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[premleague-a]

Taron doesn't know how he got himself into this situation. They're both drunk and they've stumbled their way back to the Wallace-Mount house in Belgravia. Getting to Taron's in Cobham was just too much of a fucking pain, and he's got his own designated room here, anyways. Seven bedrooms minus the staff rooms, of course Taron can have his own. Somehow Josiah is lying in bed with him, and they're both shirtless, and sockless, and... is he being gay? Is this gay?

He's running his fingers through Josie's hair, his head tilted up towards the ceiling, trying not to simmer with anger at the thought of Mazur right now of all times. He was having fun, he was drunk and happy and sweaty, and now he's showered and clean and laying in bed with Josiah, and he doesn't know how he got here. "He thinks he's Roy Kent," he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his jaw. At the mention of Kent, Taron looks up at Joss, raising his eyebrows. "Seriously? You're not joking with me?" He doesn't push Joss away when he kisses the edge of his lips. He's too drunk to care, too distracted by the thought that he was compared to the Roy Kent. "Fuck... seriously...?"

@premleague asked: i am not gonna watch that happen again.

" mmyeah.. i get it. " josiah murmurs, turning his head to look up at taron through his lashes, the two of them having flopped into taz's bed after a night out - he'd broken up with béatrice again (she was being a stuck up cow) and the two had danced and drank until being turfed out. now he has the luxury of laying topless against his friend; he didn't think taron would much appreciate the feeling of mesh against bare skin and he wouldn't want his mate to feel uncomfortable, would he?

his mind returns back to thinking about the way jon had been heralded after tackling him awfully (on taz's home ground, too!), the way he hadn't been given a red card for the little stunt.. " you won't. they love you more than him. he's, like, a relic of chelsea now. barely played there.. but you? " he turns and adjusts where he sits so that he's looking down into taron's face, glancing between his lips and eyes, " they said you were playing like kent the other day, y'know. said you were just like him... " he hesitates before dropping his head and kissing the edge of his lips, " and they are right... so, you won't have to see it again. not after that. next time he'll be booed all the way out of the tunnel. " another hesitant kiss, he resists the desire to touch his hair, " promise. "

[premleague-a]

"Don't even mention that," Kayin all but grumbles when Jon mentions how young he'd been when Fil retired and Kayin took his place in the back line. The photos that he still sees of himself being substituted on when Fil was pulled off, of himself beside Fil on the pitch, of himself in his first year wearing the 5 are almost alien. Like seeing into another lifetime. It's coming to an end, this lifetime. What he'll do in the next - if anything - is uncertain to him. He'll definitely take some time away. The question is just whether or not he chooses to come back, once he does.

He's about to answer Jon's question genuinely - of course he never gets tired of it. He gets to play in one of the greatest stadiums in all of England as his home, he gets to gaze up at the words on the wall as he laces up his boots and know that this is where he was meant to be from such a young age. Until he realises that Jon's taking the piss with him, like always. "Shut the fuck up, bruv," he grumbles, nudging Jon's shoulder back. He rises to his feet, holding down a hand to help Jon up. "C'mon. Rest of the boys are waiting for us."

he doesn't need kayin to touch him for all jon does need that physical part of a friendship -- their friendship was long established and more often than not it seemed that ayoade was the only one who could talk plainly with jon. it was why he was at arsenal after all. all he needed was the presence of his friend to find comfort, a firm word, knowing full well that he was the one to first fill fil's boots and he was handing off to his younger brother of sorts now, passing the five down once more.

" yeah, fuck mate.. god, sorry i... i didn't even think of that, did i? you steppin' into his spot. you and your knobbly fuckin' knees. " he chuckles, thinking about how he was the captain of england, he was the ballon d'or winner of the year.. he had proved himself worthy of being in this club, being more than just fil mazur's son. he had earned the love of that crowd in ways his dad had never, those are just two examples! they'd not be thinking about fil when they saw him step into position, not one bit.

