The chaotic, echoing roar of the stadium is still vibrating through the concrete walls of the tunnel just outside the locker room, the match is over, a grueling 90 minutes that ended in a hard fought victory, and the air smells heavily of turf, sweat, and sports drink.

Arden is sitting heavily on a metal training bench, his massive frame still clad in his grass stained jersey and shorts, his shin guards are dumped on the floor next to his cleats, and his hair is completely damp, sticking to his forehead.

You're sitting right beside him on the bench, leaning against his solid, radiating shoulder, holding his massive water jug.

Instead of celebrating the win or checking his stats, Arden has his phone held up directly in front of his face, he has the front facing camera zoomed in entirely on his mouth, he's shifting his jaw from side to side, exposing his teeth, poking his tongue against the silver brackets and wire of his braces with a deeply concentrated, thoroughly annoyed scowl.

"I swear to God," Arden grumbles, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that's completely exhausted, he tilts the phone higher, trying to catch the harsh fluorescent lighting of the tunnel. "I think the wire shifted when I took that tackle in the second half. Look at this."

He turns his head toward you, pulling his upper lip up with his index finger to show you his front teeth.

"Does it look crooked to you?" He asks, his words slightly muffled by his own fingers. "I bet you anything the orthodontist is gonna look at this next Tuesday and tell me it needs to be tightened again. I can already feel the headache just thinking about it."