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The room fell quiet again, the muted TV flickering in soft colors across the walls. He leaned back, wrapping his arm around her, letting the weight of everything wash over him that not in a suffocating way, but in a grounding one.
The room stayed quiet for a long time after that.
Not the awkward kind of quiet. Not the heavy kind either.
It was the kind that settles in when two people are breathing at the same pace, when the noise of the outside world finally stops clawing at the walls and lets you exist for a moment without asking anything of you.
Francesco lay back into the sofa cushions, Leah curled against him, her head tucked under his chin, her fingers still tracing those slow, grounding circles on his arm. The muted television kept flickering from faces, graphics, headlines sliding by like ghosts, but neither of them was really watching anymore.
Eventually, the night softened.
The adrenaline faded.
The voices dulled.
The weight became manageable.
And somewhere between one quiet breath and the next, the world stopped shouting his name for a while.
Then the days pass to Christmas, as Francesco woke up to silence.
Not the dead, empty kind, but the gentle kind that only exists early in the morning, when the city hasn't quite remembered itself yet. No traffic outside. No neighbors moving around. Just the faint hum of heating pipes and the distant, muffled sound of wind brushing against windows.
For a split second, he didn't know where he was.
Then the smell hit him.
Pine.
Cinnamon.
Something sweet like cookies, maybe.
His eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar in the way that meant comfort rather than displacement. White, clean, with the faintest reflection of warm lights dancing across it. He turned his head slightly and saw Leah still asleep beside him, her hair spread messily across the pillow, one arm thrown over his chest like she'd claimed him in her sleep and refused to give him back.
Her face was relaxed in a way it rarely was when she was awake. No teasing smirk. No sharp focus. Just softness.
He lay there for a moment longer, breathing her in, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, letting his heartbeat slow.
Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He winced instinctively, reaching for it before the sound could wake her.
One notification.
From Wenger.
He frowned slightly and opened it.
Merry Christmas, lads.
No training today. Spend it with your loved ones, rest your minds and your bodies.
We go again tomorrow.
Francesco stared at the message for a few seconds.
No tactical notes.
No reminders.
No pressure.
Just permission.
He exhaled, something in his shoulders finally loosening.
Carefully, gently, he eased Leah's arm off his chest and slid out of bed. She shifted slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, then settled again without waking. He smiled to himself.
He padded downstairs barefoot, the wooden steps cool under his feet.
The house felt different in the daylight.
Warmer.
Lived-in.
Christmas lights were strung along the banister, glowing softly even though the sun was already filtering in through the windows. Wrapping paper from the night before sat piled neatly in one corner as neither of them had bothered cleaning it up yet. A half-empty mug sat on the coffee table from where Leah had clearly forgotten it existed.
And then he saw her.
Leah stood by the Christmas tree, still in one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair tied messily at the back of her head. She was holding a string of lights, brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught lightly between her teeth as she tried to untangle them.
The tree itself looked halfway done.
Or maybe aggressively unfinished.
A few ornaments hung neatly on one side.
The other side was bare.
The star sat crooked at the top, tilted slightly to the left like it had given up.
They really hadn't finished it last night.
Francesco leaned against the doorway, watching her for a second.
"You know," he said quietly, voice still rough with sleep, "most people decorate trees before Christmas morning."
She startled, nearly dropping the lights.
"Oh my—" She spun around, then relaxed when she saw him. "Jesus, you're supposed to announce yourself. Or wear bells. Or something."
He smirked. "I live here."
"Debatable," she muttered, turning back to the tree. "You disappear to training so much I'm basically squatting."
He walked over, stopping beside her.
"You're still at it?" he asked.
She huffed. "We fell asleep halfway through, remember? You passed out on the sofa like an old man."
"I had an excuse," he said defensively. "I broke a world record."
She shot him a look. "You drooled on the cushion."
He grinned. "That's how you know it was serious exhaustion."
She handed him the tangled lights without ceremony. "Here. You do this part. You're tall."
He took them, fingers brushing hers, and felt something simple and warm settle in his chest.
No cameras.
