Izan pushed open the heavy door of the locker room, with the noise of a dozen conversations overlapping in the air, with boots half-tied and kit bags tossed open, the usual chaos before training.
But the moment heads started turning, the noise shifted.
A ripple of acknowledgement spread across the room, with some whistles, a couple of sarcastic claps, and a whole lot of smirks.
"Look who's finally decided to grace us. If it isn't Izan Hernandez," Declan Rice said, lifting his chin with mock solemnity.
"VIP treatment, man," Raya added from across the room, flashing his teeth. "Next thing, they'll carry him in on a throne."
The teasing didn't stop anyone from getting up, though.
One by one, hands slapped into Izan's, shoulders bumped, arms wrapped around him in quick hugs.
Zinchenko ruffled his hair like he was a little brother while Martinelli pulled him in and lifted him off the ground with a laugh before setting him back down.
