The King Of Arsenal

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!

Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12

___________________________ .

And with the ocean still whispering, the stars keeping quiet watch outside, and the ghost of Ben Folds' lyrics lingering in the air, they drifted not into sleep just yet—but into that in-between space where the world feels perfectly still, and everything you love is right within reach.

The next morning came not with an alarm, but with the gradual bloom of sunlight over the ocean, its golden warmth seeping slowly through the gauzy curtains. The room glowed in that early, almost surreal kind of light—the kind that blurs the lines between dream and waking, memory and moment.

Francesco stirred first, not fully awake yet but aware enough to notice the subtle absence of warmth beside him. His hand reached out, fingers grazing cool, rumpled sheets. No Leah.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself upright with a slow yawn. The air was warm but carried a soft breeze—fresh, salted, kissed with the scent of the sea. Through the sliding doors, left ajar during the night, the gentle hush of waves against the stilts of the villa whispered him fully into the morning.

Then he saw her.

Out on the wide deck, barefoot on a yoga mat, Leah moved with slow grace. Her silhouette, framed by the vast stretch of turquoise and sapphire behind her, was fluid and calm. The soft ripple of her ponytail swayed with each breath and pose—one leg raised, arms stretched out toward the horizon like she was trying to touch the edge of the world. She wore a light tank and yoga shorts, and the sunlight shimmered faintly on her skin like it had chosen her for its canvas.

Francesco leaned against the doorframe, watching.

Not in a hungry way. Not even in awe. Just… peaceful. She was radiant in a way that had nothing to do with light. And for a moment, he didn't want to say anything, afraid he might break the spell.

But Leah opened one eye halfway through a warrior pose, noticed him, and smiled mid-breath.

"Morning," she said, not even remotely breathless. "Sleep well?"

He stepped out barefoot onto the warm wood. "Like a rock," he murmured, stretching his arms overhead and cracking his neck. "Didn't even hear you get up."

"I woke up with the sun. Couldn't help it," she said, finishing her pose and rising to a standing position with a flourish of balance and ease. "Something about this place… I just wanted to move. Feel it."

He crossed to the railing and leaned on it, gazing out at the glassy water, the light playing on its surface like a living painting. "You always do yoga this early?"

"Only when I'm happy," she replied, rolling up her mat and padding over to join him. "And I'm very, very happy."

He turned to her and kissed her temple. "Same."

They stood there together for a while, side by side, soaking in the view, the quiet, the feel of the world when it hadn't quite woken up yet.

"So," he said after a few minutes, his voice low and still a little husky from sleep, "what should we do today?"

Leah turned toward him, eyes squinting slightly against the morning sun. "How adventurous are you feeling?"

"Moderately. Why?"

She grinned. "I was looking through the resort app earlier. They offer cooking classes. Local stuff. Maldivian dishes."

Francesco raised an eyebrow. "You want to cook? On vacation?"

"I want us to cook," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. "We've done every other couple thing—beaches, massages, swimming with dolphins. But we haven't cooked together."

He chuckled. "Okay fine."

"Perfect!"

He then ask. "What else is on the itinerary of your secret plan?"

"Well," she said, drawing the syllables out as she swayed playfully, "after we master Maldivian curry and coconut sambal, I thought we could go on the Sandbank Picnic."

Francesco blinked. "That's a thing?"

"It's literally a sandbar in the middle of the ocean. They take you there by boat. You get a picnic basket, umbrellas, the works. And you're alone. Just us. Water all around."

He paused, looking out at the vastness beyond the horizon. "That actually sounds… like something I've never done before."

She poked his ribs. "So you're in?"

"Yeah. I'm in."

Leah kissed his cheek and turned back toward the villa. "Great. Cooking class starts at ten. Let's shower."

By 9:45, they were cleaned up and dressed in lightweight linen and soft resort cotton—Francesco in a pale blue shirt and loose khaki trousers, Leah in a flowy white dress that danced around her knees whenever the breeze kicked up. She had her hair up in a loose bun, a hibiscus flower tucked behind one ear—one she'd found on the pathway and declared "too cute to leave behind."