No analysts.
No Messi.
No Ronaldo.
Just this.
They worked in companionable silence for a while. He wrapped lights around the tree more carefully than he'd ever wrapped anything on a pitch, stepping back every so often to check symmetry like it actually mattered.
"You got a message?" Leah asked casually, adjusting an ornament shaped like a tiny football.
"Yeah," he said. "Wenger. No training today."
She smiled softly. "Good."
"Merry Christmas from the boss," he added.
She snorted. "That's about as festive as he gets."
When the lights were finally on and the ornaments more or less evenly spread, Leah stepped back and folded her arms, examining their work.
"It's still crooked," she said.
He tilted his head. "Adds character."
"Adds proof we're terrible at this."
She reached up and adjusted the star again. It leaned the opposite way now.
"Perfect," he said.
She laughed, then leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Merry Christmas," she said quietly.
"Merry Christmas," he replied.
He checked his phone again out of habit.
Messages flooded in.
His mum.
His dad.
Extended family.
Old friends.
Teammates.
People he hadn't spoken to in years.
Even a few numbers he didn't recognize.
He didn't open most of them right away.
For once, the world could wait.
They spent the morning slowly.
Too slowly, maybe.
Leah made coffee while Francesco burned toast and pretended it was intentional. Christmas music played softly in the background that not loud, overplayed stuff, but the mellow classics that felt more like atmosphere than noise.
They sat on the floor by the tree to open the rest of the presents they'd been too tired to touch the night before.
She gave him a scarf which is a Arsenal red, simple, warm.
"You didn't have to—" he started.
"Wear it," she said immediately. "Or I'll be offended."
He wrapped it around his neck and posed dramatically. "How do I look?"
"Like a very rich footballer trying to look normal."
He laughed.
His gift to her was smaller. A bracelet. Nothing flashy. Just silver, delicate, understated.
She went quiet when she opened it.
"You like it?" he asked, suddenly nervous.
She slipped it on without a word, then leaned over and kissed him deeply.
"Yes," she murmured against his lips. "I like it."
They stayed like that for a moment longer than necessary.
Christmas outside passed quietly.
No snow.
Just cold sunlight and stillness.
By midday, they'd migrated back to the sofa, blankets piled up, plates balanced on their knees as they picked at leftovers. Leah rested her feet on his lap while he absentmindedly scrolled through messages, replying to a few, ignoring others.
Eventually, his phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't family.
It was the team group chat.
Alexis: Feliz Navidad, hermano. Don't eat too much or I'll run past you tomorrow.
Iwobi: Merry Christmas skipper. Save me some food.
Xhaka: Enjoy today. We need you sharp.
Kanté: Merry Christmas 🙂
Francesco smiled at that one longer than the others.
He typed a quick response to the group, then set the phone aside.
Leah noticed the shift in his expression.
"Thinking again?" she asked gently.
"Always," he admitted.
She nudged his leg. "You're allowed one day off."
He nodded. "I know."
He looked around the room from the tree, the lights, her curled up against him, the quiet.
"And I'm trying to actually take it."
She smiled.
She smiled, and that was enough to loosen something else inside him.
Not the tension this time. Not the pressure.
Just the quiet awareness that this moment was something he didn't want to rush past.
Leah shifted, sitting up a little straighter, eyes drifting back toward the tree like it had personally offended her.
"Okay," she said, clapping her hands once. "We are not leaving that thing half done."
He followed her gaze and chuckled. "You're declaring war on the Christmas tree now?"
"Yes," she said seriously. "And I refuse to lose."
He slid off the sofa and stood, stretching his arms over his head until his back cracked softly.
"Alright, General," he said. "What's the plan?"
She pointed at the remaining box of ornaments. "We finish it properly. Then we clean this place before it starts looking like a crime scene made of wrapping paper."
He glanced around the room.
Paper everywhere.
Mugs.
Plates.
A stray sock that he was fairly certain was his.
"…fair."
They moved back to the tree together.
Francesco took the lights again, this time actually untangling them patiently, while Leah sorted ornaments by size and color like she was preparing for a tactical masterclass.
