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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Late afternoon light eventually faded gradually toward evening while the atmosphere inside the mansion settled into calmer conversation again.
The next morning arrived grey and quiet.
Not empty quiet.
Soft quiet.
The kind that settled over large houses after emotionally exhausting days.
Rain still lingered over London, lighter now than before, drifting against the mansion windows in thin silver lines while distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the gates.
For the first time in nearly a week, Francesco woke without panic in his chest.
That alone felt unfamiliar.
He opened his eyes slowly to muted morning light filtering through the curtains and immediately felt Leah curled against him beneath the blankets, still asleep.
One of her hands rested lightly against his chest like sometime during the night she'd needed reassurance he was still there.
Francesco stayed still for a moment just listening.
Rain.
Distant birds.
The quiet mechanical hum of heating downstairs.
Normal sounds.
Safe sounds.
He brushed a few strands of hair gently away from Leah's face, careful not to wake her.
But her eyes opened anyway a few seconds later.
Still sleepy.
Still soft around the edges.
"You're staring at me," she mumbled.
"You noticed."
"Hard not to."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"How'd you sleep?"
Leah took a second before answering honestly.
"Better."
That mattered.
Because "better" had become important recently.
Not perfect.
Not fully healed.
Just better.
Francesco nodded softly.
"Me too."
She studied him for a second afterward, like she was checking whether he actually meant it.
Then she relaxed slightly.
"Good."
Downstairs, Cheddar barked once.
Immediately followed by what sounded suspiciously like something falling over in the kitchen.
Francesco closed his eyes briefly.
"…that sounded expensive."
Leah laughed quietly against his shoulder.
"Probably just Cheddar committing crimes again."
"Fair."
Neither of them rushed out of bed immediately.
That had changed too lately.
Before the break-in, mornings were usually fast.
Training schedules.
Meetings.
Recovery sessions.
Phone calls.
Everything timed perfectly down to the minute.
Now?
Now there was more hesitation.
More appreciation for stillness.
Eventually Leah reached for her phone on the bedside table and blinked toward the screen.
"Oh."
Francesco looked toward her.
"What?"
"The England squad announcement is this morning."
Right.
Southgate had mentioned it during the call yesterday.
Francesco felt something small tighten in his chest automatically despite already knowing the outcome.
Footballers were strange like that.
You could prepare mentally for disappointment and still feel it when the moment arrived publicly.
Leah noticed the subtle shift in his expression immediately.
"You don't have to watch it."
"No," Francesco said after a moment. "I should."
She hesitated briefly.
Then nodded.
About forty minutes later they sat together in the living room beneath soft morning light with mugs of coffee resting untouched on the table.
The mansion felt calmer without twenty Arsenal players inside it.
Though evidence of yesterday remained everywhere.
Half-empty biscuit packets.
A forgotten training jacket draped over a chair.
One coaster football "goal" still positioned beside the television because apparently Walcott and Ramsey had abandoned the tournament mid-argument.
Cheddar sprawled across the carpet wearing the Arsenal scarf Bellerín had given him like he personally belonged in the first team squad.
On the television, sports coverage rolled endlessly through headlines.
Champions League discussions.
Premier League analysis.
Transfer rumours.
Then the banner appeared across the bottom of the screen.
ENGLAND WORLD CUP QUALIFIER SQUAD — LIVE
Leah shifted slightly closer beside Francesco without saying anything.
The broadcast switched toward St George's Park where cameras flashed around a press room already crowded with journalists.
Pundits immediately began speculation before the announcement even started.
"Of course the major talking point today," one presenter said, "is whether Gareth Southgate includes Francesco Lee despite recent events."
Another analyst nodded.
"Purely on footballing form, there's absolutely no debate. He's been arguably England's best player since the last two season."
Francesco leaned back quietly against the sofa cushions.
Hearing people discuss you in third person never stopped feeling strange.
Leah glanced toward him carefully.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
Mostly true.
