, blue and black skateboard with 'champion' emblazoned in bright colors.

She takes the rod from Aiden's hands, letting him collect his grand prize. Though, her ears perk up at the boy. Voice notably softer, with the wind taken out of him. A heavy sigh, coupled with a long 'woah' that speaks to his yearning. Because unlike Anna and Aiden's growing, stuffed family. The skateboard is just the sort of thing an energetic, competitive kid would yearn for.

"Great job, babe. Didn't doubt you for a second." Anna presses a kiss on his cheek, beaming with pride and... Well, a sidewards glance at the kid. "It's your trophy, you should enjoy it." But, well, she's a sucker for a sad kid and a despondent dad trying to cheer him up. "Do you think we should...?" She's not in the habit of giving away Aiden's prized possessions. But really, Anna could have ten of them delivered to their place by tomorrow night. And those would be the personalized with his initials, of much finer quality than this.

[confusionism]

“Feels like a good time to call it,” he agrees, because he knows a little something about getting carried away and ‘flying too close to the sun.’ That and it’d probably only draw more attention, pushing things further and breaking another record— because that’s just how much Aiden believes in Anna. That she’d play so hard that she’d clear out the entire prize rack and get them both banned from Whack-a-Mole.

Call it silly if you must, but it’s not wholly out-of-place in the context of the circumstances, he gives Eliza a pat on the head and asks, “What you think, E?” The second addition to their growing ‘family,’ and he’s already got a couple ideas where to set her. He won’t ask Timmy; comfy in the kind of shell that Aiden sometimes wishes he had, that turtle is set to go.

Moments later, in a way, Aiden channels his inner turtle. He sticks close to Anna’s side, slipping their hands together as they walk and giving her palm a squeeze. It’s not coach’s intuition. Really. It doesn’t take the keenest of senses to make out the kid from earlier, both in bouncing stature and boisterous volume. Considering the nature of where they are — far from the buzz of the city and surrounded by folks of all ages looking to enjoy the early spring evening — he doesn’t think that the matter is anything serious.

But Aiden wouldn’t be himself if he weren’t a little bit encouraged by the chants.

“I never tried this game before,” and yet he looks like a professional, taking the rod into his hands and winding up the tiny handle. “Been fishing once or twice,” under the pretense that it would be the most relaxing activities, perfect for the off-season, “but I never really got into it?” Maybe it was too quiet, too peaceful for a mind always running at top speeds. Still, he listens carefully to the instructions and zones in.

The objective of the game is easy: catch the ducks. Each duck is magnetic, but the bottom has colors corresponding to a certain prize. Most of them are blank, giving the grand reward of nothing, and then the rest improves from there. One part competition, one part luck. Based on the frustration of the other players, who either can't snag a thing or keep losing their ducks mid-reel, it just might be more of the latter.

Aiden thinks he’s a pretty lucky guy. Countless opportunities in life, in work— and he’s definitely the luckiest when it comes to his love romantic life, no explanation needed. The brat is already getting scolded for tossing his line too far, for snagging the hook against the side of the tent, but it’s nothing that an apologetic smile (and a couple extra pounds) from his father can’t fix. And Aiden? Well… He’s far more patient in comparison. He gives the yellow floaters a long glance before finally aiming for one duck that seems to travel slower than its brethren. It locks onto the end of his line easily, and after reeling it in, slowly and surely, he turns it over.

“What does red mean?”

"That's our baby right there." A moment, just one, of maternal instinct. Because just as well, Anna's dark eyes turn back to the brightly lit stage. Mallet in hand and a surging kiss on Aiden's kiss for goodluck. She feels like the star player on his team, dominant and strong. All the things Leo claimed to be and put out into the world. All the things Anna felt she wasn't, all things she can safely be with Aiden by her side. Success only comes because he's dialed in, equal parts supportive and yet impossible to fail. So Anna doesn't, and there's lights and whistles and a very loud kid screaming bloody murder.

"Eliza the Elephant!" Quick to name, as she accepts the giant grey elephant with a pink bow wrapped around its neck. Makes sense - something miniature like Timmy, now something huge like Eliza. They'll have to make room in the den. She's balancing Timmy in her arms, head tilted to accept Aiden's attention. Sure, there's claps and hollers for her victory. But Anna would trade it all in for the way Aiden beams at her.

"Anna." She says, when the teenager gets up on her step stool to arrange the "top scorer" and looks to her for a name. Which, incidentally, catches her attention long enough to narrow in on the woman beneath the cap. With a sheepish shrug, she nudges Aiden. "We should end on a high, don't you think?" Before she gets distracted by the candied apples or the ring toss, and loses top position. Besides, the kid seems relentless.

"What about duck fishing?" It seems exactly like Aiden's speed. A competition on precision, patience, and slight movements. Now that the rage is worked out of her, Anna can finally take the whole area in. The calm it can provide, when she isn't spending it on the whack-a-mole game. "I feel like you'd be a pro." She finally gets a good arm around Eliza, her free hand reaching for his. Stopping in front of the fishing game, a curious eye behind her.

"I think that kid's following us." Because clearly, saying 'no' to a rematch wasn't going to be enough. His dad following helplessly behind him, toting his cotton candy and tokens. "Rematch, rematch!" He chants at Aiden and Anna, already accepting the fishing rod.

[confusionism]

“Oh, snap. Hang in there, Timmy.” Cautious words for their new adoptee as Aiden opens up his sling and tucks it most of the way in. Top part of shell and head poking out, of course, because he wouldn’t want to suffocate the poor thing. Plus, it’s easy to see that Anna’s fully locked in; there’s no way that this doesn’t turn into some kind of spectacle. Once Timmy’s secure, Aiden retakes possession of his mallet and gives it a few twirls. Dramatic. Serious. “I’m bringin’ my A-game here.”