They walked hand in hand to the culinary pavilion, a shaded, open-air space near the garden groves at the heart of the island. There were five other couples already there, each with their own gleaming set of cooking stations laid out with ingredients, cutting boards, knives, and clay pots.

A cheerful chef in a white coat and beach sandals greeted them with a bow and a grin. "Good morning! My name is Amin. Today, we are going to prepare three Maldivian dishes: mas huni, kukulhu riha, and our favorite, bondibaiy!"

Francesco leaned toward Leah and whispered, "Translation, please?"

She grinned. "Mas huni is a tuna coconut salad, kukulhu riha is a chicken curry, and bondibaiy is like… sweet sticky rice pudding. Trust me."

He raised an eyebrow. "So we're making breakfast, lunch, and dessert?"

"Exactly."

Chef Amin demonstrated each step with practiced ease, slicing red onions into paper-thin slivers, toasting shredded coconut, mixing hand-flaked tuna with chili and lime. The air was instantly alive with scents—warm, spicy, tangy. It didn't feel like work. It felt like music.

Francesco, at first, struggled with the coconut grater—a tool that looked more like a medieval torture device than a kitchen utensil. His shredded bits flew in every direction but the bowl.

"Watch your hands," Leah giggled, steadying his wrist. "It's not football. You can't just wing it."

He gave her a mock glare, then laughed. "I don't like this coconut. It's attacking me."

Together, they blended the mas huni with lime, chili, and onion. Leah added an extra squeeze of lime, claiming, "It needs bite." Francesco pretended to disagree, but secretly thought it was perfect.

Next came the curry—spiced with cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves, thickened with coconut milk, and simmered with pieces of marinated chicken that Leah insisted on searing herself.

"See?" she said as the oil hissed and popped. "Cooking is like painting, but with flavor."

"Then you're an artist," he murmured, watching her with undisguised admiration.

She smiled at him from under her eyelashes. "You're not too bad yourself."

By the time they reached the bondibaiy—a silky, sweet rice pudding infused with rose water and coconut—they were both sticky with sugar, dusted in flour, and happier than they'd been all week.

After a final taste test and round of applause from the chef, they packed their dishes into a picnic basket wrapped in banana leaves and tied with a linen bow.

"Ready for the Sandbank?" Leah asked, slipping her sandals back on.

"Lead the way, chef."

The boat ride was short—maybe fifteen minutes across that surreal stretch of blue so bright it felt like another planet. The sandbank revealed itself slowly, like a secret—just a sliver of gold rising from the water, surrounded on all sides by ocean that changed color with every wave.

There was nothing there. No huts. No trees. Just sand, water, sky, and now—them.

The boat dropped them off with a large parasol, two beach chairs, a cooler of drinks, and their carefully wrapped basket of Maldivian delicacies.

As the boat pulled away, Francesco and Leah stood in the middle of the sandbar, spinning slowly to take it all in.

"This is insane," Francesco murmured. "It's like… being marooned, but romantic."

"I know," Leah said, reaching down to loosen her sandals and step barefoot onto the warm sand. "It's like the world paused for us."

They set up under the parasol, unpacked their food, and sat cross-legged on the blanket, tasting their morning's labor.

Everything was richer under the open sky—the coconut sharper, the curry warmer, the pudding like clouds melting on the tongue.

And the quiet.

There was no hum of boats. No music. No traffic. Just the breeze, the lap of gentle waves, and the rustle of fabric as the parasol swayed.

They ate in silence for a while, then lay back on the blanket, bellies full, hearts full.

Leah placed a hand over her eyes, squinting up at the brilliant blue sky. "If this is a dream, don't wake me."

"It's not a dream," Francesco said, turning to face her. "It's real. You're here. I'm here."

He reached over and laced his fingers with hers. "And you made me coconut rice pudding. That's how I know it's love."

She laughed, rolled onto her side, and kissed him.

They stayed like that for hours. Just dozing, swimming, laughing in the shallow waves, letting the sun warm their backs as they floated side by side in the gentle current.

It wasn't about doing something impressive. Or posting something for others to see.

It was just about being.

Together.

