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Chapter Text

Phoebe finally falls asleep in an unpleasant mood after throwing a tantrum about not wanting to sleep untill her mother come back home, and then getting exhausted by her own emotional outburst. What a level of self-entertainment. Irritated but impressed, Roy thought he wouldn't have minded having this superpower too – letting emotions drag him to the edge and than fucking sleep, cause apparently sleeping at your near forty isn't the simplest thing to do. Especially sleeping on your own.

Back in the days, his younger and much more aggressive version would've killed himself if he knew what he'd become in the future. Despite of what it may look like, Roy wasn't as aggressive anymore. Now he was just grumpy and softened like a fucking marshmallow and the saddest part was that he hadn't enough anger in him to even hate himself for it. Like he just... excepted it.

Yeah.

Getting old sucks. Breaking news.

On the bright side, football was his one true love and passion most of his life and now he has time to do things. Time to care more about people he loves without it affecting his performance. And he actually loves watching Phoebe grow, loves doing her breakfasts at nights when she falls asleep, so his sister wouldn't bother herself with this after the tough night shift, loves to make her laugh, though it's not that hard, cause she's fucking eight years old, you ain't got to be a fucking comedian to make an eight year old laugh, but still he kinda loves the fact that it's not hard. That means she's just a happy little girl, living her happy wholesome eight year old life.

She knows just exactly what she wants for Christmas. Adults don't know what they actually want for Christmas. They know what they need as Christmas presents, they may think they want all of it, but no, they don't fucking do. Dreaming is a privilege of the youth.

Roy was in kitchen when he got a phone call, louder than the bloody siren. He should've turned the sound off, or at least put down the volume with Phoebe sleeping not so far away, but it was almost 00:30 on the clock, no one calls him this late usually. Roy doesn't like surprises and he pray to all gods he doesn't really believe in for that not be an emergency. But at the same time if it's not an emergency, he might possibly kill the midnight caller.

As Roy quickly dries the water off his hands, he takes a look at the screen with a big 'Shithead' and a middle finger emoji on it. The fuck? He frowns and finally picks up, but doesn't get to say a thing before Tartt's smug voice comes through. 

"Heeey, beautiful." The fuck? "It's me, Jamie. I know it's kinda late but I thought maybe you're just as sleepless romantic as m'self" The f u c k ? "...aaand maybe your offer's still on? Like I can bring you some fine wine. I mean it's pretty cheap actually, but kind of brilliant. You'll know when you taste it. And then you can... y'know, taste me afterwards."

Okay, that was ugliest pick up line Roy didn't even need to hear. But it was rather satisfying (not that Roy ever going to admit he sometimes worries about Jamie Tartt) to know Jamie's not in trouble or shit like that. For now, at least. He sounds... definitely not sober. And judging by the background noise, he's somewhere on the streets.

"I'd fucking prefer not to."

There is a long pause on the line, and then Jamie goes, "You're not Catherine with a 'C'."

"Good fucking point."

"Shit. I didn't mean to call you."

"I figured. Tartt, why the fuck are you up and drunk at almost one in the morning with a fucking game you have to play tomorrow..?"

Or was it today? Doesn't fucking matter.

"Ugh, no lectures, please. I was heading home."

"No, you weren't. You were heading to some random bird to get laid."

"You got me here."

Roy sighs and places himself in a chair.

"She's not random though", Jamie suddenly adds, kind of serious. "We've dated. For a while. Now we keep in good fuck." He pauses and Roy could swear he hears Jamie's brain creak. "I mean now we keep in touch for a good fuck. Time to time."

"Sleepless romantic as you are."

That made Jamie snort with laughter a little bit. "You don't sound awakened either."

"Well I don't get to fucking play tomorrow. I've already played my dues."

"Yeah", Jamie hummed something inaudible. "What would you say if... I hang up and we just... pretend like it never happened and never mention it like... ever again?"

Roy really wants to say yes. But he knows the second he hangs up Jamie would be at Catherine's with a 'C' doors, drinking more, sleeping less and whatever the fuck. Any day but this one, Roy wouldn't care less. But not with the game ahead. He wants to know Jamie's safe and sound at his place and resting. For game's sake, of course.

"Turn your camera on."

"What, did you miss m-"

"Turn it on, prick, don't fucking test me."

Jamie's clicks his tongue irritatedly, moves away from the phone and aggressively tapes on the screen for quite a moment before he finds camera and his face showed up.

"Bossy bastard." Jamie spits, not as hateful, though. He doesn't look his best, he probably knows it himself, judging from the way he tries not to hold camera right in front of him, as he would usually do to capture all of this magnificent god-given beauty (Tartt's words, not Roy's). He looks... tired. Not the horny-drunk type he tried to make himself sound like. Just... tired. And kind of sad. "So what do you need to see me for? Desperate for a good-night wank, need someone to dream of?"

"You're going home, Tartt. I'm watching to be sure you reach your destination."

"Or what?" Jamie challenges and finally look straight into the camera.

"Or you're not playing tomorrow."

"You won't do it. Lasso won't let you."

"Want to bet on it?"

"...No. No, okay, fucking fine, going home."

This new Jamie, Roy must admit, was kind of likeable. The one that finally fears to lose something important, the one that choose not to mess up with good chances when he has ones. There was something real and honest about those sides of Tartt. He still was a backtalking twat, but that was no news.

"Do you fucking cook there or something?" Apparently, Jamie doesn't like silence. Roy indeed headed back to the kitchen to finish up Phoebe's breakfast, because he didn't know how far away from home Tartt was and how long it would take for him to get there.

"Does your mouth ever shut?"

"Oh come on, you've fucked up my plans. You owe me a few lines at least."

"I owe you nothing."

"Turn your camera on then too."

"Not happening."

"I don't fancy feeling like I'm being watched, you creep. Either you talk to me or turn your camera on."

"Okay. How the hell do you miss-tap Roy Kent and fucking Catherine with a 'C'?"

"Easy, I don't use your actual name with this number, so you're kind of neighbouring Catherine"

"And how did you name me?"

"Coach."

"Eh?" Roy stopped cooking to take a look at Jamie, but he didn't flinch. Well, why would he? That's what Roy is, his coach, but... Okay, maybe Roy just didn't expect something... normal like this. "Then what Lasso is?"

"Yankee."

"And Beard?"

Jamie grimaces in front of the camera, as if Roy asked something incredibly stupid. "Yankee 2." Then his face expression changes back to its natural smugness, Roy wants to punch him right in his bloody meerkat smile. "What, you're shocked I didn't write you as 'grandpa' or something?"

"No, I'm still on a 'Catherine with a 'C' thing." Roy lies, moving on to the dishes. "Is there Katherine with a 'K' or you broke up cause you're just unable to remember your girlfriend's name correctly?"

"There is Katherine with a 'K'. She's my cousin, so I always check by voicing the name out loud and spelling it. So I won't send a dickpic to my cousin by any chance."

Let's skip the last sentence. "Didn't know you have a cousin."

"Yeah, we don't speak often. She's older, she has her own family and she doesn't live anywhere near here. Her son loves football though, and Katherine usually just congrats me via texts when I win and asks to send something football-relevant for the boy. The last thing I sent to him was a ManCity shirt with my name on it and signed by every teammate." Jamie smirks a little. "Now he asks for a signed Richmond shirt. Didn't even care when we were failing. Kids, eh." He shuts up, and then asks quietly, unimpressed by following silence. "Too much info?"

"No, just... Trying to fathom the thought of you as an uncle."

"I wouldn't call myself that. Like I said, we don't talk that much. He just likes the idea of me, and I happen to think kids are alright."

"Well, you better start fucking scoring then, cause I'm not letting you send out a shirt to the kid with some loser's name on it."

"I didn't say I was gonna write 'Roy Kent' all over it."

"Don't fuck with me. I'm your coach now."

"Riiight..." Jamie stops, considering whether or not he should say what he was about to say and giving up eventually. "Coach Kent. Hate to say it, but it does sound good with your name."

Roy can feel a smirk creeping up to his lips, because this is the closest Tartt could've reach with complimenting him, and yet, he did it. Good thing he's heading home, he's drunk just fucking enough.

"So. Do coaches have their favourites? I mean, they do, Sam's obviously Lasso's pet. But what about the rest of you?"

"Maybe take a fucking cab? Where do you live, Narnia?"

"Shh, I'm in a mood for walk. So favourites — yes or no?"

"Why? You're desperate to be someone's pet?"

"Ain't I already yours?"

"You fucking wish."

Jamie responds with just a half-smile, but Roy could see change in his look, tired again, uncommonly thoughtful.

"You okay?" He's no good with... well, talking, but as a coach he had to know, what messes with Tartt's mind.

"I'm good."

"You don't look good."

"Cheers, mate. You don't look good yourself either."

"You really wanna be bloody princess about it?"

No answer followed. Not that Roy was expecting otherwise. Little shit never wants to share with class anything other than his smart-ass commentary. Lasso would've find a way to talk him out a bit anyway. He always has This Story™ that gets to the team every fucking time, making someone realise something. Well maybe Roy wasn't a fucking child tv-show character that reads out the moral of the story at the end of sketch, but he can deal with Jamie "Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo" Tartt.

Jamie flinches as Roy turns his camera on, appearing on the screen with his 'I'm tired of your shit' best look just out of nowhere and extremely unexpected. Before he could say anything, Roy takes the word.

"I know you longer than I'd like to and I have to tell you that when you feel like shit, you tend to treat yourself like shit. And when you treat yourself like shit, you hate yourself and then start extrapolate this hate on everyone around you. And then it's just all collapse in a massive shit, none of us have time to deal with. So if you... Why in the bloody hell are you laughing?"

The question got Jamie laughing even harder, as he pointed with his finger at the screen. "You have a... oh fuck, how it's called... a scrunchy. In your fucking hair."

Shit. Phoebe. Roy doesn't even look at himself, taking this thing off right away with the most murderous look.

"M'sorry, mate, that's just..." Tartt continues. "You're saying some serious stuff and then again you have this in your hair like who's the fucking princess now?"

"Why do I even bother?"

"No! No, wait. Shit. I heard you, okay? I appreciate your... well, concern. I'm not certain where does it come from, but I do appreciate it. Just... you won't understand."

"Fucking try me."

"No. Really. You won't, cause I don't know how to explain it properly. I've been saving myself from drama this whole day, avoiding myself and... thoughts. And I don't want to fall into this rabbit hole now. It's not gonna affect tomorrow game, promise."

That was the answer Roy needed, but still it wasn't as enjoyable.

"You need to learn to talk the shit out, even if you don't have enough words. Do it like a child, fucking point fingers at things that disturbs you, throw them and angrily name them, just don't keep it inside."

"Yeah. Right. Funny, I once knew a football captain that was following the exact same strategy..."

"Oh shut up."

Jamie laughed a little more and it was oddly satisfying to see him laugh like a real fucking person, not a media image. They walk like this some more, Roy doesn't turn his camera off, even though Jamie didn't ask for it to stay on. At 1:00 AM Roy stops counting minutes, he hardly notices the moment Jamie comes home, cause that block talks a lot, but it's... soothing in a certain way. Plus Jamie can actually be funny, when he's not trying too hard.

After some awkward goodbyeing, Roy yawns, noticing that they'd talked for almost one hour straight and this is the longest the two of them ever spent together. Was it weird it didn't feel weird at all? Or was it just the fact Roy didn't spend too much time outside his family lately and it was quite nice to listen to something else rather than school, child games, cartoons and job complaints?

He tries not to give this too much attention. There were things stranger in his life. Besides, Roy finally got sleepy listening to Tartt's bullshit, and he could use some fucking sleep. 

Phone beeps one more time before Roy goes to bed. 

[Shithead🖕, 01:34]:

im feeling better now btw

thx for, you know

you being you ig

im still tipsy i know im gonna regret it eventually so dont reply

just ty

or whatevs

Okay, so maybe it was weird after all. But... not exactly bad kind of weird?

[Coach, 01:37]:

Score a fucking goal for me then today.

First half ends with a goal from Brighton straight into fucking locker room and this is just one goal against them, not the end of the world yet, but the whole situation within team was far from confident. Whenever Richmond's forwards rushed their way through, Brighton's players pushed them in the back again, keeping game on Richmond's side of the field most of the time, so the goal was inevitable even in Ted's boogie wonderland perspective.

"What in the bloody hell is going on with you?!" Roy tries his best to get them in the mood, cause apparently Isaac is having too much thoughts and just got lost in them on the half way. And that's not what Roy wants from captain, they definitely have the talk later. "My niece's dollhouse is harder to break then this mess you call defence. This doesn't even look like an equal competition, that's just Brighton visits fucking school P.E. lesson and beats the shit out of bunch of teenagers. Don't look at the bloody score, that's not 1 to 0, that is 10 to 0, you just have Thierry for the best fucking goalkeeper that you should pray on, but he ain't a fucking magician. I know that everyone have their lives to focus on, but do it outside the field. Whenever you're putting on a Richmond shirt you fold and put away your outer drama like your casual clothes. Now sober. The fuck. Up."

With this final word Roy heads back to the office, nodding to Lasso and Beard that team's theirs now, if they want to discuss change of tactics or whatsoever. He couldn't rate how much of a fucking disappointment this game was. It seemed like team just started to keep up the pace, and then the fucking spell was casted.

Same thing for Roy's life - he stepped out of a rollercoaster to feel steady ground beneath his feet, and when he actually fucking do, it slides away. He's not even falling, he stays like this, levitating in the air, not able to move either forward or backward. Helpless. It burns Roy's tongue and he's not even thinking about saying it out loud.

"Oi, uh..." Jamie appears in the doorway, his stare anywhere but Roy's eyes. "Time to go back. You coming, coach?"

"Yeah. Go ahead, I'll be there in a second."

Jamie gives him a hesitant nod, but isn't moving.

"Words, Tartt, use them, if you have something to say. You have to be on field in thirty seconds. Talk or get your ass out of here."

Jamie nods again, then storms out to join the team. Right. Right, there's no time to deal with personal bullshit. They have a game to finish and if there's a bloody miracle somewhere around the corner, they could use it.

And there it was, a bloody miracle with a Jamie Tartt's name on the back. Or at least that's how it seemed to be at the beginning of another forty five minutes. Without a warning or any discussion Jamie switched to his 'the world's biggest prick strategy', he provoked and was a total twat, taking the piss out of rival team players like a real pro.

With an accurate through pass from Dani, he finally got his one-on-one with Brighton's goalkeeper and didn't hesitate a moment to hammer in goal at '54 minute. Everyone gone mad happy, and that was promising. Dani almost jumped on Tartt's back, while others were chanting along with the crowd. Well, if this won't shake things up, today's just not their day.

