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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The international break was becoming exactly the kind of foundation they had hoped to build before the bigger challenges waiting later in this year.
The applause from the Wembley crowd continued to roll around the stadium as England's players made their way towards every corner of the ground.
For several minutes, nobody seemed in any rush to leave.
White shirts remained gathered in front of the home supporters, applauding the fans who had filled Wembley from the first whistle until the last.
The atmosphere felt different from Amsterdam.
Winning away had been satisfying.
Winning at Wembley always carried another layer of emotion.
This was home.
Francesco stood beside Jordan Henderson, Harry Kane and Kyle Walker, clapping steadily towards the supporters behind the goal.
Scarves continued to sway beneath the floodlights.
Children balanced on seats to wave at their heroes.
A chant began from the lower tier.
"England!"
"England!"
"England!"
Soon another followed.
"Francesco!"
"Francesco!"
"Francesco!"
He smiled awkwardly before placing a hand over the Three Lions crest on his shirt.
The supporters answered with another roar.
Walker leaned across.
"They like you."
Francesco laughed.
"I hadn't noticed."
"You should captain more often."
"I'm not sure it works like that."
Walker shrugged.
"I'll recommend it."
"You've got that kind of influence now?"
"Absolutely not."
Kane overheard them and chuckled.
"I was wondering when he'd start making things up again."
"It took longer than usual."
Eventually the stadium announcer thanked both sets of supporters for attending, encouraging everyone to travel home safely.
The England players gave one final wave before turning towards the tunnel.
As soon as they disappeared beneath the stands, the noise faded behind them.
The bright lights of Wembley gave way to quieter concrete corridors lined with security staff, television crews and stadium personnel beginning the familiar post-match routine.
Italy's players passed in the opposite direction after completing their own lap of appreciation.
Bonucci spotted Francesco again.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"You deserved the win."
"You made us work for it."
Bonucci smiled knowingly.
"That's usually the plan."
Francesco laughed.
"I figured."
The veteran defender extended his hand.
"Good luck for the rest of the season."
"You too."
Nearby, Chiesa exchanged shirts with Rashford before joining his teammates.
Immobile stopped briefly to congratulate Kane on his goal.
Professional respect filled the corridor.
The match had been competitive.
Once the whistle had gone, it returned to being football.
England's squad continued towards their dressing room.
Walker stretched both arms above his head as they walked.
"I'm shattered."
"You said that after twenty minutes."
"I was preparing everyone."
"For what?"
"For this exact moment."
Lingard shook his head.
"I've never met anyone who complains with as much energy as you."
"It takes practice."
They reached the dressing-room door.
One of the kit staff was already waiting with a large trolley stacked neatly with fresh towels.
"There you go, lads."
"Straight through."
Walker immediately grabbed one from the top.
"My favourite person in the stadium."
The staff member laughed.
"I'll pretend you didn't say that after ninety minutes."
"I meant every word."
The room itself looked exactly as they had left it before kick-off, except now shirts lay scattered across benches, boots rested beneath lockers, and recovery drinks had already been lined up beside every seat.
Players instinctively removed shin pads and boots before reaching for towels.
Nobody lingered very long.
The hot showers were calling.
Within moments, the adjoining shower room filled with steam as rows of showers came to life.
The first sensation was always the same.
Relief.
The hot water washed away sweat, grass stains and ninety exhausting minutes of football.
For a while, nobody spoke.
There was something almost therapeutic about simply standing beneath the running water after a match.
Eventually Walker broke the silence.
"I've decided."
Kane answered from two showers away.
"That's dangerous."
"I'm serious."
"Go on."
"My overlap in the second half deserved an assist."
Sterling immediately laughed.
"You didn't even touch the ball in the move."
"Details."
"You were thirty yards away."
"I was emotionally involved."
Francesco leaned his head back beneath the water.
"I've never heard of an emotional assist."
Walker sounded offended.
"Maybe football needs to evolve."
"It definitely doesn't," Henderson replied.
The room erupted into laughter.
Kane looked towards Sterling.
"Your pass was perfect."
Sterling nodded modestly.
"I saw you go."
"I wasn't missing that."
"It made my job easy."
