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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Then he look toward the television, around the warm living room filled with family as his smile stayed.
Morning arrived softer this time.
Still grey.
Still rainy.
Still carrying the cold December atmosphere hanging over Richmond for most of the week.
But softer.
The mansion no longer felt haunted by adrenaline every second.
Not after last night.
Not after family filled every room with warmth and noise and football and arguments about whether Cheddar deserved a Champions League winners medal.
That helped more than Francesco realized.
When he woke the next morning beside Leah, the silence inside the house no longer felt threatening.
Just quiet.
Real quiet.
The kind houses were supposed to have.
Outside the bedroom windows, rain drifted steadily across the garden while security personnel rotated near the front gates below. The media presence remained there too, though slightly reduced now after Arsenal's victory over NK Maribor pushed football headlines back toward actual football again.
Still, several camera vans remained stubbornly parked outside the property.
Some stories stayed alive longer when famous people were involved.
Especially famous footballers.
Leah stirred beside him slowly beneath the blankets before opening one eye sleepily.
"They gone?"
Francesco blinked tiredly.
"Who?"
"Our parents."
He listened for a second.
No Mike attempting tactical lectures toward the dog downstairs.
No Sarah emotionally reorganizing kitchen cupboards.
No Jacob laughing somewhere in the hallway.
"Nope," Francesco answered quietly. "Looks clear."
Leah smiled faintly against the pillow.
"I love them."
"Same."
"Also… they're exhausting."
"That's family."
Fair conclusion honestly.
Both sets of parents and Jacob had finally left late the previous night after approximately seventeen emotional goodbyes, repeated hugs, safety reminders, and at least four separate promises from Sarah that she would "personally inspect the new security systems herself."
Mike had somehow managed to turn leaving the mansion into a full motivational speech directed at both Francesco and Cheddar.
"Protect this house," he had told the dog seriously near the doorway.
Cheddar barked proudly.
Francesco still wasn't fully convinced the animal didn't understand English now.
Leah rolled slightly onto her side facing him properly.
"You sleep better?"
"A bit."
"Actual sleep?"
"Mostly."
That counted as progress.
She reached up brushing her fingers softly through his hair for a second.
"You look less tense."
He thought about that honestly.
Because she was right.
Not fixed.
Not magically healed.
But less tightly wound than the previous days.
Football helped.
Family helped.
Watching Arsenal play for him last night helped more than he expected.
The image of Sánchez lifting that undershirt still replayed clearly in his head.
WE ARE WITH YOU CAPTAIN :)
Idiot.
Wonderful idiot.
Downstairs the mansion carried traces of yesterday's family invasion everywhere.
Extra mugs beside the sink.
Blankets folded messily over sofas.
Jacob's abandoned crisps near the coffee table.
Cheddar's tennis ball somehow sitting inside a plant pot.
Evidence of life.
Evidence people cared enough to show up.
Francesco made coffee while Leah wandered slowly into the kitchen wearing one of his hoodies again, hair still slightly messy from sleep.
Cheddar followed immediately behind her like assigned security detail.
Outside beyond the windows, reporters still lingered near the gates.
Far fewer than before.
But enough.
Leah noticed too.
"They're committed."
"One guy's been there since yesterday afternoon."
"That feels unhealthy."
"It's England. Football media survives entirely through emotional instability."
Reasonable explanation honestly.
The television turned on quietly while they ate breakfast together at the kitchen island.
Immediately sports coverage filled the screen.
Analysis.
Highlights.
Discussion panels.
And of course Arsenal dominated conversation after their Champions League performance.
One headline rolled across the bottom of the screen:
ARSENAL PROVE THEIR DEPTH WITHOUT FRANCESCO
Francesco physically grimaced.
"Oh good. That's encouraging."
Leah nearly laughed into her coffee.
"You know what they mean."
"Do I?"
The television analyst continued speaking enthusiastically.
"Last night showed Arsenal are not dependent on one player. Even without Francesco Lee, they controlled the game comfortably—"
Mike would've thrown something at the television already.
Francesco leaned back slightly in his chair listening while replay footage rolled across the screen.
Sánchez's goal.