" this is it, ain't it? " he glances around the room and sighs, " this feeling ever get old, mate? you ever sit here an' think... fuckin'ell this is borin'? " he nudges his brother with a slight chuckle, " you gonna be a kitman after you retire 'cause you love it so much? "

[premleague-a]

"Well, you..." Kayin repeats, urging him to try to finish his thought out loud. The more Jon ponders it, the more ridiculous Kayin can see that he knows it is. There's no scenario that Jon could end up in where things don't go exactly as they ought to go - with Jon leading this club, even after Kayin's retirement. "If you..."

There we go - it works, fucking finally. Kayin moves to sit next to him on the bench. He doesn't touch him - Kayin's never been the touchy sort - but his presence is what matters most right now. "I know they're huge boots," Kayin says, his voice gentler than it usually is. "Because I'm the one who had to fill them first." When Fil retired, and Kayin got his number, there was plenty of talk about legacy. About the number 5 at this club, about the man he had to try to emulate on the pitch and in the community. Little Jon Mazur was still a Chelsea lad, still kicking about in Roy Kent's shadow, whilst the shadow Kayin had to fill was that of the man they speak of now, the man surely in the stands today. "Who the fuck cares what they think of you? Besides, bruv... think you already hunted your glory." The Ballon d'Or was massive. Getting the Ballon d'Or winner in the red so familiar to him, to the fans, is something important. "And... Think you're forgetting that - yeah, your dad meant something to those people. But you mean something to 'em, too, skipper." He's reminding Jon of his own legacy, the way he shines brightly with three lions on his chest. "Here you are. Look around, Maz. This is it."

kayin's words are like a slap in the face for him -- hits him in an instant, like an ice bath on recovery days and he blinks a few times as he thinks, considers and lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding onto, " well i.. " his words trail off before they can form into sentences, " no, i -- if i do.. " okay, he can't think of shit! can't think of a scenario whatsoever where he would get booed out or pushed out or anything of the sort.

" thanks, mate. " he mumbles, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, " i just.. i think i'm worried because, well. i always told myself i would never play for arsenal. not because -- no, not because.. whatever. but because there are such big boots to fill here, kay. fucking huge as fuck fil mazur boots, you get me? they've got a fuckin' statue of him out the front there! and here i am. like a fuckin' glory hunter some people must think. "

[premleague-a]

Callum knows his club. He probably knows it better than most of the other people on the team. West Ham is a club for people trying to get their foot in the door of the Prem. It's also a club for players edging on retirement, looking to end their career at a club with plenty of history. Jon is neither of those things; his foot is well in the door, and he's far too young, and very much still at the top of his game, to be considering retirement. There's been a few exceptions to this rule on every West Ham team that Cal can remember, but he understands Jon not wanting to be an exception like that. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him that Jon's leaving, but he can be mature about this. He's not a kid anymore, he can handle change. Sure, Jon will be leaving massive boots to fill behind, but Callum's got to trust ownership and management that they can find someone to slot into his place.

He's still holding the Moore shirt gently in his hands, as if it'll disintegrate if he grips it any tighter, as if it'll disappear if he lets it go. "Yeah, but when you were 19, you had Roy Kent," he points out quietly, digging his toes into the floor. Chelsea come ups were allowed to make mistakes because Kent would be there to clean them up. It was the same way that Tartt was there to clean up Richmond's come ups' mistakes. The midfield position - the 8, the one Ducky himself is training to play - is the most important position on the pitch, in his mind. Teams need real leaders in that spot. Not that he'd call Jon an 8, but... well, Jon's just about anything a team needs him to be. It's why he's the Ballon d'Or. "I just - fucking hell, geeze, what if I'm not... meant to be here? What if I can't do it?"

jon really longs to give all young players a start -- he's incredibly passionate about pulling youngsters off the bench and getting them minutes on the pitch, even if it was only a handful at a time. everybody deserves a chance to grow and the current players were not going to be around forever, were they? they could afford to give minutes to players like cal when the games were low stakes.. it was also part of why he'd come to the conclusion of moving to arsenal soon enough - west ham were a club who'd be close to his heart forever, but it was no longer a challenge to play there and he felt it more of a start up club than anything else. that wasn't a slight on it whatsoever, just that a lot of younger and more inexperienced players could get their minutes up there. he likes to think that ducky understands that more so now, that he knows how respected he is in jon's eyes that he told him before anyone.