"It wasn't easy."
"Nothing's easy against Italy."
Kane smiled.
"Fair enough."
Across the room Pickford replayed Belotti's late header in animated fashion.
"I thought he'd got above everyone."
"So did I," Gomez admitted.
"Luckily he didn't get enough on it."
Walker pointed across the room.
"See?"
"That's why clean sheets deserve more credit."
Pickford immediately nodded.
"Finally."
"Someone understands."
Francesco laughed.
"I think he's only saying that because he's tired of hearing you mention it."
"Still counts."
The conversations drifted naturally between moments from the game and jokes about training over the previous week.
The pressure that had filled the dressing room before kick-off had completely disappeared.
Now everyone was simply enjoying the satisfaction of another professional performance.
After around fifteen minutes, the showers gradually emptied.
Steam drifted lazily through the room while players dried off and headed back towards their lockers.
Fresh England travel clothing had already been prepared.
Navy jumpsuits embroidered with the Three Lions crest rested neatly on every seat.
One by one, white match shirts disappeared into laundry bags.
Players pulled on clean T-shirts before zipping up their England tracksuits.
The transformation always happened quickly.
Within minutes, the footballers who had battled across Wembley were replaced by a group ready for the journey home.
Francesco carefully folded the captain's armband before placing it inside his kit bag.
He always treated it with the same respect.
Walker noticed.
"You still fold everything perfectly."
"My mother would be disappointed if I didn't."
Walker looked at the pile of clothing spilling from his own bag.
"My mother stopped trying years ago."
"I'm not surprised."
"You sound like her."
Kane laughed as he zipped up his jacket.
"She's probably right."
Walker sighed dramatically.
"I come in here looking for support."
"You've come to the wrong dressing room," Lingard replied.
Medical staff continued moving around the room, checking ankles and knees.
Ice packs appeared on a few tired muscles.
Recovery shakes were handed around once again.
The mood remained light.
Nobody seemed eager to leave, even though the evening had already grown late.
Eventually the kit manager poked his head through the doorway.
"The coach is ready whenever you are."
Walker slung his backpack over one shoulder.
"Finally."
"You've been waiting five minutes," Henderson reminded him.
"It felt longer."
Outside the dressing room, the familiar underground loading area beneath Wembley waited quietly.
England's team coach stood ready with its luggage compartment already open.
Equipment staff loaded the final kit bags while players climbed aboard one after another.
Francesco found his usual window seat.
Walker dropped into the seat beside him almost automatically.
"I don't even ask anymore."
"It just happens."
"I think it's permanent."
"I think so too."
The bus slowly began filling.
Kane settled a few rows ahead beside Henderson.
Pickford immediately stretched across two seats.
Lingard sat opposite Rashford, already showing him a replay of Kane's goal on his phone.
Only one seat near the front remained empty.
Southgate's.
Walker looked towards it.
"Press conference."
Francesco nodded.
"He won't be too long."
The players knew the routine well.
While they recovered, Gareth Southgate fulfilled his media duties upstairs.
Television interviews.
The official post-match press conference.
Questions about tactics.
Questions about performances.
Questions about the future.
Meanwhile, life inside the team bus settled into a comfortable rhythm.
Someone connected a phone to the sound system, keeping the music low enough for conversations to continue.
Recovery snacks made their way up and down the aisle.
Walker opened a small packet before looking towards Kane.
"How many questions do you think the boss has answered by now?"
Kane smiled.
"Probably the same one six different ways."
"'Were you pleased with the performance?'"
"'Yes.'"
"'Can you elaborate?'"
The players laughed.
Lingard added another.
"'Did Francesco deserve captaincy?'"
Walker answered in an exaggerated Southgate impression.
"'Yes.'"
"'Can you elaborate?'"
"'Also yes.'"
Even Henderson couldn't stop himself laughing.
Outside, Wembley gradually became quieter.
Most supporters had already disappeared into London's transport network.
The stadium lights still glowed through the coach windows while security staff directed the remaining vehicles away from the underground parking area.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before movement appeared outside.
Southgate emerged from the stadium entrance accompanied by Steve Holland and two FA staff members.
He looked tired.
