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The rest of the evening eased into something slow and comfortable. Music played softly, drinks were refilled, and stories were shared. Jacob lost the FIFA rematch twice in a row. By the time the clock edged closer to midnight, the house felt full in the best way.
Mike didn't even wait for the menu music to finish looping.
He leaned back in his chair, glass balanced loosely in one hand, the other resting on his knee, wearing that expression Francesco knew far too well with the one that said I already know how this ends.
"So," Mike said casually, eyes flicking to the television where the FIFA 17 title screen glowed softly. "You fancy having another go?"
Francesco glanced up from where he was leaning against the counter, talking quietly with Leah. He followed Mike's gaze to the screen, then back to his dad.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"Another go?" he repeated. "As if the last decade weren't enough evidence?"
Mike chuckled. "History doesn't have to repeat itself. But somehow it always does."
Jacob, already halfway off the sofa, whipped around. "Wait, Mike versus Francesco again?"
David laughed into his glass. "Oh, this I want to see."
Amanda perked up immediately. "Is this the legendary rivalry?"
Sarah folded her arms, amused. "Legendary might be generous."
Mike grinned. "Careful, Sarah. He's sensitive."
"I am not," Francesco said, pushing off the counter. "I'm realistic."
Leah tilted her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. "You've never beaten him?"
Francesco sighed dramatically as he crossed the room. "Not once. Not ever. Not even when the controller mysteriously 'malfunctions.'"
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Excuses already?"
Leah laughed softly. "Is this true?"
Francesco took the controller from the table, rolling his shoulders once as if stepping onto an actual pitch. "Unfortunately."
Jacob plopped back down on the sofa, eyes sparkling. "Please play. You have to play."
Francesco glanced at him. "You're enjoying this a bit too much."
Jacob grinned. "You're unbeatable in real life. It's nice seeing balance restored."
Mike pointed at the screen. "See? Even the boy understands the natural order."
Leah settled onto the arm of the sofa, close enough that Francesco could feel the warmth of her leg against his side. "I want to see this," she said quietly, amused. "The myth."
Francesco shot her a look. "You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am," she replied sweetly. "Emotionally."
"That's cold."
She smiled. "Learned from you."
Mike clapped his hands once. "Alright then. Same rules as always."
Francesco groaned. "You say that like the rules ever help me."
"Pick your team," Mike said, already navigating menus with infuriating ease. "Any team. Any formation. Any difficulty."
Francesco exhaled through his nose and took his seat properly, thumbs settling over the controller out of habit. Muscle memory kicked in instantly, familiar and comforting.
"Arsenal," he said without hesitation.
Mike smirked. "Of course."
"And you?" Francesco asked.
Mike didn't even look at the options for long. "Classic United."
"Oh come on," Francesco protested. "At least make it fair."
"It is fair," Mike replied calmly. "I'm old. Slower reactions."
David snorted. "That's a lie."
Amanda laughed. "A bold one."
The match loaded, the virtual stadium filling the screen. Crowd noise swelled through the speakers, a faint echo of the real thing, close enough to stir something in Francesco's chest.
He leaned forward slightly.
Alright, he thought. This time.
Kickoff.
For the first few minutes, Francesco played cautiously, keeping possession, moving the ball patiently. His fingers danced over the buttons, instinct sharp, every movement deliberate.
"Looking serious," Leah murmured beside him.
"I am serious," he replied, eyes never leaving the screen.
Mike, meanwhile, looked almost bored. He lounged back, one leg crossed over the other, barely glancing down at the controller.
Five minutes in, Mike intercepted a pass effortlessly.
"Ah," Mike said. "There it is."
"What?" Francesco snapped.
"Overconfidence," Mike replied, and immediately launched a counterattack.
Two passes.
A sudden through ball.
A striker slipping between defenders.
Goal.
The net rippled.
The room erupted.
Jacob leapt to his feet. "Already?!"
David laughed openly. "That was fast."
Amanda clapped once. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
Francesco stared at the screen, jaw tightening. "It's fine," he muttered. "Early goal."
Mike glanced over. "Plenty of time left."
