The King Of Arsenal

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Outside, the night sky burned with light. Inside, everything felt just as bright.

Francesco's arms were still loosely wrapped around Leah, his forehead resting gently against hers, their breath shared and warm as the sounds of fireworks echoed beyond the walls. She had that quiet look on her face—the one that appeared whenever she was overwhelmed in the best way possible. Her eyes, still shimmering with laughter and the dazzle of the moment, held his gaze like they were afraid to let go of it too soon.

But soon the world around them came back into focus—the hum of excited voices, the sparkle of laughter returning like bubbles rising in a flute of Champagne. Amanda and Sarah were clinking their glasses again. David gave Mike a good-natured clap on the back. Even Jacob, who moments ago had been rolling his eyes, was smiling.

Francesco blinked once, twice, then shook himself slightly out of the moment and turned toward the room, his arm still around Leah's back.

He made his way over to his parents first, stepping around the edge of the couch with that half-smile that never quite left his face now.

"Mum," he said, pulling Sarah into a gentle hug, "Happy New Year."

Sarah wrapped both arms around him, holding on like it meant more than just a midnight ritual. "Happy New Year, darling. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mum," he murmured into her shoulder. Then he leaned back and looked over at Mike, who was already waiting with a smirk.

Mike opened his arms. "Come on, son. Don't leave your old man hanging."

Francesco chuckled and pulled his dad in for a hug, clapping his back. "Happy New Year, Dad."

"You too," Mike said, holding him with a little more firmness than usual. "You've done well, Francesco. Not just tonight. All year."

Francesco pulled back and gave a little nod, something unspoken tightening briefly in his chest. It had been a hell of a year. The trophies, the pressure, the spotlight. But standing here, in this house, with Leah and both of their families… it felt like the real win.

Then he turned, still smiling, and made his way toward Leah's parents.

Amanda opened her arms before he even got there.

"Come here, sweetheart," she said, and her voice had that same warm cadence Leah sometimes used when she talked to kids at the foundation.

Francesco hugged her gently, respectfully but with warmth. "Happy New Year, Amanda. Thank you for coming tonight. And for… well, for everything."

Amanda chuckled softly. "You've been wonderful. We're the lucky ones. Happy New Year, Francesco."

David stood a few paces back, hands in his pockets, watching with the look of a man who had spent the whole night re-evaluating the bloke dating his daughter—and had come out the other side with grudging admiration.

Francesco stepped toward him, extending a hand first. "Happy New Year, David."

David took the hand but pulled him into a one-armed hug instead. "Alright, alright. Happy New Year, lad."

They held the hug a second longer than expected—just long enough for it to mean something. When they pulled apart, David added, "Still don't forgive you for the Spurs comment earlier."

Francesco laughed. "I'm sure I'll give you a few more to choose from this season."

David grinned, but there was warmth behind it now. "Just don't make her cry."

"I won't," Francesco said, a little more serious this time. "Not ever."

David nodded once, approvingly.

Finally, Francesco turned to Jacob, who had resumed his casual sprawl near the armchair, pretending not to watch but obviously listening to every word.

Francesco extended a hand. "Happy New Year, Jacob."

Jacob squinted at it. "I'm not shaking your hand after that Golden Boot monologue."

Francesco smirked. "Fair. Fist bump?"

Jacob rolled his eyes, but he gave in, tapping his knuckles to Francesco's. "Happy New Year."

Leah appeared at Francesco's side again just as the second wave of fireworks lit up the screen and spilled through the windows outside. Golden bursts bloomed over the Thames on the TV, mirrored faintly by the local Richmond display that was still going strong.

The whole house seemed to glow—lit from within by the soft shimmer of candles and the joy of people who knew they'd remember this night long after the calendar flipped again.

Amanda refilled glasses. Mike lowered the jazz just enough to hear the sound of the fireworks. David had moved to the window to watch, arms folded, his profile backlit by the sky's brilliant bloom. Jacob took a photo—"just one"—for his socials, but no one complained.