" i don't doubt you for a second, kid. " he says earnestly, squeezing callum's arm with a smile, " you need to have some more self belief, yeah? that's what we're working on from now on -- need to see you fretting less. yeah you're young, but trust me, making mistakes now is the best thing to do. nobody half decent ever made no fuck ups. best to do it at nineteen, trust me. fuckin'.. youtube me at nineteen, dare ya. "

[premleague-a]

"No, you're not," Kayin says, like it's obvious. Jon's practically having an anxiety attack in front of him over something that seems so... minimal to Kayin. "Look at me. Breathe in and count to five, then hold it, and exhale and do the same thing, yeah? We don't have to go out there right now." Jon's hypotheticals are ridiculous. Sure, Kayin understands being nervous, he's had plenty of matches where he's felt a little uncertain, too. He's mostly grown out of it, now - the team relies on him to be a steady source of stability on the back line. "We've all tripped before, and why would they boo you out the Emirates? Genuinely. That's a genuine question. What scenario could that possibly happen in?"

it was true that jon had been all over that pitch for the lions in his time - he was labelled as one of britain's most flexible players and thus his actual physical position at arsenal had been under much scrutiny across all the outlets. even the football lads on tiktok were chirping about where the man would play, his skills incredibly strong across the board. " i'm breathing. " he mumbles, (he is, but not properly), settling in his thoughts of kayin standing behind him as he had been so many times before, a reliable presence in his life since he was just a lanky shit in a blue kit. " what if i fall over my fuckin' boots or somethin'? what if they boo me out the emirates? what then? "

[premleague-a]

The bit that Jon's referring to isn't something Kayin's ever done. His transition from academy to first team was all in house, and Arsenal had had guys to help him along that process - Szczęsny was in goal his first match out, and Wilshere and Gibbs were always there to support him. Not to mention his fucking gaffer now was his teammate then - and if that doesn't make Kayin feel old, he doesn't know what would. "You're not gonna balls it up," he insists, stomping his boots into the floor just to feel everything, make sure he's alright. "You've played every position on the pitch for the Lions, you'll be fucking fine. You're panicking over nothing, and that's not gonna help you impress everyone out there, yeah? Breathe, Maz. I'll be right behind you the whole time."

" i know i'm fine, dick. " it's said with affection clear in his tone as it usually was, " i'm just nervous, yeah? i ain't done this bit in a little while, me. " he knocks the heels of his boots together and takes a deep breath, something he'd do when he was much younger and getting ready to go out onto the pitch with his academy mates, " what if i fuckin' balls it up some'ow? they're switchin' my position an' shit. i'm... oh whatever, whatever. "

[premleague-a]

He's not sure how impressive he's been with the first team this year - he's still benched for most minutes of most games - but he's been playing like a star for the U21s, scoring goal after goal. Someday, he'll be permanently playing for the senior side. He's only nineteen, and he's appeared in a handful of matches for the seniors - he knows his legacy is growing, he's starting somewhere, and that's important. Premier League 2's a great place to start.

Clutching an authentic, signed Bobby Moore shirt is something he never thought he'd get to do. It's a mad gift, something that Jon must've spent hours if not days getting his hands on. Bobby died over 10 years before Callum was born, there's only a handful of these in existence, he's sure of it. And now, one of them is his, and it's mad. "No - no, I- I can- I can frame it." Callum's not usually a stutterer, but it feels like he's in a fucking dream, and he's so excited he's practically shaking. "Fucking legend, Bobby..." he mumbles. He knows all of those things about him. Four-time Hammer of the Year, Lifetime Achievement Award... there's no way that'll ever be him. "I... I'm..." he looks up at Jon, very gently setting the kit back into the box it came from so he doesn't accidentally ruin it somehow. "I'm gonna do my best... fuckin'ell, Jon... seriously, thank you. I'm- I'm gonna try."