But there was also quiet satisfaction in his expression.
As soon as he stepped aboard, conversations eased.
The England manager looked around the bus.
"Everyone settled?"
A chorus of voices answered.
"Yeah, boss."
Southgate smiled.
"Good."
He remained standing for a moment before speaking.
"I won't keep you long."
He glanced from one end of the coach to the other.
"I'm very pleased."
"Not just with tonight."
"With the entire international break."
The bus fell completely silent.
"You worked hard in Amsterdam."
"You worked hard here."
"You listened."
"You adapted."
"And you represented England exactly the way I wanted."
Several players nodded quietly.
Southgate continued.
"Two very good teams."
"Two excellent performances."
"But remember…"
He raised a finger.
"This is only another step."
"There is still plenty to improve."
Nobody disagreed.
That was one of the reasons the squad respected him so much.
Even after victories, he always looked forward rather than backwards.
Finally, his expression softened into another smile.
"For tonight…"
"Enjoy the win."
"You've earned it."
A ripple of applause travelled through the coach.
Southgate took his seat at the front.
A moment later, the driver started the engine.
Slowly, the England team bus rolled away from Wembley Stadium.
The famous arch remained visible through the rear window for several moments before disappearing into the London skyline.
The journey back to St. George's Park began.
Unlike the journey before kick-off, there was no tension.
No tactical discussions.
No nervous energy.
Only tired bodies and satisfied minds.
Outside, London's lights blurred together as the coach joined the motorway heading north.
Inside, conversations gradually became quieter.
Some players watched highlights on tablets.
Others listened to music.
Walker lasted barely half an hour before leaning back in his seat.
"I'm trying not to fall asleep."
Francesco looked across.
"You're losing."
"I know."
"You'll wake me up when we get there?"
"I'll think about it."
"That's not reassuring."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
Walker closed his eyes anyway.
Within minutes, he was asleep.
Francesco smiled to himself before turning towards the dark window.
His reflection stared back at him.
Captain again.
Another goal.
Another victory.
More importantly…
Another performance that suggested this young England squad was beginning to understand exactly what Gareth Southgate wanted from them.
They were growing.
Not through individual moments.
But together.
Kilometre after kilometre, the team bus continued north through the English night, carrying a squad whose confidence had quietly strengthened over the course of one successful international break.
By the time the lights of St. George's Park finally appeared in the distance, most of the players had drifted into comfortable silence.
The work for this international window was finished.
Tomorrow, many would return to their clubs.
Then the first rays of morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains at St. George's Park, bringing with them a different feeling from every other day of the international break.
There was no tactical meeting waiting.
No training session.
No video analysis.
No match to prepare for.
The work was done.
England's players had completed the international window with two impressive victories over the Netherlands and Italy, and now everyone was preparing to return to their clubs.
The atmosphere throughout the national football centre reflected that.
Relaxed.
Content.
Satisfied.
Francesco woke naturally, without the sound of an alarm.
For a few moments he simply lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
The previous week replayed quietly in his mind.
Amsterdam.
Captaining England for the first time.
A goal.
An assist.
Player of the Match.
Then Wembley.
Another goal.
Another victory.
It had been one of the most memorable international breaks of his career.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
"Room service."
Francesco smiled.
"Come in."
One of the hotel staff entered carrying a breakfast tray.
"Good morning."
"Morning."
"We thought you'd appreciate breakfast before travelling."
"Thank you."
"My pleasure."
After the staff member left, Francesco ate slowly while checking a few messages on his phone.
There was one from Arsène Wenger.
Well done. Safe journey back. See you at London Colney.
Another came from Martin Keown.
Excellent performances. Keep it going.
His parents had also sent congratulations after watching both matches.
Finally, there was one from Leah.
Cheddar keeps checking the front door. I think he knows you're coming home today. ❤️
Francesco couldn't help smiling.
That sounded exactly like Cheddar.
Around an hour later, the corridors outside had become noticeably busier.
Suitcases rolled across polished floors.
Players greeted one another as they carried bags toward reception.
Some would catch flights.
Others would be collected by club drivers.
Several lived close enough to drive themselves home.