For some unknown reason Jamie didn't seem too happy though. Masking it behind a smile, he walked back to his position with the most complicated fucking look Roy ever saw on him. Maybe if not for a midnight call, he wouldn't catch any of this, but something just wasn't right. Ten minutes later Jamie still sticked to the same tactics, but in a much more aggressive way, which... wasn't him at all. He could be pain in the ass, but he usually wasn't the first to pick up a fight. Gladly, referee wasn't too harsh on him, or else he would've got a yellow card.

"We have one more replacement, correct?" Roy asks Ted, leaning closer.

"Yep. Just one. Just one, Coach?"

"Just one", Beard nods.

"Just one! Any thoughts?"

"Replace Tartt."

Both of them, Beard and Lasso, looked at him like he was an enemy of some sort. Roy could understand it, he just asked to replace the only notable figure of this match, but this disturbing fucking feeling grabbed Roy by the throat.

"I fucking know what I say, I don't want to do it, but we have to. He's not all there today, don't you fucking see it?"

"I mean- Yeah, I know what you're talking about and I don't exactly advocate it, but- Well, we can't do it." Ted raises his hand in defence, when Roy growls. "Jamie's now the closest them guys have to the leader. I wanna believe he knows what he's doing."

"He doesn't. If you want something to believe, believe me on that. Jamie's not okay. He's a self-destructive mess, blinded by whatever the shit that goes on through his mind and who'll end up getting his ass in trouble. If we lose, fuck it, blame it on me; if he's mad at you for taking him out again, just blame it on me too."

It doesn't seem like Ted have a lot to argue with. Lasso's just looking for lame excuses to keep the game on and Roy gets it. Analytics will fucking eat them alive and nobody wants to deal with what press have to ask and say about it, but Lasso knows what is a right thing to do.

Before they could manage something, Beard warns them of a sudden fierce counterattack from Brighton's side. A long pass on the center forward, leaving him almost in the same situation Tartt put the goal in earlier, and then...

"What- What's happening?" Ted asks, his glance flies worryingly from Beard to Roy.

Game was paused, Dani and Colin help Jamie to get up on his feet, the last one shrinks with pain, it seems like Brighton's forward hurt Jamie's ribs with his elbow, when they both fell to the ground. Some of Brighton footballers helped their own forward too, others jumped on referee, actively gesturing towards the scene and demanding justice.

"Jamie did the professional foul", Roy says.

"That means he aimed for this big guy's foot..."

"On purpose. It's a straightaway red card."

"Oh shoot."

Yeah. A massive fucking piece of shoot is what it was. However, Roy doesn't now why it takes so long for referee to kick this foul-playing shithead out of the field. For a spare minute, he worries there's something really serious about this hit in the ribs and Jamie needs medical attention first, but then he sees referee heading to the VAR monitor.

"Fuck yes", Roy whispers. "They think there was an offside."

"That's- That's a good thing, right?" Ted checks carefully.

"If there really was an offside, Jamie might not get a red card." Beard stands still like a statue with his arms crossed, holding his breath for the decision. So does Ted. And secretly Roy does too. This is what he feared would happen, he didn't have to be a psych to forsee it. He regretted not demanding Jamie's replacement a bit earlier to prevent all this shit, and if it is the red card after all, fucker deserved it.

But in the same time, Roy prayed it to be an offside.

It takes a minute or two more before referee returns back to players with his final word.

"It's an offside", Beard announces, while Ted finally breathes and Roy nods as if it doesn't really matter. Well, in that case it doesn't matter for real. The fact that technically Jamie's action wasn't considered as foul in this particular moment didn't mean it could be ignored. He didn't know that there was an offside when he did it. He still fouled, he still could've get red card. Brighton players are pissed off for obvious reasons.

Before game start again, Ted replaces Jamie, unhesitatingly now and probably regretting doctor Sharon isn't here anymore. Jamie doesn't even blink, when he goes back to them. He shares a hug with substitute, even though his left side hurts, and then sits his ass on a bench, looking away from coaches like a resentful kid.

"Your ribs okay?"

Jamie finally looks up to see Roy's indifferent face and arms crossed. "Nothing's broken."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. It takes more to break me." That was said in unnecessarily defensive manner. All Roy could hope for is that this comes from Tartt's recognition that he did bad. "We'll lose this game", he adds with bitterness and dramatic fatalism.

And all Roy can say is, "I know."

Eventually Brighton shows up at Richmond's side with an attack at last added minutes. Even though Thierry successfully protects them, Brighton score another goal from a corner.

They lose.

It wasn't a long talk with the team after the match. Truth be told, it couldn't be considered as a talk at all. It was balancing between Ted's goldfish fairytales and Roy's harsh verbal attempt to spread every teammate brains on the walls. When it was clear that this talk went extremely unproductive, they decided to deal with it tomorrow before the training.

Jamie was the last one to stay in, not really wanted to talk or hear anything from anyone, so he just meditated in shower, listening to the crowd sound goes lower and lower, until there was silence. He plugs in earbuds, fits himself in casual, and checks his sport bag once more before heading out of here and swears loudly, taking a wide step back, when he turns around to see Roy near him.

"Mate, what the fuck?! I thought I'm the only one left!"

Roy takes Jamie's earbud, music that comes from it could be heard from another corner of the room. Sudden brush of fingers on his ear makes Tartt take another step back. "I didn't mean to sneak up. It's not my problem you don't hear a thing."

"I'm not in a mood for chit chat, so if you'll excuse me..." Jamie takes his earbud from Roy's and goes straight to the exit, only to be stopped by the tight grip on the shoulder. Tartt shakes the grip off, like it burns him. "Don't touch me, leave me the fuck alone!"

"Not before you explain yourself."

"Explain myself? I could've win this fucking game or at least leave it on a tie, and you guys just wrote me off the story, so we fucked up. Explained enough?"

"From my point of view, you could've get the fucking red card by the end of the game. Your goal was brilliant, but everything that came after? Are you out of your bloody mind? You fouled on purpose!"

Jamie rolls his eyes.

"It was an offside."

"A goddamn miracle is what it was. What if it wasn't a fucking offside?"

"Well, it fucking was. Let this go, mate. I'm exhausted. I wanna go home." Jamie goes past Roy to exit.

"Does all of this attitude have something to deal with your midnight shit?"

He freezes, turning aroung with unreadable glance and Roy knows he's near the truth.

"I was a bit drunk, tired and had a bad day. You shouldn't have known any of this, so don't bring it up, it's not fair."

"You wanna talk about what's fair and what's not? I believed you, when you promised whatever the fuck it was it won't affect your performance."

"It didn't!"

"You literally threw yourself on troubles. What if this-" Roy tugged up Jamie's shirt a little, showing a big bruise on his left side. Jamie slapped his hand off immediately. "What if this would've ended worse."

"It wouldn't have."

"He could've broke your ribs, or a little less luck and your leg's fucked. Do you know how it's easy to lose everything in this fucking sport?"

"I was in control of situation."

"You somehow managed to get hurt, it's not what people call 'to be in control'".

"Fuck, Roy! Brighton lad didn't hit me! It..."

Their eyes meet. Roy just stand there silently, waiting for him to continue, to explain in properly, cause he didn't want to jump to conclusions - Roy's very quick with jumping to conclusions and getting himself all worked up within seconds, but Jamie already looked defeated as if he said something he really shouldn't have, Roy didn't want to say or do something that would scare him away completely.

"I got it yesterday. And before you say anything, it's really nothing that serious. When I fell to the ground today it just hurt like hell."

"You got it yesterday when? How? Where?" From the small look on Jamie's face Roy felt uncomfortable and angry. "Who did that?"

"No one."

"Jamie."

"Got it m'self, fell off the bed, wasn't fucking careful, will be next time. Go mother hen someone else, will you?"

"It was your father?"

Tartt looks away and goes to exit again. "Conversation's over."

"Fuck. He did it, didn't he?" Roy follows him.

"Conversation's over!"

Can Roy just go back in time when he didn't even care for this little stubborn shit? That was so much fucking easier, when they never really even nodded to one another in the corridor. That changed quickly, maybe it was Lasso, maybe it was sorry for a douchebag he has for the father, maybe it was simple coach responsibility. No matter what started those protective feelings towards Total Twat Tartt, Roy somehow caught them.

And that fucking sucked. Jamie was so easy to hate and - well - too hard to like, even through his best moments. When he's down, he tries to drag his whole world down with him, he lies to himself, justifying his own behaviour. And Roy thinks maybe that is the problem, maybe he needs someone who's not tiptoeing around his little comfortable bubble of lies.

"I don't know how your fucking head works." Roy stops him again by the car and even though Jamie's frustrated, he waits. "But damaging your own career isn't worth it."

"What're you talking about? I never-"

"You gave up on football once. When you left ManCity for a tv-show you gave zero fucks about. And you regretted it. Today you nearly sabotaged yourself for the same fucking reason."

"Sabotaged?"

"Yes, sabotaged. Do you want to admit it yourself or to hear me say it?"

Jamie is silent for a moment. "Well. Surprise me, I guess."

"You're pissed off not cause we lost, you just wanted to get red card."

"Wha- You- That's-" Jamie tries to keep up with Roy's straight-in-the-eye look, but utterly fails. "Ridiculous. Why would I?"

"You get red card, you get disqualified for one game. Next week we play against Manchester. So my guess, you wanted to have a reason to miss out on this match, cause you have problems with recognising trouble when you see one and running away is easier."

Jamie's glance is blank, as if he's not here at all, and that's not a good sign, but he has to know he won't get away with his bullshit.

"I haven't talked with Ted and Beard about it yet, but you better know I fucking will, if you don't pull your shit together. I saw enough blokes ruining their lives with one bad decision, and sadly or not, I don't fancy the thought of you being one of them." Roy lands his hand on Tartt's shoulder just for it to be thrown away right away. 

"I did what I did", he starts quietly, "to save the game. Think what you want to think and say what you want to say. But don't act like you fucking know me!" Jamie pushes Roy abruptly with his both hands, not painful or anything, a bit unexpected, that's all. He hides his glance, as he turns to the car and adds, "Or fucking care."

There was no need in repeating yourself with Roy, he didn't ask twice and didn't expect that from others. So if Tartt wants Roy to leave him alone, that's okay. Until he remembers that he's not the only one on the field and football is not some bloody reality show with plot-twists and other shit, that's totally fucking okay. He's got better shit to do anyway.

But clearly not today. Today was horrendous, and Phoebe stays with her mom tonight, that means Roy has evening all to himself, which has to be a good thing, and he really tries to see it as something positive, but the truth is he doesn't like being alone, actually he doesn't like anything remotely related to being alone. He hates silence, hates cooking something just for himself, hates falling asleep while rewatching 'Black Books' and then trying to figure out, which exact episode he had slept in, hates waking up on the couch with every back and leg muscle twisted and sore.

Roy wasn't just made to be single and it was fucking with his mind for a while now. So pizza, beer and some shitty stand up show to criticize out loud was his choice of activities for the rest of the day. And well- it could be worse.

The show turns out to be boring as fuck even for criticizing it and Roy ends it halfway to get himself a book, but stops in the doorway when the phone suddenly rings. He checks time, grunts at whoever this is and just pray for it to be some bank operator or scammer he can just ignore. 

Incoming call: 'Shithead🖕'

Well, it's not a scammer, but Roy feels like he has every right to ignore it anyway. Little shit probably wants to set up a date with that bird he talked about, regarding he missed this opportunity the night before. He would call half of minute more and then he'd finally take a fucking look at his screen to see he's calling the wrong person, is what Roy thought to himself, yet he picked up the phone and swiped to answer the call, because fuck it, Roy isn't going to feel guilty, if something's really happened to this prick and he decided to ignore. Someone's got to be adult here.

"Still not Catherine." He grunts coldly instead of a greeting, taking Jamie by surprise for a second, and then this fucker just titters. He may not have enough brains, but he surely has some guts.

"I, uh-" Jamie stutters quietly. "I know. I called to talk to you."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No?"

"Are you in danger?"

"Well, no-"

"Then you're very welcome to leave your message after the signal. Fucking beep."

"Roy, no! Fuck! Don't hang up on me."

This outcry sounded so blissfully desperate, Roy decides taking a few moments to savour it won't actually hurt.

"You have sixty seconds."

"Sixty seconds? Like figural sixty seconds or did you put me on timer?"

"Forty."

"Fuck, no, wait! Ugh." Jamie paused to breath in slowly, getting his thoughts together. "I'm sorry, 'lright? And that's not this case when I say I'm sorry, just cause I feel obliged to say it in order to keep things working, yet I ain't actually feeling it, no. It's, uh- It's my truly... madly... deeply I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you the way I did or act the way I did. The truth is I was already mad at m'self and you just caught me by surprise and you weren't there to suppress me, you were just - well - for me. Like uh-, like yesterday. Actually, like every fucking day since I returned to Richmond, whether or not I deserved it. I guess this just added fuel to the fire, and I know that ain't quite logical, but anyway. I'm sorry. And I know my sixty seconds are over, so please give me some added time."

Roy wasn't mentally ready to hear Jamie Tartt fucking apologize. Not in a mocking 'I know better' kind of way, but in a very serious one, with lots of casual 'sorries' in one messy speech, like he wasn't allergic to these type of words. And he didn't try to put the blame off himself, not finding someone or something else around to blame. It was... impressing in a way.

"Well?" Jamie calls impatiently. "Can I- Can I get some extra time?"

"Anything for you to not quote Savage Garden again." Roy gives up. "This shit was awful."

"Oh. Uh. Actually I thought of the film."

"There was a film?"

"Yeah. It has nothing to do with the song. It's, well- You know, nineties. Alan Rickman. And this scene when they're like 'truly, madly, deeply, passionately, remarkably'... Whatever. You're the grandpa, you're supposed to know old films, I'm not supposed explaining them to you."

"Nineties films aren't old."

"Mate, nineties were thirty years ago."

"...Well, fuck."

Jamie cackles and roughly stops himself from laughing, probably wondering if it was too much. It's kind of funny how scared to do wrong he is now, remembering today's game and all that came after. But if there is something Roy's definitely too old for, it's fighting someone who had already raised the white flag. Doesn't mean he's gonna let him get away with his shit though.

"I heard you, with this apology stuff. But what you did today was unacceptable. If you don't want to talk to me about it, you better talk to someone you trust..."

"I talked to Keeley."

To think, this wasn't some brand new information that Jamie still have connections with Keeley, she always cared for this little shit. But hearing her name now for the first time in weeks was rather hard. And the fact it was Jamie who brought it up didn't make it any way easier.

"Good. What did she said?"

"That I should stop being an ass and come to you, cause despite of what I think, you want the best for me."

"And you think what? I secretly want to destroy your life?"

"No! No. You're a decent coach. And pretty much good person as well. I guess I didn't think you really tolerate me 'cause you want the best for me, and not for the sake of the team overall. We're too different, and you - well - you don't understand me, you said that yourself once."

