୧ 𝓜 ＡＸ ＤＯＷＭＡＮ

THE MEDIA TEAM HAD SET UP A CORNER OF THE TRAINING GROUND WITH CAMERAS, LIGHTS, AND THE ARSENAL CREST GLOWING PROUDLY BEHIND YOU. It was supposed to be a fun piece for the academy socials — two young players answering quick questions, trying silly challenges, showing the lighter side of life at the club.

You sat next to Max, your red training top still clinging faintly with the warmth of practice. He kept sneaking little sideways glances at you, a half-smile tugging at his lips, like he couldn’t quite believe you were doing this together.

Everything was fine until the second round of questions. That’s when his gaze flicked to your neck, and his eyebrows shot up. He leaned back a little, exaggerating his reaction so the camera caught it.

“Wait… [your name]… what’s that on your neck?” Max asked, pointing dramatically.

The staff behind the camera chuckled, assuming he was just being cheeky. You froze, your hand flying up instinctively to cover the faint mark you’d forgotten about after training.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