"You're taking this very seriously," he noted.
She glanced at him. "I don't half do things."
He raised a brow. "Except sleep halfway through decorating?"
She smirked. "That was strategic exhaustion."
He laughed softly and went back to wrapping the lights, moving around the tree slowly, deliberately. The simple act felt grounding in a way he hadn't expected. No cameras. No chants. Just the soft scratch of pine needles against his hands and the faint hum of the lights warming up.
Leah hung ornaments as he went, glass baubles catching the light, little wooden figures, one tiny snowman with a crooked smile that she insisted was "cute, not creepy."
"You put that one right at eye level," he said.
"So it can judge us."
"Fair."
They worked around each other easily, occasionally bumping shoulders, occasionally stepping back at the same time and nearly colliding.
At one point, Leah reached up for a higher branch, stretching on her toes. Francesco noticed without thinking and gently steadied her by the waist.
She froze for half a second.
Then relaxed into the touch.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"No problem," he said quietly.
When the last ornament was hung, Leah handed him the star again.
"Your turn," she said. "Captain."
He took it carefully, stepped onto the small stool, and adjusted the star at the top of the tree, angling it just slightly until it finally sat straight.
He climbed back down and looked at it critically.
"…okay," he admitted. "That actually looks good."
Leah crossed her arms, satisfied. "Told you."
The tree glowed now that soft, warm, full. Not perfect. But honest. Lived-in.
They stood there together for a moment, just looking at it.
"You know," Leah said quietly, "I don't think I've ever decorated a tree with someone who actually stayed awake for the whole thing."
He smiled. "High praise."
She leaned her head against his shoulder again, and he felt that same warmth settle in his chest.
After that, they cleaned.
Not hurriedly. Not like it was a chore.
They moved around the house together, music playing softly now, Leah singing under her breath while Francesco gathered wrapping paper and stacked plates in the sink. He washed dishes while she wiped counters. She teased him about how seriously he loaded the dishwasher.
"You organize it like a midfield," she said.
"Efficiency matters," he replied, deadpan.
They laughed more than they talked.
By the time the place was tidy again, the light outside had shifted as afternoon sliding toward early evening, the sky pale and cold beyond the windows.
Francesco dried his hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, watching Leah tie up the last trash bag.
"Hey," he said.
She looked up. "Yeah?"
He hesitated for half a second that not because he was unsure, but because he wanted to say it right.
"I was thinking," he began. "Maybe we could do something today."
She raised an eyebrow. "We've done a lot already."
"I mean something outside," he clarified. "Something useful."
She tilted her head slightly. "Okay. Go on."
"There are probably kids who don't have much for Christmas," he said. "Or anything at all."
Her expression softened immediately.
"I was thinking," he continued, "we could go to a toy store. Buy some things. Donate them to an orphanage. And maybe some Christmas food too. Stuff they can actually enjoy today."
For a moment, she just looked at him.
Then she smiled that not the teasing one, not the playful one, but the quiet, genuine kind that reached her eyes.
"I was hoping you'd say something like that," she said.
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I didn't want to suggest it in case you were tired or just wanted to stay in."
He shrugged. "I'm tired every day. That doesn't mean I stop caring."
She stepped closer and kissed his cheek.
"Let's do it," she said. "Right now."
They bundled up quickly with coats, scarves, gloves. Francesco wrapped the Arsenal scarf Leah had given him around his neck, earning an approving nod.
"Good choice," she said.
Outside, the air was sharp and clean, the kind that bit at your lungs on the first breath but felt invigorating after. The streets were busier now than in the morning as families out walking, couples holding hands, kids tugging parents toward shop windows.
They drove rather than walked, heading toward a large toy store a short distance away.
As they pulled into the car park, Leah glanced at him.
"You okay with being recognized?" she asked gently.
He considered it.
"If it happens, it happens," he said. "This isn't about me."
She smiled. "Good answer."
Inside the store, it was chaos in the best possible way.
Bright lights.
Shelves packed with color.
Children darting between aisles, eyes wide, voices loud.
