FM Wonderkids

The night flight back to Lecce had landed just after ten.

Bodies sluggish, eyes barely open, the players had spilled off the plane like survivors of some unseen battle. Even the airport's fluorescent lighting seemed too harsh for them. The jokes were quieter now, the swagger replaced with a more modest shuffle. Luggage wheels squeaked softly over polished floors. What energy had carried them through the chaos of the San Siro, the post-match pressers, the rollercoasters, and the bumper cars had finally run dry, somewhere between passport control and the tarmac.

Alex didn't say much.

He had nodded his goodbyes, exchanged a few tired smiles, but by the time he stepped through the front door of his apartment, words felt like too much effort. His suitcase landed somewhere between the hallway and the living room. His coat barely made it onto the hook by the door before sliding off. Shoes were kicked aside.