"No shit, you don't fucking tell me anything, when I ask."

"There's just things in your life you don't talk about. It's too personal. I mean- you didn't tell anyone you and Keeley broke up for a reason, did you?"

Of course, she spoked to him about it too. Well that wasn't a big secret either. Especially with Keeley telling Rebecca and Rebecca telling Ted and Ted calling a Diamond Dogs shitty meeting, which meant Beard found out too, no, that wasn't a secret at all.

But words 'break up' sound too real now. They've both saw it coming, it was mutual decision to spend some time by themselves, it wasn't easy for both of them, fuck, that was an awfully hard decision to make, but that was a necessary evil. Keeley needed space and time for her business projects, for the first time in her life she was her own woman, not someone's girlfriend, she wanted to find out who she really is when she is alone. Roy respected that. 

And he was in a completely different place, wanting different things. He wanted someone by his side to talk to, someone to spend the most of his free time with. He knew what he was when he is alone and he had time to get tired of it. Ever since Phoebe was born Roy started to realise there's more to this world, than football games and meaningless one night stands. He knew he would end the whole fucking world for Phoebe, and at some point he started feeling the same way over Keeley. Loving someone feels like the greatest shit you ever had in life, no matter how much of a fucking trophies and recognition you got. But this also means loving someone strong enough to not keep them from leaving. That's what Roy did, despite of what the ideology of Lasso's rom-communism says about it. He let her go.

Yet some part of Roy hoped this isn't for long. He thought they'd get together again eventually, so clearly there was nothing to tell about the leaving each other. Now months went by, and Keeley looked genuinely happy. Without him. Naming them things Roy was kind of scared to use with their situation. They really broke up. So that was the end.

"Well, that's a bit different." Roy says finally to avoid more of awkward silence and to prove Jamie he doesn't care much about it now. "We're not fucking Brangelina, what did we have to do, shoot a fucking documentary? Someone knew and talked to me about it. Someone noticed, but didn't tell me anything. Keeley knows she can still count on me, and I know it works both ways. We still love each other, just... very separately. And life just goes on."

Roy wasn't quite sure why did he put on the whole speech he had with Phoebe, explaining to her why Keeley won't be around her as often as she was when they were together. He didn't wanted to avoid the talk and had her thinking that maybe there's something wrong with her, and moreover, he wanted to show her that sometimes people just go out of your life and while it's okay to be sad about it, you should respect their decision, if it was properly talked out. Roy also made sure Phoebe understands that if some fucker in her future decides to mess everything up for her, playing fucking mindgames, he would kill this piece of shit without a hint of hesitation.

Avoiding silence clearly gone wrong, Jamie is uncomfortably quiet after Roy's words, as if he has something in his mind, but is second thinking about whether or not he should talk about it. Roy takes a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to convince himself he's okay with what he's about to say.

"You can go for it."

"Huh?" Tartt asked, sounding puzzled.

"If you still love her, you can go for it. I'm not sure she's open for any relationship right now, but if you want to try, I'm not gonna treat you like shit for that."

"Huh." He thought a few seconds more before adding, "No! No, I fucking didn't even think about it, God. I mean, yeah, I love her, but... well, as a friend. She was the first person that was kind to me at times when I didn't even deserve it, but I know she doesn't love me that way too. If I seriously fell for every person who's kind to me, I would've been fucking head over heels for Lasso."

Roy barked a laugh a bit too loud and heard Jamie's there laughing quietly too.

"You're a master of turning conversation away from you. As much as turning it back to you."

"Yeah I know. It's a gift." Jamie says proudly.

"Where are you now?"

Roy heard Jamie move away from his phone. In less then a half-minute Jamie's face appeared on the screen and he traced the place with camera. It was dim lit, but Roy understood that was some kind of children playground and Tarrt was sitting on a swing.

"Isn't it a little too late?" Roy asks. "And by 'too late' I mean both you being too old for swings and that it is late in the evening."

"Escort me back to my house again?"

Roy be damned if Jamie didn't sound extremely hopeful saying this. And how can Roy say 'no'?

"I'm not turning my fucking camera on."

"You don't need to if you don't want to." He says softly, but adds mockinly, "You only have few programmed emotions that changes one another, I know them all."

"Didn't sound like a punchline, just creepy."

"Oh I have enough time to practice. You don't know how far away from my house I am."

"I always knew you're gonna be the death of me."

Jamie smiles at this like it's the best compliment he has ever heard and starts his way home. And there is no fucking chance Roy admit he kinda likes to see him smile.

It's just that with some kind of smiles Jamie's face looks a little less punchable.

That's all.

Chapter Text

It was hard to notice, when exactly Jamie Tartt became a habit. Somehow he just crawled his way into Roy's evenings, and the worst part is that it wasn't as terrible as Roy could've hoped it would be. They talk about everything and nothing at once like

"Hold the fuck up. You haven't seen The Godfather?!"

"Well... I don't like mafia." Jamie wrinkles his nose, as he sits himself down on the bench on halfway to home. Some days he goes from club, and some days he just takes a long walk before sleep, tonight it's the first scenario, and he has some glitter all over his neck, so he's shining like fucking Edward Cullen in the light of a street lamp, and also there was something on his face, which Roy identified as smudged red lipstick stain.

"What kind of a sweet bloody bullshit is this excuse? It's fucking classic."

"Yeah, but I just don't like mafia."

"It's number two in top-rated imdb films. And The Godfather II is the third one."

"And the first would be?"

"The Shawshank Redemption, I think."

"Hmm."

"Don't you fucking tell."

"...I just don't like prisons?"

Jamie says it with his best shit-eating half-grin, so it's hard to say at first whether he's joking to drive Roy wild, or he's telling the truth. Unfortunately for Roy, Tartt really haven't watched it yet. How can anyone who claims he likes films not watch a fucking basics of excellent writing and directing?

"No fucking chance. You are officially lost to the society."

"Oi, you haven't seen Truly, Madly, Deeply and I don't fucking dissect you for that. And it won BAFTA, eh."

"Alright, prick." Roy grunts. "If I watch your movie, will you watch mine?"

"You sound like you won't speak to me ever again, if I say no, so of course, mate, not even a question."

"So you prefer prison or mafia?"

"What a wonderful choice. Prison."

"Ok, that's even better. You'd love it. It's not about prison at all, it's about will and freedom and mistakes people make. Phoebe liked it."

Jamie waits, slightly confused, but Roy doesn't continue, so he asks, "And Phoebe would be?"

"My niece."

"Oh... Isn't she, like, ten years old or something?"

"She's seven. She couldn't sleep and came to me while I was watching it, curled up beside me, I thought she would fall asleep in seconds, but she watched it till the end. Asked me every fifteen minutes will Andy get out of the prison or not."

"So will he?"

Roy checks, if this is another joke. Apparently, it is not.

"Seriously?"

"Well I don't have two fucking hours of my free time for bad endings."

Roy could say it's childish and laugh the question off, saying he should watch it first and then they'll discuss it, but Jamie looks darn serious about this question. 

"He will."

"Great." Jamie smiles again. Smudged lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth looks like it's just a stained-glass window gleam. Roy shouldn't fixate on it like this, but can't help himself. "Hey, is there the low-rated films list? Like high-rated one, but... garbage edition?"

"Don't fucking know. Must be."

"Well, go google it, grandpa. You're the one, who's camera not turned. If I go google, mine would go off."

"Yeah, and I would die, if your camera goes off."

"Glad you're not denying it anymore!"

Roy rolls his eyes, tapping question into google.

"Yeah, there is a top with the lowest-rated films."

"Ooh, and what's the first position?"

"Some bloody parody named Disaster Movie."

"Boy, isn't that ironic. Does it look like the worst film ever?"

"The poster looks like it's a bad porn-parody with all porn excluded. Photos aren't reassuring as well. I can see fucking Enchanted princess and superheroes, and it says here it's considered to be 'the worst movie of all time'. Total shit."

"Yeah, what a garbage."

"You're gonna watch it, aren't you?"

"I'm 100% absolutely watching it."

"Sick bastard."

They kept it in phone conversations, though. At trainings they rather avoid each other. Jamie is, to be more specific. Roy didn't fucking see reasons why behave like they don't know each other, when they do, and did before this new tradition they developed. He could've take a guess that Jamie just doesn't like much to be around him, but he always is the first to call. Since the evening one Roy didn't call him, not a single time, it was always Jamie. Why calling someone you don't even like, right? Right.

Right, Roy's reading too much into this situation. It's not like they've been sharing life experiences and discussing essential philosophical topics here. It was just one of many ways to spend evenings, doesn't mean it makes them friends. It doesn't. Does it?

Fuck. Socialization sucks, it just brings questions in people existence they did not ask for, yet somehow have to answer them. Anyway, Roy isn't going to answer any. He's okay with what they have for now, and Tartt seems to be okay with it either, he improved since that Brighton game, never put his health or career at risk, smiled more, laughed more, was a better person overall, that's all that matters to Roy.

Match against Manchester was rescheduled for a few days later, which was a great opportunity to get more prepared for it. All three coaches in one voice kept telling Richmond team can make it against Manchester, but actually all three of them knew that is highly unlikely. ManCity has one of the tightest defense lines and forceful attacks, if they could make it a tie, that would be an early Christmas present.

Roy thought the day before game Tartt most certainly gonna call him with another bullshit story of his evening, stumbling home after party he needed to clean his head. But he didn't. He didn't text either. Strange disturbing feeling didn't let Roy go until he saw Jamie the next day, laughing over something with Rojas while changing and being the loudest of the team as he used to be at times when Roy played with them.

Yet it was still hard to match the image of Jamie the way he was at trainings and games and Jamie like Roy saw him nearly every evening via calls. They have slight differences in the gaze and subtones of voice and overall transparency. Roy didn't mind subordination at all, but he also couldn't help but wonder, which Jamie is more... well, real and if the two of his images can merge. Would he stay the same evening-call-Jamie with Roy in person outside of team meetings, trainings and stuff, for example. And does Roy really think of asking Jamie to hang out sometimes?

Tartt notices Roy's looking at his direction and fuck Roy was looking at him too long, he just hopes Jamie didn't notice it earlier. Fucker winks at him and returns to his conversation.

At least he looks bloody confident about today's game.

"Come onnn, say it!"

"Fuck no."

"I fucking deserved it, don't make me beg for something I fucking deserved."

Roy grumbls, full of half-pretended annoy. It was hard to be sincerely mad at Jamie, when he was the main reason they fucking left Manchester City with a tie - 3:3 is some fucking incredible score with Jamie scoring each of three goals, making it a hat-trick. Roy didn't even have a chance to congratulate him, Ted froze on Jamie till the end of the day, feeding his pride just fucking enough, showing him to the press like a proud parent, and Jamie seemed too invested in all this praising, so Roy just let him.

Later in the evening Tartt called, even though Roy could've bet his car that Jamie's gonna end this day in the pool with couple of models, living his life to the fullest. But he called. And Roy was kind of flattered at the thought he's a better company than couple of models in the pool. 

"Didn't you heard enough of it already?"

"Yeah, yeah, but that's different. I wanna hear you say it."

"Fuck my life," Roy says, breathing in loudly. Just one time and he's free of it, isn't he? "Jamie Tartt, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo..."

Jamie bursts out with laughter at Roy's the world's most uninspired monotonous chanting. And maybe at Roy's unimpressed facial expression too.

"I hate you." Roy grunts again.

"No, you fucking don't," states little fucker with his little fucker's little grin.

"No, I fucking don't and I fucking hate it."

Jamie seems to be satisfied with this answer, he falls onto bed, rolls to the side and places his head on his free hand. Oversized grey tee looks good on him. Better than some fancy clown-ish skin-tight brand clothes he likes to wear. 

"You're at home." A sudden realisation crosses Roy's mind. He's not on his way to home as it usual was when he called, he's so... domestic.

"And you turned your camera on." Jamie says slightly defensive. And that is also true. At first Roy wanted just to compliment his performance face-to-face, but then decided to keep camera this way for whatever reason.

"What're you doing on Sunday?"

It caught Tartt by surprise, he grimaces while thinking. "I mean- Nothing special. Why?"

"An old friend of mine is getting married, and I should've brought Keeley as my 'plus one', but now I think I would just send gift and lie something about my health in the greeting card. So I have Sunday all to myself, maybe we can go for a drink or something."

"Or you can go to the wedding and finally meet somebody new outside the club."

Oh. Roy wasn't expecting this answer to be- Well, he didn't know what he had expected. Definitely not this. He thought maybe they really were getting somewhere as friends, sort of. Now he feels like a fucking clown for assuming it.

"What a diplomatic way to say 'fuck you, it's Sunday, I have things to do'." Roy tries hard not to give away his disappointment, masking it for a joke. It doesn't really work, he still sounds a bit offended, and he hates himself for this, because what the fuck. It's Tartt. He doesn't really do friends, why making exception for someone, who clearly doesn't share his interests like drinking and partying all night anymore.

For a long shit moment Jamie looks perplexed, and just when Roy's going to change the subject and forget this incident, he let out a knowing "Oh".

"No. Hey. Um," Jamie scoffs nervously and misses words trying to explain himself. "If you thought- I didn't mean it that way. What I actually meant was we can go to that wedding thing. Like, together. You can bring me as your plus one, it doesn't have to be a significant other, right? You can bring your friend as well. I mean, I don't want to brag, but I can be a fucking great wingman, if women there suddenly don't know who Roy fucking Kent is." He laughs and Roy feels even more foolish, but that doesn't bother him as much now. "After all," Jamie continues mischievously, "if there's not enough fish in the tank, or you're absolutely terrible at flirting we can get drunk there as well, eh?"

"I am a fucking god of flirting."

"Yeeeah, I don't believe this. But keep up with affirmations! Dr. Sharon believe they work."

"The fuck you mean you don't believe this? I'm fucking delightful to be around."

"Not from the first sight... Nor from the second, to be honest."

"Oh fuck you."

Jamie giggles. "No, honestly. I was kind of fascinated by your, well, game and style, and the first time I met you? Fucking scarecrow with those narrowed eyebrows of yours and eyes of a murderer."

"Scared is the last word I would describe you when you came to Richmond. You were The Twat from day zero."

"I'm not... talking about Richmond here."

Huh? Now Roy gives him complicated look. Jamie on the other side looks like a person who said something he thought he shouldn't have, and well, this is interesting.

"We met before Richmond?"

"Um- I wouldn't say met. Actually, forget it-"

"Come on, tell me."