Walker emerged from his room carrying far more bags than seemed possible.
Francesco looked at him.
"How long were we here?"
"A week."
"It looks like you've been living here for six months."
Walker glanced down at the mountain of luggage.
"I don't travel light."
"I've noticed."
Kane walked past shaking his head.
"I still don't understand how you've got that much stuff."
Walker looked offended.
"Preparation."
"For what?"
"Everything."
Lingard laughed.
"I'm surprised you haven't packed the table tennis paddle."
Walker pointed at him.
"Don't remind me."
"You still owe me a rematch."
"You've already had three."
"I wasn't emotionally ready."
Francesco burst into laughter.
"That's becoming your excuse for everything."
"It works."
"It really doesn't."
The restaurant was filled with players enjoying one final breakfast together before going their separate ways.
The mood was noticeably different from the previous mornings.
There was no rush.
No timetable hanging over anyone.
Harry Kane sat beside Henderson discussing Tottenham's upcoming fixtures.
Rashford chatted with Pickford about returning to club football.
Nearby, Walker was somehow convincing Welbeck that he'd almost beaten Lingard at table tennis.
"I had him."
"You lost eleven-three."
"It was closer than the score suggested."
Welbeck smiled.
"I'm sure it was."
Southgate entered a few minutes later carrying a cup of coffee.
He looked around at the room before smiling.
"Morning, lads."
A chorus of greetings answered him.
He waited until everyone had finished eating before speaking.
"I won't keep you long."
Immediately the room quietened.
"I just wanted to thank all of you again."
He looked around the tables.
"You represented England brilliantly."
"Now it's important you return to your clubs healthy."
He smiled.
"Look after yourselves."
"And I look forward to seeing you all again next time."
There was a round of applause.
Nothing loud.
Nothing dramatic.
Just genuine appreciation between manager and players.
As everyone stood, handshakes and brief conversations followed naturally.
Southgate stopped beside Francesco.
"Safe trip home."
"Thank you, boss."
"You've had an excellent camp."
"I appreciate that."
Southgate nodded.
"Keep enjoying your football."
"I will."
Outside the main entrance, vehicles gradually began arriving.
Some Premier League clubs had sent their own drivers.
Others had arranged private transport through agents.
One by one, players began leaving.
Henderson was among the first.
He shook hands with several teammates before climbing into a waiting car.
"See you all soon."
Walker waved.
"Try not to miss me too much."
"I'll manage."
Kane laughed.
"I'll see you in a few days."
"Looking forward to it."
Soon after, Rashford departed for Manchester.
Sterling headed toward another waiting vehicle.
Lingard followed not long afterwards.
The lively atmosphere slowly became quieter as more and more teammates disappeared down the long driveway leading away from St. George's Park.
Francesco stood beside his suitcase outside the entrance, waiting.
A few moments later, a sleek black Range Rover rolled gently to a stop.
The driver stepped out immediately.
"Good morning, Mr. Lee."
Francesco recognised him instantly.
He worked for Barnett and had driven him countless times over the previous few seasons.
"Morning."
"I hope you had a successful international break."
Francesco smiled.
"I can't complain."
The driver took his suitcase.
"I watched both matches."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
Within moments, the luggage had been placed neatly into the rear compartment.
Francesco climbed into the back seat.
The driver closed the door before returning behind the wheel.
As the vehicle eased away from St. George's Park, Francesco glanced back through the rear window.
The national football centre gradually disappeared behind rows of trees.
Another England camp had come to an end.
The journey south toward London unfolded peacefully.
Morning traffic remained surprisingly light.
Fields stretched endlessly on either side of the motorway.
Small villages appeared every few miles before disappearing once again behind rolling countryside.
For the first thirty minutes, Francesco simply watched the scenery drift past.
Eventually the driver spoke.
"Straight home to Richmond?"
"Yes."
"I imagine someone's looking forward to seeing you."
Francesco smiled.
"Two of them."
"The little dog?"
"And Leah."
The driver chuckled.
"I remember."
"He always used to greet you before anyone else."
"He probably still will."
"I'd be disappointed if he didn't."
The journey lasted around two and a half hours.
