Atkinson household, Manchester.
The father and son duo of Blaise and Blair is playing chess in the living room. They aren't any good of course, since they both just play this casually. In fact, if a half-decent player is watching them, they will immediately conclude that these two have no future in it.
Cameron, the new tenant of the house, was fervently watching the telecast of the FA Cup Third Round draw on the television.
"One week of wages are on the line, son. Don't you renege on your bet!" Blair's loud laughter pierced Cameron's focused ears. He still is getting used to this kind of warm, non-hostile home atmosphere.
"I won't renege since I'll beat you, old man!" Blaise moved his pawn with authority.
"I know your shady tricks, son! I know you like the back of my hand!" Blair was competitive.
"I need no tricks." Blaise smirked at his father. "You just suck at this game, dad."
Meanwhile, their team had already shown up on the screen as the away side. The focus then returned to the ex-pro drawing their opponent…
"It's Aston Villa!"
When the announcer announced their next round opponents, it's as if the game of chess they're playing instantly disappeared from Blaise's mind. He started making thoughtless moves—which of course his father didn't mind at all— as he mulled one thing.
It's the same as last time!
Cameron swung his head backward and looked at Blaise. He saw the grin on his face, and became a little jealous.
"Checkmate. Give me a week of your wages!" Blair was celebrating like a madman that was ignorant of what's happening. He wanted to gloat after being told he sucked at this game. "Your wages next week are mine, my son! I can finally buy that grill!"
"Aston Villa, huh… let's see how we'll fare." Blaise uttered slowly with a crack of his knuckles. His father didn't stop gloating, but Blaise didn't hear any of it.
Blair was lost in the ecstasy of beating his son unfairly. While his son was lost in thought of facing a Premier League mainstay. As for Cameron, he was lost in the chaos, and fun, of the two persons he now lived with.
This is how a normal family functions, huh.
***
Steve Bronson's house, outskirts of Sheffield.
"Aston Villa, huh." The balding Sheffield manager scratched a part of his head where the hair is scarce. "This is going to be tough for us."
"With Blaise lad's speech, I honestly started to want whatever he said…" Surprisingly, Trent Hastings was sitting as cozy as ever on their manager's couch like he lives here.
"Yeah. Although Villa Park isn't as big as the Theatre of Dreams for example, I'm sure as hell happy it's still a Premier League team." Meanwhile, Sheffield's captain was also loitering on the same couch like he lives here as well.
"Wait. I was wondering, why the fuck are you even here? You have a huge place downtown right?" Trent was perplexed. He started living here ever since he transferred to Sheffield last transfer window.
This particular house was owned by Steve Bronson. It has 4 massive bedrooms in each of the two floors. Steve himself said to Trent that he had no use for the 4 bedrooms at the ground floor, so he rented out the rooms to other people.
And well, the Bronson family allowed their tenants free reign on the ground floor, to a point where the ground floor acted like a sharehouse. The kitchen, the living room, even the pool out back. All of it can be used.
"I'm renting one of the rooms, of course!" His team captain shamelessly announced while laughing. "It's exactly for these nights, where my wife wants me out of the house! Having a safe place to weather her wrath is a fantastic luxury!"
At some point during the two's conversation, Steve got up and grabbed himself a drink. He had a cup of piping hot jasmine tea, and a bottle of cold premium beer. Trent and Damian looked at the beer and drooled.
"Don't think about it. We have practice tomorrow, you can't drink. That's all mine."
The Sheffield United manager abused his authority and drank five bottles of beer, and three cups of tea in front of the hapless two.
The happy three friends bickered like idiots the whole night…
***
Back to Manchester.
An old couple was enjoying some mashed potatoes and a hot chocolate drink, tucked on a cozy couch, in front of the television. The two were once again, holding hands, making eating a little harder.
As the telecast of the FA Cup 3rd Round draw had drawn to a close, the two started talking about the fixtures.
"I don't fancy Sheffield's chances on this one, dear." The elderly woman sat back and relaxed her head on the sofa.
"Ye, Aston Villa's gonna be a huge pain in the butt. Would've liked an easier draw… maybe like a Manchester United or Chelsea!" The elderly man laughed at his own words like he's thirty years younger. They had worse draws than this one across the years, so he could still laugh sarcastically.
"It's like you're saying you wanted us to not advance in a more horrible fashion! Oh!" The woman seemingly remembered something after that. She stood up with difficulty and walked out the door.
A few minutes later, she returned with a piece of mail on hand.
It is addressed to their grandkid, Serra, with the insignia of Sheffield United FC.
"What is that?"
"Serra's job application results!"
Right when the old woman was about to open the mail, the door opened to a huffing teenage lady wearing a brown sweater. She ran straight to the pair and gave them both a kiss on the cheek.
She instantly saw the Sheffield United seal on the letter her grandmother's holding. "Oh! Grandma, is that from Sheffield?"
"Yes, sweetie. Go on, look over it." The old lady handed her the letter.
Serra opened the seal without waiting any longer, and then opened the document inside. Her beautiful face flushed with a pure smile after reading the letter for a few seconds, which made the old couple erupt in excitement for their granddaughter.
"I made it, Grandma! I made it, Grandpa!" She put the letter down and embraced the two people she valued the most in her life. The two people that gave her a better life. "I promise, I'll do a great job!"
"Come on now, sweetie, you should promise that to your employers, and yourself!" The old lady felt tears flowing out from her eyes as she embraced her dear grandchild.
"Focus on your work, you hear me?" The old man sounded stern, but he himself was wiping something from his eye sockets.
"Mn! I love you, grandma, grandpa."
Mashed potatoes and hot chocolate in this weather pairs great with a hearty serving of familial love.