"Mate, there's nothing to tell." Roy raises his brow, not blinking at all, just staring into the camera, and that's where Jamie gives up. "One of the Chelsea - ManCity games dad took me to. Your teammate tried to score a goal out of the penalty box and tried a little too hard, so ball flew off to the crowd. And I was in the crowd, and somehow it ended up with me and I really didn't want to give it away, so I tried to hide it, but, well, it's a fucking stadium, so it didn't went unseen and-"

Oh. Oh. Roy remembers it, he most definitely does. Not that something huge happened that day, footballs fly round and outside the field pretty much every single game, but the image of the young bloke in ManCity shirt, holding on for the ball as if it was the last good in his life, just reappeared in memory as a fucking newspaper article. A few were written that day. This is just can't be true.

"Fuuuuck. Fuck no, I can't believe this. It wasn't!"

"Yeah, it was me." Jamie rolled his eyes. "Not my proudest moment, I was fourteen, shut up."

"That is fucking gold. Do you know what journalists would give for this info? There's still gotta be pictures with me getting the ball back right from your hands."

"For fuck's sake, you're gonna sell me out like this?"

"With my fucking pleasure. I'm also gonna go all 'grandpa' on you in the interview, trying out all clichés like 'I always knew that kid was special'. Wait, did I tell you something that day? Doesn't matter, we can just make up something inspiring to add some drama."

"You fucking monster, Kent. Can't believe I had your poster."

"Wait. Did you get poster before or after the incident?"

Jamie goes paler and scoffs a small 'Before', looking away from the screen.

"Tartt, you fucking adorable little asshole, I was your professional crush." Roy teased, watching Jamie's face from pale to red in seconds.

"Wha- You- Ew, what the fuck, mate? I don't have crush on you."

"Professional crush, prick. You know, those people in your career that amaze you so fucking much, it slightly reminds having a crush."

"First of all, still ew. And secondly, don't get too excited, you didn't 'amaze' me. You just got more of my attention, cause I never met footballers that close before. It's not like I've learnt your biography by heart and checked for fresh gossips every now and then."

"Sounds a little bit too specific."

"You know what? I'm not going to this wedding thing, yet alone helping you. Die alone."

"Now that I have so much dirt on you? Oh, you're absolutely going. Just put on your shirt, okay? Don't want you to distract everyone else from the groom."

"Because I'm that hot and irresistible?"

"Because being shirtless while wearing a suit is fucking strange."

"You're just jealous you can't wear a suit shirtless like me. Everybody will think you wear sweater."

"At least I don't look like freshly waxed out-of-box Ken doll."

Jamie scoffs and lays back down, even though it's not very his style to leave last word to the opponent. Roy suddenly have this strange fucking urge to reach out for Jamie's shoulder to get his attention, to ask what's going on through his mind, not really asking him in words. Because this stubborn little shit never tells anything when you ask directly.

It doesn't take too long before Roy notices Jamie's just falling asleep. It's past 1:00 AM and that was a rough productive day, fucking understandable he's exhausted.

"You should put your phone aside and get some sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do. You don't get to be my coach in my own fucking bedroom." Jamie murmurs what presumably was a joke. At least, Roy huffs a laugh.

"Goodnight, Jamie."

He turns once more to the camera, glancing at Roy, like he has something to say. "Don't fall out of bed too, I guess," Tartt smiles with the corner of his mouth and hangs up, leaving Roy with the thought that he should probably rename his contact.

The wedding is okay. No ex-boyfriends sneaking into bride's room to confess their endless love while they still got a chance, no side-lovers in the middle of the ceremony, and both of them even said the right names. In other words, it could've been funnier, but overall everything's was fine.

Jamie's all-the-way commentary made it better, cause that lad's mouth never shuts. Mostly he was criticizing everything about organisation. Roy couldn't care less about organisation, but the whole mushy, fluffy-rainbow-clouds-and-butterflies atmosphere was fucking irritating, so every little thing he could laugh about was appreciated. Fucking lilies everywhere, music choice, bridesmaids dresses - just literary any fucking thing to distract him from feeling like a loner teenager at a fancy school party.

He didn't even got to talk with his friend properly. Not that he expected it to be otherwise. It wasn't the first wedding in his life, he watched his teammates from different clubs getting married too many times, so he knew how it can be. But even despite that, there was just no one Roy'd knew.

"And how come you don't know anyone here?" Jamie's question sounds too reasonable for Roy to handle. He didn't even get to introduce Jamie to the groom. And overall the whole night just seemed to be pointless, like why he accepted the invite six months ago? Probably just felt nostalgic, seeing an old familiar name on the front and an old familiar face on the back of the card.

"We were more of a school-age buddies, him and me and few other lads. You know, those friendships that you suppose will last forever, but in fact you just cross your ways couple times and then completely lose contact."

"Well, he invited you, why didn't you see someone else from your school days?"

"The rest of our gang is either in jail or on their half way to it."

"So you were in a bad company? Spicy."

Jamie is way too excited about that, Roy couldn't bring himself to ruin his expectations by saying that company wasn't too bad itself. Definitely not the company Roy would've tolerate if his younger version had the older version's brains, though, but at first they weren't bad people at all. At some point life just happened. Some could handle it, some couldn't. A never-ending story.

"Yeah." Roy finishes his glass of the fucking sweetest sparkling wine ever and fiercely places it on table as he gets up to walk away. "Let's fucking go."

Jamie almost chokes on his shrimp at sudden action, but follows Roy automatically. "What? Why? No! Come on, grandpa, ceremony's over and party's just started, I thought we had, like, huge plans."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Hey." Jamie stops him by the elbow. "I'm sorry this is not what you probably expected. But we're here for you to meet someone new anyway, so it's a fucking Klondike, innit? Can you, like, be fun for once in your life?"

"This wedding feels like family meeting where every single one you know asks about your plans for future. I don't know why I am here or what did I expect and I'm sorry for ruining your weekend, but I'm not staying here." Roy frees his arm. Jamie's looking too fucking cautious and caring for Jamie fucking Tartt, he can't stand this glance. "Now grab your coat and let's move." 

"Okay. If that's what you want," Jamie answers quietly, his glance slides to the side for a moment. "Oi, Roy. You go outside, I'll go look for the toilets and then come back to you, 'lright?"

"Suit yourself?"

Is that even a question? What Roy could possibly answer to this, 'No'? Jamie finger guns at him, reminding Roy he could be really fucking strange sometimes in a way Roy cannot predict. But, well, at least sometimes this was kind of charming.

He walks out of the restaurant, a fresh air cleans his head and that feels nice, and yet it makes guilty hop out of the darkest corner in his mind. Roy isn't proud of what he's feeling right now and Jamie probably planned some wingman assistant strategy Roy had successfully fucked up, however he was glad it was finally over. He wasn't going to pick up women at wedding anyway, he didn't know why he agreed to this in the first place. To be sure Jamie's going with him, maybe? To have a bloody reason to bring him along, because otherwise it would've been odd? Yeah, might be this.

What a miserable night. He tried to hold on to some past memories and prove himself something and failed, he tried to spend some time and befriend his former rival fifteen bloody years younger than him and failed, he even tries to hate this restaurant and all that surrounds it, but utterly fails at this either, because lights and every decoration around him looks tooth-rottingly beautiful.

Fuck that. Fuck that place. Fuck that night. Fuck all of it.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest." Roy hears Jamie singsong this behind his back and turns around to face him. Tartt smiles as he holds something underneath his coat. "Yo-ho-ho..." He pulls out a bottle, demonstrating it proudly like a trophy. Roy raises an eyebrow.

"You stole a fucking bottle of rum?"

"I don't know how it ended up in my inside pocket," Jamie smirks.

"You stole it."

"Calm down, will you? It's not so fancy. Your wedding gift cost twice its price. It's not stealing, it's a cashback."

"You're crazy." Roy huffs a nervous laugh. "Whatever the excuse, you can't do this."

"Arrest me then, officer Kent." Jamie scoffs, opening a bottle, looking straight in Roy's eyes, challenging, it's hard to keep up with this stare and it's even harder to look away. That makes Roy feel something he most fucking certainly shouldn't feel. Not now. Not for Jamie Tartt. "This is the best fucking day of their lives, do you really think they would care for one missing bottle? They would probably just assume guests finished it. And they won't be far from the truth."

"And what is your A+ plan? Just wander around and drink?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much my plan." He takes a few steps closer and lowers his voice. "I may not know many things, but I know when someone needs a solid drink and to fucking let go of themselves just for one night." Jamie takes a sip straight from the bottle, licks a drop from his lips and hands over the bottle to Roy. "Drink and the devil had done for the rest," he finishes song, daring. And Roy knows better than to play along with Jamie's vicious behaviour.

But not fucking today.

"...and he just stand there, in the middle of the field and yells 'Which one of you assholes is Tartt?' and I step out and say 'I'm the asshole you're looking for, sir'. He was so fucking big and he moved like a truck, if you know what I mean. Like he's about to bulldoze you in the asphalt. And he had those massive hands, and he grabbed my shoulders, so hard he kinda lifted me above the ground. And then he goes 'You run like a bloody cheetah on steroids, have you ever considered football career?'. And that is how I met my first coach after breaking the glass of his car with a ball. Moral of the story: don't sign the ball with your fucking name. Or sign. It did kinda work for the best."

Roy laughs hard, both at the way Jamie was telling it and from imagining it vividly. He takes another sip of rum when he's done laughing his guts out and offers the bottle to Jamie, which he accepts with enthusiasm of a desert survivor.

"That's fun and all, but you didn't answer my question," Roy notices, admitting to himself he almost forgot about asking a question.

"Yeeeah. Shit. Sorry. What was that again?"

"Ever thought of becoming anything else than a football player?"

"Ah, nah, Christ, of course no."

They burst out laughing again. They have somehow reached the riverside. Roy stopped calculating their route forty minutes ago, so maybe it was far from the place they started from, or maybe they just drew the full big circle and came back, and that's somewhere near the restaurant. It didn't actually mattered and most importantly, Roy didn't actually fucking cared about place or time. He felt high and free with Jamie beside him, god knows what kind of wingman he is, but the fact he's the best drinking companion one could ever wish is undeniable.

A car park they accidentally found looked full, yet also somewhat abandoned in this time of day. Or night, to be correct. It wasn't lightened at all, strange with all those cars parked here, but the wide gates were closed anyway and there was a security cabin, so maybe it wasn't as necessary. The only lights measured a long stone fence, which was also an observation deck with a fascinating look at the river they couldn't possibly pass by.

"This is gonna hurt tomorrow," Roy says, admiring the view hungrily.

"You mean?"

"My head. By morning it will be exploding fucking fireworks from the inside."

"I'm... sorry?"

"Don't fucking be. I like it here with you."

Jamie's silent, but Roy can feel with his skin he's eyeing him from his side. He probably said something ambiguous, and mentally Roy have prepared himself for all types of jokes on this matter, however not a single joke followed. They just stand there, watching at the river, letting the slightest of wind messing with their drunken heads. Fresh air usually helps to clean out some alcohol, but this shit Jamie stole - or fucking cashbacked - was intense, Roy feels absolutely dizzy, yet absurdly roguish. He didn't feel like that in a long time.

"Tartt."

"Yeah?"

"You're quiet. It's fucking scary."

Jamie chuckles, turning around, leaning against the stone fence with his back.

"I'm just thinking about how life has its funny ways to fuck up your plans and how sometimes that could be a good thing."

"What plans?"

"I didn't plan for ManCity to kick me out. You were right, I buggered it up, but I kind of thought I belonged there. That was all I dreamt of from when I was a kid, and it felt like it's meant to be. But so you know, I did not regret this. I felt fucking relieved. Scared too, but mostly so fucking relieved. When they told me to go fuck myself I wanted to jump in car and drive away to Richmond. Up to that moment I thought I was living a fucking dream, I didn't know I actually hate Manchester and this club so much."

Roy turns around to face Jamie. "I don't think you hate Manchester. Or the club."

They share a short look at each other before Jamie huffs almost soundless "I guess you're right" and scrapes the label on the bottle with his nail mindlessly, looking surprisingly serious and - as much as Roy hates himself for noticing - ridiculously good in this classic suit and grey trench with his messed up by wind fucking Prince Charming hairstyle. "I don't want to lose Richmond though. I really don't. Dunno, what was up my head that day, when we played with Brighton."

"You still onto that? Be a fucking goldfish and move on. Last game you did perfect. And you've already said you're sorry 'bout Brighton."

"I didn't say it enough." Jamie drinks more, wiping his lips with his sleeve roughly. "And how do my apologies make any difference if I persistantly keep on fucking everything up?"

"You were just upset. If not for your dad-"

"No. That's the problem. It's him, who always find someone or something to blame for his actions. It was always mom or job or alcohol or football or me - anything, but his fault. I don't fucking tell people about him or our conflicts not because I cover for him, I know he's an asshole. I don't tell people, because I don't want to be like him and justify shit I do. But at the same time, I do shit, cause I simply don't know how to do things right or manage my emotions and that is his fault. But I'm not a kid anymore. I should learn. And grow up. But it's like I have a fucking switch in my head, and whenever he shows up in my life again, it's like I'm ten years old and he yells at me, cause I can't understand my maths homework."

"There's no such thing like 'growing up', if you ask me." Roy softly takes the bottle from Jamie's hands, cause he was gesturing a bit too actively and nearly smashed the bottle onto the fence. "You just grow older and all of your weaknesses and insecurities grow older on you as well. And parents, they are no better. Unfortunately when you become a parent, it doesn't automatically makes you a good person. it's all about will to change and most people don't want to change and the shittiest part is that there's not much you can do about it. You can either grow to accept them the way they are if it's possible, help them if you want, ignore them if you can. Or you can grow to let yourself hate them. Learn to give up on people and stop using blood relations as an excuse to love someone who used, abused or abandoned you in any way. But I guess that's not easy too." Roy takes a sip. "My worst nightmare is the one where Phoebe's dad rolls back in her life and I fucking let her choose herself how to feel about him, cause my sister told me to not interfere."

"Your sister's raising her alone?"

"Well, she has me. I try to be a father figure, but I guess I am more of her friend at that point."

Jamie narrows his brow, not really getting from Roy's tone whether it's okay or not with him. "That bothers you?".

"Maybe. I don't know how to raise children, I don't have one myself. I took care of my sister as older brother, so I know the technical part, but not the parenting part. Makes me wonder, if I'm doing enough."

"I think, you're overthinking, mate. At times my mother couldn't be my mother, she was my best friend. And that's good, cause sometimes you tell your friends things you can't tell your parent, eh? It just meant she was always there for me."

"What is she like?" Roy asks. Jamie let out a loud breath and maybe his revelation fund emptied out for today. Roy doesn't want to push him, so he adds, "You don't have to answer, if-"

"Let's just say," Tartt interrupts him firmly with a weak hint of smile, "she is the only reason I hope Heaven is the real place. Cause she deserved this."

Oh fuck.

"That means-"

"Yes." Jamie says quickly. "Yes. Few years ago."