The television cut toward live footage of Southgate approaching the podium.
Calm.
Professional.
Exactly the same composed expression he always carried publicly.
Reporters immediately straightened in their seats.
The room settled.
Then Southgate began reading the squad list.
Goalkeepers first.
Defenders.
Midfielders.
Francesco listened quietly while names rolled steadily through the room.
Some expected.
Some newer players earning opportunities.
Then forwards.
Harry Kane.
Wayne Rooney.
Marcus Rashford.
Daniel Sturridge.
Raheem Sterling.
No Francesco.
The room inside the press conference changed instantly.
You could feel it even through television.
Not dramatic chaos.
Sharper than that.
Confusion.
Journalists looking down at printed notes again.
Whispers beginning immediately across the room.
One reporter physically raised his eyebrows toward another like maybe they'd misheard.
The presenter back in the studio blinked once.
"…wow."
Another analyst leaned forward immediately.
"That is massive."
Francesco stared quietly toward the television.
Even knowing already.
Even expecting it.
Still strange hearing the omission spoken publicly like that.
Southgate finished the squad announcement calmly before opening the floor for questions.
Hands shot upward almost immediately.
Of course they did.
The first reporter chosen wasted absolutely no time.
"Gareth, can you explain the absence of Francesco Lee from the squad?"
There it was.
Straight to it.
Southgate remained composed.
"Yes. I spoke with Francesco personally yesterday."
The cameras flashed harder instantly.
"He's been through a difficult situation recently," Southgate continued carefully. "And after discussions with both him and our medical staff, I believe the best decision right now is to allow him time away from international football."
"But purely on footballing merit," another journalist interrupted quickly, "surely he's one of the first names on the team sheet?"
"He's an outstanding player," Southgate answered immediately.
"No question."
"Then why leave him out?"
"Because players are human beings before they're footballers."
That sentence landed heavily.
Even through television.
Southgate folded his hands calmly together on the table.
"My responsibility isn't only to win football matches," he continued. "It's also to protect players when necessary."
Another reporter jumped in.
"Was this Francesco's decision or yours?"
"A mutual understanding."
Not technically false.
Not fully true either.
Southgate handled it carefully.
Professionally.
But outside that press room?
England exploded almost instantly.
The broadcasters cut toward studio analysis within minutes and the debate erupted everywhere simultaneously.
Former players disagreed with each other immediately.
Pundits started talking over one another.
Social media reactions flooded live broadcasts.
One analyst shook his head firmly.
"With respect to Gareth, Francesco Lee is fit enough to play for England."
Another disagreed immediately.
"That's oversimplifying it. Mental recovery matters too."
"But this is England's biggest star!"
"And he's also eighteen years old dealing with a trauma."
Francesco muted the television for a moment.
The sudden silence felt almost shocking after the noise.
Leah reached over gently resting her hand against his arm.
"You don't need to keep watching."
But Francesco stared quietly toward the blank movement of pundits still arguing silently on-screen.
"It's weird," he admitted softly.
"What is?"
"Hearing strangers debate whether you're mentally okay."
Leah's expression softened immediately.
Yeah.
That part hurt differently.
Because football criticism?
Normal.
Expected.
But this felt more personal somehow.
Like the entire country suddenly discussing the private cracks inside your head.
Francesco rubbed a hand slowly across his jaw.
"They don't actually know anything."
"No," Leah agreed quietly. "They don't."
His phone started vibrating against the coffee table almost nonstop.
Messages.
Notifications.
News alerts.
Probably thousands already.
Francesco didn't touch it.
Leah glanced down toward her own screen instead.
"Oh my God."
"What now?"
She turned the phone slightly toward him.
#JusticeForFrancesco was already trending.
He blinked once.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Nope."
Another trend appeared directly underneath it.
Southgate.
Then another.
England.
The internet had fully lost its mind already.
Leah scrolled briefly through reactions while Francesco leaned back against the sofa trying unsuccessfully not to care.