When the boat came back just before sunset, Leah looked over her shoulder at the vanishing sandbank and whispered, "Let's remember this."

Francesco held her close, arm wrapped around her waist as they climbed back aboard. "We will."

Back at the villa that night, after showers and soft cotton robes and fresh fruit skewers brought up from the kitchen, they lay in bed once more—side by side, faces lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the wide windows.

Francesco glanced over at her. "Tomorrow… can we do nothing?"

She smiled. "Absolutely nothing."

He chuckled. "Good. Because I want one whole day with you, no plans. Just… wake up and see where it goes."

Leah turned toward him, nose brushing his. "As long as it starts with me waking up next to you, I'm good."

He kissed her again—slow, sweet, unhurried.

The next morning arrived with the gentle rustle of waves beneath their villa and the faint, melodic calls of seabirds flying just above the horizon. The sunlight came early, bold and golden, tracing soft lines across the linen sheets and the tangle of limbs nestled beneath them.

Francesco was the first to stir this time, but only barely.

He didn't open his eyes at first—just tightened his arm instinctively around the warm body curled against his chest. Leah's breathing was slow and rhythmic, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, one leg tangled with his. Her fingers rested lightly on his chest, twitching every now and then as if she were dreaming of swimming through warm waters.

He lay there for a while, simply feeling her there, the rise and fall of her breath, the comfort of shared silence. The world beyond the walls could've been on pause. And maybe it was, just for them.

Eventually, Leah blinked awake with a tiny hum of a sound, rubbing her face sleepily against him. "What time is it?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Francesco smiled into her hair. "No idea. Still early, I think."

She lifted her head slightly, squinting toward the window. "Mmm. Looks perfect out."

He nodded. "It usually does here."

She yawned, stretching like a cat. "So… what do you think about doing something wild today?"

He raised a brow. "Wild like… ordering two desserts instead of one?"

Leah grinned and gave him a playful shove. "Wild like water sports. I saw the board yesterday—jet skis, parasailing, banana boat, flyboarding…"

Francesco blinked. "Flyboarding? That thing where you get launched into the air like Iron Man?"

"Exactly!" she said, now sitting up and pulling her hair back into a quick bun. "I want us to do all of it. Everything."

He laughed, already sensing the kind of day they were about to have. "You're serious."

She turned, eyes sparkling with challenge. "Scared?"

He smirked. "Only of your energy before breakfast."

Leah leaned down, kissed him quickly, then stood, stretching toward the ceiling with a sigh of satisfaction. "Come on, football star. Let's make some memories."

They dressed quickly—bathing suits beneath light clothing, beach bags slung over shoulders, sunglasses, sunscreen, and the carefree excitement of a couple with absolutely nowhere else to be.

After a quick breakfast—papaya juice, tropical fruit, and some warm flatbread with coconut jam—they walked down to the water sports center near the island's southern dock, a breezy wooden bungalow shaded with palms and buzzing with activity. The scent of saltwater and sunscreen hung in the air, mingling with the low hum of motors and the echo of laughter from distant waves.

A young instructor named Kaamil greeted them with an easy grin and a clipboard. "You two ready for some adventure?"

"Born ready," Leah said, tossing her braid behind her shoulder.

Kaamil handed them life vests and went through a short safety briefing. "We'll start with jet skis—it's usually the best warm-up. You ride tandem or solo?"

Francesco glanced at Leah, who already had that glint in her eye.

"Solo," she said.

Francesco chuckled. "Of course."

They walked down the dock where two sleek jet skis bobbed gently in the shallows. The water was that impossible Maldives blue—clear enough to see tiny fish darting beneath the surface. The moment Francesco gunned the throttle and felt the engine growl beneath him, he felt an old thrill surge through his veins—not unlike match day.

Leah was already off ahead of him, a trail of white spray in her wake, her laughter echoing across the water.

"Catch me if you can!" she shouted.

Francesco revved harder and took off after her, the spray misting his face, the salty wind whipping past. They zigzagged across the open sea, circling small islets, weaving around buoys, laughing like children. Leah stood up briefly on hers as she hit a smoother stretch, raising both hands like a victorious pirate.