Unasked 'I'm sorry' burns the tip of Roy's tongue, like it can change something. He should've guessed from the way Jamie spoke about her and shouldn't have asked such questions, but a) his brains don't work that good now and b) he just wanted to see more of his undisguised softer side, slightly brighter than his usual appearance. He wanted to see more of this Jamie everyday, actually.

"You know what?" Tartt interrupts the silence knowledgeably and smirks a little. "I think I got it now why are you always so intense and serious and no fun at all."

"Okay, fucking rude, but go on." Roy scoffs, pretending to be offended.

"You're an older brother, read this as an oldest-child syndrome, you were a captain, now you're an uncle and a coach. You're always under the pressure of responsibility. You just don't let yourself be childish and stupid. It's like you were born old already!"

"That is not true. I did many stupid shit in my life."

"Okay. Name one stupid thing you always wanted to do, but couldn't let yourself."

Roy really thinks for a while, gazing at the night skies. "Smoking."

"What?"

"I always wanted to try smoking, but I never did. Football came to my life in my early years and all of my coaches had this strict anti-smoking policy, I still sometimes get this teenage rebellious urge to smoke a cigarette, although I'm sure I won't even fucking like it."

"Why do you want it then?"

"I don't fucking know. Peter Falk looked fucking cool with a cigarette." Jamie's face is so difficult, Roy decides to specify, "Lieutenant Columbo?" No changes. "For fuck's sake, Tartt!"

He bursts out with laughter, pushing Roy playfully. "I know who Peter Falk is, I'm just messing with you. I kind of like it when you get all furious over some insignificant shit you think important."

"You're an unbelievable prick."

"And still, you're here. Or do you want a medal for tolerating me?"

"Never said I don't like a little challenge."

They stood like this a little more, and then Jamie tugged on Roy's sleeve, pulling him away from the car park. Brief questions about wherever the fuck they were going were ignored completely. Not that Roy protests much. He really fucking doesn't want to go home, he doesn't want to sleep yet, he doesn't want to face the silence and empty bed again, so if change of place gonna take another half an hour of his time, he wouldn't mind it at all.

Their next stop turns out to be a petrol station. Jamie says to wait on him outside, Roy's okay with this, he still got some rum to warm his insides up a bit in this cold, and Tartt's petrol station store shopping doesn't take long, he comes back with a fucking smug and a pack of cigarettes with the lighter he throws at Roy in exchange for the bottle.

"Seriously?"

"Yep. I officially claim tonight as the perfect night for stupid ass decisions. And the slogan would be: you don't do it tonight, you won't do it any night. So be my guest, mate, light this up and live your life to the fullest."

"Yeah, no. 'Won't do it any night' is alright with me."

"Oi, don't be a buzzkill, grandpa. You said you always wanted to try. Then fucking do it. You can lecture me tomorrow and for now just turn your brains off and listen to your inner demons. I sure hope you have at least some in you."

Roy smirks and finally opens the pack, lighting one of smokes up with a new lighter and taking the first puff within less than a minute.

"So? How does it feel?" Jamie asks kind of nervous, kind of excited, as he watch Roy letting a smoke out in the sky slowly. He's silent for quite a long time, twists a cigarette in his fingers, examining it.

"Disgusting. Can't imagine how the fuck people smoke few packs a day," he finally says, yet he inhales again.

"At least you look cool with a cigarette!"

"You think?"

"No, actually all I can think of is for you to not set your beard on fire with this thing. This was pretty cheap. Thought it would be more accurate as for your first smoke." 

"Fuck you." Roy laughs through the teeth.

"Come on, you gotta admit doing something stupid tastes kinda good."

"This doesn't taste even remotely good. Did you ever smoked?"

"Christ, of course not, and I most definitely fucking won't. That even smells disgusting. Wouldn't want it anywhere near my mouth, if I was you." Tartt teases carelessly, while Roy smirks and take another deep puff. "Also, I bet aftertaste is much, much worse, especially after alco-"

He doesn't think twice (although probably should have) before pulling Jamie by the back of his neck and shutting him up, pressing lips tightly to his, exhaling hot acrid smoke right into his mouth. It wasn't a kiss, Roy just wanted to pull on Jamie's nerves, sharing an awful taste so he'd stop blabber. The moment is short and Roy let go of Jamie with the winner's grin, as Tartt coughs out the rest of smoke, looking wide-eyed at Roy, who's still in his space, a lingering astringent scent of Tartt's cologne mixes with cheap cigarettes' smell and it sort of makes Roy feel dazed.

"Okay, now I admit. Doing something stupid does taste somewhat good," Roy teases back. Jamie still looks shocked, to that point Roy feels guilt creeping up his mildly absent mind. And okay, maybe that wasn't fucking the best idea ever. Roy opens his mouth to apologise and this time it is Jamie who shuts him up, pulling him closer by the coat and kissing him.

Chapter Text

Up to this time Roy's been in too many kissing situations. Mostly with women, but he didn't mind to share a few with lads. He didn't give a single fuck, to be honest, as long as he was attracted to a person, and he most certainly didn't want to name himself something based on variety of people he kissed and/or shagged before. Because tags and labels put on you some fucking accountability spell, and Roy wanted none of it. He didn't want to ask himself things like, 'Does kissing blokes, while I'm also attracted to women, makes me bi? And if so, why did I never got involved in a single even half-serious relationship with a man? Does it make me some kind of heteroromantic, though sexually bi-curious type or I'm just attracted to males on every third Tuesday of a month and that's the way my sexuality works?'.

To avoid confusion within his desires, Roy simply stated to himself that he is, undoubtedly, not straight, hoping it would be enough to come to terms with absolutely any attraction he might experience in the future. However, no definitions nor high-level self-knowledge couldn't prepare him for Jamie fucking Tartt kissing him in the alley behind some petrol station. Cigarette falls from Roy's fingers, as he reaches for Jamie's wrists to take his hands away from the coat softly and slow things down a little.

At the same time Jamie probably felt the kiss was left unanswered, so he pulls away cautiously, avoiding Roy's look at his best, murmurs something between I'm sorry and I'm so fucking stupid. Roy couldn't agree more, but not because of what he did. He still could feel the pleasant warmth of Tartt's breath on his lips - despite how feared by his own actions he was right now, Jamie didn't pull back that far away. Roy waits for defensive attack and fitful excuses or for Jamie just to laugh it away the way he always do, for Jamie to be an idiot who thought this would be just a fun joke or experiment, but neither of these comes.

"We should- We should go home." He says weakly instead. "It's fucking late. Nothing good happens after 2 AM anyway."

"Yeah." Roy exhales and leans in to capture Jamie's lips yet in another kiss and this time it's all the way mutual, as Jamie gives in to him so fucking quickly and so fucking passionately, it's kind of tempting how desperate he is. Jamie's arms, finally freed out of Roy's grip, is wrapped around his neck, as Roy pulls him closer by the waist.

Both of them are out of breath and drunk and dizzy, everything that comes next seems too surreal to remember. Roy doesn't quite know how they reach Jamie's place. Cab, obviously, he probably even paid for that, but it didn't matter as much as pinning Tartt against the nearest wall when they're finally get in the house and the door is closed behind them.

Off go both coats, no one gives a fuck about where it ends up to lay, presumably on the fucking floor, as Jamie kicks it off their way, so neither of them would trip over it. Tartt's fingers touch the back of Roy's head, and they're so chill it makes him shiver.

Jamie moans into kiss, while Roy holds his hands above his head, locking fingers firmly. "How your hands are so fucking cold?" Roy growls, teasingly biting Jamie's lip.

"How your hands are so fucking warm? We were on the same street, same amount of time."

"I guess I'm just hotter than you."

Roy chuckles, as Jamie slightly pushes his knee with his own, and Roy can't help but wonder, whether it's by accident, or Tartt specifically aimed for his uninjured knee so it wouldn't hurt. Cause if the latter, this was fucking sweet of him to think about such stuff right now, when both of them acted more of automatically.

"I hate your jacket." Jamie says matter-of-factly. They moved to the couch, Roy is now sitting with Jamie upon his thighs looking kind of hot with those swollen lips he was biting on, trying too hard to hide a smile for whatever reason. Roy doesn't mind his smile, and he fucking loves it when he laughs.

"You said I looked great when I picked you up, you prick."

"I changed my mind. Your jacket sucks. Want me to do you a favour and take it off of you?"

Roy smirks and kisses the edge of his chin softly, tracing Tartt's cologne scent down his neck with the tip of his nose. "I bet my shirt gets to you too?" He says in hushed low voice against his skin.

"Fuck yes, the ugliest thing in the world." Jamie sounds like he forgot how to breathe right, he tilts his head to open more skin for Roy to nibble on, and Roy uses his weakness to drop him on the couch, hovering over him.

"Well too bad you don't get to fucking touch me, until your hands are normal temperature again, Sub-Zero."

"It's not fair."

"I know." Roy kisses him again. "Life's so cruel, innit?"

There's a million and a hundred more reasons for them to stop now, but not a single one comes to Roy's mind, when he bites and kisses on Jamie's highly sensitive and ridiculously responding body; or when Jamie finally fights his right to touch Roy too and makes most of it, leading them to the bedroom.

Jamie's also so fucking fast-forward, and Roy don't go at the same pace, so he slows him down whenever he gets too rapid with anything, and every time he does this, Tartt's looking at him as if he's a fucking pathbreaker. And well, maybe being thirty eight years old sometimes has its privileges, like wisdom and knowledge and skills of how to fuck one's mind blank without rushing it, though all Roy did was being gentle and generous. Which, for the record, wasn't weird at all with Jamie. 

It was more than just 'not weird' actually. It felt good. Jamie's hands felt good, Jamie's lips felt good, Jamie's body bending in his fingers felt good, Jamie's sighs and moans and Roy's name dispersed into Jamie's sighs and moans felt good. It might've been a little twisted to fuck with your ex's ex, but that's the very last thought Roy had at the moment, whilst the very first was about that night being the best night he had in a long fucking time.

"You asleep?" Jamie whispers in half-darkened room. He went downstairs to grab water for himself and for Roy too, but he was resting on bed with his eyes closed, so it could look like he fell asleep.

"No," Roy says, tearing himself off the comfy silk-ish bedsheets to sit properly. Jamie sits by his side too and pass him the bottle as he did a half an hour before, but it's just water now. Hallelujah. Roy truly believes one drop of alcohol more would kill him. "Thanks."

"Sure."

Water is the fucking blessing and Roy finishes it in less than a minute, spilling a little on the bed, cause he drinks like a thirsty animal. It's hard to imagine what he's gonna be in the morning. Probably still a thirsty animal, but with a headache.

Jamie's gaze is on his lips, Roy spots it as soon as he puts the bottle away on the nightstand. "You can kiss me, in case you don't know." Roy says in a lazily joking manner and brushes shoulders with him. That makes Tartt smile a little.

"I know. Been doing that all night, in case you didn't notice."

"So what? You got tired of this?"

"Fuck no. You're an amazing kisser."

"Beware, you actually said something nice about me." Roy teases, leaving warm and dry kisses from the top of Jamie's shoulder up his neck. "I can get used to this."

"You're a great lover too." Roy can hear Jamie smiling wider and then relaxing against his chest.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Tartt shivers a little, when Roy gets to the back of his ear. "Glad to know your greatness shifted at least somewhere after you became an okay footballer."

"You fucker," Roy clenches his teeth teasingly around Jamie's ear and Jamie laughs, as he falls upon the bed once again, gripped tightly in Roy's arms. They lay like this some time, silence wrapped around them like a blanket, but it doesn't fell any less better than when they're 'fighting' each other verbally or discussing shit over the phone. It's quite nice.

Eventually Jamie turns in his arms to face him and that is rather unexpected, but, well, not bad either. Except for how much Tartt examines him closely, as if he is deciding something about Roy without informing Roy about it.

"What's on your mind?"

"Sex with you is not what I imagined it to be."

"And how many fucking times exactly you've been imagining sex with me?"

"It was a figure of speech, shut up."

"So you like- Disappointed or something?"

"No. I just thought you'd go, you know, a little rougher on me. Getting revenge for times I pissed you the fuck off. Didn't think you'd be like... well, like..."

"This?" Roy takes Jamie's hand in his, press a soft lingering kiss on his fingers, then bites feebly on the wrist and kiss the bite too, not looking away to see Jamie's reaction.

"Yeah, my words exactly." He shifts nervously, biting on his lower lip. They lock fingers once more, now it's Jamie's intention and Roy is more than okay with this. It seems to be the whole new playground to him, so why the fuck not. "Nights like this I wish tomorrow never comes. But somehow it always fucking does."

"We can talk. So it won't come earlier."

"About what?"

"Anything. What you want for Christmas?"

"Why, are you my Secret Santa this year?"

"Stop answering questions with fucking questions, don't be an ass."

Jamie chuckles.

"I want to watch Bridget Jones's Diary and for everybody to leave me the fuck alone."

"Bridget fucking Jones?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jamie pushes him playfully without unclenching their hands. "It's Christmas, I'm not watching fucking Shawshank Redemption. Die Hard is my pure action Christmas maximum."

"Shit, you're that type of people, who think Die Hard is a Christmas film."

"And what's so not Christmas about it? Lightings - tick, Christmas tree - another tick, it takes place at fucking Christmas party, that's a big fucking tick. And you know what people say. It's not Christmas until I see Hans Grubber fall off the Nakatomi Plaza."

"What a fucking definition of Christmas spirit."

"Wait until I say Lethal Weapon is Christmas film too."

"Please don't fucking say that."

Jamie laughs quietly, letting go off Roy's hand carefully, only to run his fingers up and down his arm.

"Why don't you go with the rest of the team to Higgins?"

"Because," Jamie half-whispers mysteriously, "I don't want people to know my dark secret." He leans more into Roy's space. "I don't like Christmas. At all. I don't believe in Christmas miracles and never had a single normal Christmas in my life. And I don't want to be some fucking Grinch, spoiling it for everyone. Especially for Higgins's kids."

"Can I be honest with you?"

"I guess."

"You're an idiot."

It shouldn't have been said as a mean thing and Roy didn't want for it to sound that, but Jamie heard it his way and tensed up a bit, his touch fainted from Roy's skin and lips pressed in one thin line. Roy clicks his tongue and hovers over him to keep him from distancing.

"Those lads are your family. And you know it darn well. You won't bother them, nor spoil anything for them, cause they know who you are and they except you and they care for you. And you simply think you don't deserve it. Which is bullshit and the most crappy thought that could've ever crossed your mind. And that makes you a very merry fucking idiot."

Not that Jamie stopped being a prick, but his features softened at those words and the way Roy rolled them into the conversation.

Still, he says, "You don't know me." And it sounds like the most bitter thing he could drawn out of himself at this moment. Or like he was convincing himself, fuelled by tickling panic rising from his guts that someone may actually know him. Roy saw it earlier already - in a parking lot after the game with Brighton. Jamie really wasn't that hard to read, and despite what he's thinking, it's not a bad thing.

