Harbinger Of Glory

Leo closed the apartment door behind him and stood there for a moment.

The past few days had been very hectic, with him trying a lot of first-time things, so much so that the silence in his apartment was easily noticeable.

After two weeks around teammates, staff, hotel corridors and the constant movement of international football, he felt slightly out of place.

He dropped his keys into the small bowl beside the door and pulled his jacket off.

"Home," he sighed and then glanced down at the space beside him.

Without hesitating, he picked up his bags and carried them into the bedroom, leaving them beside the wardrobe before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Right," he muttered a moment later after zoning out.

He had work to do.

Leo unzipped the first one and began pulling things out.

The clothes he had worn in Italy went straight into the laundry basket.

The federation tracksuit, which he had 4 of now since every camp gave them two, was folded and placed on a shelf.

His boots went back into their usual spot near the wardrobe, while the toiletries he had thrown into the bag at the last minute returned to the bathroom.

"How did you even get in there?" he muttered after seeing a Hot Wheels model inside his wallet, but without thinking too long, he could immediately tell who had placed it there.

"You’re jokes, Tori," he muttered with a laugh before he set it on the cabinet housing such stuff.

Afterwards, he moved on to the second bag, which was inarguably worse.

There were shirts folded badly, charging cables tangled together, a pair of headphones underneath a jacket and a notebook he had forgotten he had packed.

Leo, with a sigh, slowly separated everything.

The clothes were sorted, the cables went into the drawer, the headphones returned to the desk, and the notebook went beside his laptop.

By the time he reached the bottom of the bag, there was barely anything left inside.

He shook it once to make sure before he folded the empty case and put it away.

It was only then that he noticed the thin layer of dust along the edge of the wardrobe.

Leo stopped, wiped a finger across it and had the dust come away immediately.

At that, he looked around the room.

The bedroom was clean enough, but now that he’d noticed it, he could see it everywhere.

A little on the desk. Some along the television stand. Even the corner of the living room table had collected a faint grey layer.

He could ignore it, but he couldn’t help but feel scummy at the thought of it.

He found the cleaning supplies and spent the next forty minutes working through the apartment.

It was not particularly exciting work, but Leo preferred doing it himself.

By the time he finished, the apartment looked like his again.

"And now the only dirty thing is me," Leo muttered while glancing around the room with the cleaning supplies in hand.

Half an hour later, Leo showered, changed into a loose T-shirt and shorts, then dropped onto the couch.

He leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes and his mind couldn’t help but wander.

People saw footballers travelling around Europe, playing in packed stadiums and living in hotels and assumed the life was glamorous from beginning to end.

There were certainly parts of it that were but there was also this.

Laundry.

Cleaning.

Long journeys and early mornings.

Training until your legs stopped feeling like your own.

He smiled faintly.

"Not exactly a holiday," he muttered, but still, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

By the following morning, the international break was effectively over since it had just been 2 days after the last international games.

Across England, players were returning to their clubs.

Training grounds that had been quieter for the previous fortnight filled again with cars, staff and players carrying bags through familiar entrances.

Managers began putting their squads back together, medical teams checked returning internationals, and coaches turned their attention toward the weekend fixtures.

Club football was coming back, and at Wigan, there was little time to waste.

Their next opponents in the stretch were Aston Villa.

The league leaders had won nine consecutive matches and still had not dropped a single point all season, but it didn’t take too much to tip over a giant.

Villa Park was waiting, and so was the pressure that came with it.

Leo arrived at the training ground to find several familiar faces already outside.

Ezra spotted him first.

"Well, look who finally came back."

Leo had barely stepped out of the car before Ezra was already walking toward him.

Leo reached into the back, pulled out his bag and shut the boot with his elbow.

"Good to see you too."

"You could have sent a message if it was good to see me!"

Leo looked at him and then furrowed a brow.

"A message about what?"

"I don’t know. Something. A picture from Italy. A complaint about the food. Anything."

"You could’ve also messaged me."

"Yeah, I could, but I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Training."

Leo smiled as Ezra pulled him into a quick hug before Leo could say anything else, then stepped back and looked him over.

"You look like someone who’s just scored for Italy."

Leo laughed as the two began walking.

"That would probably explain it."

While they walked, Carlo appeared from the building with his hands tucked into the pockets of his training jacket.

"Don’t encourage him."

Leo looked ahead and shook his head.

"You were the one telling everyone my goal was good."

"I said it was good."

"You said it was one of the best goals you’d seen."

"Well opinions change," Carlo said as he fell into stride as Ezra laughed.

"He’s jealous."

"I’m not jealous."

Carlo shook his head and opened the door as Ezra and Leo followed him in, smiling and seemingly ready to start the day!