Some fans were furious.
Others supportive.
Some blamed Southgate entirely.
Others defended him passionately.
Football opinions moved fast.
Too fast sometimes.
"He dropped England's best player."
"Southgate protecting Francesco properly. Respect."
"If he can play for Arsenal he can play for England."
"People forget footballers are human."
"Francesco should've refused the decision."
"Good management from Southgate honestly."
Every opinion possible.
All at once.
The television stayed muted while another former England player spoke passionately in the studio.
Francesco recognized him immediately.
Gary Neville.
Neville leaned forward seriously while the debate continued around him.
"I actually think Southgate's done the right thing here."
Another pundit looked surprised.
"You'd leave him out?"
"Yes."
Neville gestured firmly toward the desk.
"Look at the bigger picture. This kid has been carrying unbelievable pressure already. Arsenal's title challenge. Champions League football. Media attention everywhere."
Then quieter:
"And now someone breaks into his home while he and Leah are inside it?"
The studio atmosphere shifted slightly.
More serious.
Less argumentative.
Neville continued.
"We talk constantly in football about burnout and mental fatigue, but the second a manager actually protects a player, suddenly everyone panics because he misses two qualifiers."
That one hit differently.
Because it felt like someone actually understood.
Another former player disagreed though.
"I hear that, Gary, but England need leaders too."
"And Francesco will still be there for the World Cup."
"But qualification matters."
"So does the player."
Back and forth endlessly.
Football never really stopped debating itself.
Leah muted her own phone eventually and set it face down beside her coffee.
"They're acting like England just left Messi at home."
Francesco snorted quietly.
"Relax."
"I'm serious." She shook her head. "Half the country's melting down."
Honestly?
She wasn't wrong.
News channels across England spent the entire morning discussing nothing else.
At one point the broadcast even split into two separate panels arguing opposite sides simultaneously.
Ridiculous.
Completely predictable.
And somewhere underneath all of it, Francesco felt guilt starting to creep in despite himself.
Because part of him wondered if he'd let people down.
Country.
Fans.
Teammates.
That instinct existed deeply inside elite athletes.
You play hurt.
You push through.
You continue.
No matter what.
Leah noticed his expression changing almost immediately.
"What are you thinking?"
He hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Maybe they're right."
Her eyebrows pulled together instantly.
"Who?"
"The people saying I should still go."
"Francesco—"
"I mean physically I can play." He exhaled quietly.
"You also barely slept for days."
"That's different."
"No," Leah said softly. "It isn't."
He looked away toward the rain outside the windows.
The truth was complicated.
Because physically?
Yes.
He could absolutely still perform.
That was the strange thing about trauma sometimes.
Your body kept functioning even while parts of your mind still shook underneath.
Football had always been his safest place.
The pitch made sense.
Movement.
Structure.
Purpose.
Everything simpler there.
But away from football?
He still checked doors automatically.
Still listened too carefully for unexpected sounds at night.
Still sometimes felt adrenaline spike through him for absolutely no reason.
Leah shifted closer again.
"You know what I think?"
Francesco glanced toward her.
"I think you've spent your entire life trying to prove how strong you are." Her voice stayed gentle. "So now slowing down feels wrong to you."
That hit uncomfortably close.
Because yeah.
Maybe that was exactly it.
From academy football onward, weakness always felt dangerous.
Fall behind and someone takes your place.
Get injured and people move on.
Show vulnerability and critics circle immediately.
So players learned quickly.
Keep moving.
Keep performing.
Keep smiling.
Even when exhausted.
Even when hurting.
Leah rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
"But strong people still need help sometimes."
Silence settled softly between them afterward.
Not awkward.
Just honest.
On television, Southgate's press conference finally ended.
The coverage immediately shifted toward fan reactions outside Wembley and sports radio call-ins across England.
Which honestly turned into complete madness.
One caller sounded personally offended by the squad announcement.
