Harbinger Of Glory

Gianna glanced between Carlo and Paolo, then her eyes drifted toward the other table.

”So,” she asked, tilting her head slightly, ”who are the other four? I know they are your friends, but do they also play football?”

”Yeah, they are also with me in the camp,” Carlo said as he turned a bit in his chair and motioned lazily with his hand.

”That’s Ricci,” he said, pointing toward the one still playing with the spoon in his empty cappuccino cup.

”That’s Udogie beside him, then Fornella, and Ruggeri—the one pretending not to listen.”

The four gave polite nods, though the slight smirks on their faces betrayed that they were, in fact, listening the whole time.

”And him,” Carlo said, gesturing toward the last one.

”That’s Leo, my roommate. He’s also the one who told me to clarify things first before I did anything stupid.”

Gianna turned her head toward Leo, smiling lightly.

”Ah, so you’re the voice of reason,” she said, before adding something in quick Italian.

Leo blinked, caught halfway between polite confusion and trying to piece together what she’d said, while Carlo leaned in slightly.

”He plays in England,” he explained to her.

”It’s his first time here, so he doesn’t really catch everything yet.”

Ricci, eager to join in, said with a small grin, ”She thanked you for the good advice.”

”Oh,” Leo said, his face clearing up a little.

He took a breath and tried carefully, ”Il... mio piacere?”

Carlo let out an impressed ”Ohhh,” grinning widely.

”He got the accent right, too.”

Leo chuckled under his breath and gave a small nod, but that was about all the socialising he had in him.

He leaned back slightly, letting Carlo and Gianna take over the conversation while he drifted halfway out, catching fragments of their talk.

At some point, Gianna mentioned something about a party, ”festa”, and Leo’s attention came back.

She was telling the group that there was a school event in Rome later that night.

”I wasn’t going to go,” she admitted, ”I don’t really like those things. But...”

She gave Carlo a teasing look.

”With you around, maybe I’d feel safer.”

The boys chuckled while Leo, sitting a bit farther back, rolled the word ”festa” off his tongue softly, trying to catch the meaning until it clicked a moment later, and then he turned to Ricci.

”She wants us to go to a party?”

Ricci nodded, amused.

Leo, on the other hand, frowned and shook his head, slowly turning toward Carlo as if to say, Don’t even think about it.

Carlo, however, was already smirking and using his eyes to gesture the opposite.

Of course, we’re going.

Leo shot him another disapproving look, muttering something under his breath.

Then Gianna turned to the rest of the table.

”You all should come,” she said cheerfully. ”It’ll be fun.”

That earned a round of light chuckles and nods from the boys; everyone except Leo, who managed an awkward laugh, stood up and touched Carlo’s shoulder.

”Mi scusi,” he said to Gianna politely, before steering Carlo a few steps away.

”Remember what we said before we left the FIGC?” Leo murmured.

”We clarify things, hang out for a bit, then head back. That’s it.”

Carlo sighed.

”Yeah, but come on, one night of fun won’t hurt.”

”It can hurt,” Leo said, flat and sure.

”And it will if we start being stupid. I’ll leave even if you guys stay.”

Carlo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Alright, alright...” He turned back toward the table, ready to tell Gianna they’d pass.

But before he could say anything, four more girls walked up beside Gianna, her friends, all smiles and curious eyes.

They greeted her quickly, then looked toward the boys’ table, lingering a little too long on Ricci, Udogie, Fornella, and Ruggeri, who immediately straightened up like they’d just been called to attention.

Leo saw it unfold and already knew.

Those four weren’t going anywhere but that party.

He didn’t even have to hear them speak; the looks were enough.

Carlo looked back at him, guilt and amusement written all over his face.

”Don’t look at me like that, I am still going back to camp. I do not want to be a buzzkill, but trouble in an unfamiliar country isn’t exactly something I ever intend to find myself in, even though this party might just be harmless.”

Carlo just sighed, shook his head slowly, and leaned back in his chair, watching the inevitable happen.

.....