Leah leaned closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Francesco said, though his pride stung. "He got lucky."
Mike snorted. "Skill."
The match resumed.
Francesco pushed harder now, pressing high, moving the ball with urgency. He created chances, good ones too. Shots that would've gone in nine times out of ten.
But not tonight.
The keeper saved one with a fingertip.
A defender blocked another.
One rattled the post and bounced clear.
Every near miss drew louder reactions from the room.
"Ohhh."
"That was close."
"Unlucky."
Mike, meanwhile, needed only one more opening.
Just before halftime, Francesco made a risky pass in midfield.
Mike pounced.
Another counter.
Another clean finish.
2–0.
Mike raised his glass slightly. "Halftime drink?"
Francesco leaned back, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this."
Mike shrugged. "I enjoy consistency."
Leah bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You look genuinely offended."
"I am," Francesco replied. "This game is rigged."
Sarah, who had been watching quietly, shook her head. "You say that every time."
"And every time I'm right."
Second half.
Francesco came out aggressive, switching formations, pushing fullbacks high. He scored early goal with a beautiful build-up, crisp finish.
He pumped his fist. "There. See?"
Jacob cheered. "Comeback!"
Leah squeezed his arm. "That was good."
Mike nodded approvingly. "Nice goal."
For a brief moment, hope flickered.
Then Mike scored again.
3–1.
Then again.
4–1.
By the final whistle, the scoreboard was unforgiving.
Mike set the controller down gently. "Good game."
Francesco stared at the screen, then at his dad. "I hate you."
Mike laughed. "You'll get over it."
Jacob was practically bouncing. "Rematch! Rematch!"
Francesco hesitated, pride warring with reason.
Leah raised an eyebrow. "You're not done, are you?"
He glanced at her, then back at the controller.
"No," he said firmly. "One more."
Mike picked his controller back up immediately. "That's the spirit."
The second match went much the same.
Different scoreline.
Same outcome.
Then a third.
By the fourth, the room was in stitches.
Amanda wiped tears from her eyes. "This is incredible."
David leaned forward. "You'd think he was playing with his feet."
"I am better with my feet," Francesco snapped.
Mike didn't miss a beat. "Excuses don't change the score."
Leah laughed openly now, unable to help herself. "You're really losing."
Francesco shot her a betrayed look. "You promised emotional support."
"I am supporting you," she said gently. "By enjoying the spectacle."
Jacob collapsed back onto the sofa, breathless with laughter. "He can't beat you!"
Mike leaned over, lowering his voice just enough. "Still unbeaten."
Francesco finally dropped the controller onto the table and leaned back, running a hand through his hair.
"Alright," he said. "I'm done."
Mike raised his glass again. "Wise decision."
Francesco let his head fall back against the sofa for a moment, eyes closed, the echo of laughter still hanging in the room. His hands rested loosely on his thighs now, the controller abandoned on the coffee table like a defeated opponent. The house felt full in a way that had nothing to do with noise that full of warmth, of presence, of people who belonged there.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was the time glowing softly from the corner of the television screen.
22:59.
He blinked once, then again, and sat up a little straighter.
"Alright," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Leah, still perched near him, followed his gaze. "What?"
He reached for the remote, fingers curling around it instinctively. "It's nearly eleven."
Mike glanced at his watch, then back at the TV. "Already?"
"Yeah," Francesco said, thumb hovering over the button. "Didn't even feel it."
Jacob groaned dramatically. "Time flies when you're humiliating someone."
Francesco shot him a look. "Careful."
Jacob grinned, unrepentant.
Francesco switched channels, the FIFA menu disappearing in a flash of color. The screen faded briefly to black before resolving into a familiar studio set that muted blues and silvers, graphics already pulsing gently at the bottom of the screen. A news anchor stood in front of a large digital clock, its numbers bold and unmistakable.
COUNTDOWN TO THE NEW YEAR
23:00
The atmosphere in the room shifted almost immediately.
It was subtle, but unmistakable. Conversations softened. Bodies leaned in. Glasses were adjusted on tables. Even Jacob, who rarely stayed still for more than a few minutes, settled back into the sofa, eyes drawn to the screen.