Or rather, she’s already there, as unstoppable of a force as any other time, any other day, simply because she’s already decided the outcome of this game. It’s only fitting that he hones in his focus— even if he’s already got a small ache in his shoulder.

Caught up in the loud clink of the starting bell, the heat of competition surging, it’s as though nothing else in the world exists, save for the the echoes from the powerful volleys beside and in front of him. Aiden takes to their plastic rivals like he would any other, methodical in his movements and swift with his hits. He feels good, he feels great, the rush comparable to defending the goal at the end of—

WOOP WOOP WOOP!

Breathless, Aiden looks up at the score board and watches the numbers over Anna’s game shuffle and then blink. It’s no contest: Anna Ricci is the new Whack-a-Mole champion. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Off to the side, there’s a hysterical cry and a modest chorus of claps. The teen handling the prizes struggles with the sheer size of the grand one, but Aiden couldn’t really care less about it; all else is second to the pride surging through him. He slings an arm around Anna, giving her a squeeze and a shake with the same fervor he’d give securing the Premiere League Cup. Why wouldn’t he? It was an excellent performance all-around.

Nothing can bring him down— but something can break his focus. The ‘something’ in question is the boisterous blond, screaming out, ‘Rematch! Rematch!’

Aiden gives him a sideways look. Where’s he seen that bratty little face before?

It's moments like these that make her wonder, what if they weren't who they were? Anna isn't a miserable person. She's privileged and spoiled rotten with opportunities. But Anna can see them, in another life; Aiden as the local football coach, Anna as the town's resident event organizer. This would be the highlight of their month. No cameras, no billionaires hiding behind their management titles. Certainly no manipulative, ex-boyfriends with feathers to fluff in Aiden's face. Anna passes a smile at the family, at once calm and tranquil.

It lasts seven seconds. Because when the bell goes off, she's off to the races. If she had firm discipline, Anna might have a future as like - a competitive gamer. Sharp instincts, sharper sense of energy. Anna glances at Aiden, who wield the mallet with precision. The ones he hits, he hits surely. Not the mess ot aim and energy that is Anna. But clearly, it pays off, and the surly teenager looks up long enough to yell. "Winner, winner!" Like she wasn't stoned out of her gourd, when she hands Anna the turtle.

"Timmy." Because of course he has a name already. Squeezing Aiden's side as he lingers closer, she whispers; "Don't make me take you into that haunted house and give you a proper whacking..." Because she'd do it, but she couldn't guarantee a jump scare that would leave Aiden with his pants down to his ankles. "Maybe after I win." Because Aiden and this game? It makes her feel like a winner, after an epic loss. It's the right antidote for them both, and this time Anna begins rolling up her sleeves.

She gives the crowd a little wave, nondescript with her baseball cap and the dark light. The couple leaves, off to find a sausage roll and a pint of beer after all that mess. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a blonde kid. Hears a vague, American accent while she busies herself rolling up her sleeves. "Alright babe, we're going for the top score." If Aiden was letting her win, he didn't let on. In fact, he looks properly winded. Regardless --

She's off to the races, twice the power in every hit. Leo's face becoming more distant with every movement, replaced instead with a fervent energy. Even as the little, American boy yells a violent 'die, die, die' at every mole in sight.

[confusionism]

What he gives her is a half-smile, warm and confident, comfortable enough to press affection against the inside of her wrist. “I’ll be fine.” A promise to both of them. The last few months of being adjacent to her spotlight — and occasionally in it — haven’t changed much of the fact that he’s difficult to approach. Robot with a heart? Sure, but still a robot nonetheless. One who inspires fear from fans and rivals the same… One who, in her presence, finds it easy to say cheesy shit such as, “They’re yours to see, much as you like.”

If Aiden were to take it even further, he’d dare to say that this is kind of romantic. Hear him out. They’ve made it to the pier just a couple of hours before sunset. Outside of the thrills of high speeds and loud buzzers is a Ferris wheel with modest lights and the shoreline a long staircase away. He tucks these options away into one corner of his brain, even while approaching the first booth.

Before the starting bell rings, he glances over to the competition. A couple and a family of four. The former playfully jabs at each other with the puffy ends of the mallets, while the latter helps their older child play. Aiden’s almost caught off-guard by Anna’s subtle joke. He nudges her shoulder with his arm. Only almost.

It turns out, it isn’t Anna’s mischief that surprises him as much as it is her speed. She can run laps around him during their morning runs, a testament to her long-developed endurance, but quick bursts like this? Movement as though anticipating the machine before its gears fully turn? It’s fucking insane. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was 14 again, getting his first experience of guarding the goal from a D-1 athlete.

He may be plenty of years and plenty of matches away from that, but it’s plain to see that Aiden just can’t keep up. And thank god there’s at least one empty spot between Anna and the rest; surely she’d whack the other players, by pure instinct of hitting anything that dares to come close.

When the buzzer finally rings, he’s a thousand or so points behind the clear winner. How is it clear? Well, it’s not just the booth attendant handing over a purse-sized, plush turtle, but Anna’s performance has caught a few curious eyes— especially that of the two closest players.

“Man,” because he’s not so swept up in the competition to forget that they’re surrounded by children. “Look at that.” He tilts his chin toward the scoreboard. “Just a couple moles from breaking the top.” He hands over another set of tickets, securing their spots in the next round. “One more round. That was warm-up.” As if they didn’t just make a small show of their respective athletic prowess.

And yet Aiden doesn’t miss a beat when, for a brief moment, he hugs Anna’s waist, presses against her snugly, and brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “I always knew you were better at whacking than me.”

In between good-natured teasing and the sparks of life finally returning to her. Anna takes the cap, pausing long enough to wonder out loud. "Should you wear one, too?" She knows she's recognizable, even at night at a small town carnival. A household name and face, Anna's used to an assortment of hats in her collection. But Aiden's already recognizable to any passing football fan. And now that they're together, enough of a media "thing" to inspire this Leo-inspired ambush. Well...