Giroud celebrating.
Koscielny's header.
Then footage of Wenger during the match.
One pundit nodded approvingly.
"It was important psychologically. Arsenal showed resilience after a difficult week."
That part felt more accurate.
Leah glanced sideways toward him carefully.
"You alright hearing that?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
He shrugged lightly.
"I want Arsenal to win whether I play or not."
Which was true.
Completely true.
Still strange hearing television discussions suddenly frame his absence as a tactical experiment.
Another analyst spoke next.
"In some ways it may even reduce pressure on Francesco himself. The squad demonstrated they can carry responsibility collectively."
Francesco stared at the television for a second before muttering:
"I'm being emotionally analyzed by men named Graham."
Leah burst out laughing immediately.
"That's incredibly specific."
"They all look like Grahams."
One older pundit on screen actually resembled a Graham too.
That made it worse.
The broadcast shifted into tactical breakdown afterward showing clips of Arsenal pressing high without him.
David probably would've loved this segment.
Francesco watched quietly though.
Not offended.
Not insecure.
Mostly thoughtful.
Because honestly?
Wenger had been building this exact mentality for months.
A team that functioned collectively instead of depending entirely on individual brilliance.
Even Francesco himself understood that better than most.
Still, hearing "Arsenal can win without Francesco" repeated every fifteen minutes across national television remained slightly annoying for entirely human reasons.
Cheddar rested his head against Francesco's knee beneath the table while the striker scratched behind his ears absentmindedly.
"At least you still rate me," he told the dog quietly.
Cheddar wagged supportively.
Leah pointed immediately.
"See? Emotional reassurance."
"It's terminal now."
By midday the mansion settled into a calmer rhythm again.
No large family gathering anymore.
No football match atmosphere.
Just the two of them moving quietly around the house together.
Leah read on the sofa while Francesco answered messages from teammates, club staff, and approximately half the football world still checking on him after the incident.
Some messages were serious.
Some supportive.
Some completely ridiculous.
Walker had somehow sent a photoshopped image of Francesco holding a flaming baseball bat beside the words:
WELCOME TO THE PREMIER LEAGUE
Francesco stared blankly at it for nearly ten seconds.
Then sent back:
You need medical supervision.
Walker replied instantly.
Emotionally correct.
Unbelievable.
Around early afternoon, the intercom near the hallway buzzed suddenly again.
Cheddar lifted his head immediately from the carpet.
Alert.
But not aggressive.
Tail wagging already.
Leah looked up from the sofa.
"More family?"
Francesco frowned slightly before walking toward the monitor screen connected to the front gate cameras.
Then blinked once.
Outside the gates stood several familiar figures beneath umbrellas and dark coats while security checked identities.
Arsenal tracksuits everywhere.
Francesco immediately laughed softly under his breath.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"They found me."
Leah stood beside him peeking toward the screen.
And immediately smiled.
Outside the gate stood Alexis Sánchez already waving dramatically into the camera like a man arriving for a surprise party instead of a welfare visit.
Beside him were Mesut Özil, N'Golo Kanté, Aaron Ramsey, Héctor Bellerín, Olivier Giroud, Theo Walcott, and surprisingly even Laurent Koscielny.
Half the dressing room apparently decided to invade Richmond.
Leah laughed immediately.
"You're never getting peace again."
The intercom crackled.
Then Sánchez's voice exploded through the speaker.
"CAPTAIN! OPEN THE GATE!"
Francesco physically lowered his head briefly.
"They're emotionally loud."
"That's because they love you."
Fair.
A few moments later the front door swung open and chaos entered the mansion instantly.
Alexis Sánchez led the invasion carrying two grocery bags for some reason while shouting dramatically the second he stepped inside.
"HE LIVES!"
"Jesus Christ," Francesco muttered while laughing despite himself.
Sánchez immediately wrapped him into an aggressive hug anyway.
"You miss me already."
"It's been one day."
"Painful day."
Behind him Özil entered more calmly carrying several takeaway coffee trays while Kanté smiled warmly beside him.
"We brought food," Özil announced casually.
"And emotional support," Ramsey added.
Walcott pointed toward Sánchez.