"Oh," Amanda said quietly. "Here we go."
Sarah moved closer to the armchair, folding her hands loosely in her lap. "That went fast."
David nodded. "It always does."
Francesco rested his forearms on his knees, remote still in hand, eyes fixed on the television. The anchor was speaking now, voice calm and practiced, talking about the year in review with headlines scrolling beneath her, images cycling through moments both heavy and hopeful.
He barely registered most of it.
Instead, his awareness expanded outward.
The soft hum of the heating.
The clink of glass as Mike set his drink down.
Leah's knee brushing lightly against his leg.
The faint sound of distant fireworks already cracking somewhere far off, premature bursts echoing faintly through the night air.
He exhaled slowly.
Twenty-three hundred hours.
One hour left.
Leah leaned in closer, her voice low. "You okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Just… noticing."
She smiled softly. "It's been a good night."
"It has," he agreed. "A really good one."
On the screen, the anchor transitioned to footage from around the country as cities already alive with lights, crowds bundled in coats, faces flushed with cold and anticipation. London's skyline shimmered beneath a dark sky, the Thames reflecting the glow like scattered stars.
Jacob pointed at the screen. "That's going to be insane later."
Mike chuckled. "You couldn't pay me to be down there."
"Same," Amanda said. "Warm house, good food, good company. I'll take that any year."
Sarah glanced around the room, eyes lingering on each of them in turn. "I wouldn't trade this."
Francesco felt something settle in his chest at that.
He shifted slightly, reaching out to rest his hand on Leah's knee. She didn't look at him, but her hand found his almost immediately, fingers lacing through his with quiet certainty.
The anchor's voice softened as she spoke about reflection, about endings and beginnings, about the strange weight of a year closing behind you. The graphics behind her shifted to a large, luminous clock, its seconds ticking steadily forward.
22:59:38
22:59:39
22:59:40
Francesco swallowed, not entirely sure why his throat felt tight.
He thought about the year that was ending.
The matches.
The noise.
The pressure.
The injuries, the comebacks, the nights where sleep came easily and the ones where it didn't at all.
He thought about moments that felt impossibly far away now, and others that still felt raw. About lessons learned the hard way. About people who'd stayed, and people who hadn't.
Then his gaze drifted back to the room.
To his dad, still smiling faintly, glass in hand.
To his mum, calm and steady as ever.
To Amanda and David, relaxed, present.
To Jacob, eyes bright, life stretched wide open in front of him.
And to Leah.
Always Leah.
Her shoulder rested lightly against his arm now, her attention split between the screen and the people around her, like she was holding all of it at once.
22:59:55.
The anchor paused, smile widening just a touch.
"And now," she said, "as we approach the final moments of the year…"
Mike reached for his glass again. "Here we go."
Jacob sat up straighter. "Wait, wait—don't start without me."
David laughed. "You're already here."
Francesco glanced around the room one more time, committing it to memory without even trying. This exact configuration. This feeling. This hour, balanced delicately between what had been and what was coming.
22:59:58.
Leah squeezed his hand.
"You good?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Yeah."
22:59:59.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Then.
23:00
The clock on the screen flipped over with a soft digital chime. Applause broke out in the studio, the anchor smiling broadly now as music swelled faintly beneath her voice.
"One hour to go," she said. "Wherever you are, however you're spending it, thank you for being with us."
Jacob let out a long breath. "That's it?"
Francesco smiled. "That's it."
"For now," Mike added. "The real chaos comes later."
Amanda laughed. "Plenty of time still."
Francesco leaned back into the sofa, releasing some of the tension he hadn't realized he was holding. He kept the channel on, the news now shifting to live shots of celebrations building across different time zones, analysts chatting lightly about traditions, about resolutions, about hope.
Leah rested her head briefly against his shoulder, just for a second, like a quiet punctuation mark.
"You look thoughtful," she said.
"I am," he admitted. "But in a good way."
She smiled. "That's allowed."
They sat like that for a while, the hour unfolding gently. Conversations resumed, quieter now, layered over the background hum of the broadcast.
