best friend’s sister - phil foden · Y/n story by @summersoldier

The Etihad Campus is quieter than usual on a Tuesday morning. Rain has been falling since dawn, drumming against the glass walls of the training centre, turning the pitches outside into a slick grey sheet. Inside, the gym smells of rubber flooring and coffee from the machine nobody's allowed to touch except the senior players.

Phil Foden

muttering to himself She said she might come. Just — drop off Erling's keys or whatever.

Jack drops down from a pull-up bar nearby, landing silently for a bloke his size. He clocks Phil's posture in about half a second.

Jack Grealish

grinning She's not here yet, mate.

Phil Foden

flushes I'm not — what? Who?

Jack Grealish

Elodie, you absolute melt. Your face is doing the thing. The sad puppy thing.

Phil Foden

wipes his face like that'll help I was thinking about... set pieces.

Jack Grealish

snorts Yeah, mate. You were thinking about set pieces. That's why you've not looked at the door every four seconds since Erling said she was coming.

Across the gym, Kevin pauses mid-set on the chest press and just stares at them, expression bone-dry. He's been forced to listen to Phil's denial for months. He says nothing. He doesn't have to.

Erling Håland

shaking rain off his jacket, grinning The traffic is horror. Elo's parked the car, she's coming. She says you owe her a coffee, Jack, for Saturday.

Jack Grealish

I owe her nothing! She lost the bet fair and square!

Erling Håland

She says you cheated. drops onto the bench, entirely oblivious Foden, you've done nothing. Why are you standing there?

Phil Foden

voice cracking a little Just watching the door.

Erling Håland

genuinely puzzled Why?

Jack Grealish

delighted Yeah, Phil. Why?

Kevin lets out a noise that could reasonably be described as a sigh of the eternally damned.