"Mostly emotional chaos."
Accurate.
Leah hugged several of them hello while Cheddar completely lost his mind from excitement seeing half the Arsenal squad suddenly appear inside the house.
Kanté crouched immediately to pet him.
"Hero dog," he said softly with a smile.
Cheddar accepted this title professionally.
Giroud looked around the mansion quietly afterward, his expression softening slightly seeing remaining traces of damage still visible near the repaired window.
"Looks better."
"Feels better too," Francesco admitted.
Koscielny stepped forward next, captain's calmness still intact even outside football.
"How are you?"
Not media how are you.
Real how are you.
Francesco appreciated the difference immediately.
"Better."
Koscielny nodded once slowly.
"Good."
Then Sánchez interrupted loudly.
"We win for you yesterday and television says Arsenal better without you."
Francesco blinked.
"You watched that too?"
"Everyone watched that. Idiots."
Ramsey looked offended on behalf of football.
"Literally scored three goals and somehow the discussion became replacing our captain."
Özil handed Francesco a coffee calmly.
"English media enjoys suffering."
True honestly.
Soon the mansion transformed again.
More noise.
More movement.
More life.
Footballers somehow occupied space loudly even when half of them were relatively quiet people individually.
Bellerín wandered immediately toward the repaired window examining security upgrades with fascination while Walcott raided the kitchen like he'd lived there for years.
"Do you have biscuits?"
"Somewhere."
"Excellent."
Leah watched the entire scene unfold beside Francesco with visible amusement.
"They're worse than our families."
"Football dressing rooms are basically families with worse decision-making."
Sánchez pointed aggressively from the living room.
"Correct."
At one point Kanté sat quietly beside Francesco near the sofa while the others argued over whether Walcott burned toast intentionally or accidentally.
"You feeling okay now?" Kanté asked softly.
Francesco looked toward him.
"Yeah. Getting there."
Kanté nodded gently.
"We worried."
Simple sentence.
Very Kanté.
No drama.
No exaggeration.
Just honest care.
Francesco swallowed slightly.
"I know."
Meanwhile across the room Sánchez had apparently discovered the television pundits discussing Arsenal again and immediately took personal offense.
"Look at this nonsense," he complained loudly. "One game and suddenly Francesco finished?"
Özil glanced toward the screen calmly.
"According to English television I've been finished since 2014."
"True," Ramsey admitted.
Giroud pointed toward himself dramatically.
"They replace me every transfer window."
"That's also true," Walcott added.
Leah nearly fell sideways laughing listening to them.
The atmosphere inside the mansion kept growing lighter with every passing minute.
Because this was what football dressing rooms did during difficult moments.
They showed up.
Sometimes awkwardly.
Sometimes chaotically.
But genuinely.
At one stage Bellerín wandered over toward Francesco while examining one of the new security cameras installed near the hallway.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "if you ever retire from football, you definitely have options in private security now."
"No," Francesco answered immediately.
Sánchez pointed enthusiastically.
"Yes! 'Lee Protection Services.'"
Walcott joined instantly.
"Cheddar can be head of operations."
The dog barked proudly hearing his name again.
Leah physically hid her face in a cushion laughing.
"This house is impossible."
Koscielny eventually settled the chaos slightly by forcing everyone into the living room with coffee and food.
For a while conversations drifted naturally between football and normal life.
Training ground stories.
Ramsey complaining about Wenger banning certain recovery drinks again.
Walcott insisting he definitely would've scored yesterday if Giroud hadn't started.
Giroud looking deeply offended by this accusation.
Standard Arsenal behavior honestly.
Then eventually the conversation circled quietly back toward the incident itself.
Not dramatically.
Carefully.
Özil spoke first softer this time.
"When we heard about it after training…" He shook his head lightly. "Nobody could focus properly."
Francesco looked down briefly.
"You didn't need to come today."
"Yes we did," Koscielny replied immediately.
That answer landed heavily.
Because every single one of them clearly meant it.
Sánchez leaned forward afterward resting his elbows on his knees.
"You know what dressing room like yesterday before match?"
Francesco glanced toward him.
"What?"
The Chilean pointed toward the television.