Mike told a story about a New Year's Eve years ago when a firework had tipped over and nearly set a fence on fire. Sarah rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same.
Amanda talked about resolutions she never kept and the few she did. David joked that his only resolution was not to make any.
Jacob announced, very seriously, that he was going to stay up the entire night.
"You'll last until half past twelve," Francesco said.
Jacob scoffed. "Watch me."
The hour didn't announce itself loudly when it passed.
It slipped by the way the best moments always did, threaded together by conversation, laughter, the occasional burst of fireworks outside, and the steady glow of the television as the broadcast rolled on.
At some point, someone turned the lights down just a little. Not enough to darken the room, just enough to let the reflections from outside dance more freely across the windows. Golds and reds flickered against the glass, distant pops and cracks punctuating the night like exclamation points.
Francesco hadn't moved much.
He stayed where he was on the sofa, Leah beside him, her leg tucked comfortably against his, their fingers still loosely intertwined. Sometimes she shifted, sometimes he did, but neither of them pulled away. It wasn't something either of them thought about. It just felt natural, like breathing.
Jacob did, in fact, make it past half past twelve.
Barely.
By 23:40, his energy had dipped noticeably, the earlier bravado replaced by a quieter, more focused anticipation. He sprawled sideways on the sofa now, chin propped on his fist, eyes glued to the screen.
"I'm still awake," he announced, unprompted.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Did anyone accuse you of sleeping?"
Jacob huffed. "Just saying."
Sarah smiled fondly from her chair. "You're doing well."
Amanda checked her phone briefly, then set it aside. "Twenty minutes."
That did it.
Something shifted again, more distinctly this time. Conversations tapered off. People leaned forward without realizing it. Glasses were refilled one last time. The news broadcast switched to a wide shot of London, the skyline electric now, lights glittering like constellations drawn closer to earth.
The digital clock appeared again, large and unavoidable in the corner of the screen.
23:58:12.
Francesco straightened a little, rolling his shoulders once. He glanced down at Leah, who was watching the screen with a soft, thoughtful expression.
"You okay?" she asked quietly, catching the movement.
"Yeah," he said. "Just… here."
She smiled. "Me too."
Outside, the fireworks had intensified. No longer distant. Now they cracked close enough that the sound reverberated through the walls, sharp and celebratory. The garden lights flickered briefly as another burst illuminated the night sky beyond the house.
David stood and moved closer to the window, hands in his pockets. "They're getting eager."
Mike joined him, peering out. "Always one bloke who can't wait."
23:58:45.
The anchor's voice returned, brighter now, charged with energy. Behind her, crowds packed tightly together, scarves and hats and signs waving above their heads. The noise from the broadcast bled faintly into the room—cheers, chants, the rising hum of collective anticipation.
Jacob sat up straighter again.
"It's really happening," he murmured, almost to himself.
Francesco smiled at that.
Yes, it was.
23:59:10.
The digital clock grew larger, dominating the screen now. The anchor paused, listening to something through her earpiece, then nodded once, visibly brimming with excitement.
"We're entering the final minute of the year," she announced.
Amanda inhaled softly. Sarah folded her hands together. Mike lifted his glass again, not drinking yet, just holding it.
Francesco felt Leah's fingers tighten slightly around his.
"You nervous?" she asked, teasing gently.
He shook his head. "No. Just… grateful."
She turned her head to look at him properly now. "For?"
He glanced around the room before answering. "All of it."
Her expression softened, something unspoken passing between them.
23:59:30.
The anchor's voice dropped, becoming more deliberate. The crowd noises swelled. The camera panned across faces, laughing, crying, shouting, arms slung around shoulders, strangers already celebrating together.
Jacob scooted closer to the edge of the sofa.
"Thirty seconds," David said quietly, almost reverently.
Mike nodded. "Alright."
Francesco leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees again, eyes fixed on the clock. His heart wasn't racing, exactly, but there was a steady, insistent thrum beneath his ribs now, a sense of something cresting.
23:59:40.
The room felt smaller, tighter, like everyone had collectively drawn inward.