"Only if you want, but I--" A small, thankful smile. She hasn't said it yet. Hasn't told Aiden just how thankful she is. Instead, she brushes his cheek with her thumb. Filled with sentiment, heart full of thanks. "I like seeing your eyes." Not only because of how striking they are, deep and brown and soulful. But because it's a tether, that safe place that kept her from spinning.

The rush of energy and joy drown out the noise. Exactly what they planned for, before the mess of a day took them (or specifically, Anna) through a convoluted spin. There's kids running around. Young adults taking selfies, or piling into bumper cars. Anna even spots the same, older gentleman with the respectable windbreaker and American contempt. Note to self - buy him a pint of beer after he's cooled down.

"Definitely whack-a-mole." Because Aiden called her lethal, and Anna wants to show him just how true it is. And she can't pretend like there isn't a residual rage lingering beneath her tepid smile. Anna has things to say, feelings to express. Tired of crying, Anna takes Aiden's hand and walks them towards the booth. The young attendant, luckily too busy on their cell phone to notice Chelsea's football coach and Anna, gladly taking their tickets. Simple premise - most whacks wins.

She has to be feeling better, because she mutters to Aiden; "Dirty."

"Here goes nothing." She says, like she isn't itching. Mallet in hand, and Anna is fast. One, then two, and before long she's abandoned any sort of strategy. Unlike Aiden, strategy falls second to impulse, and her impulse has her hitting every potential opening. An energized fervor in her movements, as Anna grunts. "Come on!" To no one in particular, instead letting it rip - and not caring who sees.

[confusionism]

"That a challenge, Ricci?" He leaves the engine running for a moment longer, the low thrum fueling the warmth building up in his chest. Anna must know what she’s doing, saying the exact words that would get the gears in the tactical side of his brain running. It’s clear enough in how his brow raises and he smiles. "Ain't no need to be competitive if there ain't no competition." Spoken with full confidence, like a highly-decorated coach— or really, like a guy just looking to have good, gaming fun with his girl. Spirited teasing and all.

By the time his feet hit the gravel, Aiden’s favorite scarf is hanging loosely around his neck; he’s sure their spirits will keep him plenty warm. He carries one of Anna’s caps with its signature low-profile intention but high-visibility logos on it, holding it out for her, just in case.

“We better make that two rides, by the way.” He understands why she tells him otherwise about skipping on them. And it’s not only a matter of her returning back to her usual, bright and boisterous form, or the fact that, “We came for the rides,” but by his logic: “If you’re gonna turn my brain upside down once, you gotta make sure you flip it back up, too.

“—But I bet you’d actually be real lethal with whack-a-mole.” He slips his hand against hers, fingers wrapping around her palm and squeezing once. “You a freak when you want something enough.” Respectfully. Her determination is one of many things he loves about her, alongside the extra little shine in her eyes from the prospects of fulfillment.

As they draw closer to the collection of lights, sights, and sounds decorating the coastline, Aiden glances over in search of just that. One part observation, gauging where her head might be now, and another part admiring. What? Hurling be damned, he’ll still steal small glances whenever he can, purely out of wanting to see her. It’s been a Day.

“Call the play, coach.” He eyes the coaster that extends high into the air before shifting his attention toward a spinning and tilting contraption. Just across that is a row of colorful booths, but right beside them is the wide, open entryway for the arcade. He doesn’t need to crane his neck to spot all the flashing buttons inside. “Where do you wanna start?”

"He's American." Anna explains when old-man-windbreaker gives them both a second glance. A sheepish, disarming look that works on most, but not all, and the innocent man walks away without a word. Although, Anna could have sworn she heard him grumble Gen-Z kids these days. Which... "At least we look young." Even if they both feel particularly weathered. Old, weary, and weighed down by things that feel too grown up.

They are halfway there, with Anna fiddling with the air conditioning just so. Nevermind that it's still the late Winter chill out there. Or that Aiden and his breathing exercises put her on a better plane than when she started. In her bones, Anna is stll pulsing, energized, and --

"Wait, at least one ride." She interrupts Aiden, quiet concern on her face. "We came for the rides." She emboldens, more herself than him. Still, she knows why Aiden suggests it. Given the 'present' she leaves behind for the park maintenance people a few miles back. Well, it's not wise, and lest she have Aiden cleaning up her mess again...

"Do you like games?" Every respectable fair has them; ring tosses, balloon popping, the fun gag with the rubber ducks and the magnetic fishing rods. A sideways glance at Aiden as they begin circling the unpaved ground for a spot.

"I bet you do." She tacks on, because Aiden is in the same boat. Born to fight, engineered to win. Competitive spirit is in what he does. And in this case, with Leo's ghost still hovering over them... "I bet they have whack a mole. Or that game where you punch a bag and the hardest hit wins." Better that than a black eye on Aiden's new 'star player.'

"I need to--" She straightens up in her passenger seat once they stop, trying to put it into words. "It's like, I've got all this energy--" Nervous, anxious, take your pick. "And I think we should just... Play until I run out of tokens, or you have to drag me away from the bumper cars." The only car she's allowed to drive, but Anna digresses.

"Whatcha think, Fitzgerald? You think you could be over-the-top competitive with me?"

[confusionism]

“Hell yeah,” he follows, his voice filled with the same conviction as when he’s on the pitch. “‘Fuck you.’”

Except, when he glances over to the side, he spots an elderly man staring back at him. Wide-eyed behind thick frames, in a faded sweater vest and a respectable windbreaker.

“Not you, sir. Sorry, I’m—” dying. This is what it feels like to fade away. Fast. He points a thumb toward the other side of the car, “—I’m giving a pep talk.” And as he quickly throws himself into the driver’s seat, “Have a nice day.”