" i know you 'ave, mate. i mean it. not just wi'me, but across the board -- you've changed your style since the start of the season an' it's impressin' people, turnin' heads. " he likes giving gifts, likes the challenge of truly finding something someone might love and enjoy. eva complained about it sometimes, lamented the quality of his gifts on parents' birthdays or anniversaries until he did the good big brother thing and offered the three of them to go quids in. he feels the corner of his mouth picking up as he watches the careful way ducky tries not to tear at the paper.. part of him wants to point it out and say that's part of why they gave you the trophy, but he thinks his meaning will get lost.

" i'm just sorry it ain't framed or nothin'. " he grins, glad he could make ducky react this way. he wanted to find something special and something special he'd found. " you deserve somethin' priceless, somethin' special. it's a big achievement you got there, kid. they don't just hand them things out to anyone, y'know? i knew you'd fuckin' blow'em out the water. four time hammer of the year winner, him. bobby. lifetime achievement, too. you've got it all comin' to ya. " he knows it'd been rough on callum, his leaving at the end of the season, but he's determined to set him up right before he goes, " captain. all that. i know you're only young, but you got it in you, cal'. don't lost that. "

[premleague-a]

"You're fine," Kayin tells him as he laces up his boots, knotting them properly and giving each knot a tug to make sure they won't come undone. He knows that Jon is nervous, though, and you're fine won't cover the emotional support he's trying to give. "Seriously, bruv. You look good in red, you know you're talented, you wouldn't have been offered the spot and your massive transfer fee if you weren't. You're fine."

" feel like a kid on the first day'a school, mate. " he's nervous, his stomach flipping over and over.. it'd been so long since he'd moved clubs. last time, he'd been younger and more up for new things, easily adaptable as a person and not just as a player.. now there's a tiny part of him that feels a little jaded. smoothing his hands down his warm ups, he gives his pal a nervous sort of smile, " fuckin' arsenal, man. " @premleague

[premleague-a]

It's mad. Young Hammer of the Year is a massive fucking honour, and he worked incredibly hard to earn it. It's nice to know that his hard work wasn't going unappreciated. He joins good company, too. "Skip," Callum greets in return, his hands shoved into the pockets of his own hoodie. He can see his breath when he speaks. It's too fucking cold outside to be standing still, but he's trying not to seem restless or jittery. "Oh - yeah - yeah, thank you," he says with a grin, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I've been working really 'ard, but still - nice of you to say it." He eagerly follows him inside, the warmth of the building a welcome change in his fingertips. He raises an eyebrow in surprise when Jon says he got him something. "You didn't need to do that, y'know. Think the trophy from the club were enough."

Nevertheless, he takes the gift and unwraps it gently, not wanting to tear the Hammers paper. Something about disrespecting the badge by tearing through it feels wrong to him. When he sees what's inside, it feels like he's dreaming. "I- this a joke?" he asks, gently unfolding and holding the shirt up. "This must be fucking priceless, old China. Jesus..." It's incredibly touching, incredibly special. He's got to get this thing in a frame. Immediately. "Thank you, Jon. Wow. Seriously. Thank you."