After half an hour of high-speed fun, they returned to shore, soaked and breathless.

"I haven't screamed like that since… ever," Leah said, pulling off her helmet.

Francesco ran a hand through his wet hair. "You were like a rocket out there."

"Beginner's luck," she teased, elbowing him gently.

"Alright," Kaamil said, clapping his hands. "Next up—banana boat. Time to see if your teamwork survives some waves."

The inflatable yellow raft was shaped, predictably, like a giant banana. They climbed aboard, holding onto the side handles tightly as Kaamil revved the attached speedboat.

As soon as they hit open water, the banana boat began bouncing, cutting across waves like a rubbery roller coaster. Francesco and Leah screamed, laughed, and leaned into every sharp turn, trying desperately to stay on. At one point, Kaamil took a hard swerve that sent them both tumbling off in a splash of limbs and laughter.

They surfaced, coughing and laughing.

"You let go!" Leah accused.

"You pulled me down with you!"

They swam back to the boat, hoisting themselves up for another round.

"Again," Francesco called out. "Harder this time!"

By the time they were done, they were waterlogged and slightly sore from laughing so hard, but beaming. Kaamil handed them towels and bottles of cold water.

"You're both insane," he said, shaking his head fondly. "But fun."

Francesco looked over at Leah, her cheeks flushed and hair dripping. "You good?"

"Never better," she said, wiping saltwater from her lashes. "Now what?"

"Parasailing," Kaamil replied. "Time to fly."

They were strapped into harnesses side by side, the parachute ballooning behind them in bold colors. As the boat picked up speed, the wind caught them, and suddenly—they were airborne.

Up and up, until the world below became a watercolor. The resort shrank to a toy village. The ocean stretched in every direction, vast and infinite. The sky wrapped around them like something out of a dream.

Leah's hand found Francesco's in midair. They didn't speak for the first minute—just floated, awestruck.

Then she whispered, "We're flying."

"I know," he said softly. "It's unreal."

The silence up there was different. Not empty, but peaceful. Like the sea and the sky had agreed to stop speaking just long enough for them to hear their own hearts beating.

Leah leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I wish I could freeze this."

"You kind of just did," he said, squeezing her hand. "It's burned into me."

The descent was slow, gentle, the boat reeling them back like a kite. They landed barefoot onto the deck, grinning ear to ear.

Next came the more experimental sports. Leah insisted on trying flyboarding despite Francesco's skeptical look.

"You do realize this could go horribly wrong?" he said as they strapped her into boots connected to a jetpack-like water pressure system.

"Only if you doubt me," she replied.

He watched, half terrified and half proud, as she was lifted out of the water, hovering shakily like some sea witch, arms flailing slightly but managing to stay upright.

"You're doing it!" he shouted from the dock.

"Woooo!" she screamed back, spinning in a circle and then—promptly—toppling face-first into the sea.

Francesco doubled over laughing.

When it was his turn, he barely managed a few feet of height before the jets buckled under him and he flopped like a stunned seal into the water.

"Okay," he said, surfacing with a mouthful of seawater, "this sport is illegal now."

They ended their adventure with a long, gentle paddleboard ride back toward a quieter part of the lagoon. The sun was starting to dip low, painting the sky in peach and lavender. They moved slowly, rhythmically, side by side on their boards, the water so still it mirrored the sky.

It felt like the perfect wind-down.

They didn't talk much—just watched each other. Smiled. Shared the occasional splash. And when they finally returned to shore, hands pruney and arms tired, it felt like they'd earned their exhaustion.

Back in the villa, golden hour poured through the windows, soaking everything in warm honey tones. They showered in tandem, laughing as they tried to untangle salt-matted hair and scrub away the day's adventures.

Wrapped in robes, they ordered fresh grilled seafood to the deck and watched the sky melt into stars.

"I don't remember ever having a day like that," Francesco said as he chewed on buttered lobster tail. "Not even close."

Leah leaned her head on his shoulder. "Because it wasn't just what we did—it's who we did it with."

He smiled. "You always know how to say things that make me fall harder."

She glanced up at him. "I fell from a flyboard today and didn't feel half as dizzy as I do when you say that."

