The boxes were packed. The Leeds apartment, once filled with the smell of burnt toast and the noise of FIFA tournaments, was now just an empty shell of white walls and grey carpet.
Rio Lance stood by the window, looking out at the city one last time. It was July 1st. The sun was actually shining in Yorkshire for once.
"Are you going to cry?" Leo asked, dragging a massive Louis Vuitton suitcase toward the door. "Because if you cry, I will cry. And my mascara is not waterproof."
"You don't wear mascara, Leo," Rio scoffed, turning away from the window.
"I might start. We are going to Manchester, hermano. It is the fashion capital of the North! I need to look sharp for the cameras."
Rio chuckled, picking up his backpack. Inside was his Platinum Lottery Ticket reward, his boots, and the memory of 32 goals that had dragged a sleeping giant back to the Premier League.
He checked his phone. The official announcement had dropped an hour ago.