" kid. " jon greets him with a grin, clapping a large hand against ducky's shoulder, " i'm fucking proud of you, cal'. meant to say it at the do, but time got away from me. " his smile is bright as ever, hoodie thrown on over his kit as he withdraws his hand to rub them together and generate some warmth, " i don't think - between you an' me - that there's anyone else more deserving.. and no, i ain't saying that just 'cause i been trainin' you or nothin'. " the captain gestures for callum to follow him inside, practically giddy for reasons he couldn't yet divulge. once they're in and he can find them a little corner, jon drogs his bag onto a table and fishes around for something, " now.. you might think this is fuckin' dumb, but i got you something. " he'd been inspired by jamie's retelling of the uncle's day gift he'd gotten for roy.

pulling out a neatly wrapped gift (in hammers paper, of course) that eva had corrected after his terrible first attempt, jon holds it toward the younger player, " here you go mate. " he only hopes that a genuine bobby moore shirt, signed, wasn't entirely cringey or anything. @premleague

[premleague-a]

"Being normal...!" Kayin insists with a gesture outwards. He's not much of a talker, doesn't know how to emphasise what he means clearly. He doesn't want to come across as some creep who's only doing what he's doing to get into bed with her. "See, you know what I meant." Making sure she gets home safe, then promptly heading home when he's sure she has. Her hands are colder than he expected them to be. Or maybe he's just warmer than other people. "If you'd want a kiss, I think I could spare one, yeah..."

" in a normal way? what does that entail? " she glances at her watch and sips her drink, feeling ... well, normal. it was oftentimes she found herself being brushed off the minute she brought up something like babysitters and children - maybe it was the litmus test for men that were actually worth her time. " i'd like that, yeah. make sure i'm all safe, fight off any bad guys.. " she mulls it over and wraps her fingers around his wrist gently, warming her cool fingertips against his pulsepoint, " do i get a kiss at the end, or - ? "

[premleague-a]

Callum giggles with her, bowing his head as his eyes crinkle up with joy. His family of nine had some difficulty getting around together while Callum was growing up, but it's not like he'd ever really processed his parents' concern in making sure all of them were together on the tube on the way to the London Stadium. It's gotten more intense now that the twins can walk, but the rest of them are older, all adults [ plus Mike's kids ] and they can take care of their own, as opposed to their parents trying to make sure they had seven kids between the ages of 25 and 1 - even if the older ones could manage it themselves at that point, too. All that to say Callum thinks he's prepared to take on the role his parents took, even if the commute to the stadium'll be slightly different because of the fact that Callum will be playing. "Jesus," he says with a laugh at her story about screaming against her dad. He hopes his kids won't decide to be antagonistic about it, but he won't exactly be there to make sure of it, will he. "Irons 'til the end," he agrees. It's odd to think of him leading his club to trophies. He doesn't think he's much of a leader at all. But Jon has said otherwise, and now Noa's saying it too, and it's a bit overwhelming for him. "I just hope they'll be proud of me."

" you think? ten seems perfectly normal to m --" but her resolve fades and noa finds her face scrunching with soft giggles at her own absurdity. a family of twelve living in london? imagine getting on the tube for anything - not that that would happen often as ducky's career progressed; her mother still laments at how fil's career took off and suddenly she was barely able to hop on the train to go and do shopping on oxford street. shifting against him, she smiles, " honestly, it was the first club i could think of that wasn't like.. great. " sighing, she thinks about herself and his family stood in a box with the growing callum robinson brood, all in their little hammers kits. it makes her beam; though she was raised an arsenal girl, she'd fallen in love with west ham when her brother moved there and at this point can't picture her shoving arsenal kits onto their little ones. they'd be their very own little bubbles, " when i was little, just to be a bit antagonistic, i think.. i would stand w'mum and eva an' jon sometimes and scream and shout for the side playing against my dad. i had a new club every week. it.. got me in a little bit of trouble, i am sure you can imagine. but ours.. yeah, they'll be irons, right? get'em on the pitch after you take'em to trophies. that's what i imagine. "

[premleague-a]

"Oi..." Callum warns. He can handle jabs at himself - growing up with as many siblings as he's got made sure of that - but he won't stand for any slander of Jon. "I don't think anybody's ever set in stone. But you've gotta be respectful, mate. We're a team." He's not about to give the eleven against eleven speech again - he doesn't want to seem like he's on some high horse. But he does believe that a team'll work best if they're all on the same page - and being on the same page means mutually respecting each other. He laughs a little bit, raising his brows and leaning back against his palms braced on the bench at Joss' words. "It's not a front, man. I just am nice. And, aside from that, I'm not askin' you to be nice - I'm just sayin'... respect's important, yeah? From everybody, not just you, not just me, not just Jon."