"You cannot tell me England are better without Francesco Lee. Impossible."
Another caller argued the opposite.
"The boy's been through hell. Let him breathe."
A third somehow blamed Arsenal entirely.
Standard football radio honestly.
Francesco shook his head slowly while listening.
"They care too much."
Leah laughed faintly.
"You're describing football fans?"
"Fair point."
His phone buzzed again.
This time he finally picked it up.
Messages flooded the screen instantly.
Teammates.
Former coaches.
Friends.
Even other England players already responding to the announcement.
Harry Kane:
Take your time brother ❤️ We got this.
Jordan Henderson:
Focus on yourself first. See you soon.
Marcus Rashford:
People talking too much already 😂 Rest up.
Then one from Southgate himself.
Ignore the noise. We're all behind you.
Francesco stared at that message for a second.
Simple.
Direct.
Supportive.
Leah watched his expression carefully.
"What'd he say?"
"He told me to ignore the noise."
"Good advice."
Easier said than done though.
Because the noise surrounded footballers constantly.
Especially footballers at Francesco's level now.
Every decision became debate.
Every absence became headlines.
And unfortunately?
Controversy sold.
By midday several newspapers already released online articles questioning Southgate's choice.
"ENGLAND WITHOUT THEIR BIGGEST STAR."
"SOUTHGATE'S BIGGEST GAMBLE?"
"CAN THREE LIONS AFFORD TO REST FRANCESCO?"
Others defended the manager.
"PLAYER WELFARE COMES FIRST."
"SOUTHGATE PROTECTS ENGLAND STAR."
"MORE THAN JUST FOOTBALL."
The country had split itself straight down the middle within hours.
Around lunchtime David arrived at the mansion carrying additional security reports and immediately regretted turning on the television.
"Oh for God's sake," he muttered while watching another debate panel screaming politely at each other.
Leah looked toward him.
"It's gotten worse."
"I can see that."
David loosened his tie slightly while dropping folders onto the kitchen counter.
"Apparently half the nation thinks Gareth Southgate committed treason."
Francesco snorted quietly despite himself.
"Sounds accurate."
David glanced toward him afterward.
"You alright?"
"Yeah."
Not entirely convincing.
David noticed.
Of course he did.
The older man leaned lightly against the counter studying him for a second.
"You know what the funny part is?"
"What?"
"If Southgate called you up, they'd criticize him for not protecting you."
Francesco blinked once.
Because honestly?
That was probably true.
David shrugged.
"Public opinion changes every six minutes. Especially in football."
Unfortunately also true.
Cheddar wandered into the kitchen during the conversation still wearing the Arsenal scarf and immediately attempted stealing part of David's sandwich.
"Absolutely not," David informed him firmly.
Cheddar ignored this completely.
Leah smiled for the first time in nearly an hour watching the dog's shameless determination.
Small moments like that mattered lately.
The mansion still carried shadows sometimes.
But there was warmth inside it again too.
Later that afternoon Francesco finally made the mistake of opening social media properly.
Immediate disaster.
Thousands upon thousands of opinions crashed into his screen instantly.
Fans defending him.
Fans demanding explanations.
Clips of Southgate's press conference everywhere.
Former players posting reactions.
Memes already appearing because of course football internet turned everything into memes eventually.
One video edit dramatically showed Francesco walking off against Maribor alongside sad music like he'd retired internationally forever.
He closed the app immediately.
"Nope."
Leah looked up from the sofa.
"That bad?"
"Humanity was a mistake."
"Ah."
He tossed the phone aside again.
Honestly the hardest part wasn't criticism.
Footballers developed thick skin eventually.
It was the support that hurt more sometimes.
Because buried underneath all the outrage and headlines were genuine messages from fans worried about him.
Take care of yourself.
Mental health matters.
Come back stronger.
We support you.
People cared.
That carried weight too.
By evening the controversy somehow became even larger after several England legends publicly commented on television.