Francesco looked down at Leah beside him, her hand finding his again, her head resting once more against his shoulder.

"This is one of those nights, isn't it?" he said quietly.

"What kind of night?"

"The kind you replay when things get hard. Or when things get too fast. Just… this. Right now."

Leah smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "Then we'll keep it. Right here." She tapped a finger softly over his chest. "Memory bank. Locked."

He chuckled. "I like that."

"Even the part where my mum ambushed you about marriage?"

He groaned. "Especially that part."

And she laughed—fully, freely—the sound rising over the crackle of the fire and the last echo of a fading firework.

Outside, the wind picked up softly, carrying with it the scent of something new.

Francesco leaned against the edge of the couch, still basking in the glow of the moment. The fire was winding down to glowing embers, the fireworks outside had softened to distant crackles, and the TV now played slow-motion replays of the London Eye lighting up at midnight. But the buzz of the night still tingled in his chest—warm and a little unreal, like he'd just stepped off a stage that somehow felt both private and historic.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

A couple dozen messages had already popped up on the screen. Family, friends, old mates from school—even fans who had managed to sneak past his filters and DM limits. But Francesco scrolled past them for now. He tapped into the Arsenal team group chat instead.

The usual New Year chatter was already rolling.

Ramsey:

Happy New Year lads!! Let's smash 2016 🏆

Bellerín:

💥💥 Happy NY boys! Let's stay healthy and keep the W's coming 💪

Cazorla:

Feliz año nuevo! Salud y goles para todos 🙌

Francesco smiled, thumb hovering over the keyboard for a second. Then he typed:

Francesco:

Happy New Year, boys!! 🍾❤️ Let's make 2016 even better than 2015. More goals. More trophies. Let's go again. COYG 🔴⚪️

He hit send, watching the flurry of likes and emoji reactions hit almost immediately—little digital fireworks of their own.

Then, without skipping a beat, he opened his messages and scrolled until he saw the name that always carried a quiet weight, even after all this time.

Arsène Wenger

Francesco paused, then typed:

Happy New Year, boss. Thank you for believing in me this past year. I'll give even more in 2016—on and off the pitch. Hope you and your family had a wonderful night.

He stared at the message for a second, then hit send.

A simple gesture. But important.

That done, he slid the phone back into his pocket for a moment, taking in the scene again.

Leah was talking to Amanda near the kitchen, both of them holding fresh mugs of something warm—probably the chamomile tea Amanda had brought in her purse because she didn't trust other people's teabags. Jacob was on the floor by the fireplace now, half-asleep against one of the oversized pillows, his eyes still fixed on the embers. David and Mike were by the window, trading football stories like old soldiers swapping war tales.

Francesco smiled, then pushed himself up off the couch and crossed the room to Leah. She looked up at him immediately, her smile softening as he reached her side.

"Hey," he said, brushing a knuckle gently against her arm. "Come take a selfie with me."

Leah arched a brow. "You sure? You were just roasting Jacob for taking photos ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, well," he grinned. "I'm allowed to be a little bit of a hypocrite. Just once."

Leah laughed. "Alright. But only if we use my good side."

"Both sides are good sides."

"Ugh, you're lucky tonight's still romantic."

They moved near the fireplace—its dying embers casting a soft, golden light—and Francesco took out his phone again, switching to the front camera.

Leah leaned in close, tucking her head under his chin, and Francesco tilted the phone slightly overhead to catch both of their faces, warm with candlelight, their smiles easy and real.

Click.

He checked the shot.

Perfect.

He tapped into Instagram, flipped to his story, and selected the photo. After a moment's thought, he typed:

Happy New Year 2016!!!❤️

Then he added a burst of digital confetti, a little firework GIF in the corner, and pressed "Post to Story."

The image went up instantly, framed by the moment: the cozy room, the soft light, her head resting against him like she belonged there always.

He turned the phone toward Leah. "Look."

She studied it for a moment, then gave a quiet, content smile. "It's perfect."

