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And then they continue to cuddle together, while watching the TV. And enjoying the moment together, while forgetting about football and just enjoying the moment together.
Francesco shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of Leah's body against his as they lay together on the couch. The television played some random Netflix series in the background, but neither of them were really paying attention. It was just nice—to be here, with her, away from the chaos of football, the media, and the constant pressure of being Arsenal's golden boy.
Leah let out a contented sigh, nestling her head against his shoulder. "You know, I could get used to this."
Francesco chuckled, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the back of her hand. "What, being lazy all day?"
She lifted her head slightly, giving him a mock glare. "Spending time with you, idiot."
He smirked. "Right. That too."
They stayed like that for a while, the kind of comfortable silence that only comes when two people don't need to fill the space with words. Francesco felt a rare sense of peace, like the weight of the season, the expectations, or the headlines—none of it mattered right now.
But then, as his stomach let out a quiet growl, he was reminded that one thing did still matter: food.
Leah heard it too and immediately burst out laughing. "Oh my God. Was that your stomach?"
Francesco groaned, rubbing his face. "Yeah. It's your fault, you're too distracting."
Leah sat up, grinning. "Excuse me? You're the one who invited me over."
He stretched his arms above his head before standing up. "Alright, I'm making dinner."
Leah arched an eyebrow. "You? Cooking?"
He shot her an indignant look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I've just never seen you cook before," she teased, pulling her legs up onto the couch. "Didn't know you had it in you."
Francesco scoffed. "I'll have you know, I'm an excellent cook."
Leah smirked. "Prove it."
He rolled his eyes but headed to the kitchen anyway. He'd always enjoyed cooking—it was therapeutic, a way to clear his mind. And besides, he wasn't about to let Leah think he was some helpless footballer who only survived on takeout and club-provided meals.
Opening the fridge, he scanned the ingredients, quickly forming a plan in his head. He had some chicken, fresh vegetables, pasta… yeah, that'd do.
"Pasta okay?" he called over his shoulder.
Leah appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Depends. What kind of pasta?"
Francesco smirked. "Trust me."
She narrowed her eyes playfully but didn't argue, instead hopping up onto the counter and watching as he got to work.
He started by seasoning the chicken, rubbing in a mixture of garlic, paprika, salt, and pepper before setting it aside. Then he got the pasta water boiling, tossing in some salt for flavor.
Leah watched him with mild fascination. "Okay, I'll admit… you actually look like you know what you're doing."
Francesco shot her a look as he heated up some olive oil in a pan. "Told you. I grew up cooking under the teaching of my mom, you know."
Leah smiled. "That's sweet. What's her best dish?"
Francesco thought for a moment as he placed the chicken in the sizzling pan. "There many actually, but my favorite is her lasagna. She makes this homemade sauce that's unreal. Took me ages to learn how to do it properly."
Leah swung her legs lightly. "Sounds amazing. You should make it for me sometime."
Francesco flipped the chicken effortlessly. "Maybe. If you're nice."
Leah gasped dramatically. "I'm always nice!"
He snorted. "Sure you are."
They fell into easy conversation as he cooked, Leah occasionally stealing bits of chopped bell pepper when she thought he wasn't looking. He pretended not to notice, smirking to himself as he drained the pasta and tossed it into a creamy garlic sauce he had just whipped up.
When everything was ready, he plated the food and set it on the kitchen island. "Alright, moment of truth."
Leah picked up her fork, eyeing the dish skeptically before taking a bite.
The second she did, her eyes widened. "Oh my God."
Francesco smirked. "Good?"
She swallowed quickly. "This is amazing. What the hell?"
He shrugged, taking a bite himself. "Told you."
Leah pointed her fork at him. "You've been hiding this talent from me."
He chuckled. "Guess you'll just have to stick around to experience it more."
Her expression softened slightly, and for a moment, she just looked at him. Then she smiled. "I think I can do that."
They ate in companionable silence for a while, the occasional sound of approval coming from Leah as she enjoyed the food. Francesco felt proud. He was used to impressing people on the pitch, but this? This was different, because he can give something personally to the people he love.