"I think I'm getting there." Roy says against his lips, slightly touching them with his own as he spoke. "Or at least I want to believe I do."

Jamie doesn't respond to this, he just kisses, slow and tentatively until Roy kisses him back and then somehow ends up laying on his back again with Jamie upon him, smug and full of himself, as if it was a fucking smart-ass trap he set up for him. "Do you think you can handle me for another round, old man?"

"I know what you're aiming for with this bitchy attitude of yours, but we've been walking and drinking for hours, I literally can't feel my fucking legs."

"I can do most of the work here." Jamie licks his lips and his hand slides down Roy's torso, nails scarring the skin. "You're only job is to enjoy it." Another long kiss. "But- Well, I thought- Maybe, if you want, you know... be a little more of my good ol' aggressive captain rather than my measured and considerate coach..."

"You're too fucking obvious with your fantasies, you kinky prick."

"Is that a no?"

"It's a 'You have to earn what you're begging for, Tartt, or did you see a fucking charity sign around here?'"

"I did not beg for this." Jamie protests. Sometimes he's really an idiot. A good looking one though.

"Well too fucking bad. Maybe you better put this pretty mouth of yours to a good use then." Roy growls, looking at him as if he was asking 'how can I say it clearer for you?'.

Jamie's face brightens with pure enthusiasm and excitement, as the realisation comes through, and he gives Roy one last short gentle kiss on the lips to thank him before getting to his role, which he knew too well and for too long, so no fucking wonder he's too good at it as well. So fucking good Roy have no problems with playing along.

Funny or not, Jamie falls asleep first (lucky exhausted little bastard), his back against Roy's chest, his head on Roy's arm, preserving Roy from any fucking movement. Not something Roy would complain about. It was quite a long time since he held someone like this, sharing a bed together after fucking in each other into it.

This is definitely gonna hurt in the morning. Not only his head, particular parts of his body too. And they're definitely talking shit that happened here out. Roy didn't know where the talk is gonna lead them or what he wants to hear from Jamie in the first place, but they most surely aren't leaving it for later. He doesn't want any difficulties or misunderstandings in the future.

Jamie's right. Tomorrow comes and it comes too fucking soon, but at least Roy enjoyed this night, and, as much as he knew, Tartt did too. Yet Roy wakes up to an empty space beside him, Jamie's nowhere to be found around his own fucking house, and only keys and a bottle of water with pills left on the nightstand for Roy, obviously. No note, no text, no call response but voicemail. At training Ted informs Jamie took a day off, 'cause he had some business he swore is urgent, and it's obvious Roy was wrong about one important thing - last night he did sleep with a complete stranger.

Jamie doesn't like hospitals. Well, nobody does, but everybody have their own special reasons for that. First time he's been to hospital, he was seven. When on dates someone asks him about his vivid childhood memory, he usually tells them of the first stadium football match he attended, but actually the first thing that comes to his mind is hospital at seven.

His mom, who was teaching him lying is a pretty bad thing, told the doctor Jamie fell off the tree house. They don't even fucking have a tree house. She was supposed to say just 'from the tree', and was so confused by messing this up, she started crying. But it's okay to cry, when your child fell off the tree house. No one asked any questions. Neither about that, nor about the way she shrugged off hew husband's hand abruptly, when he tried to comfort her.

Jamie was told that was an accident, Jamie was told daddy didn't want it, he just didn't recognise his own strength and how fragile Jamie's body is and grabbed his hand too hard and now it out of place, Jamie was told it won't happen again, it will heal in days, and that daddy loves him more than world. Jamie was told to say he fell off the tree. But he didn't want to mess this up like mom did, so he just kept silent, avoiding looking at his own parents. Jamie was told it is just a shock and everything will be okay.

Second time he had hurt his leg at the training. He was sixteen and waiting for the doc felt like the world was ending. Jamie specifically asked to not call his parents until they know how bad the injury is, but they called dad, cause that's what they had to do in those situations. This was also a time Jamie found out dad lost his job. Again. Another bitch sucked her way into the boss chair and plays god messing with people's lives, is what he said. Aside of those words, he was too fucking calm. For all Jamie knew, his dad would tear him apart for this injury, wouldn't even wait for the doctors decision, but he was quiet.

Until he said emotionlessly, You'd be nothing without football, sonny. If this is serious and you need to give up on football, you'd be nothing. And he was right. Jamie sucked at everything but football, no matter how much mother helped him through the school, he was barely average. In football he was nothing like fucking average. He was one of the best. In football he had future. Outside football he wasn't even half as interesting - he had no intriguing personality, wasn't interested in anything else but football. That's the truth, but it is also not what a boy want to hear from his father in moments like this. So Jamie responded with acute Fuck you and the only thing that stopped dad from hitting him is that the doctor came in.

But visiting mom was the hardest. His brain blocked most of memories of those days, he kept playing, cause that's what his mom told him to do. He just turned eighteen and was kind of angry she didn't want to spend more of her remaining time with him. She passed away while he was in the middle of the game, and he didn't know it till the end of it.

He got drunk that day. After hospital and other stuff, he got drunk hoping it would fucking kill him. He spent the night in motel, breaking things, stumbling on them, crying himself to sleep, cause there was no way he's crying at home in front of this fucker. He never felt more abandoned and lonely and wished it was his dad, not his mom. He knew that wasn't right thing to wish for, he thought it probably makes him a bad person, but still he wished it so fucking bad. Even just remembering it now, brings out the worst in him.

Jamie got a call at six twenty in the morning, it was his dad. He got in a fight at a bar and ended up in hospital with knife wound and he was okay now, but he insisted Jamie come get him at the hospital. Jamie's head was already buzzing from the alcohol and lack of sleep, he wasn't quite sure what he feels or how to act. He continued on sitting on his bed for some time, studying Roy, who was sleeping so close to him, it was kind of scary.

The night was fucking something. Roy was fucking something. Jamie almost forgot what sex with feelings felt like. Well. At least feelings from his side, he really doesn't know, what this night was to Roy. The best answer Jamie could've hoped for is that it was more of a 'friends with benefits' thing to him. And in this case maybe Jamie would be a good fuck buddy to spend few more nights like this. Not that he had something else to offer anyway.

Jamie kisses Roy's shoulder lightly, trying not to awake him, prepare everything he would need to be ready for an ugly aftermath of a fun evening, lays spare keys with all this, and leaves.

He thinks he can leave a message on Ted's voicemail, but Ted unexpectedly answers the call.

"Jay-man! You're early. Is everything alright?"

Tartt is slightly jealous of how awakened and energetic Ted sounds. And somehow it makes him want to turn back home and come to the training instead of a four hour road to Manchester.

"I need to skip today's training. Just one day. I'll do twice tomorrow."

"Oh-kaaay. May I know why?"

"Can't really tell you, coach, sorry. But it's important."

"Just give me something to not worry about you, kiddo."

Jamie sighs.

"I'm taking a bus to Manchester. Don't tell anyone. It's a- family business."

"You sure you're gonna be alright?" Ted tenses, judging from the voice.

"Yeah."

"Fine. As long as it's not Manchester City wanting you back after you kicked their asses and you considering on leaving us, I guess I'll live with that information. But don't be a stranger. Call whenever you want, ask whatever you want and come back soon. Training 's not a training without you, my man."

There was a tight feeling in Jamie's chest at Ted's words, gratitude and fear grabbing him by a throat. He shouldn't feel this way and Roy in his head kept repeating 'you simply think you don't deserve it' over and over again.

"Oi, look who's here. That's my son."

"Go to hell."

Jamie storms in the hospital room, where dad was laying. Nurse said he was under painkillers influence and that was fucking fantastic. Dad was always suppressing him in any way and now they felt on the same level.

After Jamie found out his dad attacked Coach Beard with those scumbag nitwits he calls friends, things started getting even worse between them. It was common for his dad to treat him like shit, but seeing him treating this way dear to Jamie people, endangering them and hurt them... There are thing that cannot be forgiven and James Tartt was reaching for a fucking bingo.

"I'm hurt, you ungrateful son of a bitch, watch your tongue."

"Ah, yeah. Hurt. About that, actually. Don't you want to tell me more about your fight, dad?" Jamie leaned on the chair, grabbing the back of it so tightly, tips of his fingers turned white.

"Think I've told you fucking enough."

"Good. Cause I met this policewoman downstairs, who says the switchblade you were stabbed with belonged to you."

"So what?"

"I got involved in a fight and got hurt and I attacked a person with a knife and he had to fight me back. Do you sense any bloody difference here?"

"You're gonna believe some fucking fuzz? Bitch wasn't even there when it started."

"Yeah and at least ten people who were there just ganging up on you." Jamie felt anger take him over. It was not fair. Sharing blood with this asshole was not fair. "Even if there weren't any other witnesses, just your word against the word of a man who stabbed you, I would still fucking believed him."

"Look who grew balls all of a sudden. It looked to me you lost them few week ago."

Few weeks ago. Right before Brighton game. Jamie thought someone broke into his house and nearly called police on dad, who was wasted and didn't give any credits to his own actions, but most importantly was still not over his son hit him in the face in public. Jamie didn't want to deal with any of this, he didn't want to talk to him or listen to his bullshit. He just wanted him to go away and dad didn't want to leave without the last word. Or the last punch, to be more specific. Jamie chose to not fight back and got him on a bus to Manchester with some money and his sincere blessing to eat shit and die. Then he got drunk himself and got this terrible idea to go to Catherine and Roy fucking Kent changed his plans.

The only thought of Roy gives Jamie comfort. He wouldn't mind his presence here right now and at the same time, this was so fucking embarrassing Jamie would rather set himself on fire in a pool of gasoline than Roy have to see the mere shadow of his father once more.

"You called me up here not to give you a ride home." Jamie says coldly, ignoring the last sentence, ready to leave this fucking place. "You thought I could talk it all down with police or the man you attacked, but I won't do it. You have fun beating the shit out of people, you have fun with charges and consequences."

"It seems like you had fun tonight yourself." Jamie shouldn't explain himself, but he nervously fixes his combed hair. "Nah, nah, I'm talking about this lilac big ass fucking hickey on your neck. You shagged a hoover?"

Shit. Jamie barely looked in the mirror today, probably didn't notice. He tugs up his sweatshirt, trying to hide it.

"Bet she's a sweet mouth to fuck if she leaves marks like that."

"Shut up." Jamie whispers.

"No shit you're so confident, I would be too if some bird got me off like this."

"Shut up."

"I just fucking hope that was a woman, and not some fucking poof agai-"

"Shut your bloody mouth! It's none of your fucking business who I take home with me. Never was, never will be!"

"So it is a man. You fucking cocksucker just lucky I won't tell it anyone, cause my name is on your fucking football shirt and I don't want anyone to know I raised a fucking fairy."

Jamie was on this road before and it's leading nowhere, so he better just go and block his fucking number, change locks or move someplace else. Did it still hurt? Like fucking hell it did. This dirty douchebag was the closest Tartt had to a family.

Lies.

This dirty douchebag was the closest Tartt imagined to be his family, but family supposed to have something in-common and he was nothing like his father. Not a fucking bit. He spent his whole life masking who he is, trying to be the person his father wanted him to be, and eventually he always hated what he was turning to, yet somehow he didn't hate his father for the exact same features he had hated in himself.

Well, he won't make this mistake again.

He stops in doorcase to say, "No. No, that's not true. That's my name on this shirt. Cause that's the only Jamie Tartt the world knows. I don't fucking believe acknowledging that took me so long." And with those words Jamie went out, knowing very well it's not the end, but at least for once in his life he felt himself a real winner.

Being right and truthful to yourself is the best fucking doping, Jamie learned it the hard way, but at least he fucking learned. He is genuinely happier as he comes back to his team next day with "Missed me, assholes?" and he sees all the eye rolling, but he also sees them smile at this.

Lasso seems to be contented with his appearance too, not getting into questioning. Dani, on the contrary, is a little offended Jamie didn't tell him anything about him missing on Monday, but a promise of una cerveza after the training cooled his frustration down a bit.

There was only one big grumpy problem Jamie had. Being kind of naïve as he is, he thought that wouldn't be as hard to get to talk to Roy, regarding they work at the same place, same time, same circumstances, and when he first came to him with "Can we talk?" only to hear "Not the best timing, Jamie, maybe later", it wasn't as strange to him. But 'later' after 'later' he finally realised Roy was avoiding him at all costs, and it made Jamie felt miserable and helpless.

Roy knew Jamie understood what he was doing, and became more obvious about not wanting to talk with Tartt. Not now, not later, not, like, ever. The more Jamie insisted, the colder Roy would get. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Jamie had Roy for couple of weeks and that one unbelievable night, he let himself believe, that maybe it meant something for both of them, and now it all was falling to pieces.

He also had no one to talk to about it. The only person who could've get him and actually give him a nice advice was Keeley, but only imagining this made Jamie feel sick. 'Hi, Keeley, I'm stalking your ex, with whom I slept earlier, cause he refuses to talk or even to listen to me, wanna help with this?' is one way to start a conversation.

So Jamie started from the very beginning. The calls. Right. It was good for starters. Roy can't ignore his calls forever anyway. And he can't block his number, cause he's a coach. So that sounded like a plan at least. It took him a few minutes before call finally got through and when it did, Tartt didn't spare a single second.

"Hi! Hey. I-" Suddenly he is lost on words. Why the fuck he is lost on words, when all he was doing this few days is just thinking through what he was going to say to him? "Please, don't hang up, okay? Let me just explain myself and then you can hang up, but at least I-"

"Excuse me," the unknown voice said, definitely not Roy's, nor male at all, nor even adult. "This isn't Roy."

"...Phoebe?"

"That's me!" Girl got excited when she was recognised. "How do you know me?"

"Your uncle talks about you more than you think," Jamie smirks weakly.

"And who are you?"

"Um- Tartt? Jamie Tartt."

"Oh! Really? Can I see you? Pleeease?"

That came a little unexpected, but Jamie couldn't bring himself to end the call, saying he will rather call later. He turns his camera on and waves his hand in greeting. Roy's camera surprisingly start working too and then there's Phoebe, sincerely happy, smiling and waving back at him, and it's kind of warming.

"Nice to meet you, fair lady," he chuckles. "Didn't it said 'Jamie Tartt' when you picked up a phone?"

"No, uncle Roy didn't named you your name."

Ah, of course.

"And what did he name me?"

"It says 'The Prince Prick' here." Yeah, no surprises. "I had to know. He calls you this when he talks about you."

"How... sweet of him. Where is he anyway?"

"Shower. He shouted me to see who the f-word can't take a hint and stop calling."

"Well, he won't be surprised."

"You look sad."

"I am not, promise. Just tired."