Francesco slid the phone away again. "So's this night."

They stood there for a long moment, not saying much—just leaning into each other as the last of the fireworks faded outside, and the soft hum of their families' laughter echoed gently behind them.

As the night wore down and the last sparkles of fireworks gave way to the quiet hum of a sleeping neighborhood, the atmosphere in the Richmond mansion shifted too—from festive and radiant to something more muted, more tender. Not tired exactly, but softened. The kind of calm that blankets a home after joy has spilled across every room.

The fire had thinned to its final embers, glowing like a heartbeat in the hearth. Mugs clinked gently as Amanda collected the last of the cups from the sitting room, and the television now played muted clips of worldwide celebrations—Tokyo, Sydney, Paris—all caught up in their own glittering farewells to the old year.

Francesco stood up, stretching slightly, his arms reaching behind his back in that quiet, instinctive gesture of a man who'd carried a long evening gracefully.

"I think that's our cue," he said, glancing toward his parents, who were nestled together on the loveseat. Sarah, glass still in hand, smiled sleepily at him, and Mike gave a small wave from where he sat with his legs crossed and a blanket half-tucked over one knee.

"I'll show you your room," Francesco offered softly. "It's all set up upstairs. Fresh sheets, even Mum's favorite pillow scent."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You remembered the lavender spray?"

Francesco gave a proud shrug. "I live with Leah now. She's organized."

Mike chuckled. "Good influence, then."

Leah, who was still standing near the fireplace, turned her head toward her own family and gave a gentle nod to her mother and father. "Come on. I'll show you your room too."

Jacob mumbled something unintelligible from the floor, one cheek squished against the pillow he'd claimed earlier, but when Amanda gave his foot a light nudge with hers, he groaned and pushed himself upright.

"Alright, alright. But I call the bed by the window."

David smirked. "You'll take whichever one your mother doesn't."

"Happy New Year to me," Jacob muttered under his breath.

Francesco helped his parents up, Mike brushing invisible crumbs from his jumper and Sarah smoothing her sleeves as she rose.

Leah caught Francesco's eye across the room, and for a brief second they shared a glance—wordless, affectionate, aligned. They moved like two halves of the same rhythm now, orbiting their families with a kind of steady grace that didn't need instructions.

Francesco led his parents up the stairs first, past the hallway frames and the quiet hum of the thermostat kicking in to chase away the creeping January chill. The guest room for his mum and dad was just off the east corridor, tucked beside the study and overlooking the garden, its wide windows still catching the last glow of the sky outside.

He pushed open the door, revealing a warmly lit room with a queen-size bed, a knitted throw at the foot, and a tray with two glasses of water on the nightstand. A small stack of books rested there too—Mike's favorite sports biographies and one of Sarah's paperback thrillers that she always claimed not to finish but somehow never put down.

Mike stepped in first, taking it in with an approving nod. "This'll do nicely."

Sarah ran her hand along the edge of the dresser, then turned and gave her son a soft smile. "You really did think of everything."

Francesco rubbed the back of his neck. "Wanted you both to feel at home."

"We do," Mike said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.

Sarah leaned forward and kissed Francesco on the cheek. "Goodnight, love. And thank you. For all of it."

"Happy New Year again," Francesco whispered. "Sleep well."

As he stepped back into the hallway, Leah was just reaching the top of the stairs, her own family trailing behind her.

"Guest room's this way," she said, motioning gently down the opposite wing of the house.

Amanda took in the polished wooden floors, the carefully lit hallway, and the framed photo of Leah as a child grinning with cake on her nose that hung proudly just outside the door. "I can't believe you still have this up."

Leah smiled. "Francesco insisted."

"He said it makes the house feel lived in," Jacob added dryly.

"It does," Francesco called from the other end of the hall, grinning.

David stepped into the room first, a king-size bed spread with forest-green linens in the center. Jacob peered over his shoulder, then flopped face-first onto the left side without asking.

"Guess that's mine, then," Amanda said, amused.

