Chapter Text
“I didn’t really think you’d show up, to be honest.”
Jamie knows he deserves it, but he still feels a little twinge in his heart when Charlie says it.
They decided to meet at the Crown and Anchor, because it’s familiar territory and, in Jamie’s mind, therefore safer. Jamie’s gotten a lot better at apologizing over the course of the last year, but the words get stuck in his throat each time he tries to say them.
And Charlie is watching him expectantly, leaning back casually in his chair. He doesn’t look angry, or annoyed, or any of the emotions he deserves to feel right now. And somehow, that makes it worse, because Charlie doesn’t deserve any of this.
Jamie doesn’t deserve Charlie.
“I freaked out,” Jamie finally says, all but choking out the words. He can feel eyes on them and for once, he hates the attention that comes with being famous. He sort of wishes they did this somewhere else now, somewhere private.
“You did,” Charlie agrees. He smiles a bit. “Are you okay now?”
Jamie shrugs. “Don’t know.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie finally says, a bit louder than he meant to, and Charlie actually raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t–I shouldn’t have run off like that. It was fucked. It won’t happen again.”
“Jamie, it’s okay,” Charlie says. “Really.”
“No, it’s not,” Jamie argues. “I just… left you.”
“I survived,” Charlie said in an attempt to lighten the mood, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, mate.”
Jamie feels the need to keep arguing, to tell Charlie all of the precise reasons why he is a colossal fuckup right now, but he doesn’t. He clamps his mouth shut and looks down at his untouched food, which he ordered back when he still had somewhat of an appetite. The pressure behind his eyes is humiliating, but what’s more humiliating is how badly he wants to do it again.
How badly he wants to reach across the table and take hold of Charlie’s hand or run his fingers through his curls.
“I’m bisexual,” Charlie says, breaking the silence. “Just so you know.”
Jamie looks back up at him and regrets it, because the first thing he sees is the cupid’s bow on his lips and the stubble on his jawline and, God, if Jamie had ever been questioning anything before, he’s finished wondering, because he’s not sure he even felt this way about Keeley when they were together.
“Me too, I think,” Jamie says, and it feels right once the words are out of his mouth, and it feels even more right when Charlie smiles.
“That’s good then,” Charlie says. “Glad I didn’t fall for a straight guy.”
And then, well. Jamie nearly falls apart.
“You should come back to my flat,” he says, much too quickly, which makes Charlie laugh. They leave their food untouched, and, by some miracle, Jamie keeps his hands to himself until they make it back to his place.
Then Charlie grabs his hand tentatively, an unspoken question, before Jamie tugs him closer as he kicks the front door closed. He finally, mercifully, runs his hands through those wretched curls as Charlie’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. And if Jamie thought their first kiss was magic, this is something else entirely.
It’s the work of gods.
And then Charlie is pinning him against the wall and his lips are against Jamie’s neck, and he can’t even bring himself to care about what the press will say about love bites as long as they're from Charlie’s mouth. He can’t bring himself to care about literally anything except for this.
Jamie’s never done this with a man before, but he’s done it with his fair share of girls, so he doesn’t feel totally lost. And then there’s Charlie, who’s patient when Jamie hesitates, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline as he fumbles with Charlie’s belt, yanking it off like it’s a cursed object.
By the time it’s over, Jamie and Charlie are laying under the covers, staring at each other. Charlie is cupping Jamie’s jaw, running his thumb along Jamie’s cheek. This feels like victory. It feels like scoring the winning goal in a match and being hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates. No, his friends.
Without much deliberation, he pushes himself forward and presses his head against Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie pulls him closer, peppering kisses on the top of his head. It’s not quite evening yet, the sunlight still peeking out over the horizon, but they still fall asleep like that. Jamie misses training, which he’ll only regret after a stream of texts from Roy and Ted wake them both up from their blissful nap.
But even when he does pull himself together enough to show up to training the next day, he’s glowing.
The end of training comes agonizingly slow. He practically throws his clothes back on. Sam says something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it. He’s already heading out the door.
“Jamie?”
It’s Ted. Unfortunately, Jamie does not have the heart to ignore Ted.
He stops, turns around, and looks at him with the air of a frustrated teenager having a face-off with his dad. “Yes, coach?”
“What are you in such a hurry for?”
“I’ve got plans,” he says.
Ted smiles, and Jamie glares.
“You comin’ back to my place tonight?” Ted asks.
“I dunno,” Jamie responds. He’s practically bouncing, eager to be dismissed so he can run out the building at the speed of Usain Bolt and go meet Charlie at their diner.
“I’m making homemade pizza,” Ted says. “You’ll love it.”
Jamie is fairly certain Ted is doing this on purpose, prolonging the conversation to torture him as much as possible.