"Do you want to talk, until uncle Roy come here?" She asks shyly. "Or you can just call later."

"No, I'd love to talk with you." 

Phoebe beams with a smile.

"There's girl in my class, she wants to play football and you are her favourite footballer and she thinks you really pretty."

"Oh yeah? I'm flattered. What's her name?"

"Shantelle. Now I think she wouldn't want me telling you that last part I told you. It was kind of a secret."

"That's okay, I won't turn you in." Jamie huffs a laugh. "Is she your friend?"

"Not really. But we get paired up a lot. We have lot in common, and I think she's cool. But her parents don't want her to be a footballer. They say it's a stupid career for a girl. Uncle Roy said her that's- well, he disagreed with them," Phoebe rolls her eyes, emphasizing 'disagreed' as she was saying 'you know what he said, I can't say those words'. That made Jamie laugh again. "But she's still not really confident."

"How do you spell her name?"

"S-h-a-n-t-e-double l-e."

"So how about I sign a shirt and write few inspiring words for her. You can surprise her with a gift, show her you support her too."

"You'll do it?"

"Of course. We, footballers, support each other, right?"

"Right," Phoebe giggles and looks over the screen. "Uncle Roy!"

Jamie's heart skips a bit, when he hears Roy asking Phoebe who she talks to and growling annoyed when she answers him.

"Something happened, Tartt?" he asks. Jamie sees him just for a moment before Roy turns the camera off. Emotions take over Jamie and he feels like he's shivering from the inside with guilt, hurt and resentment. 

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"Don't have time. Find me tomorrow, maybe."

"We both know you would say the exact same fucking thing tomorrow!"

"I have to apologise I have shit to do?"

"Why are you doing this? You said I need to learn to talk the shit out and now when I actually trying to do this, you're blocking me. I thought you were- We were-"

"Tartt. It's late. And Phoebe's here. I'm not having this conversation now. And I'm not having one at work too."

"You know I'm not gonna stop searching for opportunities to talk to you. And fuck it, if I need to talk in front of the whole fucking team, I will fucking do it. You can either strike an attitude like you don't give a fuck and keep ignoring me, or you can listen to me once and I'm not fucking touching you again."

Roy sighs heavily. "Tomorrow evening, my house."

It sounded something like hope again for Jamie. "Thank you."

"Whatever," Roy grunts, not bothering himself with goodbyeing. But at least it wasn't nothing at all.

Roy made no eye contact with him throughout the day. Sure, he still was his coach, giving him tips and comments and everything, but he was as distanced as he never was around him. Even when they were fighting, Jamie felt like he's pushing his buttons the way no one did, but now Roy just don't give a shit. And he just couldn't. He'd rather prefer Roy hating him and antagonizing him, than feel nothing.

Jamie comes at Roy's as it was planned. They exchange 'hey', while Jamie's look is catching different small things around the house, like child paintings on the fridge or one of the books Ted gave them at the start.

"You wanted to talk, then talk," Roy says. As much as Jamie knows him, he's not in a mood for fighting so much, which is a good thing. Maybe if he plays his cards right, he will actually hear him.

"Look, I fucked up. I know it. And I'm sorry. That night was so random, I still can't believe it actually happened, but it was good and you were good and I made a mistake leaving you like this. But my shitdad called, I had to go to Manchester, you were asleep and I just didn't want to wake you, though I probably should've. I totally should've, cause you clearly got the wrong message out of it, but-"

"Jamie." Roy stopped him in rough voice. "When Ted said you have some fucking urgency, I already knew it had something to do with your dad, I'm not a fucking idiot, that wasn't the problem."

"Okay. I'm- confused. I don't- I don't understand why would you act like this then?"

"Of course you fucking don't understand, that's why I didn't want to talk to you."

"You-" Fucking incredible. He thought through everything he would say, and Roy somehow still finds a way to fuck up his plans. "I still don't fucking get you. Everything was so damn good. Or I thought it was. We just talked and we had fun and-"

"And we got drunk, and we fucked, and you ran away."

"I did not run away! I've told you, my dad-"

"Fucking hell, Jamie, stop! Your dad has nothing to do with this and deep down you know it fucking well."

"Well, apparently I don't, so enlighten me, will you?"

"No, I won't! I am so fucking tired of explaining you shit. You're a good lad, but it's hard to talk to someone, who can have mildly serious conversation only when he's drunk."

"That's not true!"

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure!"

"Alright." Roy moves to Jamie, each sentence closer. "Why you kept calling me? Why did you stay on Sunday, when we left the wedding? Why did you kiss me? Why did you bring me to your house?"

Jamie finds himself moving away, pressed back by Roy's tone, trapped between him and the wall. It made him feel small and uncomfortable and he wanted to run away so fucking much. Questions were too real. Jamie knew it would come out at some point, but still wasn't ready for this. Panic rises in him and he knows this not gonna sound good even before he opens his mouth to respond.

"I did all of this cause I felt like it, okay? Not everyone has a certain answer to every question like Roy fucking Kent do. I felt this way, you felt this way, we both enjoyed it, and you- you- Ugh, why do you have to make this all so complicated?!"

"Because I don't want things to be simple, Jamie! I'm turning thirty nine next year, I'm fucking done with 'simple'. Because life isn't simple, okay? It's hard and strange and complicated, and working on relationships - friendships or whatsoever - is difficult and it takes time I don't want to waste. All I want to know is fucking what and where we are, while you can't answer the simplest questions, and somehow it's me making things complicated?"

"Well maybe I would consider talking more honestly if you didn't completely cut me out these few days or at least explained why are you mad at me!"

"Okay. Then I have just one question and maybe you would fucking get my point. You said you got a call, so you had to leave." Roy paused, looking right through Jamie and he nodded slowly. "If not for that call then, what would this morning be? Me waking up next to you, dealing with the aftermath together?"

Jamie is silent, as he looks away, finally getting to understand Roy.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Roy exhales, when no answer follows. "Look. It was a crazy week. We got caught up in a moment. So lets just leave it this way."

Lets forget it, is what he actually meant by that.

Jamie has so much to say, and still, he nods.

Chapter Text

"...That's the beauty of music. They can't get that from you... Haven't you ever felt that way about music?"

"Does any of them look like bloody Mozart groopie to you, mate?" Jamie comments film, huffing and sipping on his tea.

"I played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost interest in it though. Didn't make much sense in here."

"Told you," he murmurs again. 

"Here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget."

"Forget?"

"Forget that... there are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours."

"What're you talking about?"

"Hope."

"Oh sweet Lord." Keeley comes from her cabinet-slash-bedroom. She glances at the TV, then at Jamie again, shakes her head, kneeling to the side of a sofa and place her hands on forearm and her chin on her hands. "You're watching Shawshank Redemption? Are you well, flower?"

"Yeah. Someone told me I should watch it, cause apparently this is something everyone should watch at least once." Jamie rolls his eyes. Keeley taps him on shoulder and he holds her hand for a while.

"And how do you find it?"

"I'm trying my hardest to hate this." And that's true. Tartt really really want to dislike it, though even with Keeley here he can't look away from the screen. "But, well, young Tim Robbins is kind of hot. The story is engaging. And finally someone fucks with Freeman's head and not vice versa... And young Tim Robbins kind of hot."

"I think you already said that."

"And I fucking mean it! He's fit. And his attitude. Fuck me."

"You my lil slutty prick," Keeley laughs and get her hand out of Jamie's hold to mess his hair and stand up. She was the only one at the moment with whom he could make such a commentary, he didn't hide his sexual preferences from her, she knew ever from the start he plays for both sides, and she couldn't be more okay and supportive with this. She was his best friend and Jamie was happy he didn't lose her after their break-up.

After the last time he visited Manchester, Tartt really thought about moving from his old apartment, so dad didn't have a place to break into. And maybe Jamie considered buying himself a house in Richmond instead of renting one, as he wasn't planning on moving back to Manchester anytime soon. Anytime ever, to be fair. Richmond was his home now, fully and constant, the beating heart of his life. So it was time to treat it like one.

Now he was temporarily living at Keeley's. He didn't want anybody from the team to know what's going on in his life, they have enough bothers with games they have before Christmas, and Keeley was glad to give him a place to stay for a while. If luck won't fail him, Jamie will announce good news right after the New Year.

Things were getting better step by step, but yet again, he didn't talk to Roy from that evening. Training orders and "Yes, coach"/"No, coach" don't consider as talking. Fucked up thing is that Roy is better at pretending than Jamie, he passed him in corridors like Tartt wasn't even there, but did give him all of the credits if he was doing good at trainings. 'One of many' is who he now was to Roy and that did piss Jamie off, like a lot, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Their only history together is long-term arguing, short-term partly-friendship-or-what-the-fuck-ever and one random night spent together. Probably, it wasn't even correct to say Roy was pretending. He just genuinely didn't fucking care and why would he? Jamie was too fucking young for him, too fucking dumb, too fucking troublesome. A waste of a time.

And that night was

Lips touches his fingers, Roy's fingers between his like it's means to be this way.

nothing more but

He pins him to bed, skin on skin, his lips by Jamie's ear, he whispers how fucking loud Jamie's for him and how he loves it.

a big

"You simply think you don't deserve it"

stupid

Roy smiles through the kiss, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Jamie's neck.

drunken-

"Life's so cruel, innit?"

"Hey, babe, I think I'm going insane, did you see my- Jamie?" Keeley sees him, slipped to the floor, hiding face in his knees and shaking. He wasn't even crying, it felt like he was about to break into tears, but none came. He was just cold and numb on the inside, his head full with every possible though and empty at the same time. He wanted to rewind everything back to how it was, when Roy was unattainable grumpy asshole Jamie had a thing for, not some fucked up opportunity, a big fucking maybe.

Keeley sits near and throws arms around Jamie, as he bangs his forehead at her shoulder a little, trying to stop it, make bloody feelings go away. It surely doesn't help.

"Hey, it's okay," Keeley tried, keeping him in her embrace firmer. "It's okay." No, it wasn't. She doesn't even know about what him and Roy, and Jamie knows their break-up wasn't a one-sided thing, but it still would be hard to tell her about it, if she asks. And she will ask. She already noticed Tartt was quieter than usual. "Is there something that triggered you in film?"

"No." 

"What happened then?" Keeley palms Jamie's cheek carefully, trying to get him to look at her. "Speak to me, babe. I hate seeing you like this. Is it your dad or-"

"I slept with Roy." Shocked as she looked, Keeley didn't say a word. And well, didn't hit him or walked away from him either, which was encouraging. "We were drunk, but- not like can't remember my own name drunk. We both knew what we were doing. He- Well I started it, but he, well, provoked it. Unintentionally. I don't know. I don't fucking understand anything already."

"You and Roy?" She asks after a pause.

"Yes."

"As for Roy Kent?"

Jamie scoffs. "Yeah."

"Huh. Wow. That's- new."

"I'm sorry, Keeley. I wasn't sure how you gonna react and-"

"Babe, please. I'm just a little confused, cause I didn't know Roy is into men as well. It's not like I'm mad or whatsoever."

"You aren't?"

Keeley smiles indulgently and takes both Jamie's hands in hers. "I was just about to ask did you see my lucky earrings or did I left them at work. And then you had to ask 'What's the special occasion?'. And then I would've answered 'I have a meeting at eight'. That's where you should've asked 'Meetings at almost eight in the evening?'. That's how I would've told you..  I'm seeing someone."

"Okay, you planned our conversation so good, I'm feeling guilty to mess this up."

"Aw, you didn't mess anything. Actually, you- made it easier. Roy and I have been apart for quite long, but I still felt like I'm maybe moving too fast. But if you and Roy have something going on, that's- that's good. Weird, but good."

"Nothing's going on. We had an argument and didn't talk past these couple of weeks."

"I see." She didn't ask what they argued about or how bad exactly it was. If you think about it, it really didn't matter. They've always had something to argue about, cause that's the way they used to be functioning for some time and they both are men of a habit. So Keeley asked the only thing that was actually important. "You love him?"

"No! Maybe? I don't know. See, this is the goddamn problem, I don't fucking know, and he- asks all those things I never talked with anyone in my life before, and he knows it. How can I talk about my feelings with someone who is more like fucking Da Vinci Code cryptex himself? Might've as well just tell me he's not so fucking interested in me, maybe didn't even fucking like hanging out with me, and did it just cause of... I dunno, lack of other company?"

"Alright," Keeley stops him by putting her hand over Jamie's mouth. "One thing I know for sure, Roy doesn't sleep around as a momentarily passion act anymore, no matter how drunk he is. But just like you, he can get protective over his feelings. And he can get a bit too manipulative with that at first, even though he's really not manipulative by his nature. It's more of a fight-or-flight reaction. If he felt threatened by something you said or did, he could hit the brakes." She smiles reassuringly. "You both are alike. More than each of you think. It's hard to get along with someone exactly like you, cause that means not only your common interests are similar, but the shit you fight in your head is similar too. Not always the same, but similar. Try to think about it. Try to think why Roy acts this way and... just take a look at all of this. You would know what to do."

"He ignores me. I always thought maybe if someone wants to talk with me, he would find a way, but he clearly doesn't bother." Jamie breathes out and rolls his eyes, when Keeley takes off her hand.

"But you want to talk with Roy, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And how do you act around him?"

"I-" Jamie chokes on what he wanted to say. Okay, fuck. He ignores him too. Irony.

"Exactly. Maybe he thinks the same way. You never know. Until you try." Keeley pokes and kiss his forehead, getting up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my earrings."

"Yeah, last time you left them in bathroom, I relocated them somewhere safer."

"My hero. So where are they?"

"Oh it depends." Jamie get up too. "Sooo, a date?"

"Oh Lord."

"Do I know him?"

"Actually, never mind, I'll go just search them myself, y'know?"

"Ah, it's that lawyer you said is 'not your type'?"

"How you- I mean, shut up, Jamie!"

In a few days Jamie Tartt was back. Not like he had gone anywhere, not physically, but emotionally, the prick in him made a comeback. Sometimes to see you have to just open your eyes, and that's what he did. It appeared that Roy isn't so good at pretending and ignoring, if Jamie gives him reasons to not ignore him, especially at trainings, because their workplace was a territory they both tried to play cool at, so no one would ask questions.

Jamie started with simple "Hi, coach!" and "Bye, coach!" at the start and at the end of every training, to which Roy was obliged to answer. He also became more engaged into tactics and theory stuff discussions, asking questions and suggesting things, but in those situations Ted was more talkative and excited by Jamie's investment, than Roy. So of course, he had no other choice, but to get Kent's attention with the only working scheme he knew.

Backtalking.

Not the most reasonable method to get someone you like talking, but well- they were talking. That was already something and it got everybody's attention too, because Roy and Jamie haven't had fights like this since Roy was his captain. Attention was good. Attention meant everybody was interested in nature of their fights. Attention meant everybody was asking questions Roy wouldn't like to answer.