"Here we go," Amanda whispered.
23:59:50.
The anchor raised her hand on screen.
"Ten," she called.
Everyone joined in instinctively.
"Ten!"
Jacob's voice cracked slightly with excitement.
"Nine!"
"Eight!"
Leah squeezed Francesco's hand again, harder this time.
"Seven!"
"Six!"
Mike laughed softly under his breath.
"Five!"
Sarah's eyes shone.
"Four!"
David leaned closer to the window, fireworks already exploding in brilliant arcs outside.
"Three!"
Francesco turned his head just enough to look at Leah.
She was already looking at him.
"Two!"
The world seemed to narrow to that moment, to that look.
"One!"
The clock flipped.
00:00.
For a split second, there was silence.
Then.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
The host's voice exploded through the speakers, swallowed immediately by cheers, music, and the roar of the crowd. Outside, the night sky ignited.
Fireworks burst everywhere at once with golden fountains, crimson blooms, streaks of white and blue that cracked and shimmered overhead. The sound was thunderous now, rolling through the air, vibrating through the glass, through the floor, through Francesco's chest.
The house erupted.
"Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year!"
"Cheers!"
"Happy New Year, everyone!"
Mike laughed out loud, raising his glass high. Sarah stood, clapping her hands together, her smile wide and unguarded. Amanda hugged David, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders easily.
Jacob jumped to his feet, pumping his fist in the air. "YES!"
Francesco stood as well, the movement instinctive, laughter bubbling up before he could stop it. He turned toward Leah and she was already there.
She rose onto her toes, hands coming up to frame his face, her smile bright and unselfconscious. There was no hesitation, no glance around the room, no second thought.
Francesco leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't performative.
It was warm and certain and full, the kind of kiss that carried everything they hadn't said out loud all night. The noise around them faded just enough for the moment to belong entirely to them.
Somewhere nearby, someone wolf-whistled.
"Oi!" Mike called, laughing. "There are children present!"
Jacob made a face. "I'm traumatised."
Leah pulled back, laughing breathlessly, her hands still resting on Francesco's jaw.
"Happy New Year," she said softly.
He smiled at her, eyes bright. "Happy New Year."
They were immediately pulled into the chaos again.
Sarah hugged Francesco tightly, arms strong around him. "Happy New Year, love."
"Happy New Year, Mum," he replied, returning it just as firmly.
Mike clapped him on the shoulder. "Another year older."
Francesco smirked. "Still can't beat you at FIFA."
Mike grinned. "Exactly."
Amanda hugged him next, warm and quick. "Happy New Year."
David followed with a handshake that turned into a brief embrace. "Good to have you here."
Jacob practically tackled him, arms wrapping around his waist. "Happy New Year!"
Francesco laughed, steadying him. "Happy New Year, mate."
Outside, the fireworks continued relentlessly, the sky alive with color and sound. Through the windows, bursts of light washed over the room again and again, painting everyone in shifting hues from gold, blue, red that like a living photograph.
Someone turned the volume up on the TV. Music blasted now, celebratory and loud, the broadcast cutting between cities, crowds, fireworks displays, and beaming presenters.
Leah reappeared at Francesco's side, slipping her hand back into his as naturally as before.
"Fireworks in the garden?" she asked.
He glanced outside, then back at her, a grin spreading across his face. "Yeah. I think it's time."
Jacob overheard immediately. "YES."
Mike laughed. "Alright then. Let's make it official."
They moved as a group toward the back door, bundling into coats and scarves amid laughter and half-finished sentences. Cold air rushed in as the door opened, sharp and exhilarating after the warmth of the house.
The backyard looked different now.
Alive.
The sky above was a canvas in constant motion, fireworks exploding in every direction, neighbors celebrating, the entire neighborhood stitched together by light and sound. Frost glittered on the grass beneath their feet, crunching softly as they stepped out.
Francesco moved quickly but carefully, retrieving the fireworks he and Jacob had prepared earlier. He crouched, checking everything once more, methodical even now.
Jacob hovered close, bouncing on his heels. "Can I light one?"