"Window bed," Jacob mumbled into the duvet. "Called it."

Leah folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "I put some of Mum's tea in the basket. And Dad, there's a Spurs mug on the dresser."

David's eyebrows rose. "Seriously?"

"Just don't bring it downstairs tomorrow morning," Francesco warned from the hallway.

Amanda laughed. "We'll keep him under control."

Leah kissed her mum on the cheek, then hugged her tightly. "Goodnight. Thanks for coming."

"We wouldn't have missed it," Amanda said.

Leah turned to her dad and gave him a hug too. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, sweetheart. And… he's a good one."

"I know," she whispered.

Francesco walked back toward her just as she pulled the door shut gently behind her, leaving the others to settle in. They were alone again in the hallway, the low hum of the heater and the creak of old floorboards their only companions.

"Parents tucked in?" Francesco asked.

"Yep. Jacob's probably already snoring."

"Same with my dad," he replied.

Leah turned to face him fully now, the hallway light catching the soft edge of her cheek, her eyes still glowing faintly from the night's joy. "This felt real."

He reached for her hand again. "It was. The good kind."

They stood in silence for a moment longer before slowly walking back down the stairs together, hand in hand, toward the living room where only the faintest trace of music still played and the dying fire was no longer fire at all—just a cradle of warm, glowing coals. The scent of celebration lingered in the air: wax, red wine, woodsmoke, and something sweet that smelled faintly like Leah's perfume.

As they sat together once more on the couch, shoulders brushing, the house finally quiet, Francesco leaned back into the cushions with a long exhale.

"Still awake?" he asked.

Leah shifted against him. "Barely. But yeah."

He turned to her. "Did you ever think we'd be here a year ago?"

"No," she said, smiling. "But I'm so glad we are."

He nodded, then closed his eyes for a moment.

"Me too."

The morning sunlight crept gently through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, casting long, dappled streaks across the hardwood floor and the cream-colored duvet. It wasn't loud or harsh, but soft—filtered through early January clouds and the bare branches outside the window. The kind of light that whispered its way in rather than bursting.

Francesco stirred first. A faint groan slipped from his throat as he rolled onto his back, blinking slowly at the ceiling. He was warm—too warm, in fact, tucked into the bed like a burrito, Leah's leg draped over his. He turned his head to glance at her. She was still sleeping, her cheek pressed into the pillow, hair tangled beautifully around her face. But even in sleep, she looked peaceful. Safe.

Then his nose twitched.

Something was different.

Not the scent of woodsmoke from the fireplace or the crisp, slightly floral smell of Leah's shampoo on the pillow next to him. No—this was something rich. Familiar. Savory.

Eggs. Butter. And something sweet—maybe cinnamon?

Francesco blinked again, sat up a little more, and squinted toward the door.

"Leah," he whispered, nudging her lightly. "Do you smell that?"

She grunted.

He chuckled. "Smells like breakfast."

Her eyes fluttered open halfway, then narrowed. "Smells like… oh my God."

"What?"

She sat up quickly, pushing her hair back. "That's my mum and your mum. In the kitchen. Together."

Francesco raised an eyebrow. "Think they're burning the house down?"

"No. Worse. They're bonding over eggs and planning the wedding."

He snorted. "Come on. Let's not jump to conclusions."

"They were planning it in their heads last night," she muttered, swinging her legs out from under the covers. "Today is phase two."

Francesco stretched and yawned, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Operation Kitchen Recon. But first…"

"Toothbrushes," Leah finished for him, already trudging toward the ensuite.

Ten minutes later, both of them had freshened up, Francesco in his grey joggers and a plain black tee, Leah in one of his oversized sweatshirts and leggings. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun, and his still stuck out in every direction from bed.

They padded downstairs barefoot, following the scent trail through the hallway like cartoon characters floating toward a pie on a windowsill.

As they rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen and dining area, the scene that greeted them was even more domestic than either had imagined.