“I ever tell you about that time in college me and my buddies went to a pizza joint at three in the mornin’? It was closed, obviously, but-”
“Ted, I am goin’ to kill you,” Jamie says, to which Ted responds by laughing and shooing him off.
“Use protection, young man,” Ted says. Jamie’s face turns bright red.
“Fuck off, Lasso.”
“Make good choices!” Ted sing-songs as Jamie finally turns around to leave. He’s not really angry, of course. He’s laughing silently enough that Ted doesn’t hear him, and yes, he will most likely go to Ted’s later that night for dinner, because his flat is still the safest place Jamie’s ever been.
Being around Charlie starts to feel pretty safe too.
It’s about a week in when Jamie notices something is off. Not wrong, necessarily, but the way that Charlie has suddenly gone quiet, staring at his food without eating it makes Jamie worried. Their diner is empty except for them, probably because it’s pouring rain outside, which Jamie fears is the prelude to something awful.
“What’s up?” Jamie asks, after gaining the courage to speak.
Charlie looks up at him. “Oh, nothing. I just… what are we?”
The question catches Jamie off guard, mostly because he has no idea how to answer. What are they? Certainly not just friends.
“I dunno,” Jamie says. “Whatever you wanna be.”
“Boyfriends?” Charlie asks. He sounds so young when he says it, younger than his 24 years. And very shy.
“Boyfriends,” Jamie repeats, testing the word on his tongue. Then he shrugs, biting into one of his chips. “Works for me.”
The smile that lights up Charlie’s face makes everything worth it.
Boyfriends. It’s a strange word. Not strange because, of course, Jamie’s been someone’s boyfriend before, but he’s never had one. Never even imagined having one, except, well.
He thinks about the Roy Kent poster he used to have in his room. For years, he stared at it like a worshiper praying at an altar, and he’s never really thought about why until now.
He cringes when he actually does consider it. Roy was his bisexual awakening, wasn’t he?
Jamie wipes the thoughts from his mind as if they’re poison. He's fairly certain he and Roy are somewhat close to friends at this point, but he still has to hold back a scowl when he thinks about that poster for too long. He instead tries to focus on Charlie, who’s finally eating, practically fucking glowing despite the lack of sunlight coming in through the windows. He's radiant.
It’s quite funny, really, how similar they are.
When Jamie dares to google Charlie, which isn’t until they’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks, one of the first headlines he finds is that Charlie’s had a string of lovers. Most of them girls, with a few boys sprinkled in. He’s talented, that much is certain. Nobody sings his name, but they do chant it so loud they’re practically singing it anyway. He plays for a team of winners, and he's the star player.
They’re different though as well. Charlie’s incredibly well-spoken in interviews. He’s so fucking nice to everyone he comes across, which reaffirms Jamie’s idea that he would get along with Ted.
And he has a really, really great relationship with his parents. His father, in particular.
His father, who was apparently diagnosed with cancer a few years ago but has spent the last year in remission, is still at almost all of Charlie’s games. Charlie bought his parents a house once he started making good money from the NHL. There are dozens of photos of him with his family. Dozens of photos of him with his father–hugging him, his dad’s arm hung lazily around his shoulder. Charlie in the hospital with him, still smiling despite everything.
A reporter interviewing his dad, and his dad telling the reporter that he’s the proudest man in the world.
Jamie’s grateful that he’s alone in his bedroom, where the only regular sounds he hears are the creaking of the walls, because when the tears come, they don’t stop. He puts his phone down and burrows himself under the covers, holding back a scream loud enough to wake the dead.
He’s not jealous of Charlie. He’s jealous of everyone who has a good relationship with their dad.
He’s jealous that the only things he got out of his father were scars that would never go away and frequent phone calls to Doctor Sharon.
This is something he hasn’t told Charlie yet. Anytime he even considers mentioning his dad, his throat closes up and his vision goes blurry for a few seconds before he pulls himself together.
When he finally stops crying, he digs his phone from deep within his sheets and pulls up Charlie’s number. He tries to make his voice sound neutral when he calls him, though he’s not sure how well it works.
“You doin’ anything right now?”
“Not really,” Charlie says. “Want to do something?”
“Can we…” Jamie trails off, closes his eyes for a second. “...go on a walk? Or something?” Anything, he wants to add, but doesn’t. Please, let’s just do anything.
“On my way,” Charlie says, and maybe Jamie’s imagining it, but he thinks he can hear a sense of urgency in Charlie’s voice. Like he’s aware something is wrong.
Jamie pulls himself together before Charlie arrives. He’s not going to be the broken one in this relationship. He can be normal.
When he does get there, Jamie’s managed to put on normal clothes and make sure his eyes don’t look too red. He meets him at the door and, without a word, Charlie steps forward and pulls him into a hug.