"No," Francesco said automatically. "You can watch."
Jacob sighed. "Worth a try."
Leah stood a few steps back with the others, arms wrapped around herself against the cold, eyes shining as she watched him.
"You ready?" Mike called.
Francesco nodded. "Yeah."
He lit the first one.
A sharp hiss, then a sudden surge of light as it shot skyward, exploding into a brilliant cascade of gold that rained down in shimmering trails.
Jacob whooped. "That one's mine!"
They went on like that, one after another. Each firework a small ceremony, a punctuation mark on the night. Laughter echoed across the garden, mingling with the distant cheers of neighbors and the relentless crack of celebrations beyond the fence.
Between launches, Francesco found himself standing beside Leah again, their shoulders brushing as they looked up at the sky.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, voice barely audible over the noise. "This is perfect."
He wrapped an arm around her without thinking. "Yeah. It is."
Another firework exploded overhead, bathing them in white light for a split second.
Another firework bloomed overhead, this one bursting wide and slow, a halo of silver that seemed to hang in the sky for a heartbeat longer than the others. Francesco felt the vibration of it echo through his chest as Leah's head rested against his shoulder, her breath warm even in the cold.
They stayed like that for a while.
Not speaking much. Not needing to.
Around them, the garden pulsed with light and sound. Mike and David stood a little farther back now, hands in pockets, watching the sky like men who had seen many New Years come and go and still found something quietly grounding in it. Sarah and Amanda stood together near the patio steps, shoulders touching, murmuring to each other between bursts. Jacob darted back and forth, alternating between staring straight up and pestering Francesco with commentary about which firework had been "objectively the best."
Eventually, though, the rhythm began to slow.
The rapid cracks softened into spaced-out booms. The sky, once crowded with color, started to show longer stretches of darkness between bursts. Somewhere down the street, a final volley went up that loud, enthusiastic, slightly chaotic, before tapering off into a few lone stragglers.
The air smelled faintly of smoke and spent powder now, sharp but not unpleasant. The cold had crept deeper into fingers and toes, no longer masked by adrenaline.
Jacob shivered dramatically. "Alright. I think the fireworks are trying to kill me."
Mike laughed. "That's the cold, son."
"Same thing."
Francesco glanced down at Leah. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes still bright, but she was rubbing her hands together now, trying to warm them.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's head in."
She nodded, smiling up at him. "Good call."
The last firework fizzled out with a hiss that sounded almost tired, a brief sparkle that barely made it above the rooftops. It felt like a natural end point, like the night itself was exhaling.
They didn't rush inside straight away.
There was a shared understanding that unspoken but mutual as things needed to be wrapped up properly. Francesco grabbed the gloves from the bench by the door, pulling them on as he crouched to inspect the ground. Empty casings littered the grass and patio stones, blackened tubes and paper scraps scattered like confetti from a very loud party.
"Cleanup crew," Mike said, clapping his hands together once. "Let's not leave it for tomorrow."
Amanda groaned lightly. "You're cruel."
"You'll thank me in the morning."
Francesco started gathering the larger pieces, methodical as ever. Jacob joined him, though his idea of helping involved picking things up, inspecting them, and making sound effects before dropping them into the bin.
"This one was sick," Jacob said, holding up a scorched tube. "Did you see how big it was?"
"I lit it," Francesco replied dryly. "I saw."
Leah knelt near the patio edge, collecting smaller scraps, careful with her fingers. Sarah hovered nearby, pointing out bits that had landed farther afield, her voice calm and practical even now.
David held the bin open, steadying it against the breeze. "Last year we missed one and nearly mowed it over in spring."
Mike snorted. "You mean you nearly mowed it over."
David smiled. "Details."
The work was easy, unhurried. There was no rush anymore, no ticking clock demanding attention. The year had turned. Everything else could follow at its own pace.
When the garden was finally clear again, the evidence of the chaos reduced to a faint smoky smell and a few scorch marks on the patio, Mike brushed his hands together with satisfaction.
"There," he said. "Respectable again."
Jacob bowed theatrically. "We did it."
