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welcome back, greyhounds! with all my love, your number three. in which cedric finds out where he belongs...
on the first day of their next season, cedric is the first to arrive in the locker room. he steps inside of the room and grants himself a moment, breathing in the atmosphere within that he’d missed dearly the past few months. eyes closed, he smiles when he smells something else. lavender. he opens his eyes to see will, already busy putting their kits at their lockers, whistling to himself.
“ heya, will ” , cedric greets him. the young man startles, drops the clothes in his hands. as if he’d been expecting this, cedric’s already moved closer to pick up the kit. he starts when he notices it’s his own.
MOEDICH, 3 is proudly displayed on his back. something like a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
a week ago he’d been invited to the afc richmond building by coach beard. cedric was nothing but anxiety and summer breezes then, fearing that they’d decided to end his loan and send him back to belgium. although cedric would understand – he agreed that he hadn’t been playing his best as richmond’s left midfield – the thought pulled at his heartstrings.
it would be a defeat to leave after putting so much work and effort into finding his place in richmond, in the club. cedric had struggled for months, on bad days still does, accepting that richmond might be something of a home to him. the idea that he might find a place in the world so far away from his sisters, from vikram that feels like somewhere he belongs to was terrifying. so he’d shut out any attempt from his teammates, from the community around him to make him feel welcome. instead he kept himself at a distance, wielding his kindness as a shield against any of his own emotional vulnerability, one foot always in the northern sea ready to return to bruges. except that only got his toes soaked. cedric hates the feeling of wet socks.
he didn’t have any reason to fear. of course he didn’t, cedric would reflect later, the coaches had never given him any reason to fear being cut off before. the anxiety building up, only getting stronger as he rode his bike closer and closer to the stadium, was part of the person he was a year ago, who’d been desperate to find an excuse to scribe richmond off as nothing but a loan for a year or two, an opportunity to grow as a professional but nothing more. cedric hoped that it was a good sign that he faulted himself for not considering the other, much more encouraging and real possibility later.
the coaches were going to pull cedric from the midfield position. instead they’d moved him to defense. left back. number three.
cedric had only been able to vaguely follow along with the rest of the conversation. it was nate’s suggestion, he caught as something rustled in his chest. they think it would offer both the team and cedric a lot of opportunities, coach beard explained as the ruffling turned into something like the flutter of a bird’s wings. cedric, we think this truly is where you belong. it’s ted’s words that trigger the final explosion. cedric had looked up at him, tears brimming on his eyelids. is this what it felt like to be… to be… proud? to feel accomplished, to finally see hard work be paid off, to be seen by those who matter and be given the opportunities you’ve been secretly hoped for for so. fucking. long? cedric was only able to stammer out a ja, his brain not working enough to correct his native tongue, and as coach beard’s face split into a grin ted shook his hand. they had the good sense to dismiss the meeting then, as if knowing cedric would appreciate the privacy as he processed what had happened.
“ looks good, ced ” , will says, nodding at the kit.
cedric beams at him. “ feels good, will. ”
will hums his approval and continues handing out the rest of the kits in good cheer.
cedric runs his thumbs of the fabric, allows his senses to grow familiar with it for a moment. even now he feels himself be overwhelmed, a knot rising in his throat and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. he blinks them away as he approaches his locker, hanging up his kit, and taking a step back to admire it all. cedric moedich, afc richmond’s number three. his hands tremble a bit when he takes a picture. he feels a little silly for doing so, still not used to having his accomplishments celebrated or even acknowledged, but he’d promised several people a picture. emma and amber spam him with a wild variety of emojis. tanya tells him he’s moved up the wanker list. it’s vikram’s response that calm cedric’s shaking hands.
about time, he says, how does it feel?
i don’t know, cedric answers, good?
it better feel fucking good. wait until you have it on. cedric is smiling at his screen when vikram sends him another text. i’m so fucking proud of you, kid.
all that effort not to let his emotions get the best of him and vikram wheels himself right through them, causing them to fall like domino’s. suddenly cedric’s cheek is warmed by a tear he’d failed to catch. his face twists, still fighting to keep it in, but ah – he’s allowed one cry, right? cedric nods at the text and smiles, lifting his head to see his locker and kit displaying the number three, and it just feels right.
he sends vikram a quick thank you when will passes him by, giving him a soft pat on the back, and cedric thanks him with a teary smile.
cedric’s glance falls on the whiteboard by the coaches’ station. he’s still got some time before the rest of his teammates will start pouring in. the sharpies aren’t what cedric is used to drawing with, but…
since the board isn’t exactly big enough for everything he wants to say, cedric decides to keep it simple. he wants to show to his team his gratitude, his appreciation, his fondness that’s been growing over the past year. he wouldn’t have gotten this far without them. although known to be a great listener, to hand out acts of kindness like it’s some spare change he needs to get out of his pockets, even offer advice when prompted, cedric doesn’t consider himself good with words. but all those years spent with his sisters roaming bruges’ streets did make him surprisingly good at chalk drawings. and what better way to say things than through art?
when the coaches come in for their start of season speech, the team has already gathered around the white board. cedric is still busy lacing up his shoes, having taken the laces out and put them back in, one of his start of season routines he’s stood by for years. he still hasn’t stood up from the bench, although he’s seen some already eye the number three shining above him. when ted asks what the fuzz is about, the team splits to let the coaches pass. on the white board a brilliant, colorful, cheerful drawing of the greyhound logo, the greyhound grinning in a way only cheeky cartoons can. welcome back, greyhounds! the text above it says, with all my love, your number three. ted and beard turn to look at cedric. he smirks and gives them a wink.
for a moment nothing but the sound of cedric finishing up tying his shoes fill the room. then he stands up, turns around and reveals his new number to the team. an explosion of cheers erupt through the entire room, so powerful the world seems to be shaking. cedric turns and is greeted with all their arms outstretched, nothing but youthful cheer and pride as his teammates move up to embrace him, pat him on his shoulder, ruffle through his hair, shake his hand. cedric welcomes it all. he’s come home.