"Angry."
Not tactical angry.
Protective angry.
Francesco understood instantly.
Ramsey nodded too.
"We wanted to win for you."
"And for Leah," Walcott added quietly.
Leah looked visibly touched hearing that.
Kanté smiled softly beside her.
"Football family."
Simple words.
True words.
The mansion stayed loud for hours afterward.
Not tense loud anymore.
Happy loud.
Healing loud.
Outside beyond the gates reporters still waited in the rain hoping for another headline involving Arsenal's captain.
Friends checking on each other.
Teammates becoming family again.
The mansion had become loud again in the best possible way.
Not chaotic in the frightening sense anymore.
Not the kind of noise that made shoulders tense or hearts race.
Good noise.
Friendly noise.
Football noise.
At some point during the afternoon, Walcott had somehow started an argument with Ramsey over FIFA ratings while Sánchez attempted to convince Cheddar that he personally deserved an assist for Arsenal's first goal against Maribor.
"You bark with tactical timing," Sánchez informed the dog seriously while crouched beside him on the carpet.
Cheddar wagged furiously.
"He believes you," Leah laughed from the sofa.
"Because it true," Sánchez replied immediately.
"No," Koscielny said calmly from the armchair.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
Standard dressing room communication honestly.
Francesco sat back against the sofa cushions watching the scene unfold with quiet disbelief and growing warmth somewhere deep in his chest.
A few days ago the mansion had felt cold.
Violated.
Wrong somehow.
Now it felt alive again.
The repaired window still existed.
Security guards still rotated outside.
Reporters still hovered beyond the gates hoping for another statement.
But inside the house, Arsenal players sprawled across furniture arguing over football and eating half the food in the kitchen.
Healing looked strange sometimes.
Bellerín had discovered the upgraded motion sensors near the hallway and was now enthusiastically discussing home security technology with David's earlier recommendations still apparently fresh in his head.
"These cameras are actually good," he announced approvingly.
"That sentence worries me," Leah replied.
"Why?"
"You sounded emotionally excited about surveillance."
"It's important!"
Walcott pointed toward him while chewing biscuits.
"He absolutely researched this last night."
"Correct," Bellerín admitted proudly.
Giroud shook his head slowly.
"You are all insane."
"Footballers," Özil corrected calmly from the opposite sofa. "Same thing."
Meanwhile Kanté sat quietly beside Francesco again, both of them watching the room with identical small smiles.
The French midfielder spoke softly enough that only Francesco heard him.
"This is good."
Francesco glanced toward him.
"What is?"
"All this." Kanté gestured gently around the living room. "People here."
Francesco looked around properly for a moment.
Sánchez loudly accusing Ramsey of stealing crisps.
Leah laughing beside Walcott.
Koscielny calmly pretending not to enjoy the chaos despite clearly enjoying it.
Cheddar asleep upside down between two Arsenal players like he'd signed a professional contract himself.
And yeah.
Kanté was right.
This was good.
"Yeah," Francesco admitted quietly. "It is."
His phone buzzed suddenly against the coffee table.
At first he ignored it automatically, assuming another teammate message or media request or Jorge Mendes preparing to physically fight another journalist somewhere across London.
Then the screen lit again.
Gareth Southgate.
The room around him kept moving loudly while Francesco stared at the name for half a second.
England manager.
Leah noticed immediately from beside him.
"You should answer."
Francesco nodded once slowly before standing from the sofa.
"I'll be back."
Sánchez pointed toward him dramatically.
"If England bench you also, we riot."
"Relax," Francesco muttered while walking toward the hallway.
"Never."
Of course not.
The noise from the living room softened behind him as he stepped into the quieter entrance corridor near the staircase. Rain tapped softly against the front windows while one security guard moved faintly outside near the driveway gates.
Francesco exhaled once before answering the call.
"Hello?"
"Francesco."
Southgate's voice sounded calm.
Measured as always.
"How are you holding up?"
"Better," Francesco answered honestly. "Getting there."
"That's good to hear."
A small silence followed.
Not awkward.
Careful.
Francesco leaned lightly against the hallway wall while listening to rain outside.
Then Southgate continued.