Once he’s inside, behind the safety of the door locks, he pauses and closes his eyes. “You know something… I don’t think I even gotta act; I’m sure I’d get myself in some shit and you’d have an ‘out’ just like that.” He remains in place until he’s sure that he’s out of the old guy’s line of sight. Or maybe it’s just to calm the embarrassment raging inside him. Either way, he finally shakes his head and re-centers his focus. Looking over, he reaches out to his side and gives Anna’s earlobe a little tug. For both of them. “Let’s get outta here.”

They’re back on the road in a moment’s notice.

Halfway to their destination — and through one of his little playlists meant to help him recuperate after a long and troubling day — he glances over and asks, “So what’re you up for?” There’s the usual answer, which is that they can play it by ear and figure out what strikes their curiosity there. Still, he wouldn’t be Aiden if he didn’t have other factors at the back of his mind, beginning with their sudden stop and ending with all that she’d left back at the rest stop. “I’m guessing rides are off the table?” His tone is free of judgment. There are plenty of other ways to seek and find thrills.

“I hear they got a haunted house,” probably one of those lower budget deals that could only scare adults with the risk of tetanus from aged parts, “but if they got anything to do with wasps, you’re gonna be on your own.” Poking fun at himself, even though it’s kind of serious. Even now, he kind of cringes at the thought. The worst part of any home repair is finding a goddamned nest.

"No, I guess not." Except, Anna's impatient. She always has been. Anna sought things out with fire and fervor; her career, her friends, Aiden. It's a frustrating thing, being caught in a prison of her own heartbreak and setbacks. But, she looks up at Aiden, and he looks at her like she's a superhero instead of a damsel in distress. The sort of belief that makes her believe. Because Aiden doesn't suffer fools or false idols. With a little smile, she even laughs a bit. "Yeah? Just -- fuck you." She says, unconvincingly. Not her fault, the only people she's told to 'fuck off' were bullies. Then again, what is Leo if not the ultimate one...

"At this point, I'd settle for getting through this without all of that--" There's a far off gesture to the bin. If Anna didn't think it would get caught in the wind, she would leave something for the park services guy who would tidy it up. Some other time. She follows Aiden back to the trunk, lifting a brow. Impressive and very-Aiden to be this prepared, she reaches for the toothbrush in her fingers. "No, we should go." Anna decides, affirmative. "I can't just sit at the hotel." Or else she'd sit and stew and stalk Ramon's story, or pick up her agent's calls about dealing with the social media speculation.

Not yet, Anna decides, and she's giving herself a quick refresh. Wipes to remove the streaky mascara and the sweat off her neck. Tooth brush used on-the-go, with the water bottle coming in handy. Anna's halfway through packing things back into the case, when she glances at Aiden. "I mean, bunny ears would make my panic attacks more fun." A twinge of dark humor, said with a little shrug. "But, I like ear tugging." Not something she does naturally, and apparently neither does Aiden.

"Yeah? Didn't peg you for an actor." She says, as playful a tease as him calling her stinky. Standing up from the trunk, Anna closes the door. "A little improv? Help, I see a spider!" It's easier to joke about the worst parts of her trauma like this, than it is to talk about. Odd as it is. "I'm just kidding." She reminds, stepping back into the passenger seat. Water bottle still in hand, just in case. "You don't have to do any of that. I'll find a way out, somehow. And Tony, well, he's faked many illnesses to do it."

[confusionism]

“We’re a team,” he affirms, leaning in and grazing his lips near the crown of her head. She doesn’t actually smell half as bad as she thinks, and anyway, it wouldn’t detract from how much he feels for her. “—And I’m not too worried about you.” Even if his actions might suggest otherwise; they’re more a product of his natural efficiency than anything else.

At the end of it all, “I know he makes you feel shitty and brings up all this bad energy, but it’s not gonna be this way forever.” If Aiden can have ambitions about work, about securing another cup and breaking a few records, he can extend the same to Anna too. Manifestation only starts with one person, and then is fostered through support. “One day, you’re gonna be able to look him right in the eye and tell him what you really wanna say.” His gaze flickers up for a moment. “Like: ‘fuck you.’” Firm and direct. That’s where he’d start. Don’t ask him where he’d end up. He might never end.

But anyway, before he continues, he keeps one arm slung over Anna’s shoulders as he guides her toward the trunk. His car is an extension of himself, reliable and resourceful, and with a spacious and pretty boot.

“C’mere, Stinky.” Said with only the utmost affection, with the same, teasing humor they address one another with. “I got some stuff here, if you wanna freshen up.” Travel-sized amenities, such as a (pink) toothbrush set and wet wipes for any emergency refreshing needs. “We don’t have to check out the pier if that’s not the vibe.” He’ll still be willing if she is, but… “—Could go tomorrow instead.” They’re all about this kind of stuff, aren’t they? Compromise. Flexibility. Prepared, even for the things they can’t quite anticipate.

“Do you wanna make bunny ears when you gotta leave? I was thinking more like— I dunno. Tug on your earlobes.” If she wants to be like him, a blundering mess spilling out of the closet, “Pretend like you lost an earring or something. Just, you know— sell it better than I did.” Yes, it’s a joke at his own expense, but it’s also totally fine. Continuing along with the humor, he adds, “If that doesn’t work I can prolly make a scene or something. Give you an out.” Typical team work-type things.

She doesn't expect less, but Anna still breathes a sigh of relief when she's back in his arms. The sort of full, heavy, all-encompassing hug that acts as a shield against the worst parts of life. Despite its weight, Anna feels lighter. Sharing the load of her baggage, and the proven-true anxieties surrounding the future. "Thank you." Simple words that mean everything. Because Aiden may care more about who he comes home to, but it's still a regression from what they are used to. A direct result of Anna's feelings and Leo's bad behavior. "Thank you." She repeats, nuzzling her head into his neck instead of kissing that spot. After all, to Aiden's point --

"I do stink." She whines, a little petulant, plenty aware. There is mouthwash, a hot bubble bath, and maybe even a call to her agency in the near future. Now that she's past the worst of it, Anna can see their path forward. In Aiden's case, he's already a mile ahead, lifting Anna's spirits.