For a split second, the noise overwhelmed him, but then something else took over.
Memory.
Being younger.
Standing in places like this.
Wanting things you couldn't always have.
Leah noticed the way his expression changed.
"You good?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he said. "Just remembering."
They grabbed a trolley.
"Alright," Leah said, taking charge immediately. "Strategy time."
He laughed. "You too?"
"Of course," she replied. "Okay. We get a mix. Stuff for different ages. Nothing that needs batteries if we can help it."
"Smart," he agreed.
They started moving through the aisles.
Soft toys.
Action figures.
Board games.
Art supplies.
Leah picked up a stuffed bear and squeezed it experimentally.
"This one," she said. "Definitely this one."
Francesco added it to the trolley.
He picked up a football next that simple, durable.
"Always useful," he said.
She nodded. "Good call."
They moved slowly, deliberately, discussing choices, imagining kids opening them.
"That one looks fun."
"That might be too complicated."
"This one's perfect."
The trolley filled faster than he expected.
At one point, a young boy stared at him from the end of the aisle, eyes wide.
"Is that—" the boy whispered to his mum.
Francesco noticed and smiled gently, offering a small wave.
The boy's face lit up like Christmas itself.
Leah saw it and nudged him. "You just made his entire year."
He shook his head slightly. "Kids shouldn't look at footballers like that."
"Why not?"
"Because they deserve heroes closer to them," he said quietly.
She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "You're closer than you think."
They finished with toys and moved on to food which is a simple, festive things.
Chocolate.
Biscuits.
Juice.
Candy canes.
Small cakes.
Things that felt like celebration.
At the checkout, the cashier recognized him and froze.
"Oh my god," she stammered.
He smiled politely. "Hi."
She glanced at the trolley, then back at him. "Is this…?"
"For donation," he said simply.
Her expression softened. "That's really kind."
Leah squeezed his hand.
They paid quickly and loaded everything into the car.
As they pulled away, Leah exhaled softly.
"That felt good," she said.
He nodded. "Yeah."
They drove to a nearby orphanage, which the one Leah already knew from previous charity visits. The building wasn't fancy. Just solid. Warm. Decorated with handmade drawings taped to the windows.
When they arrived, a staff member greeted them, surprise flickering across her face when she recognized Francesco.
"You didn't have to—" she began.
"We wanted to," he said.
They carried the bags inside together.
The kids didn't see them right away as they were in another room, voices drifting faintly down the hall.
Leah spoke quietly with the staff, explaining what they'd brought.
When the bags were opened, the reaction was immediate.
Gasps.
Laughter.
Excited whispers.
Francesco stayed near the doorway, not wanting to overwhelm anyone.
But then one little girl approached him, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
"Did you bring these?" she asked shyly.
He crouched down to her level.
"We both did," he said. "Do you like it?"
She nodded vigorously. "It's soft."
He smiled. "That's the best kind."
More kids gathered as they were curious, cautious, excited.
He didn't sign autographs.
Didn't pose for photos.
He just talked to them.
Asked names.
Asked ages.
Asked what they liked.
Leah watched from a short distance, heart full.
She leaned lightly against the wall, arms folded, letting the moment unfold without inserting herself into it. Francesco was crouched on the floor now, surrounded by a loose semicircle of kids as some sitting cross legged, some hovering uncertainly behind others, some clutching their new toys like they might disappear if they loosened their grip.
He didn't look like a footballer in that moment.
No stadium lights.
No chants.
No pressure.
Just a young man in a winter coat, smiling gently, listening like every word mattered.
The little girl with the rabbit stayed closest to him. She kept stroking the toy's ears over and over, like she was reassuring herself it was real.
"What's its name?" Francesco asked her.
She looked down at it seriously. "I don't know yet."
"That's okay," he said. "Sometimes names take a while."
She nodded solemnly, satisfied with that answer.
Another boy edged forward, braver than the rest. He was maybe eight or nine, wearing a jumper that had clearly been washed a hundred times but was still held together by stubbornness more than fabric.
"Are you really Francesco?" the boy asked.
