If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
When they finally left, the house stood quiet behind them, waiting. And for the first time, Francesco didn't feel like an outsider peeking in. He felt like the front door was his.
The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Francesco's apartment for what would be the last time. The old place felt unusually quiet, like it knew what was happening — that this chapter of his life was being packed into boxes and driven off to make way for something new. He stood in the middle of the living room, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, staring at the stack of neatly labeled boxes Jorge had bullied him into organizing a week ago.
He took a slow sip, thumb hovering over his screen. The contact was already up: Atlas Relocations – Premium Home Moves. The name alone sounded expensive. Jorge's pick, of course.
Francesco hit the call button and tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear while he walked to the window.
It rang twice before a warm voice answered. "Good morning, Atlas Relocations. This is Jamie. How can I help?"
"Hi, Jamie. This is Francesco Lee — I booked a move for today?"
There was a brief pause, then the sound of keys clacking. "Yes, Mr. Lee, we've got you on the schedule. Pickup from your current residence in Islington to the new property in Richmond, correct?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Our team's en route now — should be with you in about forty-five minutes. You don't need to lift a finger. Just point, and we'll handle the rest."
Francesco gave a soft laugh. "Sounds perfect. I'll be ready."
After hanging up, he looked around the apartment — sparse now, stripped of the chaos that had once made it his. The shelves were empty, the artwork was down, the TV wires coiled in a sad little pile beside the stand. Even his boots — dozens of them, stacked in rows like trophies — had been packed into protective crates.
He could still hear Leah's voice from last night, half-asleep on his shoulder: "It's the end of an era. But in the best way."
She was already gone, driving his old Civic ahead to the new house to wait for the movers. She'd insisted on going early, wanted to meet the team, unlock everything, and be there to start directing furniture placement. "They'll need a general," she said with a wink. "I'll wear something intimidating."
He smiled at the memory and took one last slow lap through the apartment. He paused at the kitchen counter, tracing the grain of the wood — the same counter where he'd eaten takeout after matches, where Leah had sat and sketched ideas for their first Christmas together. Then the bedroom, where late-night phone calls to Jorge had turned into half-sleepless nights over contract clauses and timelines. The place had held his rise, and now it would hold someone else's.
By the time the movers arrived, a big white truck with ATLAS stamped cleanly across the side, Francesco had already parked the Civic in its usual space and was waiting on the curb in jeans, hoodie, and a fresh pair of trainers. He greeted the crew with handshakes and gratitude, helping prop open the main door and riding the lift with them up to the top floor.
The leader of the crew, a tall guy named Marcus, gave him a professional nod. "We'll take care of everything, Mr. Lee. You can follow along when you're ready."
Francesco pointed to the boxes already lined up along the wall. "That's all of it. Furniture's marked with Post-its — Leah color-coded everything."
Marcus chuckled. "We love a planner."
It was efficient. Within twenty-five minutes, the flat looked like an empty shell. Even the rug in the living room — the one Francesco had bought on a whim after his first full match — was rolled and taped. He gave the place one last look, keys in hand, then closed the door behind him.
Downstairs, the truck engine rumbled to life. Francesco slipped into the driver's seat of his black BMW X5 xDrive40e — polished, powerful, and whisper-quiet when it moved. It was his favorite car, his little sanctuary of calm amid the madness. As the moving truck pulled out ahead, he tapped the navigation out of habit even though he knew the route by heart now: across the city, south-west, toward the green lungs of Richmond where his new life waited.
He followed behind the truck through the early midday traffic, the kind of spring congestion where people had rolled their windows down and were half-lost in daydreams about parks, pints, and anything but work. Francesco kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear selector, occasionally switching playlists until he settled on a slow, hazy instrumental — something atmospheric, to match the way his brain felt.
The weight of it hit him somewhere around Hammersmith Bridge. He looked out across the Thames as they crossed — the water glittering under a rare blue sky — and realized he was really doing it. No more renting. No more "see how the season goes." No more just passing through. This was a commitment. A decision.
A home.
By the time they pulled into the winding driveway, Leah was already on the front steps in leggings and a baseball cap, holding a massive takeaway coffee. She waved as the truck rolled to a stop and jogged up to Francesco's car the moment he parked behind it.
"They're early," she said, handing him the second cup in her tray. "Flat white, extra shot. You'll need it."