“Hi,” Jamie says. He hesitates before wrapping his arms around him, like too much contact will make Charlie pull away.
“Hey,” Charlie says. “How are you?”
“Fuckin’ great,” Jamie says, and his voice cracks on the last syllable. He feels the ghost of a kiss on his forehead.
It's obvious that something's wrong, as obvious as the moon in the sky above them, but Charlie doesn't ask. He just holds him, and finally when Jamie pulls away, they step outside into the cool evening air and start walking. Jamie’s hands in his pockets, his eyes red-rimmed, and Charlie keeping a respectful distance between them so they don’t attract attention.
“We’ve got 39 days until I go back to the states,” Charlie says after a few minutes of silence.
Jamie’s been adamantly ignoring the fact that their time together is limited. Just thinking about it makes him want to cry again. “Yeah.”
“But I’ll be back again in a few months. I usually try to visit a lot.”
“And we can FaceTime and shit,” Jamie says. It’s still over a month away, but it feels so soon. Much too soon.
“Every day,” Charlie agrees. “Watch each other’s matches.”
“‘Course,” Jamie agrees.
“I want you to meet my parents.”
It’s so unexpected that Jamie actually stops walking. For a moment, he wonders if Charlie knows Jamie’s been snooping, but if he does, he gives nothing away. “Oh?”
“I sort of spilled to my dad that I’m seeing someone, and… they want to meet you.”
“Oh,” Jamie says, aware that he’s not contributing much to the conversation.
“You want to?”
“Obviously,” Jamie says. “When?”
“Tomorrow, if you’re free.”
“I am,” Jamie says.
Charlie smiles, and Jamie does too. He can’t help it.
Charlie spends the night at Jamie’s place. Jamie is silently grateful for it, because it means less time spiraling into a depression so deep he won’t even bother to leave the house to meet Charlie’s family the next day. They sleep in the same bed, and Jamie wakes up with their legs tangled together and Charlie’s head on his shoulder. Charlie’s still deep in sleep, but he cuddles closer when Jamie moves a little.
Jamie tries to tell himself that he’s not nervous on the drive over. He’s met plenty of parents before. He’s met Rebecca’s mum, he was even at her dad’s funeral, which sort of counts. And he’s met Ted, who’s a parent, and…
He’s nervous.
The house is fairly large, though not overly fancy. Charlie leads him inside, and is instantly greeted by a very excited German Shepherd who stuffs his nose in the palm of Jamie’s hand.
“That’s Hubert,” Charlie says.
“Hubert?” Jamie asks, incredulous.
“Got him when I was like, 16, and wanted to come up with the most obnoxiously old man name ever.”
“You’re so fuckin’ weird, Charlie.”
Charlie beams. “I know. Come on.”
Charlie’s mum looks just like Charlie. They’ve got the same brown hair, though hers is starting to grey in some areas. The same dimpled smile. The same freckles over their nose.
“You must be Jamie!” she says. Jamie doesn’t have a chance to respond before she kisses both of his cheeks and pulls him in for a hug, which he’s rather tense for, because he’s not fond of touching people he doesn’t know.
“Hi,” Jamie says. He’s not used to being polite, but he really wants these people to like him, so he tones down his automatic drive to be a prick. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you too,” she says. She gestures behind her, to where Charlie’s dad is turning the corner.
He’s smiling like Jamie’s the greatest thing he’s seen all day. He walks with a cane, and Jamie recalls reading about a major surgery involving his knee just last year. “Jamie Tartt, in my living room,” the man says. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Jamie almost panics. “Uh, yes! Hello, nice to meet you.”
“Hope you don’t mind, but my team is Man City,” Charlie’s dad says as he walks over, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. Jamie tries not to flinch, and he’s not sure that he’s successful.
“Not at all,” Jamie says, forcing a smile.
“I’m Alan, and this is Ethel,” Charlie’s dad, Alan, says.
“Nice to meet you.” Jamie knows he sounds like a broken record, but he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say. He sort of wants to leave, but that would be rude.
Charlie pipes in, much to Jamie’s relief. “Shall we sit down?” he asks. He looks at Alan when he says it, but Alan seemingly does not notice. They all follow Charlie into the living room. Jamie sits awkwardly next to Charlie, who rests a hand on his knee reassuringly
“So you’re the one my son won’t shut up about,” Ethel laughs. “He’s rather smitten with you.”
“Mother-”
“Oh, is he?” Jamie asks. He glances at Charlie, who’s gone bright red. “Tell me more.”
“He thinks the world of you,” Alan says. “So I’ve got no reason to think any differently, even if you’re a colossal prick on the pitch.”