"I wanted to call personally before the squad announcement."
Immediately Francesco understood where this conversation was heading.
England had upcoming World Cup qualification matches approaching.
Normally his selection would've been automatic.
Especially after the form he'd been in recently.
Southgate's voice remained steady.
"I've decided not to call you up for these matches."
Francesco stayed quiet for a second.
Not shocked exactly.
Part of him already expected it.
Still strange hearing it out loud.
Southgate continued before he could answer.
"This isn't about football ability."
"I know."
"You've been through something traumatic." The England manager spoke carefully now. "And from everything I've heard, Leah has too."
Francesco looked down briefly toward the polished floor.
"Yeah."
"I don't think international football is where your focus should be this week."
Rain drifted harder against the windows outside.
Inside the living room behind him, distant laughter echoed faintly from the Arsenal squad.
Life continuing in two different worlds at once.
Southgate spoke again quieter this time.
"I want you focused on yourself. On Leah. On feeling safe again."
The words landed heavier than Francesco expected.
Because part of him still wanted to prove he could continue normally.
Train normally.
Play normally.
Pretend nothing affected him.
Footballers often did that.
Pain became routine in professional sport.
Ignore it.
Compartmentalize it.
Keep moving.
But this?
This had been different.
Southgate seemed to understand that immediately.
"You don't need to carry England right now," he said calmly. "Trust your teammates."
Francesco closed his eyes briefly.
"We'll qualify for the World Cup," Southgate continued. "The squad believes that. I believe that."
Then after a pause:
"And I need you healthy when that tournament comes."
That one hit quietly.
Because beneath all the professionalism, there was genuine care in the manager's voice too.
Not media management.
Not PR.
Real concern.
Francesco rubbed one hand slowly across the back of his neck.
"I appreciate the call."
"You don't need to thank me."
Southgate exhaled softly on the other end.
"I watched the Arsenal match last night."
Francesco smiled faintly already knowing where this was going.
"The Sánchez shirt?"
"The smiley face was an interesting artistic decision."
Francesco laughed quietly despite himself.
"Yeah."
"But the message mattered." Southgate paused briefly. "You've got good people around you."
Francesco glanced toward the living room again hearing another explosion of laughter from Sánchez somewhere inside.
"Apparently all of them are currently eating my food."
"Probably healthy."
"Debatable."
Southgate chuckled softly for the first time during the call.
Then his tone became steadier again.
"Take your time, Francesco."
"I will."
"And give Leah my best."
"I'll tell her."
The call ended a few moments later after brief discussion about returning gradually to training and staying in contact with England staff over the coming weeks.
Then silence returned to the hallway.
Francesco lowered the phone slowly while standing there for a second.
Not upset.
Not relieved either.
Just thoughtful.
Because missing England duty always hurt.
Even when logical.
Representing your country never became ordinary no matter how many times you did it.
The anthem.
The shirt.
The pressure.
The pride.
All of it mattered.
But as he stood there listening to laughter from the living room and rain beyond the windows, another truth settled quietly underneath that disappointment.
Southgate was right.
He wasn't fully okay yet.
Neither was Leah.
And pretending otherwise wouldn't magically fix it.
A voice suddenly echoed from the living room.
"CAPTAIN!"
Sánchez again.
Always Sánchez.
"What?" Francesco shouted back.
"WHY YOU HIDE?"
"Phone call!"
"BORING!"
Francesco shook his head tiredly while smiling despite himself.
Then he walked back into the living room.
Immediately everyone looked up.
Not dramatically.
Just naturally.
Football teams noticed mood changes quickly.
Koscielny spoke first.
"Everything alright?"
Francesco nodded once before sitting back down beside Leah.
"Yeah."
Leah studied his face carefully anyway.
"What happened?"
He rested one arm lightly around her shoulders before answering.
"Southgate."
That caught everyone's attention immediately.
Ramsey leaned slightly forward.
"What'd he say?"
Francesco exhaled quietly.
"I'm not getting called up for England."
A small silence settled briefly across the room.
Not awkward.
Processing.
Then Giroud nodded slowly.
"Probably smart."
Walcott agreed immediately.