Francesco smiled. "Yeah. I am."
The boy's eyes widened. "The one who scored all the goals?"
Francesco chuckled softly. "That one, yeah."
The boy glanced back at the others like he'd just been given confirmation of something unbelievable. Whispers rippled through the group.
Leah caught the staff member's eye and smiled apologetically, but the woman just shook her head, eyes misty.
"This means more than you know," she mouthed.
Francesco stayed there for a long time.
He listened to stories about school.
About favorite cartoons.
About pets they missed.
About dreams that were half-formed but already bright.
He didn't rush them.
Didn't look at his phone.
Didn't check the time.
Eventually, one of the staff members cleared her throat gently.
"Francesco," she said softly, "may I have a word with you?"
He glanced up and nodded, standing slowly.
"Of course."
Leah stepped closer instinctively, but he gave her a small look that said it's okay.
They moved a few steps away, just far enough to speak privately.
The staff member clasped her hands together, clearly nervous.
"I just wanted to say… thank you," she began. "The toys, the food, it's incredible. The kids will remember this Christmas forever."
He shook his head. "I'm just glad we could help."
She hesitated, then continued. "We do our best here, but resources are limited. Especially around the holidays."
Francesco didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out his wallet.
Leah noticed immediately, her brow furrowing slightly that not in concern, but curiosity.
Francesco opened it, slid out his cheque book, and took a pen from his pocket like he'd already decided this before he walked in.
He leaned against the small counter by the wall and began to write.
The sound of pen on paper felt strangely loud in the quiet room.
The staff member watched, eyes widening as she realized what he was doing.
When he finished, he tore the cheque carefully and handed it to her.
"For the kids," he said simply.
She looked down at it.
£50,000.
Her breath caught.
"Oh no, we… this is," her voice trembled. "This is too much. You don't have to…"
"I want to," he said gently, meeting her eyes. "Use it however you need. Clothes. School supplies. Heating. Whatever helps."
Tears welled up instantly.
"This could change everything for us," she whispered.
He shrugged slightly, uncomfortable with the attention. "I've been lucky. This is just sharing that luck."
She covered her mouth with one hand, nodding repeatedly.
"Thank you," she said again, voice breaking. "Thank you so much."
Leah felt her chest tighten as she watched.
She didn't interrupt.
Didn't step in.
She just let herself feel proud.
Word spread fast, faster than anyone expected.
The kids noticed the adults' reactions, the hushed voices, the emotion. They didn't understand the numbers, but they understood something important had just happened.
And then the questions started.
"Can I ask you something?" one boy said timidly.
Francesco turned back toward them. "Of course."
The boy held up a piece of paper that torn from a notebook, slightly crumpled.
"Could you sign this?" he asked.
Francesco blinked.
Then smiled.
"Yeah," he said. "I can do that."
Leah quickly pulled a pen from her bag and handed it over without a word.
The boy's hands shook as Francesco took the paper and carefully wrote his name across it. Not rushed. Not scribbled. Clear and neat.
He handed it back.
The boy stared at it like it was treasure.
More kids edged forward now.
"I want one too."
"Me too."
"Can I get a picture?"
The staff hesitated, clearly torn between order and letting this moment happen.
Francesco looked up.
"It's okay," he said calmly. "I've got time."
He sat back down on the floor.
One by one, he signed scraps of paper, notebooks, the inside covers of books. Leah offered her phone for photos, kneeling down to take them, making sure everyone fit into frame.
Some kids smiled widely.
Some stood stiff, unsure what to do.
One girl hugged him suddenly, arms tight around his neck.
He froze for half a second, then hugged her back gently.
"It's okay," he murmured. "You're okay."
Leah blinked hard and looked away for a moment.
At one point, a boy held up his phone, clearly nervous.
"Can I take a selfie?" he asked.
Francesco laughed softly. "Yeah. But you have to show me how."
The boy beamed and shuffled closer, holding the phone out at arm's length. The photo came out crooked, half ceiling, half faces.
"It's perfect," the boy said.
He grinned at the screen like it was proof of something unreal suddenly becoming solid.