"What, like a salute? Nose tap? Bunny ears?" Less and less conspicuous, but if Anna is going to hide from a fight. Well, at least she can have some lightness with it. "I'll take it, but I... I don't wanna look like I'm hiding, either." Finding the sweet spot, that's the key. "Even if I kind of am. I don't want to draw more attention to it." Which is made impossible by Aiden's new star player, making every effort to put it at the forefront. Ahead of the team, or the game, or the championship. Anna's fists tighten in renewed outrage.

"I know you don't. We're a team." She confirms, lifting his chin with her fingers. Certain. Unmoved. Nothing anyone can do can shake her belief in that. "Us against the world." Against Leo, the executives who pulled the strings, the public looking for a story. "I know you're this amazing, intimidating coach--" Also Ramon's assessment over rose, but anyway; "But in case I need to say it. You do what you have to do. Don't worry too much about me, or whatever bullshit Leo says."

[confusionism]

Aiden stretches along with her, watching over her carefully. First, as a coach, making sure their player is doing what they need to take care of their body, but more of a simple guy wanting to know that his girl is okay. He pays no mind to the traffic, ebbing and flowing through the parking lot, or to the occasional eye that might think it recognizes them. None of that matters. His focus is laser-sharp as always, and by the time she speaks, he feels some of the tension melt away from his shoulders.

“That’s more than ‘okay.’” He steps forward and takes her into his arms, giving her the kind of hug he’d wanted to earlier: strong and warm, and holding her against the steady rhythm at the center of his chest.

Then, he scrunches his nose. “Wouldn’t want you stinking up the place.” His shoulders shake with amusement. He presses a kiss on her forehead before giving them both a little space. “Do what you gotta do. It’s cool with me, even if you feel like you can’t be there at all.” There are perks to their careers, including the ability to be around for each other, through every crazy schedule, but, “I mostly care that I’m coming home to you.” And vice versa, of course.

“—But listen.” If they’re really going to do this, then he thinks they need some kind of game plan. “Maybe we should have some kinda signal? Just like my sweet potatoes?” Aiden doesn’t actually know if it’s any help, but it’s worth tossing some ideas. Anything to encourage action and support her decisions. “—And I can give you a copy of my office key, in case you need somewhere to hide out. Keep the spare car remote in your purse.”

He speaks purely from his introverted side, thinking of the ways he’d run away in a pinch. “I don’t want you to think I’m, like— expecting one thing or another from you. I’m just saying. Whatever helps.” He considers it for a beat. "I'm on your team. You know?"

"Can I apologize for the way I smell?" It's the first sign that Anna is feeling a little better. Enough to joke and be embarrassed when Aiden pulls her close, a blubbering and smelly mess. It's not vanity, but the sheer vulnerability of it. The worst version of herself in its rawest form, for Aiden to pull back together. He has every reason to run. Or at the very least, keep his distance. This is drama, a messy old love affair, pulled into his work. The one, indisputable thing that Aiden treats with complete seriousness. Still, he stays, and Anna nods agreeably. Mints, water, and a stretch. Things that can be done. Things that should help.

Anna takes the first two in a singular motion, letting the mint coincide with the water. The slight burn helping her along. A physical distraction. Coming up to her feet, less wobbly but still weak, Anna intertwines her fingers. Long arms stretched forward, then above her head. Counting with Aiden, down from ten. If she were feeling more sentimental and less haunted, she'd remember their first New Year's together. Counting down to something new for the two of them.

"Fucking hell..." She says, to no one in particular. Shaking off the rust and letting the cool wind dry her tears. Doing one last shake of her body, moving through the emotion. "I--" Anna isn't rash, despite her emotional nature. But she knows her boundaries enough to know; "I'm always gonna be here for you. The team. I'll be at every game, and I'm always gonna be close with the guys. I just," she shifts uncomfortably. "I don't think I can be around him more than I have to be." And it's not the same, she reminds herself. Aiden is nothing like Leo. Her discomfort isn't an inconvenience for her to apologize for. Still, it's not easy to say.

"I doubt you'd want me to be." Because it would only provoke Leo's bad behavior and all the press interference. After all, Chelsea's no fools - the three of them together makes for a fun media story. Anna might play that game as a celebrity, but not on her own terms. "Is that... Okay?"

[confusionism]

“Wh— hey, no,” he replies, releasing one hand and extending one arm across her back. Aiden’s careful not to press too hard, to overwhelm her with his weight, whether by the sheer depth of his concern or that of his general dissatisfaction with the situation. No matter how he feels, he needs her to know: “Don’t apologize for feeling a way.” Emotions are a complicated game, one that doesn’t always follow rhyme or reason. “I’m not mad at you.” A repetition, a reminder, all to reinforce that, “I trust you.” I love you. “—And we’ll figure this out.”

That’s really the bottom line for him. ‘We.’ Anna may have had to navigate the past alone, to pick up the pieces after their break-up and temper her instinctual reactions to her pain — and sure, her body’s actions are a ‘thing’ for her, and only her, to control — but she also didn’t have Aiden in her corner back then. Stubbornness on two legs, with a drive so intense it makes headlines debating his humanness. A hard worker who’s never been discouraged no matter how high the odds are stacked against him. And at the end of it all— her guy, who’d tear up two entire industries to ensure even a modicum of peace for them both.

He says it with his movement. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t invite; he shifts his arm higher and pulls her against his side. It doesn’t matter that she’s smelling faintly of their lunch and salt and vinegar. He only wants her close.