Some supportive.
Some critical.
Even Arsène Wenger got asked about it during an Arsenal media session.
The manager answered exactly how Francesco expected.
Calmly.
Protectively.
"I think Gareth Southgate handled the situation intelligently," Wenger told reporters. "Francesco is an exceptional footballer, yes. But first he is a young man recovering from a difficult experience."
Then with quiet firmness:
"At Arsenal we support him completely."
Leah smiled softly hearing that clip replayed later.
"He really does care about you."
"Yeah," Francesco admitted quietly. "He does."
Night settled slowly outside afterward.
Rain easing finally.
London glowing dimly beyond the windows.
For the first time all day the television stayed off completely.
No pundits.
No debates.
No headlines.
Just silence.
Well.
Relative silence.
Cheddar was currently snoring loud enough to qualify as construction work.
Leah curled beside Francesco beneath a blanket on the sofa while soft music played quietly somewhere in the background.
The emotional exhaustion from the day lingered heavily now.
Not sharp anymore.
Just draining.
Francesco stared absently toward the darkened television screen for a while before speaking.
"You know what scares me?"
Leah looked up toward him.
"What?"
"That part of me still feels guilty for resting."
The honesty hung quietly between them.
Because it was true.
Even after everything.
Even after fear and broken windows and sleepless nights and panic and recovery.
A part of him still measured self-worth through availability.
Can you play?
Can you perform?
Can you keep going?
Leah reached for his hand immediately.
"You don't owe people your exhaustion."
Francesco looked down toward their intertwined fingers.
Easy sentence.
Hard lesson.
Morning came slower the next day.
Not because the world outside had quieted down.
If anything, England had become louder overnight.
The controversy surrounding Francesco's absence from the national team had somehow grown even bigger while London slept beneath rain and fog.
Sports channels replayed Southgate's press conference on endless loops.
Radio stations dedicated entire segments to the debate.
Former players continued arguing across television panels like the fate of the country itself depended on two World Cup qualifiers.
And online?
Online had become complete chaos.
By the time Francesco wandered downstairs wearing grey training pants and an Arsenal hoodie, his phone already showed over ninety unread notifications.
He didn't even open them.
He just stared at the number for a second before dropping the phone onto the kitchen counter like it personally offended him.
Leah looked up from where she stood making coffee.
"That bad?"
"Ninety-three people apparently have opinions before breakfast."
"Only ninety-three?" she asked dryly. "England must be calming down."
That earned the first real laugh from him all morning.
Small.
Tired.
But real.
Cheddar barked once from beside the kitchen island as if contributing to the conversation.
"Exactly," Leah told the dog seriously. "It's becoming a national crisis."
The dog wagged proudly.
Outside, security guards still rotated beyond the gates.
Rain tapped softly against the tall windows overlooking the gardens.
Inside the mansion, though, things felt calmer than they had a few days earlier.
Still fragile.
Still recovering.
But calmer.
Francesco moved toward the coffee machine slowly while Leah watched him carefully over the rim of her mug.
He noticed immediately.
"You keep checking my face."
"You keep pretending you're less stressed than you are."
"…annoying observation."
"Accurate observation."
Fair.
Very fair honestly.
He leaned against the counter afterward staring absently toward the television mounted across the far wall.
Muted sports coverage already flashed across the screen.
His own face appeared every thirty seconds.
Goals.
Highlights.
England graphics.
Debates.
Headlines.
One banner across the bottom read:
IS SOUTHGATE RIGHT TO REST FRANCESCO?
Another:
ENGLAND FANS DEMAND ANSWERS
Francesco rubbed a hand slowly across his forehead.
"I genuinely don't understand why this became so massive."
Leah gave him a look over her coffee.
"You're England's biggest football star at eighteen."
"…when you phrase it like that it sounds stressful."
"Because it is stressful."
Cheddar sneezed loudly.
Francesco pointed toward the dog immediately.