Francesco handed the phone back carefully. "Keep it safe, yeah?"
"I will," the boy promised immediately, clutching it to his chest.
The energy in the room had shifted now.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just warm. Alive.
The kind of atmosphere that felt like it could stretch on forever if no one interrupted it.
Eventually, the last autograph was signed. The last photo was taken. The kids began to drift back toward one another, comparing signatures, showing off pictures, tugging at sleeves to show staff members what they'd gotten.
Francesco stayed seated on the floor for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting loosely on his knees, breathing it all in.
Leah watched him closely.
She could tell when something mattered to him. There was a stillness that settled over him afterward, like his body was filing the moment away somewhere safe.
He stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from his jeans.
"Hey," he said, voice gentle but carrying.
The kids turned back toward him almost immediately.
"Before we go," he continued, glancing at Leah for half a second, "how would you all feel about one big picture?"
Their reactions were instant.
"Yes!"
"Together?"
"All of us?"
"With her too?"
Leah blinked, surprised.
"Me?" she asked, pointing lightly at herself.
Francesco smiled at her. "You're part of this."
Her throat tightened, but she nodded.
The staff members exchanged looks, smiles spreading quickly.
"That would be lovely," one of them said.
They began organizing the group, not formally, not rigidly. Just gently guiding kids closer, kneeling some in front, letting others stand, making space.
Francesco sat on one knee at the center, grounded, relaxed. Leah knelt beside him, one hand resting lightly on his back without even realizing she'd done it.
Kids crowded around them.
Some leaned in close.
Some hovered just on the edge.
Some clutched their toys so tightly they nearly bent them.
The staff joined in too, standing behind, hands on shoulders, arms around backs, faces glowing with quiet pride.
Leah held up her phone, extending her arm.
"Everyone ready?" she asked.
A chorus of nods, grins, excited murmurs.
"Okay," she said. "Three… two—"
Before she could finish, a little voice called out, "Merry Christmas!"
Laughter broke out.
She snapped the photo.
Then another.
And another.
Just in case.
When it was done, they lingered for a few seconds longer, no one quite ready to separate.
Francesco stood and looked around the room one last time.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For letting us be part of your Christmas."
One of the staff members stepped forward and squeezed his arm.
"You've given them more than gifts today," she said. "You've given them a memory."
He nodded, not trusting himself to say much more.
The goodbyes were slow.
Hugs.
Waves.
Promises shouted down the hallway.
As they stepped back outside into the cold, Leah exhaled shakily.
"Okay," she said, voice thick. "I need a minute."
He didn't say anything.
Just pulled her into his coat and held her there, forehead resting against hers.
"You alright?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "Yeah. Just that was a lot."
He smiled faintly. "Good lot or bad lot?"
"The best kind," she said. "The kind that stays."
They drove home quietly again, but it was a different kind of quiet now.
Not heavy.
Not tired.
Full.
When they got back inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around them immediately. The Christmas tree glowed steadily in the corner like it had been waiting.
Leah kicked off her boots and collapsed onto the sofa with a dramatic groan.
"I'm emotionally exhausted," she declared.
Francesco laughed and dropped beside her, leaning back, eyes closing for a second.
"Same."
She turned her head to look at him. "Are you okay?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think, yeah."
He reached for his phone then, almost absentmindedly.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He opened Instagram, scrolled briefly, then selected the group photo.
The one with everyone.
The one where smiles were real.
The one where nothing was posed.
He typed the caption carefully.
Not long.
Not dramatic.
Just honest.
Merry Christmas 🎄
He looked at it for a second longer, then posted it.
Leah watched his screen light up almost immediately.
Notifications exploded.
Likes.
Comments.
Messages.
She nudged him. "You've just broken the internet."
He shrugged. "It's not about that."
"I know," she said softly.
She rested her head on his shoulder again, and they sat there while the light outside faded, the tree glowing brighter as the room darkened.
________________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2015)
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, and Euro 2016
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 24
Goal: 37
Assist: 0
MOTM: 5
POTM: 1
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