Sarah and Amanda stood side by side at the stove, Amanda manning the pan of scrambled eggs while Sarah flipped a row of golden brown pancakes with practiced ease. The island counter was already stacked with plates of sizzling sausages, buttered toast, a bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a French press half-full of dark roast coffee.

Mike and David were seated at the dining table, mugs in hand, laughing over something—probably football-related, given the animated way David gestured toward a newspaper spread in front of them.

In the distance, from the gaming room off the hallway, the unmistakable sounds of FIFA 16 echoed faintly—crowd noise, a goal celebration, and Jacob's triumphant voice yelling, "Yes! 3–1!"

Sarah was the first to spot them.

"Oh, good morning, you two," she said brightly, turning with a spatula still in hand. "Sleep well?"

Leah blinked at the table, then at the counter. "Mum… what is happening?"

Amanda turned with a proud smile. "We thought we'd treat everyone to a New Year's breakfast."

"You mean take over the kitchen while we slept in?" Francesco teased, leaning against the fridge.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Your fridge was a disaster zone. I did you a favor."

Sarah grinned. "She reorganized the condiments."

Leah made a face. "Of course she did."

Francesco reached for a slice of toast. Sarah smacked his hand with the spatula.

"Ah-ah. Plates first. You're not twelve anymore."

Mike looked over from the table and gave a wave. "Morning, kids. You two missed Jacob beating Arsenal with Spurs."

Leah gasped. "What?!"

Francesco looked horrified. "He wouldn't."

"He did," David confirmed. "And then kissed the controller. We're thinking of staging an intervention."

Leah rolled her eyes, dragging Francesco toward the counter. "Please tell me you made enough to bribe him."

Amanda handed Leah a plate and pointed toward the eggs. "Go wild. But don't let him near the strawberries. He's already eaten half the bowl."

As Francesco started piling food onto his plate, Sarah wiped her hands and looked over her shoulder. "We'll be heading out after breakfast. It's been a lovely visit, but your father insists on getting home before traffic builds up."

Amanda nodded. "Same here. We promised Jacob we'd swing by Gran's before heading back."

Leah's face fell slightly. "Already?"

Amanda smiled, softer now. "It's been perfect, love. But it's time. We'll come again soon."

David called out from the table, "Assuming you don't get married before March and elope without telling us."

Francesco groaned. "Still not safe."

Leah elbowed him. "Eat your eggs."

He obeyed, smiling around a mouthful of toast.

By the time Jacob emerged from the gaming room—hair ruffled, hoodie half-zipped, and proudly holding the controller like a trophy—the table was full. Plates passed between hands, coffee poured, stories swapped. They ate the way families do when love has no schedule—slow, warm, and with more laughter than manners.

Eventually, the goodbyes came.

Sarah hugged Leah twice—once at the door, and once again before stepping off the front porch.

"You make him better," she whispered the second time. "Thank you."

Amanda pulled Francesco into a long, emotional hug, murmuring something about how he reminded her of David when they first fell in love. David gave Francesco a firm handshake, followed by a clap on the back. Jacob high-fived him—reluctantly, but with a grin.

The cars pulled away down the drive with waves through windows and a final burst of confetti blown from Leah's brother's hands—leftover from the night before, obviously.

Francesco stood with his arm around Leah as the last tail light disappeared down the street.

The house behind them was suddenly quiet again.

Not empty. Just… still.

He looked down at her, her head resting against his shoulder.

"So," he said softly. "How long until they start texting us about when we're visiting them?"

Leah smirked. "I give it five hours."

"Four," he wagered. "Three, if your mum finds that Champagne bottle she left in the fridge."

They both laughed. And inside, behind the front door, the fire had died. But the warmth remained.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 17 (2015)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, and 2015/2016 Community Shield

Season 15/16 stats:

Arsenal:

Match Played: 28

Goal: 40

Assist: 6

MOTM: 4

POTM: 1

England:

Match Played: 2

Goal: 4

Assist: 0

Season 14/15 stats:

Match Played: 35

Goal: 45

Assist: 12

MOTM: 9