Francesco peeled off his gloves, flexing his fingers once before stuffing them into his coat pocket. He glanced up at the house, warm light spilling out through the windows, and felt that quiet pull back inside.
"Alright," he said. "Everyone in before we freeze."
The transition from cold to warmth was immediate and almost dizzying.
The back door closed behind them, sealing out the night with a soft thud. Heat wrapped around them, fogging the air just slightly as coats were shrugged off and scarves unwound. Someone kicked off their shoes with a satisfied sigh.
Jacob flopped straight onto the sofa, arms spread wide. "I survived."
Amanda laughed, draping her coat over the back of a chair. "Barely."
The living room looked different now.
Messier, for one thing. Empty glasses clustered on side tables, plates stacked haphazardly from earlier snacks, cushions displaced from their careful arrangement. But it felt lived in, worn in the best possible way. Like the room itself had taken part in the night.
The television was still on, music videos and live feeds from celebrations around the world cycling through. Cities Francesco barely registered flashed by from Sydney, New York, somewhere in Europe as each one exploding with fireworks, crowds roaring in languages he didn't understand but didn't need to.
They settled naturally.
Mike poured himself another drink, lighter this time. Sarah made her way to the armchair again, tucking her feet beneath her. Amanda and David took up spots near the coffee table, leaning in toward each other as they talked.
Francesco sat back down on the sofa, Leah beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed without either of them adjusting. Jacob remained sprawled across the other end, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling like he was cataloguing the cracks.
"So," Amanda said after a moment, tone casual but warm. "New year."
David hummed. "Supposedly."
"Any resolutions?" she asked, eyes flicking around the room.
Jacob groaned. "Don't start."
Mike smirked. "Why? Afraid of commitment?"
"I'm afraid of disappointment," Jacob replied solemnly.
Sarah smiled. "You don't have to have one."
"I know," Jacob said. "But people always ask."
Amanda shrugged. "Alright. Not resolutions, then. Just… hopes."
That landed better.
The room grew quieter, not uncomfortably so, just enough that the background noise of the TV filled the spaces between words.
David spoke first. "I hope this year is steady."
Amanda nodded immediately. "That's a good one."
Mike considered it. "I hope for fewer injuries," he said, glancing pointedly at Francesco.
Francesco rolled his eyes. "Same."
Sarah tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. "I hope we all find a bit more peace," she said softly. "Whatever that looks like for each of us."
Jacob was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "I hope I figure some stuff out."
No one rushed him. No one joked.
Francesco felt something warm settle in his chest at that.
Leah hadn't spoken yet. She was tracing small circles on her knee absently, gaze unfocused, like she was still half outside under the fireworks.
"What about you?" Amanda asked gently.
Leah blinked, then smiled. "I hope I keep enjoying what I'm doing," she said. "And that I don't forget to slow down when I need to."
Francesco glanced at her, something like pride flickering through him.
"And you?" Mike asked, turning toward him.
Francesco leaned back into the sofa, exhaling slowly through his nose. He didn't answer straight away.
"I hope," he said eventually, choosing his words carefully, "that I don't lose sight of this."
"This?" Jacob echoed.
He gestured vaguely around the room. "This. The people. The quiet bits. The stuff that doesn't make headlines."
Leah's hand found his, fingers threading through his again.
Mike lifted his glass. "I'll drink to that."
They clinked glasses, informal and imperfect, the sound soft but satisfying.
Conversation drifted after that, unstructured and easy.
Mike and David debated which city had the best fireworks. Amanda pulled up photos from years past, passing her phone around as laughter followed each one. Sarah told a story about a New Year's Eve when Francesco was younger, involving a failed attempt at staying awake and a spectacular collapse on the sofa before midnight.
Francesco groaned. "You promised you wouldn't tell that."
Sarah smiled sweetly. "I promised nothing."
Jacob laughed so hard he nearly slid off the sofa.
At some point, without announcing it, Francesco reached for his phone.
The screen lit up immediately with notifications. Missed messages, unread group chats, alerts stacked on top of each other like an avalanche he'd been ignoring all evening.