“Ain’t that kinda the point?” Jamie says. “Get in their heads, y’know.”
Alan bursts out laughing. “Of course! I love it, mate. To be honest, I’ve always been sort of a fan of yours.”
“Dad,” Charlie mumbles.
“That reality show thing, though, bit of an odd move, wasn’t it?”
“Reality show?” Charlie asks, suddenly intrigued.
“Uh…” Jamie trails off. Now he’s the one that’s gone red with embarrassment. “It’s nothing, really.”
Alan laughs heartily. “Fourth base is showing Charlie the reality show you were on, right?”
Jamie laughs, easing more into the conversation, even if he’s still flustered. “Right, yeah.”
It goes very, very well.
Jamie stays for dinner. He finds that he really likes Alan and Ethel Dixon. Ethel was an English professor before she retired, and Alan is a lawyer, though he doesn’t work quite often anymore.
“Never know when the cancer’s gonna come back,” Alan says. He doesn’t sound mournful about it, but like he’s resigned himself to that fact a long time ago. “Stage 4 colon cancer never really leaves ya alone.”
He learns that Charlie started playing hockey when he was only three years old, and they always sort of knew he’d make it big. Still, they never pressured him into it. The sport was purely his choice.
Jamie wonders what that’s like. If he had quit football as a child, he’d have been disowned on the spot. To his dad, his only redeeming factor was that he could score goals.
He says none of this. When asked, he tells them that his parents are great. Which is only a half lie, of course. His mother is the most wonderful woman he’s ever met, but his dad, well.
“My dad’s the one who kept me going when I wanted to quit,” Jamie says, which, again, is not a total lie. “He’s, um. A role model.”
He wants to throw up as he says it. He thinks about the broken beer bottles that used to litter his child home. He thinks about his mother’s sobs as he screamed at her. He thinks about the time he pushed his dad away from her and was, consequently, thrown down a full flight of stairs.
He thinks about the Manchester City match just a few months prior. His old man showing up in the locker room.
How scared he was that punching his father was his death warrant.
And how reluctant he always is of going to sleep every single night, terrified to slip into dreams of his childhood.
He hopes they don’t see through his lies, but none of them comment. He thinks Charlie might be suspicious; after all, he never mentions his family around him, but Charlie says nothing. By the time the night is over, Jamie’s exhausted but he’s happy. He’s quite fond of these people, and he’s relieved to find that they seem fond of him as well.
Charlie follows him out the door. He’s staying behind, not that Jamie minds. He sort of wants to go to Ted’s anyway, and he’s never really told Charlie about how close he is with his coach.
He’s keeping a lot of secrets. He hopes Charlie’s not too upset if they ever come out.
“Your parents are cool,” Jamie says, and he means it.
Charlie smiles. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Jamie’s lips. It’s risky, they both know, because they’re outside and the press could track them down, but neither of them care as their fingers intertwine and Jamie steps just a bit closer.
“When can I meet your parents?” Charlie asks, right before kissing Jamie again.
Jamie freezes.
For only half a second, then he forces the tension from his muscles and returns the kiss, however tentatively. “Uh, um. I… dunno.”
Charlie frowns. “You never really talk about them, but they seem lovely.”
“They’re not…” Jamie searches his brain for words, but all he can think about when he thinks of his dad are fists. Blood. The smell of alcohol. “They’re not, um. Too sociable.”
“Are they homophobic?”
Extremely. “No, just. Uh. I’ve got, to, um. I’ve got to go.” He turns around before Charlie can say anything else, but he’s not even all the way down the porch steps before Charlie’s grabbing his hand again.
“You’ve got a terrible habit of running away when things get difficult,” Charlie says. He doesn’t sound angry, but Jamie still braces himself for the explosion. He's always bracing himself, isn't he? It's why he turned himself into somebody unlikeable; it gained him the ability to be prepared for when people were going to hurt him.
But Charlie doesn't explode. He doesn't yell, or raise his fists. There is no blood under his fingernails.
“Sorry,” Jamie says. The word comes out strained.
“It’s okay,” Charlie says. He smiles reassuringly, brushing his thumb against Jamie’s cheek. “See you tomorrow? We can talk then, if you want.”
“Okay,” Jamie says.
When he turns around this time, he’s not stopped. After turning down the street, he bursts into a run. By the time he reaches Ted’s flat, he’s out of breath and dying of thirst. He opens the door, and he finds Ted sitting on the sofa. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's looking down at something on his phone, but he looks up when he hears the sound of Jamie's footsteps.
Jamie's already moving towards him. Ted opens his arms, inviting him in for one of his classic Ted hugs, and Jamie's more grateful for it than ever.