They both laughed.

The night deepened, waves gently lapping below their stilted villa. Candles flickered low on the deck table. The plates were empty. Their hands were still laced across the cushions.

The next morning came with a strange stillness.

Not the kind that comes from silence, but the kind that comes from knowing time is running short—like the final day of a perfect dream you never want to end. There was no rush in the air, no itinerary on the table. Just a shared understanding between two people who had lived fully for the past few days, and now had one last chapter to write before it was time to go.

Francesco was already awake when Leah stirred beside him. Not because of any alarm or noise, but because he wanted to watch the morning light dance on her face one more time. The way her eyelashes fluttered before she opened her eyes. The way her cheek smushed slightly into the pillow. The soft crease in her brow that always disappeared when he brushed a hand through her hair.

When she finally blinked awake, her eyes met his immediately.

"You're staring," she murmured, voice husky with sleep.

"I know."

Leah smiled sleepily, stretching under the covers until her toes bumped his shins. "What time is it?"

"Still early," he whispered. "But I couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

Francesco exhaled slowly. "Because tomorrow we go back to London. And I don't want to miss a second of this."

Leah's smile faded just a little, replaced by something softer. She scooted closer, pressing her forehead to his. "Then let's make today count."

They didn't rush. They took their time—showering together in silence, letting the warm water wash over them like a goodbye blessing. They dressed in light cotton again: Leah in a flowing sundress patterned with seashells, her hair in a loose braid over one shoulder; Francesco in a linen shirt half-unbuttoned, white shorts, and that calm, sun-kissed look he only ever wore on vacation.

After a leisurely breakfast of fresh pineapple, creamy yogurt, and banana pancakes, Francesco reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Leah looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You planned something?"

He nodded. "It's our last full day. I thought we could do something a little magical."

Her eyes lit up. "What kind of magic?"

Francesco unfolded the note. "First, we take a private boat to Huvahendhoo Island. Then we visit Reethi Beach. And just before the sun sets, we go to the glowing beach."

Leah sat up straighter. "The bioluminescent one?"

"Yup."

She was already standing. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Huvahendhoo Island was like stepping into a dream within a dream.

Just forty minutes from their resort by speedboat, the island felt untouched—untamed in the best way. The beach was powdery and white, the surrounding reef alive with every shade of blue imaginable. The air carried a whisper of salt and hibiscus.

They walked barefoot for a while, just tracing the edge of the tide where the water kissed their feet. Leah collected small, sun-bleached shells and tucked them into Francesco's shirt pocket.

"For the memory jar," she said.

Francesco smiled. "You and that jar."

"It's how I keep the feelings," she said softly. "A shell, a pebble, a leaf… it reminds me what it felt like to be here. Not just what it looked like."

They swam in the lagoon, floated hand in hand beneath the palm shadows, and lay on the beach towels under the shade of a leaning tree. At one point, Leah dozed off, her head on his chest, and Francesco just lay there with his arms around her, listening to the lazy rhythm of the waves and her soft breaths syncing with his heartbeat.

From Huvahendhoo, they moved to Reethi Beach—quieter, wider, and somehow even more romantic.

There, they rented a tandem kayak and paddled out over a stretch of shallow reef, the water so clear it felt like flying over a coral garden. Tiny fish darted below them in shimmering schools, and every so often, a stingray glided like a shadow across the seafloor.

"Look!" Leah pointed excitedly. "A baby turtle!"

Francesco turned and grinned. "We should've brought your memory jar."

Leah reached down into the kayak's dry box and pulled out a smooth piece of coral. "Already found something."

They came ashore in the late afternoon, salty and sun-drenched. Francesco bought them two coconut drinks from a beach vendor, and they sipped them while swaying in a hammock strung between two palms.

"It's going to be hard to leave," Leah murmured, her voice soft with honesty.

"I know," he said, brushing his fingers through the loose strands of her braid. "But I also know… wherever we go next, we bring this with us."

Leah tilted her head. "The sand?"

He smiled. "The feeling."

She touched her chest, just above her heart. "Then I'll carry it here."