" dunno.. " joss kicks the leg of a bench and huffs a deep sigh, thinking a second, " doesn't matter, does it? you've made your fuckin' mind up, that fuckin' skipper's made his mind up. and we all know how tight you two are. " head shakes as he bends his left knee, trying, trying to not let his frustrations get the better of him -- he'd made a promise to his sister to keep his head down until the transfer window, to not let word of his attitude get to chelsea or to any other team that might have him. briefly, he wonders if fulham would want him back, their prodigal son. " not all of us can put up this fuckin, " he gestures to ducky languidly, " nice guy front. "

[premleague-a]

"If Arteta wanted me to learn to be in goal, he would've told me by now." Kayin truly believes himself to be a tool of his team; whatever they needed out of him, he'd try to provide. That doesn't mean he's eager to set foot in goal in any way; he's managed a goal line clearance or two in his time, but putting on the gloves and being that last line of defence against an attack is not his idea of fun. Nevertheless, he follows silently behind her, arms crossed over his chest. "I didn't mean it like that." Thinking about that would make him go mad. If he starts to consider himself worthy of a statue outside the Emirates, his ego would reach Jamie Tartt levels of uncontrollable, and his parents would not allow that [ says the grown-ass man ]. "I meant it like you aren't getting me in goal unless the boss says so."

" well hey, you should probably learn just in case, right? be truly flexible an' shit. c'mon. " she nods her head in the direction of the pitch, glad that they weren't too deep into the building; that would mean keeping up small talk with ayoade which was something she supposes neither of them would want. she is a staple of the women's side now, but it didn't stop her being a controversial figure there for sure; she was no fil mazur, but she was a north london girl to her core. born and raised. she loved her team and, though rice might've eaten grass when facing up against her, truly admires her teammates. giving people a tough time was just part of who she was - it kept people at arms length which is exactly where she liked them to be. " yeah, suppose you are the legend of today, init. you reckon they'll stick your statue up outside? or in the museum.. they could replace the charlie george one with you.. his is fuckin' eerie. "

[premleague-a]

Kayin knows the risks of Jon coming back to Arsenal. He knows what Jon fears - living in Fil's shadow. In Kayin's mind, with all respect to the legend that Fil Mazur is, Jon's already outgrown that shadow. He's England's captain, he's his own man, he's got his own legendary status cementing before their eyes. If Jon has any sons, Kayin fears the shadow they'll have to fill, having both Jon and Fil to live up to. But, for now, all Kayin's got to worry about is Jon. Is making sure that Jon would feel safe and comfortable coming to play for the club that brought his dad up in the Prem, the club that elevated Fil to legendary status.

At Jon's question, Kayin laughs. "Sorry - sorry, bruv, didn't mean to laugh at you," he says once he regains composure. "No, your dad doesn't, like, text me or anythin'. I haven't told'im I've been thinkin' about havin' this talk since the transfer window closed, to be honest with you. But you're the first person I'm talkin' to, and if you say no, you'll be the last."

he takes the kind of deep, slow breath that he usually takes before a pen or being subbed on for a match and pushes away the torn napkin, thinking a moment. it was true, of course. he'd gotten the efl, but he'd never been on a winning prem team or a winning champs team (or on a champions league team at all).. there were so many badges of honour he was depriving himself of for the sake of being loyal to his club. something about it twists in his stomach - he was well loved at west ham, he was a staple player who had escaped his dad's shadow.. would this drive him back into it? no, kayin wouldn't be suggesting it if he thought that was a possibility because they'd discussed from a tender age how much jon longed to be his own mazur.

taking a sip of the champagne, jon regards the man he considers as good as blood. there was a reason his dad took such a shining to kayin ayoade, he can see it. his honestly, integrity, the way he cares so much for the people around him, but he can't help but wonder... " did my dad put you up to this? "