Jamie’s not sure when it became so common for him to cry on Ted’s shoulder, but Ted doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just there for him in a way nobody else has ever been, and it’s a fucking incredible feeling. To cry until he can’t anymore, then fall asleep knowing he’s safe as life.
And that’s what he does.
Tomorrow, he'll be embarrassed that he fell asleep on Ted's shoulder. Ted won't bring it up, nor will he bring up the way he eased Jamie out of his arms and into a position much more comfortable on the couch, draping the blanket over him. He won't bring up how he wishes he'd have been there when Jamie was small enough to carry to bed. He won't bring up the way he brushes the hair off Jamie's forehead, reluctant to let go, because he loves this kid like a son.
But Jamie already knows, doesn't he? Ted doesn't even have to say it.
***
Jamie’s in love with Charlie.
The feeling hits him like a fucking bus one day, at training of all places. Roy chewed him out for something and Jamie responded by calling him a ‘fucking idiot wanker’, and then he takes a quick break to grab water, and there’s a text from Charlie on his phone, and, well.
Jamie’s in love with Charlie.
They meet every day after Jamie gets out of training. It's been two weeks since Jamie met Charlie’s parents. Two weeks since Charlie asked if he could meet Jamie’s parents, to which Jamie responded in the worst possible way imaginable.
He apologized the next day, but Charlie didn’t press on about why he didn’t want Charlie near his family, which Jamie was grateful for. The two of them settled back into easy equilibrium, and it felt good to go back to normal once more.
When he leaves, Charlie’s leaning against the wall outside with his hands in his pockets. Jamie smiles, not failing to catch the sideways glances his teammates shoot his way as he follows Charlie away and down the street.
“How was training?”
“Good,” Jamie says. “Missed you, or whatever.”
“Did you?” Charlie asks, to which Jamie responds by nudging his side with his elbow. Charlie laughs. “Missed you too, idiot.”
“I’ve got a bit of a problem, though,” Jamie says. He stops. They’re in an alleyway, shielded from prying eyes.
“What?” Charlie asks, frowning. He always get this look in his eyes when he's worried, like the whole world might be ending.
“I think I love you.”
Charlie's breath catches. Jamie doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Charlie’s got his collar in his hands and his mouth on his own and they’re kissing, and it feels so good every single time they do this. Charlie all but pins Jamie against the wall and kisses him harder, before pulling away far enough to speak.
“I love you too.”
Jamie can’t remember the last time anyone said that to him. It was definitely Keeley, but that was well over a year ago now. It feels unimaginably good to be loved by Charlie Dixon.
They pull apart, however reluctantly, wary of prying eyes. They go back to Jamie’s flat, falling easily into step beside each other. Jamie’s got a match tomorrow, and when Charlie asks if he’s nervous, Jamie laughs.
“I’m Jamie fuckin’ Tartt, why would I be nervous?”
“God, you’re insufferable,” Charlie says affectionately.
Jamie pushes his key into the lock once they reach his place, pushing the door open and following Charlie inside.
His place is not how he left it.
Charlie falls into step beside him and gasps, but Jamie stays silent. His couch is torn to shreds, clearly by a knife or something. Picture frames have been shattered–the one of him, Sam and Colin that he loves is face down on the floor with the corner ripped off. When he dares to look in the kitchen, he finds that every single piece of expensive dishware is broken on the ground, millions of shards of glass littering the floor. His fridge has been left open, and there’s food everywhere, as if the person who did this opened every single container and dropped it wherever they could reach. He doesn’t want to look in his room. It’s his favorite place in this much too large place, and if it’s anything like this, it’ll break him.
“We should call the police,” Charlie says, “d’you see anything missing? Jesus fucking… who would do this?”
Jamie knows the answer to that. He toes a broken plate with his shoe, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He wonders if James Tartt is still here, hiding. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his presence known. He’s like a fucking ghost. A demon who follows Jamie wherever he goes.
“Don’t,” Jamie says when Charlie pulls his phone out. “Just- fucking hell.”
“Why not?” Charlie asks. He steps closer. “Jamie, come on…”
“Jamie! Jamie!”
Jamie tenses. He fucking knew it, didn’t he? Of course his dad would want to be here to see Jamie’s reaction, just like he always likes to see Jamie break. Every goddamn time.
James saunters into view, holding a half-empty beer bottle. He’s smiling and opening his arms like this is normal, like this is a happy meeting between father and son. Charlie’s frozen beside him and Jamie can practically hear the questions going on in his head, but he can’t speak even if he wanted to.
“Who’s this? Your little friend?” James is slurring his words and Jamie wonders how many drinks he’s had. He feels sick.
“Jamie?” Charlie asks. Jamie still doesn’t answer. He feels so small, like he’s a teenager who’s just been caught sneaking out. Not a grown man coming home to a flat that he owns.