Once they were done, Leah helped him clean up before they moved back to the couch.
Francesco stretched, feeling pleasantly full. "Alright, so what now?"
Leah leaned against him, her head resting on his chest. "I say we stay here, watch a movie before I head back, and pretend we don't have responsibilities."
Francesco chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. "Sounds like a plan."
And so they did. They picked a random movie, neither of them paying much attention as they curled up together, enjoying the simple pleasure of just being in each other's presence.
They had settled into a comfortable rhythm, bodies tangled together on the couch as the second movie of the night played. The warmth of Leah's presence against him, the scent of her lingering shampoo mixed with the faint traces of his cologne—it was the kind of comfort Francesco rarely got to indulge in.
Football was his life, and with that came endless travel, training, matches, and media obligations. He loved it, of course, but moments like this—where everything slowed down, and he wasn't Francesco Lee, Arsenal's star player, but just Francesco, the guy spending a quiet night with his girlfriend—felt rare and special.
Leah shifted slightly, her fingers tracing absent patterns over his arm. She hadn't spoken in a while, fully absorbed in the film, or at least giving the appearance of it. Francesco wasn't really paying attention either; he was more focused on her. The way she fit so perfectly against him, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the occasional way her lips curled up at a funny scene.
He wanted more nights like this.
After a while, she stretched and sat up slightly, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"Oh wow," she muttered. "It's already ten."
Francesco followed her gaze, feeling a pang of disappointment. He knew what was coming next.
Leah turned to him, an apologetic smile on her lips. "I should probably head back."
He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah…" He didn't like the idea of her leaving, but he also wasn't the type to make a big deal out of it. "I'll grab my keys."
Leah blinked. "Huh?"
He pushed himself up from the couch, stretching slightly. "I'll drive you home."
She frowned playfully. "Francesco, I can get a cab—"
"Nope," he cut her off, already heading toward the counter where his car keys were. "Not happening. It's late, and I'm not letting you take a cab alone."
Leah rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile on her lips. "You know I can take care of myself, right?"
"I know." He grabbed his keys and turned to face her. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to take care of you too."
Her expression softened at that. She didn't argue further, instead grabbing her hoodie and slipping it on. "Alright, fine. But I'm in charge of the music."
Francesco smirked. "Deal."
They made their way to the underground parking, the cool night air wrapping around them as they stepped outside. Francesco clicked the unlock button on his sleek black Civic, and they both slid in. The car smelled like leather and a faint trace of his cologne, making Leah feel even more comfortable.
As soon as he started the engine, she connected her phone to the Bluetooth and scrolled through her playlist. The first song that came on was a slow R&B track, soft and melodic.
Francesco raised an eyebrow. "Really? I expected you to play something loud and chaotic."
Leah smirked. "Not in the mood for chaos tonight. Just vibes."
He chuckled as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Fair enough."
The drive was quiet but not awkward. The city lights passed them by, casting a soft glow inside the car. Francesco kept one hand on the steering wheel, his other resting comfortably on his thigh. Leah, meanwhile, leaned slightly against the door, her fingers tapping absentmindedly to the beat of the music.
"So," she murmured after a moment, "are you nervous for the Chelsea game?"
Francesco kept his eyes on the road. "Not nervous. Just… focused and of course concentrate it after facing Juventus."
She hummed. "Oh yeah you will play againts Juventus at the Emirates first, but you seemed confident earlier."
"I am," he admitted. "But confidence doesn't mean I don't think about it constantly, beside I should focus on Juventus first. But every game matters now, and Chelsea are—well, they're Chelsea. Experienced, physical, hard to break down."
Leah studied him for a moment. "And do you feel the pressure?"
He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Of course I do. But that's part of the job, right? It's what I signed up for. If you want to be the best, you have to handle it."
She reached out, placing a hand over his. "And you are the best."
He glanced at her briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You think so?"
"I know so." Her voice was certain, no hesitation. "You're already proving it every week."