"See? Even he's overwhelmed."
The dog looked deeply confused by the accusation.
Leah smiled faintly into her mug.
The lightness helped.
That was the strange thing lately.
Some moments still felt heavy enough to drown inside.
Then suddenly something stupid would happen and the tension eased just enough to breathe again.
Francesco eventually picked his phone back up with visible reluctance.
Immediate mistake.
Messages flooded endlessly across the screen.
Most supportive.
Some furious.
A few genuinely unhinged.
One fan apparently blamed Gareth Southgate, the Football Association, and "modern society" simultaneously in a paragraph long enough to qualify as political literature.
Francesco closed that one immediately.
Then another notification appeared.
Jorge Mendes.
Of course.
He answered before the phone could ring twice.
"Morning."
"Chaos," Jorge announced immediately without greeting.
Francesco closed his eyes briefly.
"Good morning to you too."
"Every television station in Europe is discussing your England situation."
"That feels excessive."
"It is England. Nothing is ever calm there."
Honestly?
True.
Jorge sounded unusually serious afterward though.
"You alright?"
The question landed differently coming from him.
Because underneath the aggressive agent persona and constant negotiations and dramatic threats toward journalists, Jorge genuinely cared about him.
"Yeah," Francesco answered quietly. "Just tired."
"You don't owe the public explanations for recovering."
Francesco leaned back lightly against the counter.
"I know."
"But?"
"But people are attacking Southgate now."
That was the part sitting wrong in his chest.
The manager had tried protecting him.
And now half the country treated him like he'd abandoned the national team before a war.
Jorge exhaled softly through the phone.
"You're thinking about making a statement."
Not even a question.
The man knew him too well.
"Maybe."
"Then make one."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"You think I should?"
"Yes."
Jorge's voice remained calm.
"Because right now people are filling silence with their own stories. Some think Southgate forced you out. Others think you refused England duty. The situation becomes worse every hour you say nothing."
That part was true too.
Francesco glanced toward Leah who quietly watched him from the kitchen table.
"You need to control your own narrative," Jorge continued. "Not for PR. For yourself."
After the call ended, Francesco stood there for a while staring absently at his phone again.
Leah eventually spoke softly.
"You want to say something."
Not a question either.
He nodded once.
"I hate that Southgate's getting destroyed for this."
"He knew there'd be criticism."
"Still."
Leah rested both hands around her mug.
"Then tell people the truth."
Simple advice.
Harder emotionally.
Because making the situation public meant admitting something out loud he'd barely admitted fully to himself yet.
That he wasn't okay.
Not completely.
Footballers rarely said those words publicly.
Especially not young superstars expected to carry clubs and countries already.
Weakness became headlines too easily.
But maybe this wasn't weakness.
Maybe it was honesty.
Francesco sat down across from Leah afterward while morning rain drifted beyond the windows.
His phone rested between them on the table.
"What would you even say?" Leah asked gently.
He stared down at the screen for a moment.
"I don't know."
That was the problem.
How did you explain emotional exhaustion to millions of strangers without sounding dramatic?
How did you admit fear without letting it define you publicly?
Leah reached across the table squeezing his hand lightly.
"You don't need perfect words."
Maybe not.
But words still mattered.
Especially now.
Hours passed slowly afterward.
Francesco trained lightly in the mansion gym around midday, mostly because routine still helped settle his head.
Treadmill work.
Stretching.
Recovery exercises.
Nothing intense.
Even there though, television screens mounted across the walls showed continued debate surrounding his England absence.
At one point an analyst literally called it "the most controversial squad omission in recent England history."
Francesco nearly walked off the treadmill laughing.
"That feels ridiculously dramatic."
David, currently reviewing security reports nearby, barely looked up.
"Welcome to English football media."
Fair enough.
By early afternoon the controversy somehow escalated again after several tabloids reported conflicting stories.
One claimed Francesco privately disagreed with Southgate.