“I’m Jamie’s old man! Nice to meet ya,” James says. When Charlie doesn’t return the handshake that James thrusts out, James scoffs and pulls away. “Thought your place could do with a bit of remodeling, y’know. Never really got in touch again since you got royally fucked by Man City and, well, I figured we could catch up.”
“Get out,” Jamie says. He tries to make himself sound big, but it comes out barely above a whisper. When James steps closer to him, Jamie flinches back as if he’s already been struck. He forgets Charlie’s even there. He forgets about everything except for the man in front of him whose hands are curling into fists.
“Speak up, can’t hear you,” James laughs. He steps closer and, once again, Jamie backs away. Backs away until his back is against the counter and he’s staring at his father, terrified as James raises the hand holding the bottle, ready to throw it, and–
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
Charlie steps in front of Jamie. He looks like he does when he plays hockey, defensive and large. His fists are clenched and Jamie can’t see his face from where he stands, but he imagines he’s snarling like a rabid animal. Charlie, who’s polite and kind to everyone he meets, steps closer to James. “Do I need to fucking repeat myself? Get out.”
“You got your boyfriend defending you, Jamie? Fuckin’ pathetic, I mean-”
When Charlie punches him, it’s ten times harder than Jamie’s hit at the Man City match. He doesn’t just go sprawling to the ground, he’s practically thrown back against the wall before he falls, cupping his jaw and crying out in pain. Charlie doesn’t wait for him to get back up. He pulls him up by the collar of his shirt, and it reminds Jamie of when Beard had to haul him out of the locker room, but when James starts struggling Charlie hits him again, square in the ribs. Jamie can hear his dad screaming, but his brain’s not processing what he’s saying, until the front door slams closed and suddenly Charlie’s back. Suddenly, Charlie’s pulling him into a hug and Jamie’s burying his face in Charlie’s shoulder, holding him so tight he’s aware that it’s probably painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen his grip.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for–maybe for involving Charlie in his family shit at all, but Charlie shushes him and shakes his head.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “He’s gone now. Do you want to go back to my place?”
Jamie shakes his head. There’s only ever one place he wants to be when he feels like this. “Ted.”
“Hm? Who’s Ted?”
“Coach. I need–can you come with? You don’t, fuck. You don’t have to, I just-”
“Of course I’ll come,” Charlie says. “Come on, love.”
“Can’t, I can’t, I just-” Jamie cuts himself off because he can’t breathe, and, fuck, his heart is beating much too quickly, and Charlie’s too far away even though he’s still right there, so Jamie holds onto him even tighter if that’s even possible. He can’t fucking breathe.
“Jamie, hey, fuck, ” Charlie curses. “Breathe with me, can you do that? Copy my breathing. You’re safe. He’s gone, I promise. Please just copy my breathing.” Charlie’s voice catches–something Jamie won’t realize until later, but he manages to hold himself together as he purposefully draws out his breathing for Jamie’s sake. Jamie tries, he really does, but it takes him several moments to get even somewhat close to Charlie’s pace. By the time his heart has stopped beating so fast and he dares to pull his face away from the safety of Charlie’s shoulder, his eyes dart around as if searching for his father. Only when he gets visual confirmation that James is, in fact, gone, does he finally, mercifully, start to calm down.
“Sorry,” he says. It’s been a while since he’s had a panic attack quite as bad as this.
“You’re alright,” Charlie says. “I can call someone to clean this place up, but let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Jamie nods. He reluctantly pulls away from Charlie, but still reaches for his hand like a needy child. He’s not thinking about the press when they leave the flat, and Charlie doesn’t seem to care either because his hand stays firmly locked with Jamie’s.
The vultures don’t seem to be out today, fortunately, because they make it to Ted’s without any problems.
Jamie invites himself in, much to Charlie’s apparent surprise, because he reluctantly follows. He hovers in a corner behind Jamie as Jamie searches the room for Ted. When he sees him, the tension in his shoulders eases.
“Jamie? What in the world happened?”
“This is Charlie,” Jamie says, avoiding the question. Charlie smiles awkwardly.
“Charlie!” Ted exclaims, all smiles, as he strides over to shake Charlie’s hand. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, young man.”
Charlie laughs. “Good things, I hope.”
“All very good things. Jamie here’s more of a talker than me when he’s excited about something. You two wanna stay for dinner? I’ve got-”
“I might need to stay for a while,” Jamie says, and then the understanding dawns on Ted’s face as suddenly his smile drops and he nods.
“Course, Jamie. You know I don’t mind.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says. His voice catches, but he hides it by coughing and looking away. He fucking hates being an object of pity like this.
“Dinner’s just about done. It’s just pasta, but it should be enough for both of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lasso,” Charlie says, ever the polite one, and Ted laughs.