[premleague-a]

"Yeah, I'm not surprised it attracts idiots," he says with a laugh. Kayin's played football for a decade, now; he's seen and dealt with some stupid refs. "But your secret's safe with me, nobody'll hear it from my lips," he promises, taking a sip of his own drink. The feeling of her hand on his forearm is a sweet one, but he keeps his eyes on her face instead of letting his gaze dip down to where they're touching. "Oh - yeah, course, no worries," he dismisses her concerns with a shake of his head. He gets it, he's played babysitter for his sisters more times than he can count. "D'you want me to walk you back? In a normal way, I mean, not in a weird way."

her head lifts and she laughs at his joke, her head bowing forward a little instinctively, but she stops herself from doing something potentially embarrassing and instead takes a swig of her drink, nodding thoughtfully, " so many stupid people in that job, swear to god but just - " the apples of her cheeks turn pink with her cheeky smile, " don't say i said so. " her free hand rests on his forearm, taking a deep breath, " i .. don't want to ruin this but i have to head home soon. my babysitter won't be best pleased if i leave her longer than needed. " she was always so shy to bring up esther; a lot of people wrote her off immediately knowing she had a child with an unknown footballer ( well, she knows who he is ).

[premleague-a]

"Think ten might be pushing it a little, babe," he says with a soft laugh, pushing some of his hair back from his face. Big talk from someone who's one of seven, he knows, but seven is still less than ten. Ideally, he'd have somewhere around five or six, but it's not like he'd be the one carrying the kids, so it wouldn't really be up to him in the end. "Why would they love Sheffield?" he asks, genuinely unsure of why that would ever happen. But then again, he supposes, he doubts people ever thought their kids would love Richmond, and then along came Jamie Tartt to change everything. "I mean, I guess it's their choice to support who they support, but they'd grow up like I did, going to Hammers games, singing Bubbles... supporting another club never even crossed my mind after my childhood."

her eyes, big and blue, flutter open and focus in on him, a smile toying at her lips as she finds comfort in it -- she never minded having these conversations, but this one had weight and. they were so young; her, barely graduated, him still on the young lions.. but in the same light, they had time to get this all in line, best to start the discussions now rather than later on. she knows he's upset about jon and truth be told, she is too because it felt more like home than the emirates ever had done for her personally. " ah, yeah. me too, y'know. used to want like ten but, " she giggles at her past self's naivete, " i've seen the light. " her fingers drift to touch edward's soft fur, smiling as he lets out a deep sigh, " what'd you do if they weren't hammers, though? if they grew up and thought they loved sheffield? psg? "

[premleague-a]

Callum's not the sort to feel much anger. He gets sadness, he gets disappointment - and he's feeling both right now, along with a helpful heaping of betrayal - but anger's an emotion that's foreign to him. He can't meet Jon's eyes. He trusted Jon more than anyone else; if anyone was going to lead the Hammers to the promised land, Ducky would've been certain that it was Jon Mazur. But now, he feels... empty. Sad. "I just..." he starts, shaking his head soon after. "Do you not... believe in us...?" he asks, his voice soft. It's the hope that kills you, and Callum had hope. He really ought to know better by now.

" right, kid. " jon puts his hands on his hips and looks closely at ducky, brows lifted slightly, " let's have it out, then. properly. over text is bullshit and i'm not just gonna pretend like i didn't tell you nothin'. " nobody else at the club knew yet of his plans -- he figures perhaps the gaffer has an inkling, but he'd set nothing truly in stone yet. summer was so long away, wasn't it? he'd told callum because he trusts him, he respects him and he knows he's raising a future irons skipper and his if-not-brother-in-law-then-father-of-his-future-nieces-or-nephews-or-both.. he wouldn't just let it go unaddressed, he needs to chat it out with the kid.. but first he wants the full wrath of callum robinson.. not that he expects one, " let me have it, kid. " @premleague