Another suggested Arsenal pressured England not to select him.
A third somehow implied contract negotiations were involved.
Completely fabricated nonsense.
But nonsense spread fast online.
Leah read one headline before immediately lowering her phone again.
"Oh they're just inventing stories now."
"Yeah."
Francesco leaned back against the sofa afterward staring toward the ceiling.
"I should say something."
Leah nodded slowly.
"Then do it."
His stomach tightened unexpectedly.
Not before matches.
Not before Champions League nights at the Emirates.
Not before penalty shootouts.
But typing one honest Instagram statement?
Apparently terrifying.
Because footballers understood something important about public vulnerability.
Once you admitted struggle publicly, people looked at you differently afterward.
Some kinder.
Some crueler.
Some forever viewing you through the lens of fragility.
Francesco hated that thought more than he wanted to admit.
Leah seemed to sense exactly where his mind had drifted.
"You know this doesn't make you weak, right?"
He looked toward her quietly.
"You'd never think another player was weak for needing time."
"No."
"So why apply different rules to yourself?"
Because athletes always did.
That was the uncomfortable truth.
Eventually Francesco unlocked his phone again and opened Instagram.
His own face immediately stared back from recent Arsenal match photos.
Goals.
Celebrations.
Smiles.
Normal football life frozen inside pictures.
It felt strange looking at them now.
Like those moments belonged to somebody slightly different.
He opened the blank post screen afterward and just stared at it.
Nothing came immediately.
Leah moved quietly beside him on the sofa but didn't pressure him.
Didn't rush him.
Just stayed there.
After nearly five minutes Francesco finally started typing slowly.
Stopped.
Deleted it.
Tried again.
Deleted that too.
"Writing statements is harder than scoring against Bayern Munich," he muttered.
Leah smiled faintly.
"Well one involves German defending."
"Cruel."
"Accurate."
That actually helped somehow.
The tension eased just enough for him to breathe again.
Then finally the words started coming properly.
Not polished media language.
Not robotic PR statements.
Just honest.
He typed carefully while the mansion stayed quiet around them except for distant rain against the windows and Cheddar occasionally snoring beneath the coffee table.
When he finished, he read it twice silently.
Then handed the phone toward Leah.
She read slowly.
And somewhere around halfway through, her expression softened completely.
"That's good," she said quietly.
"You think?"
"I think it sounds like you."
That mattered more than perfect wording honestly.
Francesco stared down at the screen one last time before posting it.
Then suddenly it existed publicly.
Instantly.
Visible to millions, which the word is.
To all the England fans,
I've seen a lot of discussion over the last few days about me not being included in the squad.
I just want to say that this decision was agreed between both me and Gareth Southgate together. Gareth has been very supportive towards me and Leah after everything that happened recently, and I appreciate that a lot.
Physically I feel okay, but mentally I'm still trying to adjust after the break-in and everything around it. Sometimes people only see footballers on the pitch and forget we are human beings away from football too.
I love playing for England. Representing my country will always be one of the greatest honours of my life, and I'll always give everything for this team when I return.
But right now I need a little more time to recover properly.
So please don't be angry at Gareth Southgate or the England staff. They have supported me from the beginning and this decision was made with care from both sides.
Thank you to everyone who has sent support to me and Leah over the last week. It means more than you probably realise.
See you all soon ❤️
Silence settled briefly afterward.
Not tense silence.
Just the strange emotional quiet that followed vulnerability.
Francesco stared at the screen after posting it like maybe he regretted it already.
"You can still delete it," Leah teased gently.
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Fair.
Within seconds the reactions started flooding in.
Likes climbing impossibly fast.
Comments multiplying faster than he could read them.
Teammates responding immediately.
Bukayo Saka:
Always with you brother ❤️
Harry Kane:
Take all the time you need 👏
Marcus Rashford:
Well said.
Even Southgate himself liked the post less than two minutes after it went live.
That one hit quietly.
Leah noticed immediately.