“You can call me Ted. Now tell me, how exactly did you get Jamie to like you?”
Charlie smiles. Jamie catches his eye as he shrugs. “I’m just super likable like that, I suppose.”
Jamie feels better as the evening progresses. Ted always says that a nice family dinner is enough to fix all his problems at the end of the day, and Jamie is inclined to agree. Charlie and Ted get along well, especially because the two of them can talk for minutes at a time without stopping to take a breath. Jamie is content to just listen, ignoring his buzzing phone because he knows exactly who those texts and calls come from.
“Feel free to stay the night, Charlie,” Ted says. “You’re more than welcome.”
Charlie smiles and nods. “Thank you.”
When Ted disappears into the bathroom to shower, Charlie and Jamie sit down on the couch. Jamie sighs, closes his eyes, preparing himself for the conversation that’s about to happen.
“I… I understand why you didn’t want me to meet your family,” Charlie says.
Jamie hums in acknowledgement, picking at a loose fray in his jeans. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m glad I was there,” Charlie argues. “I want to fucking kill him.”
“Get in line,” Jamie says, thinking of Ted, of Beard, of Roy, of all the people who’ve borne witness to his dad’s cruelty. But most of all, thinking of himself, and how badly he wishes he could make his dad feel the same fear he’s felt for 24 years.
“Ted seems really cool, though,” Charlie says. “I can see why you like it here.”
“He’s-” Like a dad to Jamie. “Yeah, he’s cool.”
“My dad will lose his mind when he finds out I met him. I think he admires him.”
Jamie hums again. “He’s…he said a while ago that I’m like a son to him,” he mumbles.
Charlie smiles softly. “Do you feel like he’s a dad to you?”
Jamie nods. He feels emotional again, but he’s determined not to cry. “Very much so.”
“Good,” Charlie says. “You deserve it.”
Jamie leads Charlie to Ted’s guest room, which is becoming more and more like Jamie’s room. They’re both exhausted, but Charlie falls asleep first. Jamie watches him sleep, the flutter of his eyelashes moving in dreams. Have you ever been afraid to fall asleep? Jamie thinks. Have you ever hoarded coffee and energy drinks to put off dreaming for as long as possible?
Eventually, he does fall asleep. It’s easier to do with Charlie’s arm around his waist and his head tucked in Charlie's shoulder. His dreams are the benign sort, and he doesn’t remember them when he wakes up the next day. It's the kind he prefers, because most of the time, he's awake at four in the fucking morning panting as if he's run a marathon, easing himself out of a panic attack.
Ted’s already made them breakfast. He’s got the TV on, and he’s on the phone with someone when the two of them trail out of the bedroom to search for food. Ted’s voice is soft, and Jamie suspects he’s talking to that Trent bloke again, the one that makes Ted flustered every time he’s brought up. Jamie and Charlie give each other meaningful looks before serving themselves pancakes. Charlie says Ted’s flat reminds him of America. He says he misses it.
Jamie doesn’t say that he wants to wage war with time if it means stopping Charlie from leaving. Because he is leaving. He’s leaving in a little over three weeks.
He’ll be back, of course. Probably a month or so after he’s gone. But Jamie can’t imagine spending that long without him. He can’t believe he went 24 years of his life without Charlie’s presence.
“Rebecca invited me out to lunch,” Ted says, entering the kitchen. “And then I’ve got… plans after that.”
“Care to share with the class?” Jamie asks.
“Nope!” Ted says. It’s so uncharacteristic of him to not overshare every little detail of his life that Jamie actually laughs, nearly choking on pancake. “See you later, Jamie.”
“Bye, coach.”
“It was lovely meeting you,” Charlie says. He smiles, picture-perfect and charming.
“You too, Charlie.”
A few hours later, while the two of them lounge on the couch quietly enjoying each other’s company, Charlie brings up getting a ticket for Jamie’s match. One text to Higgins later, and Jamie’s secured him one.
It’s the first time in a while Jamie’s nervous for a match, because Charlie’s watching, and that’s more important than any of the thousands of fans who cheer for him every day.
Jamie’s silent in the locker room, changing into his kit while his teammates chatter about strategies and what they’re going to do later. He doesn’t really give himself time to think about it before he turns around.
“Just so you lot know,” he says, “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
And then he turns back around to finish changing, and everyone eyes each other for several long seconds, before returning to what they’re doing. A few of them clap Jamie on the back.
From the corner of his eye, he watches Roy saunter over. Jamie's nervous, for some reason, because even after everything the two of them have been through, there's a little part of him that aches for Roy's approval. When Roy stops in front of him, Jamie finishes tugging his shirt down and stares at him.
“What do you want, Grandpa?”