“He’s guaranteed a year and a half.” More or less. Enough to finish up the current season and then stick around for one more. Aiden isn’t so foolish to not know that that’s plenty of time for trouble, but things can always change in the blink of an eye. Leo can always fuck the deal up for himself. Especially if he’s distracted. “—But I dunno. I don’t want you to feel discouraged.” There’s no room for that, under the warmth of his body or between the firmness of his voice. “Don’t matter if it’s on the pitch or off. I’ll keep him in line.” Or at least, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t put up a fight.

“You should…” The words fade away swiftly. What’s the right way to go about this? He doesn’t have authority over her anxiety, the parts of her brain that make her act ‘like this.’ So he reframes his approach, beginning with, “Do you still feel lightheaded? I got some mints. Not ‘cause you’re stinky; mints help when I get like that.” It’s the scene he hid so well when he first started his position at the top. Time and success have done away with those struggles, as well as knowledge of other ‘tricks.’ “You wanna do that, like— ‘sensory calming’ thing together? That countdown thing?” An open hand to working together, while one of his cups her face and wipes away a stray tear.

"Yeah, like... Phantom pains?" It's the only way it makes sense. The injury of a broken heart has long healed; months of hard work, recentering, and moving on to thank for that. But just because something isn't broken, doesn't mean it can't resonate. Lips quirked into a small line, to keep from feeling sick all over again. Because Anna keeps nothing from Aiden, except this. "I'm sorry." She prefaces, squeezing his knee once more. "I should've said something, but I didn't. Couldn't." Not because Aiden didn't trust her, but because she didn't trust herself to end up... Well, like this.

"He texted a week ago. Some bullshit about us..." The message is floating somewhere in her recycling box now. Out of sight, out of mind. Until now. "I didn't think he'd do this." It's a level of petty cruelty, or perhaps careless narcissism that Anna never thought he'd stoop to. But the more she sits on it, the more it makes sense.

Leo may have liked her, claimed to love her once upon a time. He may have moved on quickly after it ended, onto bustier and more free-spirited types. But he's not the type to like being upstaged. Hated being "Anna Ricci's man." Until, it was Aiden (and by extension, his team) that took the mantle and thrived in it. Anna doesn't listen to talk, she listens to Aiden. But even she listens to Tony or Ramon's takes; about Aiden as future forty under forty material, or how sponsors have started flushing in. His rise shouldn't matter to Leo, or to Real Madrid. But clearly, it did.

"Nothing." Anna responds, after a beat. Another apologetic shake of her head, because she knows how they operate. They do things together, take care of each other. "You can't do anything. He lives for this crap, and the only way to shut him down is to leave it alone." No matter what he said on social media or the press, regardless of what stones he threw... He only lost interest, when Anna wouldn't play. The same could be said for Aiden now, in this precarious seat.

"And the rest of it," like her, seated on the backseat of his car still teary and nauseous. "It's on me not to get like this." A burden he shouldn't carry, nor could he even if he wanted to. "Maybe he'll get bored and move on. But the football stuff..." Well, there's contracts, big wigs pulling the strings. Things that neither her nor Aiden had power over now.

[confusionism]

Aiden can’t say where his head is exactly, while listening to the steady flow of Anna’s words, but he knows exactly where his hands are: cupping hers front and back, sharing the warmth of his palms and massaging in between her joints. It’s soothing, in a way, being able to feel her presence like this. Grounding, because the tension is still in the air, stuck in his throat and heavy on his shoulders.

But that’s the thing about being with Anna— it never takes long for things to make sense.

“So he’s like… An injury.” A shattered bone. A torn ligament. All circumstances that he’d never wish on his loved ones, but that he understands perfectly. He’s been there time and time again. Hell, he might be there again on Tuesday, if he doesn’t decompress in time for the resurgence of Leo’s bullshit. “You can heal up and do therapy, but that shit still acts up when it feels like it.”

He lifts her hand and blows his breath against her skin. Their hands are back in his lap just in time for his expression to quirk with sharp worry. “Has he been messing with you lately?”

It only makes sense. She’s saying that her behavior is on par for his presence. Didn’t she have an episode last week? And then there’s the aggression from his management. The mid-season nature of the transfer and the speed with which the terms were finalized. The heat in Aiden’s chest only grows at the thought that, “I shoulda fought harder not to— shit. Shoulda known something was up when he took that fucking pay cut.” Because what household name would willingly make a lowball pitch like that?

His mind runs at immeasurable speed, with an intensity that inflates his lungs, and the only thing that keeps him from clenching fists is Anna’s hand still snug between his.

“I’m—” he comes to a halt and lets out a small curse. Sharp. Airy. A fire lights up his eyes, filled with as much fury as there is passion and determination. “What can I do?” There has to be something. “—For you, or, like—” How can he ask? “What do you need?” Clear. Concise. Cutting. It’s his way of saying: ‘I’ve got you, you’ve got me.’

She doesn't expect anything from Aiden. Which is different from knowing how capable he is at softening the knots in her shoulders and the ache in her chest. Rather, she doesn't hold him to any sort of lofty expectation of emotional support. That's what Anna had Doctor Gunpat, her therapist, for. But his support comes in waves; a knee-jerk reaction, tempered immediately for her sake. Anna may be cloudy, her vision may be hazy. And yet, she's never seen Aiden so clearly.

Aiden is a good man. Not just a "nice guy" or a "cool dude" He isn't just a decent fellow, the kind to return someone's lost 5 quid. Something in Aiden is assessing and adapting, instead of reacting to the fire in his skin and the fury in his eyes. She may not expect it, but it doesn't take her by surprise. Anna knows his heart, even if hers is a knotted mess.