Francesco grinned, kissed her cheek. "General on the field already, I see."
"Damn right. I've already decided where the piano's going."
He blinked. "We don't own a piano."
She sipped her drink smugly. "Yet."
They stood side by side as the movers opened the truck's back panel and began unloading. Leah directed traffic like a seasoned project manager, consulting a laminated map of the house layout that she'd created with Jorge. Each room had its own color, its own tag. Francesco stood back for a bit, letting her handle it, before eventually pitching in to carry some of the lighter boxes — the ones marked Games Room and F's Office and Kitchen – Fragile.
It took hours. The house slowly came alive with the sounds of footsteps, doors opening and closing, things being unpacked and tested and settled. Boxes stacked in hallways. Furniture placed, then repositioned, then moved again. The master bedroom filled first — their new bed assembled with crisp, hotel-grade sheets already on — then the en-suite with its towering rainfall shower and wall-to-wall mirror.
Leah spent most of her time in the open-plan kitchen and living area, directing where the modular sofa should go and ensuring the smart oven had been installed correctly. Meanwhile, Francesco worked with the movers in the games room, guiding in the custom entertainment unit and checking the mounts for the three-screen setup he'd designed for gaming and watching match replays.
The day blurred — pizza was ordered around two, eaten from paper plates in the new dining nook with sunlight pouring through the glass walls. The garden team showed up mid-afternoon with a truck full of plants and topsoil, and Leah lit up like a child at Christmas. The landscape designer introduced himself with a double-cheek kiss and promised the lawn would be "prepped for barefoot lounging by June."
By early evening, the movers wrapped up. Boxes were stacked neatly in rooms, beds made, utilities tested, smart panels synced. Francesco tipped the crew generously and shook each of their hands before watching the truck pull away down the driveway, leaving him and Leah alone at last.
As the Atlas truck rumbled down the drive and disappeared behind the hedgerows, silence settled gently over the house like a thick, comforting blanket. The kind of silence that comes not from emptiness, but from arrival — from the final breath of a long journey finally exhaled.
Francesco leaned against the doorframe, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Leah, hair pulled back in a high ponytail and cheeks flushed from the day's commotion, was kneeling on the living room rug, smoothing it out with both palms like she was blessing the house with her approval.
He watched her for a long moment. There was something deeply grounding about her presence. Not just how she'd taken over the logistics like a field commander with a color-coded map, but how she made every room feel warm the second she walked into it. Like the house had been waiting for her as much as for him.
She looked up at him then, as if sensing the weight in his gaze, and gave a soft smile.
"Well," she said, exhaling. "We did it."
He nodded, stepping into the room, glancing around. The modular sofa was in place. The artwork had been leaned against the walls, not yet hung. There were still boxes by the hallway, but the essentials had found their new places. The house wasn't just livable — it was alive.
Francesco took a moment to walk to the middle of the living room, pulling out his phone. He turned slowly, catching the angle where the afternoon sun sliced diagonally across the plush furniture, the rich walnut floor, and the open-plan kitchen in the background. Then he lifted the camera and took a single photo.
He stared at it for a second, thumb hovering. It was simple. Honest. The beginning of something new.
A caption came to him without effort.
New Home❤️
He posted it, let the phone fall to his side, and smiled softly to himself. He could already imagine Jorge shaking his head at the heart emoji, but he didn't care. This one wasn't about PR. It wasn't about an image. It was about truth.
"Nice angle," Leah said behind him, rising to her feet. "You got the moody lighting just right."
He turned to her, eyes studying her expression — open, curious, glowing slightly in the golden hour light. There was a flutter in his chest, a moment of pause before a decision, the same feeling he used to get right before taking a penalty. Controlled adrenaline. Calm beneath the surface.
"Leah," he said quietly.
She raised a brow, stepping closer. "Yeah?"
He reached out and took her hand — just gently enough to make her look down in surprise. When she met his eyes again, he was already speaking.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he said, voice steady. "Actually, longer than that. Weeks, maybe. Since we started looking at places."
Leah tilted her head, waiting.
"I don't want this house to just be mine," he said. "I want it to be ours. I want you to move in with me."
For a heartbeat, everything stilled — like even the birds outside the window had paused their song.
Leah's eyes widened just slightly, not out of shock, but something gentler. Her fingers tightened around his.
"You're serious?" she asked.