“Fucking proud of you,” Roy says. Then he grunts, turns around, and returns to the rest of the coaches.
Jamie can't hide the smile when he turns back around. Roy notices, and rolls his eyes, but Jamie can tell it's not a sinister gesture. It's a gesture between two men who are reluctantly and unwillingly starting to enjoy the other's company.
The match goes fucking amazing.
Jamie’s nerves disappear the second he’s out on the pitch. He scores two goals, lighting up as his teammates hug him and the crowd chants his name. They win 4-2. When Jamie's eyes scan the VIP section, he catches Charlie screaming his head off.
He doesn’t immediately go back to the locker room to change when it's over. He goes to find Charlie, and when he does, he quickly searches for an empty room and pulls him in. He kicks the door closed, shutting them into darkness, but Jamie doesn't care that he has to squint to see Charlie's face. He's so happy right now, and nothing could ever ruin that. When he pulls Charlie in, he does so with the desperation of a dying man in need of water.
It feels like their first kiss, like his heart’s been lit on fire all over again. Charlie’s going to be the death of him, but he’s okay with that.
“Good job,” Charlie says when they pull away, just enough that their foreheads are still pressed together. “Now you’ve gotta come to one of mine.”
“I’ll be there,” Jamie says. He doesn’t care what it takes. He’d do anything to scream Charlie’s name along with thousands of other people, knowing he’s the biggest fan of them all.
“I love you,” Charlie says. He kisses him again. “I love you I love you I love you.”
“I love you too, you dolt,” Jamie says.
When they kiss again, it's a promise. It's like magic.
***
Jamie accompanies Charlie to the airport when the dreaded day comes.
He wishes this were a sitcom, and Charlie could turn around and run right back into Jamie’s arms. Of course I'm not leaving you. I've changed my mind. Then they share a movie star kiss, and the entire airport cheers.
But this isn’t a sitcom, and Charlie’s leaving.
Jamie walks him to security. The line is long, so they have a few minutes before they have to part ways.
“You better fuckin’ call me every chance you get,” Jamie says, voice wavering. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Charlie says. “I’ve already got a ticket booked to come back in a month.”
“Good,” Jamie says, and, fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t help it.
Charlie pulls him into a hug, squeezing him tight amidst the crowds of people and announcements about plane departures. “I love you so much, Jamie.”
“I love you too,” Jamie says. “Fuck. ”
“You can come visit,” Charlie says. It’s true, of course. It’s the off season, and Jamie’s got all the time in the world, but between press interviews and other plans, it’ll be hard. He’ll figure it out though, obviously, because he promised Charlie he’d be at one of his matches, and he’s determined for it to be soon.
“I will,” Jamie promises. “You ain’t losin’ me that easy.”
“Jamie,” Charlie says. The line is progressing a little bit faster now. “You remember the day we met?”
“It sort of rings a bell, yeah.”
“I already knew who you were,” Charlie admits, and Jamie raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I saw you on TV a few times and thought, well, that guy’s really fucking attractive and cool and, and confident, and…”
“So you were at the Crown and Anchor on purpose,” Jamie says, “trying to fucking court me.”
Charlie laughs, flushed with embarrassment. “I suppose, yeah.”
“Well it worked,” Jamie says. “You bastard.”
The two of them share a laugh that feels like goodbye. “I just wanted to be friends. I never thought this would happen.”
“I’m glad you were there,” Jamie says. He presses a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Charlie leans forward when Jamie pulls away, as if trying to prolong the contact despite their time running short. “See you later, Jamie.”
“Call me when you land,” Jamie instructs. “And when you get home. And basically whenever you can.”
“Obviously,” Charlie says. Jamie’s forced to leave the line, even though he really doesn’t want to. He ever so reluctantly lets his fingers slip from Charlie's hand. He's never cared for goodbyes, and this is definitely the worst of the lot.
He really, really doesn’t want Charlie to go.
“And Jamie?” Charlie calls, still watching him.
“Yeah?” Jamie asks, over the voices of airport workers and stressed out families.
“Don’t let that fucking asshole make you cry, yeah? You’re so much better than him.”
Jamie laughs, even though he’s crying, even though he feels like the world is ending. “I won’t,” he promises, and of course it’s a lie, because trauma doesn’t really work like that, but Charlie grins with tears in his eyes and nods.
And then Charlie’s being rushed through security, and Jamie’s forced to leave the airport all by himself.
He feels lighter than he thought he would, even if he struggles to drive home through the blur of tears. He takes comfort in knowing that this goodbye is temporary, and he's got plenty of people who love him in the meantime.
When he gets home, he grabs his laptop and curls up in bed. His sheets still smell like Charlie. The first thing he does is book a flight for next week.
He’s going to America.