"He saw it."
"Yeah."
Francesco exhaled slowly afterward.
Something inside him loosened slightly.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
But lighter somehow.
Because the truth was finally out there now.
No speculation.
No fake stories.
No pretending everything felt normal already.
Just honesty.
The media reaction arrived quickly too.
Of course it did.
Television broadcasts interrupted discussions to read portions of his statement live on air.
Pundits who'd spent two days arguing suddenly became noticeably quieter after hearing Francesco directly admit he was struggling mentally after the break-in.
The tone shifted.
Not entirely.
Football media never fully stopped debating anything.
But softer.
More human.
Gary Neville read part of the statement during a Sky Sports segment and nodded slowly afterward.
"That takes courage from a young player."
Another pundit agreed.
"At eighteen, most players would hide behind generic answers. That's honesty."
Not everyone reacted kindly of course.
Some critics still complained England stars should "toughen up."
Social media guaranteed that.
But the overwhelming response changed dramatically once people heard Francesco himself ask fans not to attack Southgate.
The anger started easing.
Not disappearing.
England supporters were emotionally incapable of full calm.
But easing.
By evening #WeSupportFrancesco had replaced #JusticeForFrancesco across social media trends.
Leah noticed first.
"Oh thank God," she muttered while scrolling.
"What?"
"The internet became slightly less insane."
"Impossible."
"Okay moderately less insane."
Better.
Definitely better.
Francesco sat quietly beside her watching the reactions continue pouring across his phone.
Thousands of comments now.
Most supportive.
Some heartbreakingly sincere.
One fan wrote:
Take care of yourself first. England can wait.
Another:
Thank you for being honest about mental recovery.
And strangely?
Those messages affected him more deeply than the outrage ever had.
Because support carried emotional weight too.
Especially when you weren't fully sure you deserved it yet.
Later that night Southgate called again.
Francesco answered from the balcony outside the bedroom while cold evening air drifted through London.
"I saw the statement," Southgate said.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then quietly:
"Thank you."
Francesco leaned lightly against the railing overlooking rain-dark gardens below.
"You shouldn't be taking all the criticism for this."
"That comes with the job."
"Still."
Southgate's voice remained calm as always.
"You handled it well."
"I nearly deleted it six times."
A small laugh came through the phone.
"That's usually a sign something's honest."
Maybe.
The England manager grew more serious afterward though.
"You helped people today, you know."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"There are a lot of young athletes watching someone they admire admit they're struggling mentally after trauma." Southgate paused briefly. "That matters."
Francesco looked out toward distant city lights beyond the trees.
He hadn't really thought about it that way.
To him the statement just felt necessary.
Personal.
But maybe Southgate was right.
Maybe honesty mattered sometimes more than football culture liked admitting.
After the call ended, Francesco stayed outside for another minute listening to soft rain and distant traffic beyond the gates.
The city felt calmer tonight somehow.
Or maybe he did.
Inside the bedroom Leah sat cross-legged near the headboard scrolling through her own phone.
She looked up when he walked back in.
"How was he?"
"Good."
Francesco climbed onto the bed beside her afterward while she leaned automatically into his side.
"He thanked me for the statement."
"You did help him."
"Apparently I helped young athletes too now."
Leah smiled softly.
"You probably did."
The room settled into comfortable quiet afterward.
No television.
No sports radio.
No endless debates screaming through the house.
Just soft lamp light and rain against the windows.
Francesco looked down toward his phone one last time before finally setting it aside for the night.
The post continued exploding across social media.
Millions of views already.
But for the first time since the controversy started, the noise didn't feel overwhelming anymore.
Because now the truth existed too.
Not rumors.
Not speculation.
His actual voice.
Leah rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think people needed to hear that footballers are human too."
Francesco stared quietly toward the rain beyond the glass, which they did and maybe he needed to say it out loud for himself too.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 20
Goal: 25
Assist: 1
MOTM:3
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9