As the countryside gradually gave way to larger towns and heavier traffic, familiar landmarks began appearing.
Road signs pointing toward London.
Increasingly busy dual carriageways.
Office buildings.
Rows of red-brick houses.
The capital slowly came back into view.
Crossing into London always carried a familiar feeling.
Busy streets.
Black cabs.
Double-decker buses.
Cyclists weaving through traffic.
People hurrying in every direction.
After spending more than a week surrounded almost entirely by football, ordinary city life somehow felt refreshing.
The driver glanced into the rear-view mirror.
"Nearly home."
Francesco nodded.
"It feels good."
A few more turns brought them into Richmond.
Tree-lined streets replaced the busier central roads.
The pace of life slowed noticeably.
Families walked through the neighbourhood.
A couple pushed a pram along the pavement.
Morning joggers passed nearby parks.
Eventually the familiar gates to Francesco's property came into view.
The automatic gates slowly opened.
The Range Rover rolled smoothly up the driveway before stopping outside the house.
The driver climbed out first before retrieving the luggage.
Francesco stepped onto the driveway, stretching slightly after the long journey.
The air carried the quiet calm that always seemed to surround Richmond.
He took hold of his suitcase.
The driver smiled.
"Home."
"Finally."
"I'll let Mr. Barnett know you've arrived safely."
"I appreciate it."
"Have a good rest."
"You too."
Francesco extended a hand.
"Thanks for the drive."
"My pleasure."
After a final nod, the driver climbed back into the vehicle.
The engine started.
A few moments later, the Range Rover disappeared back through the gates and onto the quiet Richmond street.
For a brief second, everything became wonderfully still.
Home.
Francesco wheeled his suitcase toward the front door before unlocking it.
The familiar scent of home greeted him immediately.
It felt different from hotels.
Different from St. George's Park.
Comfortable.
Lived in.
He stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him.
For a moment, he couldn't hear anyone.
Then laughter drifted in from the living room.
Followed by another sound.
A short, excited bark.
Francesco smiled before even turning the corner.
As he entered the open living area, the scene in front of him immediately made the journey worthwhile.
Leah was sitting on the carpet, laughing as Cheddar bounded around her in frantic circles.
The little corgi had one of his favourite toys clamped proudly between his teeth, tail wagging so quickly it looked almost like a blur.
Leah looked up first.
The instant she saw him standing there with his suitcase, her eyes lit up.
"Francesco!"
She was on her feet almost immediately.
The toy dropped from Cheddar's mouth.
The corgi froze for the briefest moment, ears standing upright as if making absolutely certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
Then came another bark.
Louder this time.
Far more excited.
Cheddar launched himself across the wooden floor with his short legs moving as fast as they possibly could.
Before Francesco had even set down his suitcase, Leah reached him.
Without saying another word, she wrapped both arms tightly around him.
He hugged her back just as firmly.
"It's good to have you home," she murmured softly.
He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head.
"It's good to be back."
At exactly the same moment, Cheddar arrived.
The little corgi bounced repeatedly around Francesco's feet before planting both front paws against his legs.
His tail wagged furiously.
Then came the enthusiastic welcome Francesco had been expecting.
Cheddar began happily licking his feet, letting out a series of delighted little barks between each attempt to get his owner's attention.
Francesco laughed, finally letting go of Leah just enough to crouch down.
"Hey, mate."
Cheddar answered by licking his trainers again before nudging his nose insistently against Francesco's hand.
"I missed you too."
The corgi rolled happily onto his back, demanding attention in the only way he knew how.
Leah folded her arms, smiling warmly as she watched the reunion.
"I told you."
"He kept waiting by the front door every afternoon."
Francesco gently scratched behind Cheddar's ears.
"So you knew I was coming home, did you?"
Cheddar responded by thumping his tail enthusiastically against the floor.
Leah laughed.
"I think that's a yes."
For the first time in days, there were no stadium lights.
No tactical meetings.
No buses waiting outside.
No cameras.
Just home.
And for Francesco, there was nowhere else he would rather have been.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 45
Goal: 56
Assist: 6
MOTM: 6
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 4
Goal: 4
Assist: 1
MOTM: 2
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