Leah noticed, peering over slightly. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "Just catching up."
He unlocked it properly, thumb scrolling through the flood. Messages from friends. From teammates. From people he hadn't spoken to in months but who remembered the date, the moment.
Happy New Year, mate.
All the best for 2017.
Go smash it.
Enjoy the night.
He smiled to himself, heart thudding just a little faster.
Leah shifted closer. "What are you doing?"
He hesitated for a second, then angled the phone slightly. "Photo?"
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Right now?"
"Yeah," he said. "Why not?"
She laughed softly. "Alright."
He lifted the phone, adjusting the angle instinctively, muscle memory kicking in. The room behind them was warm and softly lit, the TV casting a faint glow, laughter still audible somewhere off-frame. Leah leaned in without needing to be asked, her head resting against his shoulder, her smile easy and unforced.
Francesco snapped the picture.
It wasn't perfect in a polished sense. The lighting wasn't studio-clean. There was a hint of motion blur at the edges. But it felt real.
He looked at it for a second longer than necessary.
Leah's smile.
The faint redness still in her cheeks.
The way his own expression looked lighter than it had in a long time.
"Post it," she said, reading his hesitation.
"You sure?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
He opened Instagram.
The interface felt familiar, almost grounding. He selected the photo, adjusted nothing, and typed the caption without overthinking it.
Happy New Year 2017 🎉🎉🎉
He posted it.
The response was immediate.
Before he could even lock the phone, the first notifications rolled in.
Likes climbing rapidly.
Comments stacking beneath the photo.
Leah watched his screen, eyes widening slightly. "That was fast."
He chuckled. "It's always like this."
Mike leaned over from his chair. "What did you do?"
"Posted a photo," Francesco replied.
Mike squinted. "Of course you did."
Within seconds, names he recognized flooded the comments.
Teammates.
Happy New Year, bro 💪🔥
Big year coming, let's go!
Enjoy the night, see you soon!
2017 is ours.
Fans followed just as quickly.
Happy New Year, legend!
Best striker in the league!
Wishing you and Leah all the best ❤️
Bring us the title!
Francesco scrolled slowly, not in a rush. There was a strange intimacy to it, sitting there on the sofa with Leah at his side while the rest of the world chimed in through a screen.
Leah laughed softly as she read one comment aloud. "Someone just asked if you're going to score fifty goals this year."
He snorted. "No pressure."
Jacob craned his neck. "What are they saying about me?"
"Nothing," Francesco said without looking up.
Jacob scoffed. "Rude."
Mike chuckled. "You'll live."
Francesco locked the phone eventually, setting it face down on the coffee table. The noise of it faded back into the background where it belonged.
He turned toward Leah. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For being in it," he said simply.
She smiled, warm and steady. "Wouldn't miss it."
The night eased forward.
Somewhere after one, people began to yawn. Jacob's earlier bravado finally crumbled when his head dipped forward mid-sentence, snapping back up with a startled blink.
"I'm awake," he insisted weakly.
"Sure you are," Sarah said fondly.
Coats were gathered again. Hugs were exchanged, slower now, more lingering. Promises to see each other soon were made without specific dates attached.
Amanda hugged Leah tightly. "Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year," Leah replied.
David shook Francesco's hand, grip firm. "Take care."
"You too."
Jacob clung to him for a moment longer than necessary. "Next year," he said, voice sleepy but sincere, "is going to be mad."
Francesco smiled. "Yeah. It is."
When the door finally closed behind the last of them, the house settled into a different kind of quiet.
Not empty.
Just calm.
Francesco stood there for a moment, listening to it. The hum of the heating. The distant echo of a final firework somewhere far away. Leah moving in the kitchen, rinsing out a glass.
She turned back toward him. "You coming to bed?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Just one second."
He glanced around the living room one last time.
The sofa where they'd laughed.
The TV still glowing softly.
The faint smell of fireworks clinging to the air.
Then he switched off the lights and followed her upstairs, the first night of 2017 stretching quietly ahead of them, full of promise, full of unknowns, and right now was exactly enough.
________________________________________________
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: 25
Goal: 41
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