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, they boarded their boat again and headed to the final stop: the glowing beach.

Vaadhoo Island was about an hour's ride, and they arrived just as the sky shifted into twilight. The boat anchored offshore, and Kaamil—who had joined them again for this part—handed them each a pair of sandals and a flashlight.

"Just walk along the waterline," he said with a grin. "The magic happens as it gets darker."

They stepped off the boat and onto a stretch of beach that, in the daylight, looked perfectly ordinary.

But as night fell, the tide came in—and it began.

Tiny sparks of light—at first only a few, then dozens, then thousands—glimmered where the waves met the shore. It was like the stars themselves had slipped from the sky and scattered across the sand.

Leah gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Francesco reached for her hand, holding it tightly. "This… is unreal."

They walked slowly, their feet stirring up bioluminescent trails with every step. Wherever they touched the sand, it glowed—fleeting, magical, like a firefly's kiss. Leah twirled in the shallows, laughing softly, and the sea around her shimmered like a living galaxy.

She turned to him, breathless. "It's like the ocean's dreaming."

He pulled her close, one hand resting at the small of her back. "And we're inside the dream."

They kissed there, in the dark, the glow surrounding their ankles, the stars stretching endlessly above. There were no crowds. No music. No lights. Just the hush of the sea, the occasional crack of a wave, and the quiet joy of being so perfectly, overwhelmingly present.

Eventually, they returned to the boat, still dazed with wonder, their sandals glowing faintly from the residue of light.

Back at the villa, night had fallen completely. The sea was calm, the sky cloudless. A gentle breeze moved through the palm fronds like a lullaby.

Dinner was waiting for them on their private deck—a table dressed in white linen, a bottle of chilled wine, a path of lanterns leading up from the beach. The candles flickered gently, casting long shadows and golden light.

Francesco pulled out Leah's chair, and they both sat, hands still faintly glowing from the beach.

The menu was simple, elegant—grilled reef fish with lemon butter, mango salad, steamed jasmine rice, and for dessert, a dark chocolate mousse with passionfruit glaze.

They didn't speak much during the meal. Words felt unnecessary. Every look, every touch of the hand, every shared bite—it all said what needed to be said.

Finally, as the last of the wine was poured and the dessert plates were cleared, Francesco leaned back in his chair, looking out at the sea.

"It doesn't feel real, does it?"

Leah followed his gaze. "No. But maybe the best things never do."

He looked at her, eyes searching hers. "I've played in front of thousands. Scored goals that made stadiums erupt. But this—" he gestured between them, "—this is the thing I'll remember when I'm old and gray."

Leah leaned forward, brushing his hand with hers. "Then let's promise to never forget it."

He nodded. "Promise."

They stood then, walked down the lantern-lit path to the beach, and let the water touch their toes one last time. No more cameras. No more performances. Just them.

When they returned to the villa, the mood had shifted—softer, quieter. The day had worn them out in the best way, and the weight of tomorrow tugged gently at their shoulders.

They moved slowly through the villa, gathering the scattered bits of their week—Leah's shells and coral pieces, Francesco's folded itinerary, their damp swimwear now dry on the line.

They packed side by side. Folded their memories into linen and cotton. Sealed paradise into zippers and straps.

When the luggage was done and zipped shut, they stood in silence, staring at the two suitcases by the door.

Then Leah turned and pressed herself into Francesco's arms.

He held her tightly, his chin resting on her head. "You okay?"

She nodded into his chest. "Just… not ready to leave."

"Me neither."

They climbed into bed one last time under the Maldivian sky. The moonlight spilled across their sheets, and the waves murmured below like a lullaby.

Francesco pulled the blanket up around them and kissed her shoulder. "Sleep now. Tomorrow, we fly. But tonight… we're still here." Leah sighed contentedly, wrapping her fingers through his. "Then let's hold on as long as we can." And in the quiet dark, they did.

________________________________________________

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: 42

Assist: 6

MOTM: 5

POTM: 1

England:

Match Played: 2

Goal: 4

Assist: 0

Season 14/15 stats:

Match Played: 35

Goal: 45

Assist: 12

MOTM: 9