He nodded. "I know it's soon. I know we've both got our lives, our rhythms. But I also know that everything I've built — everything I'm building — feels half-finished when you're not part of it."
She blinked rapidly, the corners of her lips tugging upward, but her expression still uncertain in that beautiful, human way.
"I want you here," he said. "Every day. Not just overnight bags and Sunday dinners. I want you here when I come back from training, when the fixtures get rough, when we win, when we don't. I want you with me."
Leah gave a slow breath, like she was letting go of something unnamed.
"I'd… I'd love that," she said softly. "I've been thinking about it, too."
Francesco felt his chest lift, warmth spilling through his limbs, but he didn't let the moment pass just yet.
"I'll talk to your parents," he said. "If you're serious about this — about moving in — I want to do it right. I'll ask them. Properly."
That made her laugh — not a dismissive laugh, but the kind that bubbles up from somewhere genuine. "You're going to ask for their permission to live with me?" she asked, eyes amused but touched.
"Yeah," he said with a half-smile. "Old-fashioned, maybe. But I know they care about you. And I care about what they think."
Leah stepped in, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her forehead lightly to his chest.
"You're ridiculous," she murmured. "And sweet. And yes. Ask them. They'll probably cry."
He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "Then I'll bring tissues."
They stood like that for a while, wrapped in each other and the golden light of their new living room, surrounded by the low hum of a house just beginning to become a home.
Later, after Leah had gone to change into something warmer and Francesco had stepped out into the garden to call her parents, he scrolled idly through Instagram, checking on the post he'd uploaded.
The comment section had exploded.
@alexis_official7: Richmond, huh? Invite us for the housewarming or I'm not passing to you next season.
@mesutozil1088: Congratulations bro! Looks amazing.
@jackwilshere: Bout time you got a place with room for a trophy cabinet.
@theowalcott: Flat white for the win. Big love to you and Leah.
There were thousands of likes, and a flood of fan comments beneath the teammates' notes:
@gooner_girl92: our king has a castle!!!
@redandwhitearmy: living room goals. Can I live in your shed?
@franleefanpage: imagine waking up next to Francesco in that house ughhhh
Francesco laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone.
He stepped into the side yard, where the newly laid lawn was still being rolled out in sections. The landscaping crew had left for the day, but the scent of fresh earth and cut grass still lingered in the air. The breeze had picked up, tugging at his hoodie as he raised the phone again and hit the call button.
Leah's mother answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Williamson. It's Francesco."
"Oh!" she said, surprised but pleasant. "Francesco — hello, dear. Everything alright?"
"Yes — everything's great," he said quickly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Not at all," she replied, sounding genuinely curious now. "What's going on?"
He took a breath.
"I wanted to ask you something important," he said. "Leah and I… we've just moved into the new house. Well, I did today. And I asked her if she'd like to move in with me. She said yes."
There was a pause. He could almost hear her covering the receiver to whisper something.
"I know it's a big step," he continued. "But I care about her a lot. I love her. And I just wanted to tell you — to ask for your blessing. It means a lot to me. And to Leah, I hope."
He heard a warm laugh, and then Mr. Williamson's voice joined on speaker.
"Well, I'll be," the older man said. "You did that the proper way, Francesco. Not many would these days."
Mrs. Williamson chimed in with a smile in her tone. "Of course you have our blessing. You two are wonderful together. Just promise to take care of her — and yourselves."
"I will," he said, heart swelling. "Thank you. Really."
"Now," Mr. Williamson added, "does this mean we're getting an invite to see this new place?"
Francesco grinned. "Absolutely. I'll cook dinner."
"Well then," Mr. Williamson laughed, "we'll bring the wine."
Back inside, Francesco found Leah curled up on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, sipping from a glass of water and scrolling through the Instagram post with visible amusement.
"They're already planning a podcast segment about our furniture choices," she said, holding up the phone.
He sank down beside her and took the glass, taking a sip before handing it back. "Your parents said yes," he said.
She looked at him, warmth blooming behind her eyes.
"Told you they'd cry."
"They didn't cry," he said.
She smirked. "Yet."
The two of them sat there, leaning into each other as the sky outside slowly shifted toward twilight — a gradient of lavender and deepening blue. Somewhere in the distance, birds called lazily from trees not yet familiar. The house creaked slightly, adjusting to its new occupants.
________________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 16 (2014)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League and 2014/2015 FA Cup
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9