"I don't know, I can't even talk." Anna admits, pinching the bridge of her nose to keep it down. At the height of their break-ups, Anna would feel the ground shift and her vision blur. Panic-stricken and frozen; she couldn't get a word out if she tried. But there's enough security beside Aiden for her to nod. "But I can try."

She doesn't know where they would start. His question, though, has both of her feet coming firmly to the ground. "No." She says, without being defensive or a moment of hesitation. "I haven't for a long time now." She clarifies, her fingers touching grazing the denim fabric of Aiden's jeans.

"It ended two years ago." Anna sticks to the facts, the straight-forward edge that can keep her talking and that Aiden would appreciate. She thinks back on Emilia; how honest he was, how sensible. Even in her state, Anna knows she owes him the same. "About as long as I was with him."

"He's a bad guy. Always was, I guess. I just didn't... Well, I couldn't see it then. But when I did, I still--" A sour laugh. "I stayed. I wanted to be wrong." Except she wasn't. "I think," she shakes her head. "No, I know that this is fun for him." Why else would he text, goad her on, and treat Aiden like he's one of the guys?

[confusionism]

Yes, he nods his head, and although it’s tough to follow along with the broken nature of her words, it’s that mention of ‘we’ that clues Aiden in on her intention.

‘Boyfriend.’

‘Loved.’

‘Crazy.’

Every piece that clicks together widens the pit at the bottom of his stomach, and by the end of it all, he can’t help but feel just a little bit empty. Except five seconds later, it’s as though his brain hits ‘reverse’— heat rushes through his veins and fills every crevice in his body. Anger. That’s what it is. Not because Anna has a heart and feels so deeply — a characteristic he admires through and through — but because of what she feels. Because of why.

“Don’t apologize.” That’s the first thing he needs her to know. Straight up. “It’s like—” he shakes his head, the crease in his brow a product of emotions boiling up in— “—he hurt you, didn’t he?” Obviously, Aiden. She literally just said that.

But there are times when he just can’t get a hold of his resentment, and when he cups his hand over hers, his fingers seem to burn with fire. His palm twitches. “Fuck.” He winces. “I’m sorry.” His breath is short. “Just— give me a sec, okay?”

He closes his eyes and counts down from ten, calming the throb at the back of his head and letting his thoughts fall into place. It’s not light stuff that she’s sharing with him, and he won’t have her thinking that he’s talking out of his ass. When he finally reaches the end of the longest exhale, he looks down to his lap.

“I’m mad,” he starts, his thumb brushing against her skin, “but not at you.” At Leo. At his smugness, the audacity of him playing around like this. “—And I’m not really— I don’t really know a whole lot about, like— exes and all that,” not with this being his first time navigating a serious relationship, “but I think I get it? Or, like— I want to ‘get it.’” The same as how he wants her. Wants to learn how to be, how to be better. He looks up slowly, his eyes meeting hers in earnest.

“I want to listen to what you wanna say.” In words that are all too familiar: “Anything. Everything.” It’s the easiest way to put it, and as straight-laced as anything else Aiden would say at any other time. Taking in another deep breath, he decides that he better start with what could hurt him the most. “Do you still love him?”

Vanity isn't what has her shooing Aiden's too-knowing looks. Not because she's shy about being human, unglamorous and wiping the spit up off her lip. No, she trusts Aiden, has let him see her sick with a flu or sweating because of a broken furnace. It's the basis of her reaction, how it unravels and breaks her, that makes her feel small. Unable to look him in the eye, without conceding that she hasn't gotten as far as she thought in two years.

Sitting on the bed of the car trunk, Anna sips at the bottle of water. Peering down at it, pulling at the label, one foot tapping on the concrete. Nervous movement, trying to delay talking about it. Maybe if she were a better liar, she'd do it better. "It's, I'm--" A lot of nothing comes out at first, and she glances at Aiden long enough to mumble a sorry. Christ, just say something.

"That's Leo." Anna emphasizes his name with a string of painful familiarity. "We were... And, I mean... So," It's no use. Anna's an easy cry, weepy when Aiden brings her a tea or tells her he likes her latest home decor purchase. Tears come, and Anna has to tilt the water back to rehydrate with every long second that passes.

"He was my boyfriend, and I - I loved him. And he made me crazy." Not a compliment, by any stretch. Crazy is jetting home from a shoot, not because she wanted to support him in his first, fancy gala. But because Anna was sure there was another girl in bed with him. "It was bad." Clearly, if she's a nauseous mess pulled up on the side of the road.

"So bad that I get like this." Anna sniffles, glancing up at Aiden through her hazy eyes. Her cold hand reaches for his knee, a need to be close even when part of her just wants to bolt.

"I'm sorry." There were people who should comfort her; Tony, Petra, even Hayley. Not her boyfriend. Not the best thing that's happened to her, forced to relive the ghosts of her romantic past with the problematic player on his team. "You shouldn't have to listen to this. It's just," Anna looks into those big, brown eyes that feel like home. And still, it aches. "Is it possible for me to be so devoted to you, and still be hurt over my ex?"

[confusionism]

“Oh, shit.” Thankfully, his reaction time at the wheel is just as good as that on the pitch. He maneuvers them swiftly, smoothly, and safely, then throws the car into ‘park.’ The engine is off before he thumbs the button for the trunk door and climbs out.

The sour scent hits him before anything else. He’s said it already: shit. Before making his way over, he takes care to retrieve a couple of items from his emergency crate. Once he’s beside Anna… Well, he waits.

“I won’t look,” he says, keeping his eyes trained around her rather than on. But clearly he must have decent peripheral vision, because he holds up a napkin and a bottle of water. “Small sips.” And once she takes both, he runs his hand up and down her back before nipping at his bottom lip. “Come here a sec.”

Instead of taking her further into the park in search of a bench, Aiden leads her over to the trunk and instructs her to take a seat there. Okay. Now he looks. Quietly, so as to not be imposing, yet carefully, because he wants to figure out exactly what’s going on.

