Near one of the many pitches in the Wigan complex, a few cones still lay scattered across the grass from their earlier drills.
Ezra leaned against the fence, arms crossed, eyes on Leo.
"So," he began casually, "when do you leave?"
Leo adjusted the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder, squinting a little against the light.
"Day after tomorrow," he said as Ezra nodded.
Before the a reply could come, Jake's voice sounded from behind, loud and dramatic as always.
"Day after tomorrow, he says," Jake exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.
"You haven't even apologized for betraying the motherland!"
Ezra turned his head, shaking his head at something he was getting tired of.
"Oh no, here we go again."
Jake pointed an accusing finger at Leo, his expression somewhere between mock outrage and genuine disbelief.
"For all England's done for you, Leo! For the land that raised you, the tea that made you, the Premier League dreams that shaped you—"
Leo turned around, unimpressed.