He didn't respond right away, letting her words settle in. It wasn't that he didn't believe in himself—he did.
Before he knew it, they were pulling up to her apartment building. Leah unbuckled her seatbelt but made no move to get out just yet.
She turned to him. "You sure you don't want to come up for a bit?"
Francesco sighed, tempted. But he knew if he went up, he wouldn't want to leave. "As much as I want to, I should probably head back. Need to be up early for training."
Leah pouted slightly. "Lame."
He laughed. "I know."
She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was slow, unhurried, and filled with an affection that made his chest feel warm. When she pulled away, she smiled. "Thanks for driving me."
"Anytime," he murmured.
She opened the door, stepping out. "Text me when you get home."
"Yes, ma'am."
She rolled her eyes but waved before heading inside. Francesco watched until she disappeared into the building before exhaling and gripping the steering wheel.
After a moment, he put the car in drive and started heading back.
As much as he wished he could stay wrapped up in moments like these, the reality was, there was work to do.
The next morning, Francesco arrived at London Colney earlier than usual. The cool morning air still lingered as he stepped out of his car, the scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth filling his lungs. He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and made his way toward the training facility, nodding at a few staff members along the way. His mind was already focused—Juventus. Champions League. Quarter-finals.
Inside the dressing room, the energy was serious but determined. Everyone knew what was at stake. The defeat in Turin had been frustrating—not a disastrous result, but still a setback. They were only trailing by one goal on aggregate. At the Emirates, in front of their own fans, they could turn it around. They had to.
As he tied his boots, Per Mertesacker clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Ready for war, kid?"
Francesco smirked. "Always."
Training was intense, as expected. Wenger had them running drills focused on pressing and quick transitions—exactly what they needed to break Juventus down. Francesco was sharp, his movements fluid, his passes crisp. He was in the zone.
After a grueling session, the team gathered in the meeting room. The atmosphere was serious but focused, the players still catching their breath as Wenger stood in front of them, his hands resting on the table.
"Alright, listen up," the manager began, his voice calm yet firm. "We know where we stand. We're one goal behind, but we're not out. Not even close." His sharp eyes moved across the room, making sure he had everyone's attention.
Francesco leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, completely locked in.
"We have ninety minutes at the Emirates to change everything," Wenger continued. "One goal, that's all. One goal to bring us level, and from there, the game is ours. But we need to be disciplined. We can't afford the same mistakes we made in Turin."
There was a beat of silence, and then Wenger's gaze fell on Koscielny. "Laurent," he said, voice steady, "forget about what happened in Allianz Stadium. The penalty—it's done. What matters now is how we respond."
Koscielny, sitting with his arms crossed, gave a small nod, but Francesco could see the frustration still lingering in his expression.
Wenger continued. "Juventus will try to control the game, slow the tempo. They'll sit deep, absorb pressure, and hit us on the counter. We can't allow that. We have to be aggressive, take the initiative. This is our home. We play our football. Fast, attacking, relentless."
Francesco felt a fire ignite in his chest. This was exactly what he wanted to hear. No fear. No hesitation. Just pure belief.
Wenger then turned to him. "Francesco, you will be key. You have the ability to break their lines, to create something out of nothing. I want you to play with freedom, but also with responsibility. We need you to step up."
Francesco nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. "I will."
A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the squad. They all knew how much Francesco had delivered this season, how he had a habit of rising to big occasions. And tomorrow night, they would need him at his best.
Wenger clapped his hands once. "Alright, rest up. In two days, we can reverse this and win the game."
As the players filtered out of the meeting room, Francesco walked alongside Alexis Sánchez, who nudged him slightly. "Feeling the pressure yet?"
Francesco smirked. "Pressure? This is what I live for."
Alexis chuckled. "Good. Because in two days, we go to war."
Francesco simply nodded. In two days at night, under the bright lights of the Emirates, with thousands of fans roaring in support, they would fight. And he would do everything in his power to make sure they came out victorious.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : None
Match Played: 27
Goal: 32
Assist: 12
MOTM: 8