“You okay?” He may or may not have some antacids in his pack. If his memory serves him right, they also aren’t too far away from a pharmacy. And if that doesn’t work, he has a few highly-skilled specialists in his address book, all ready to address any conceivable issue that a professional athlete could face. “Think it’s something you ate?” He doubts it, given her affinity for diverse flavours and a steel stomach resulting from such, and anyway, anything she’s had, he has had too. Unless—

“I’m sorry about that guy.” Aiden can’t remember anything being wrong this morning, and although she’d been quieter after press, he didn’t notice anything remarkable until Leo showed up. “I’ve only met him a couple times, but I already know he’s gonna make my life hell.” He shakes his head. Not the point. “Just—” he takes a seat beside Anna and extends his arm across her back. “—I’m here.” Whatever she needs. The tip of his thumb brushes across her shoulder.

She wants to lunge forward and pull his arm, large and possessive, off of Aiden's shoulders. Anna wants to find her footing, her voice, and do something. Because Anna may be done with Leo, but Aiden isn't. Not professionally, and certainly not personally. Everything Leo does is an exercise in calculated smugness towards Aiden, and cruel teasing towards her. Anna wants to scream. Instead, Anna doesn't make a noise.

"We should go." It's the most Anna can muster, voice so small against Aiden and Leo's that she's sure no one heard it. But Aiden opens her passenger door, and Anna makes steady work of keeping her eyes on her lap and away from Leo's as they pull out.

The bastard is still smirking, even after the engine roars to life and the garage door opens.

One street turns into another, then turn into another faster one. Making distance, but failing to put Anna further away from her ghost. "Aiden--" There's many ways she says his name; in a laugh after a joke, or breathless after they disrespect another chic piece of furniture. But it comes out as a warning, fragile and foreboding. "You gotta pull over, I can't." Her cold hand grips his, rested against the clutch. The car just comes to a halt, when she jumps out the passenger seat.

Stopping just in front of a park's garbage bin, Anna feels the nausea and sweat build. Until --

Yup, that's lunch.

"Christ," Anna curses, pinching her nose. "This is--" Embarrassing? Pathetic? Sighing, she shakes her head. "Don't look, I'm a mess."

[confusionism]

Aiden doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on, but he’s suddenly got a furrow in his brow. One to match the one set on Anna’s face, but deeper. Darker. Call it coach’s instinct, the way he’s been wholly unimpressed with this guy for months — and has also never been shy about it — mixed in with an inexplicable something that’s… Different. Defensive. Enough for him to straighten his back further and tilt his chin up.

“Gutierrez.” His tone is one he’s never ever used around Anna. He could wave away the invitation like he would the other guys, direct and still polite, but he can’t stand the smug smile on Leo’s face. “I’m not interested.”

Because Aiden isn’t ‘buddy buddy’ with just anyone, least of all the last person he’s wanted on his team for months.

Unlucky for him, Leo’s brain runs on an entirely different wavelength; he slides over from the handshake and slings his arm over Aiden’s shoulders. “Come on, coach. It’ll be fun. Get to know each other better while enjoying the finer things in life.” He’s rubbing his palm over Aiden’s chest, but why the fuck is he looking at Anna while he says it? “You wouldn’t mind if I stole your guy away for a few hours, right?”

“Your game better not be as weak as your charm.” The delivery could slice through a diamond, but if there’s any hurt to be detected on Leo’s being, it passes by in a flicker. At least, until the passenger door is open. The latch is loud, echoing through the space. Aiden steps closer and presses his hand against the small of Anna’s back. “Learn to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Leo raises his hands and tilts his head, as if an entirely innocent party. Aiden won’t have it; he stares straight into his soul. “I’ll see you on Tuesday. Don’t be late.”

They’re out two minutes later. He has a deathly grip on the steering wheel, but the sight of the open road has a way of easing his tension.

The girls share a meaningful look, and Anna knows what Hayley knows. She may not be all the way there. But Anna can feel the wave of concern even from her aching body. She mouths a 'thank you' her way, putting the distance that doesn't ever feel like enough between them. "Oh." she mumbles, reaching for the lipstick between Aiden's fingers. Only half-aware of where they're going, until Aiden gives her a squeeze.

"What?" She's never been the kind of woman to think, or feel, quietly. No, Anna is loud, obnoxious, and an open book. She can only imagine what she looks like; with an unmoved furrow in her brow, and a queasiness in her stomach that -- "Can I just...?" Anna stops in front of Aiden's car, fingers wrapped around the door handle. Less so to get in, but instead to hold on something steady and cold. "I just need a second."

"Hey, Coach!" Anna hears from her left ear, and immediately regrets the minutes she takes instead of letting Aiden drive them home.

Tall with sandy hair (thanks to a colorist Anna never went back to after the break-up), Leo looks untouched by the years. A natural charmer and a lion on the pitch. She used to love his energy and spark. Until it burned her, and zapped her of her own. Walking away from the hoards of fans, stopping right in front of Aiden. Still two inches shy from Aiden's height, though you wouldn't know it from looking at him.

"I'm taking the guys out to the club. Show everyone a good time. Wanna come?" A million dollar smile that Aiden would never fall for. It only adds to insult, how she fell for it in those two long years. "Is this--?" She can feel his eyes on her, and Anna hesitantly turns from the car door to look at him. A cold sweat, a pulsating heart.

"Aiden's girlfriend?" Innocuous enough, but she can hear the mocking undertones. "Cute." Then, he extends his hand, selling the lie like so many times before. "Leo," he introduces, but Anna can only stare at his hand. "Christ, am I rank? Something in my teeth?" Leo goads on, still smiling. Nothing left for Anna to do, but pass a limp hand his way and shake his hand.