The ride back to the FIGC complex was quiet as Leo sat in the front seat beside the driver, his hands resting loosely over his thighs as the lights of Rome streaked past the window.

The driver, an older man with a shaved head and kind eyes, tried to start a conversation halfway through the drive, asking something in Italian that Leo caught only pieces of.

He understood ”players,” and ”training,” and smiled, nodding vaguely before answering, ”Sì, calciatore,” which made the man grin.

The rest of the drive went on in comfortable silence, the hum of the city filling in whatever couldn’t be said.

When the car finally turned into the familiar street leading up to the complex, Leo leaned forward slightly, recognising the entrance by the security post and the pale glow of the lamps that lit the walkway.

The driver slowed to a stop just in front of the gate while Leo reached into his pocket, took out a few bills, and handed them over before opening the door.

”Grazie,” he said, his accent rough but understandable.

The driver nodded, smiling widely.

”Prego, campione,” he replied before tapping the steering wheel and driving off.

Leo stood there for a moment, the night air quiet around him.

He watched the taillights fade down the road, the sound of the engine slipping away until all that was left was the distant chirp of crickets and the low buzz of a nearby lamp.

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

The others would be halfway across the city by now, enjoying themselves or something.

It wasn’t that he didn’t get it.

He and they were just kids and young adults with a night off, trying to breathe a little outside the drills and schedules.

But Leo wasn’t built for that right now.

He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and looked up at the building ahead, where the windows were mostly dark except for a few dim lights near the reception area.

”I’m not where I want to be yet,” he muttered before he pushed his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the door, where the night guard checked him before allowing him in.

The next morning came slower than usual.

Leo’s phone was buzzing somewhere beside his pillow, the sound muffled under the sheets.

He groaned, rubbing his face with the heel of his palm before reaching for it, squinting as the screen flared to life.

The notification bar was overflowing, likes, comments, DMs, mentions.

All from that photo he’d posted last night, a quick snap of the streetlights over Monti.

He blinked, reading a few of them before he exhaled through his nose, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, before muttering, ”Oh, for f—’s sake,” under his breath.

He scrolled for a second longer, then gave up.

His thumb moved through the settings out of habit, muscle memory guiding him straight to notifications, where he switched everything off entirely.

The silence afterwards felt better.

He dropped the phone onto the side table with a dull thud and turned his face toward the window.

The light was already creeping through the blinds, gold spilling across the floor.

That alone was strange.

Leo frowned, pushing himself upright, the sheets sliding off.

”Did I fight someone in my sleep?” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his shoulder as he glanced at the clock.

He was normally up before the sun.

He swung his legs off the bed, the floor cold under his feet, and shuffled toward the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand.

The tiles were colder, biting at his soles as he squeezed toothpaste onto the brush.

As he leaned over the sink, the minty smell filled the air, sharp enough to wake him properly.

Halfway through brushing, the memory of last night came back in fragments.

He frowned slightly, foam gathering at the corner of his mouth, before stepping out of the bathroom doorway and looking across the room.

Carlo was there.

Flat on his stomach, head buried under a pillow, still in his jeans.

One shoe on, the other kicked halfway off.

Leo stared at him for a few seconds, toothbrush still in his mouth.

”When the hell did they get back?” he muttered, the words coming out muffled through the foam.

Carlo groaned softly, turning on his side but not waking up.

Leo shook his head, more amused than annoyed, before finishing up and rinsing his mouth.

He then grabbed a towel from his bag, laid out his mat on the floor in front of his bed, and dropped to one knee.

The first stretch was always the hardest, hamstrings tight, back stiff, but once he started, his body found its rhythm.

’

The air in the room was still cold, thin enough to see faint breath when he exhaled, but the warmth came quick.

His shoulders loosened, arms extended, the slow pull and release of breath syncing with each move as sweat began to gather around Leo’s temples, trailing down to his jaw, but he didn’t stop.

Minutes passed like that, quiet, measured, the steady rhythm of breath against silence.

When he finally straightened up, sweat had darkened the collar of his white t-shirt.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a forearm across his brow, and sat back on his heels for a second, catching his breath.