"Yeah."
Sánchez pointed aggressively.
"England survive one week without you."
"Thank you for the emotional support," Francesco replied dryly.
"You welcome."
Leah looked up toward him carefully.
"You okay with it?"
Francesco thought about the answer honestly before giving it.
"Part of me hates it."
Because of course it did.
Competitive athletes hated missing matches almost instinctively.
Especially international football.
But another part of him?
Another part felt tired in a way football rest couldn't fully fix.
And Southgate clearly recognized that.
"He told me to focus on myself," Francesco admitted quietly. "And on Leah."
Every expression in the room softened slightly hearing that.
Koscielny nodded once.
"Good manager."
"Yeah," Francesco agreed softly. "Good manager."
Kanté smiled gently beside him.
"You need rest."
"I know."
Sánchez leaned back dramatically afterward crossing his arms.
"Also England have many players."
Francesco stared at him.
"That's your motivational speech?"
"Yes."
"Terrible."
"Emotionally effective though," Walcott added.
Leah physically laughed into Francesco's shoulder.
"It's spreading again."
Too late now honestly.
Özil spoke next calmer than the others.
"He's right to protect you."
Francesco looked toward him.
The German shrugged lightly.
"Football always waits. Life doesn't."
Simple sentence.
Heavy sentence.
And somehow exactly the kind of thing Özil would say quietly before returning to drinking coffee like he hadn't just casually dropped emotional philosophy into the middle of the room.
The atmosphere stayed softer afterward.
Not sad.
Just reflective for a while.
Even Sánchez relaxed slightly into quieter conversation while Ramsey turned the television back on low volume in the background.
Sports coverage still rolled endlessly across channels.
Analysis of Arsenal.
Discussion about Champions League qualification scenarios.
Speculation about England squads.
The usual noise.
But inside the mansion now, none of it felt quite as overwhelming anymore.
Because perspective had changed over the last few days.
Football mattered deeply.
But some things mattered more.
Leah curled closer beside Francesco while his teammates continued arguing about training ground finishing drills nearby.
"You alright?" she whispered quietly enough that only he heard.
Francesco looked down toward her.
This woman who still occasionally glanced toward doors too quickly after hearing unexpected sounds.
Who still slept closer against him than before the break-in.
Who still carried fear underneath her calm sometimes.
And yet still kept checking on him first.
He brushed his thumb gently across the back of her hand.
"Yeah," he answered softly.
Then after a second:
"I think I needed someone else to tell me it's okay to slow down."
Leah's expression softened immediately hearing that honesty.
"Francesco…"
"I keep trying to act normal already." He exhaled quietly. "Like if I go back to football fast enough maybe everything resets."
She leaned her forehead lightly against his shoulder.
"That's not how people work."
Probably true.
Definitely true honestly.
Across the room Sánchez suddenly shouted toward the kitchen.
"WHO FINISHED THE BISCUITS?"
"Probably you," Bellerín answered instantly.
"Lies."
"Alexis," Koscielny said calmly without even looking up, "there are crumbs on your shirt."
The Chilean looked down.
"…conspiracy."
The room dissolved into laughter again.
And just like that the heaviness eased slightly.
That was another thing football dressing rooms understood instinctively.
When to joke.
When to sit quietly beside someone.
When to drag them back toward normal life before they drowned too deeply inside their own thoughts.
Hours passed that way.
Teammates drifting through conversations and stories while rain continued outside the mansion windows.
At one point Walcott and Ramsey started a ridiculous table football tournament using coasters and bottle caps.
Giroud attempted helping Leah reorganize bookshelves and somehow made the arrangement worse.
Bellerín gave Cheddar a temporary Arsenal scarf which the dog accepted with alarming dignity.
And through all of it Francesco kept noticing something important.
Nobody treated him like damaged glass.
Nobody acted awkwardly around him.
They checked on him.
Protected him.
Showed up for him.
But they still treated him like himself.
That mattered more than they probably realized.
Late afternoon light eventually faded gradually toward evening while the atmosphere inside the mansion settled into calmer conversation again.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
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, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 20
Goal: 25
Assist: 1
MOTM:3
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
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