Both of them ended up alone together for a long time after the game they lost. Everybody was devastated, Jamie wasn't an exception. The ugliest thing in their loss was that they played it all out perfectly from minute one, each one of the team did well, they almost got it, and then they lost to a random goal at '90.

This was their second loss in a row after series of ties, clearly a bad luck, but maybe Jamie took it to heart a bit harder than he thought he could. He confronted Isaac, questioning his captain choices, which progressed in a big confrontation with Colin, who stood up for Isaac, and when Roy tried to push them all to separate corners, Jamie might've blamed him for playing it way too safe and clean in not so respectful and disciplined manner as a player should talk with his coach. And maybe Roy answered in a way coach shouldn't talk to his player himself.

That was where Ted stepped in and got them both locked in a cabinet, saying that whatever is going on between them, should end at that very moment.

"Fucking fantastic." Roy groans, hitting the door with his hand. "Locked to think of my behaviour, like a fucking third grader. With an actual fucking third grader."

Jamie doesn't respond to this, crossing his arms and leaning on the table behind him.

"Not the best choice of starting a conversation!" Ted's supporting voice is heard outside the cabinet.

"Fu-" Roy stops himself and exhales. "Flee away, Lasso."

"Okey-dokey, coach Kent. You have thirty minutes all to yourselves, have fun!"

Yeah. Fun. Jamie watches as Roy places himself on a couch, not even looking his way, Tartt hates himself for feeling kind of guilty right now. He would've give away many things for getting Roy one-on-one just yesterday, but tonight they're both tired and angry and nothing like considerate talk vibe at all.

"We can sit in silence and then tell we got it all covered," Jamie suggests. "I don't want to spend here all night."

"Great."

Great, Jamie mocks him in his head. Fucking bastard, looking kind of amazing in his coach suit, which just pisses Tartt off more, cause he, on the other hand, doesn't look his best after 90 minutes on field. He just wanted to shower and go home, but he's stuck here. No phone too. Great.

"Just so you know," Roy suddenly says few minutes of silence later. "It's not your fault. Neither is Isaac's, nor mine. Yes, our tactics were safe, but the game was okay. I'm only questioning referee's fucking life choices for giving us a standard they scored from when there was clearly no fucking foul at all. Richard played it smooth, and that lad dramatically fell like a fucking ballet dancer."

"No shit. Richard forgot English 'till the end of game cause of this. Just shouted random merde and ce salaud here and there."

"You speak wonderful French," Roy says mockingly.

"Well, we still don't get along well, so in the meantime I get a lot of this from Richard myself. I shout English translation back at him, though, so I guess you can say we're not fighting, we're educating."

It beats a short huffed laugh out of Kent, and - holy fucking blessing - Jamie wanted to hear this for too long now. He most obviously doesn't want to argue with him just to be able to talk to him. He wanted this. He wanted Roy. He wanted to find comfort with their stupid nonsense bullshit choice of words and to 'wake up' in the middle of another stupid nonsense bullshit sentence, wondering how they got here at all.

"...so I guess next game we should double check the center..."

Apparently, Roy is still talking, analysing their flaws out loud, but Jamie breaks him off with firm, but still quiet "I miss you." Words fly off his lips like the most casual thing and that scares the shit out of Tartt. He doesn't want to be laughed at for this. "I miss this. Talking with you. Like when I called you almost every night."

"Jamie-"

"No, I know, I know. Too immature for you, and somehow I try to prove you wrong with doing more of the childish shit to get your attention. But I truly miss this."

Jamie tries not to watch him, as he speaks, cause that's pretty hard already, even though he's not saying a half of what he thinks, about how he misses his voice and hearing him laugh, his effortlessly brilliant support when he double checks, if Jamie is okay without asking. All of this can't just suddenly disappear, right? It can't be destroyed with only one stupid decision, can it?

Roy remains silent and maybe he decided it would be better for them to sit like this until Ted comes back. It's okay. Jamie gets it. He's starting to act like a student, running after his teacher with fucking love poems and crooked as hell portraits, trying hard to reach something he knows for sure is impossible. Fuck. He's too deep into it.

A sudden movement makes Tartt shift - Roy groans and leans with his back on the table, standing next to Jamie. "You're not immature. You're just young. And it's not fucking bad at all, youth is a fleeting imperfection, blink - and you're a struggling footballer and some fucking new lad on the team calls you 'grandpa'." Roy hits him in shoulder lightly and Jamie can't help but laugh a little. "I just think one particular night did make it complicated, and it's obvious we want different things at this point of life and there's no use of trying to bite more than you can chew."

"We can be just friends."

"It won't be any less harder than to not talk at all. Believe me on that." Roy gives Jamie's shoulder a little squeeze. "We just need time. It'll be okay. Eventually."

He probably should smile at this or say something, but Jamie doesn't feel good about his words.

"I left my apartment," he says just to fill the silence.

"Why?"

"Done with being a guest here, I guess. Thought it's about time to build a home of my own."

"In Manchester?"

"No," Jamie finally turns to look at Roy, smiling weakly with just a corner of his mouth. "In here. Where my family is." Roy smiles back at him. "But don't tell anyone, it's still a secret. Only you and Keeley know."

"Keeley too, huh."

"I live with her, while I'm figuring all the housing shit." He notices a weird look on Roy's face and scoffs. "I know, a bit strange, but we're completely platonic and neither of us wants to change that. Also, she's kind of off the market now. She- kind of dates someone."

"Kind of good for her," Roy says humorously, and judging from his light tone, it really doesn't bother him. "I won't tell a soul about your plans. Would be better if you announce it yourself anyway."

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

That is the last thing they say to each other till the time runs out and Ted shows up, opening the door slowly to make sure nothing is aimed at him, but both seems to be okay with the detention time. Even too okay, if you ask Ted, but well, they promised to keep it more professional from now on and he couldn't ask for more.

The happiest season fell on Roy like snow - predictable as for winter, yet still all of a sudden. His thoughts were wrapped up about the game on 26th of December. They had to win this one to not completely shit themselves by the end of this fucking year, so he did everything he could to raise their winning chances. Or at least he tried, as much as Lasso and Beard did, and, well, they'll see the results after.

But now it was Christmas and for the first time in a long time Roy's sister wasn't at work, so they spent the whole day together with Phoebe. White snow and too many colorful lights around raised their spirit and Roy's phone was blasting with texts from different people. He didn't read all of them, cause it meant he'll need to answer all of them, and no, fucking thank you, it takes too much of his time and emotional stock. But he opens messages from Richmond lads, they usually don't get too creative with greetings, so he can just shoot another "Merry Christmas" back and everyone will be happy.

Beard's Christmas greetings are ultimately strange, he wishes a bunch of random things without any emoji or even an exclamation mark, so it isn't quite understandable, whether he's joking or being ultimately serious, nevertheless, Roy says "You too. Merry Christmas". Works every time.

Ted's greetings are the longest. At first he writes you a fucking Ulysses and wishes all the cheer in the world in every single word possible (and Roy checked just for his interest, Ted doesn't send the same text twice to different people like, it's always something fucking unique), then he finds GIFs to match the spirit of his text and then he might share with you how his Christmas is going. For now it was a series of funny dumb selfies with Rebecca to which Roy replies "You two look nice together". That'll get him shut up for quite some time. And they two do look nice and happy together, so let this thought circle through Ted's mind a bit.

Keeley sends him best wishes. Same does Roy. It's easier than he would've thought few months ago. In that time "We are still friends" seemed to be just another break-up cliché phrase, but now it does not seem so impossible. He's glad, if she really found someone new, he really is, but for the sake of his own health, this bloke better treat her the best way he can.

For a moment Roy considers asking Keeley about Jamie. They were living together, and even though it's still fucking odd, it was good for Jamie to have a nice, reasonable friend close to him. But should he ask Keeley about him? She might tell him Roy was asking, so probably no.

This prick is stubborn, Roy didn't know keeping distance with him would be so fucking hard. And the main problem with this was not the fact Jamie doesn't let ignore himself, Roy just simply- doesn't want to ignore him. It was fucked up even to think about it, but he misses this little fucker as well. Him and everything about him, from his dumb humour to ridiculously high thought of himself, and how he watches Roy, when he thinks Roy doesn't see him, like he's a goddamn Christmas present Jamie was too shy to ask for, but yet here he is.

From all of the blokes he ever kissed before and did not feel anything but sexual tension, it had to be exactly Jamie fucking Tartt to fell for, ain't that fucking fantastic.

But Roy can live with that. He definitely can. It would be much easier, too, cause he knows Jamie too well to assume even the lowest possibility of him wanting something even remotely serious, and Roy was too tired to aim for anything but serious.

Still, being locked up with Jamie after that loss, Jamie saying he missed Roy, Jamie looking like a kicked puppy or rejected for the very first time teenager... Fucking awful feeling rejecting him again. Even though it was right thing to do.

So Roy leaves Keeley with only the greetings and doesn't ask about Jamie, hoping at least she might be his company in rewatching Bridget Jones's Diary.

He takes his sister and niece to an amusement park, then they drink mulled wine at home (except Phoebe, who gets the juice, of course), have dinner Roy made. That's how it has to be for Phoebe each Christmas, Roy thinks. His Christmases sucked as he was a child too. Football took most of his time, he had to be in this 24/7 to make money for his family, that he barely had seen because of the football. Christmases with them were the most expected, yet the most lonely thing of the year.

As Phoebe goes to sleep and his sister takes over the kitchen to wash dishes, Roy has some time for himself and he checks Instagram stories. Richmond lads filled them all with Higgins's party, there were photos, and boomerangs, and videos, table cluttered with food, boardgames and FIFA, Christmas tree and music, all pretty much the same for every story, only faces that changes - Moe, then Sam, then Colin, then Richard, then Dani,

then Jamie?

Roy press his finger to the screen to stop Dani's story, and yeah, that's definitely Jamie, fighting Higgins's kid with lightsaber devotedly, he doesn't even spot being filmed by Dani, and that's may be the cutest fucking thing Jamie did in the camera's eye. And probably the happiest he ever been in the camera's eye too.

26th of December. Ted was exceptionally nervous. He was good at hiding it. But he was nervous. Roy could see that, but mostly because he assumed that even Ted Lasso, the living impersonation of fucking OneRepublic songs, can lose his faith sometimes too.

Roy called an intervention for Ted with Beard and Higgins, which they called the Diamond Dogs meeting, which Roy said is absolutely fucking not, cause he still isn't a fucking part of their little support group or whatsoever, but they ignored it. So the intervention went okay with a little punch from Roy, Higgins's natural soft comfort and Beard's mostly silent treatment, a powerful one, though, Roy didn't fucking have a clue how the fuck he does it.

Roy also told Lasso to give up on beautiful metaphors and impressing inspirational thoughts as he would speak to the team right before the game.

"And what I gotta say? I need to get my guys motivated."

"Acting like everything's okay doesn't motivate people, it only gives them false sense of safety." Roy crosses hands on his chest. "But fear do."

"What, I should scare them? Like, should I do a Joker laughter or come into showers as how it was in Psycho -"

"Halloween, 2017. You can't do Joker laughter." Beard says. Few words in twenty minutes and completely off the fucking topic.

"I wasn't supposed to be Joker that Halloween! So I came unprepared, but with little more practice-"

"For fuck's sake, not that fucking fear!" And here Roy thought he can get through with minimal amount of fucks, given and said. "A fucking fear of losing something important is what they fucking need."

Ted frowns. "I think they already know the stakes are high."

"Then make it worse for them."

"What is worse than potentially losing their place in the league?"

"Losing your faith in them. They're all here because you believed in them, when no one did, even when they had no bloody faith in you. You listened to them, you learned their worst sides and accepted as they fucking are. You made them them. This kind of fucking love you carry for this team worth much more than league itself to them, believe it or not. Don't be ruthless, just honest, let your true bloody feelings show, and I fucking swear to you, those lads would walk through fire to get the thing done."

Ted stands up ready for his speech.

"M'kay. Think I got your point. But just for the record, no matter what I say right now, I want you to know, I'm with them till the end and nothing would ever change that."

"We ride together, we die together." Beard nods.

"Yes! Bad Boys trilogy, classic. We should rewatch this."

"I'll hang for first two parts. Bad Boys For Life is pure garbage." Roy scoffs.

Ted dramatically inhales, while Beard shakes his head in disapproval. "You don't say things like that here, mister."

"Whatever." Roy groans, cause this really doesn't fucking matter. "Lets fucking go win the game."

The gaffer's speech, well, it made the impact. Nobody felt themselves comfortable in Ted's words and it was good. Not that Roy was a sadist, trying to make people feel bad, but they got way too comfortable with where they are right now. Metaphorical punch in their faces won't hurt them.

Though when the game was on, and they missed the goal at '4, Ted looked pale as a fucking chalk, eyeing Roy, like he's the worst enemy to their team since Nathan's betrayal, but Roy kept his cool and said him to watch the fucking game, cause it's only four minutes. By the end of the first half Sam scores. They do even better in the second half, playing it active, but avoiding foul-playing, 1:1 stays right until '83 when Jamie wall passes to Sam again, but he falls to the ground in the penalty box when the defender rushes at him too rapidly and violently, and they get the right to do a spot kick.

Jamie gives a hand to Sam, so he can stand up, but this ain't happening, instead Tartt turns around and gestures that Sam is off the game and need medics.

"Muscle strain," Jamie reports, as he comes to the coaches.

"How bad is it?" Ted asks cautiously.

"They're not telling yet. Will know after the game."

He tried to keep it together, but Roy saw something's not right with how Jamie looks. He knew Ted saw it too.

"Jamie, speak to me." The seriousness in Ted's voice washes away Tartt's distraction, but now he just looks horrified.

"Sam said it hurt like hell when he tried to move his leg."

"Sounds pretty fucking bad to me even without physical exam." Roy says. Jamie nods slowly. "Hey, Tartt. Sober up, you hear me?" Jamie nods once again, blankly watching substitute getting ready to replace Sam on the field. Roy looks almost pleadingly at Lasso to do something about it.

"Jamie," decides Ted, "do the penalty kick."

That gets Tartt attention at once. "What?"

"Sam's out, but we need this goal. I know you can do this."

"No, let Dani-"

"Tartt, you fucking heard him." Roy barks and almost feel guilty at how offended Jamie looks, so he softens his tone just a bit. "Go back there and show those fuckers, like you only can, okay? Set your mind on the game, think of something good, like, what're you going to do after the win or something like that. This is the only way how you can help Sam - get this done for him."

Jamie stares back at him for a while, searching for something Roy doesn't knows. "Yeah, 'lright. Gonna imagine that goddamn defender's head instead of the fucking ball."

"Now that's my kind of good spirit."

Jamie smirks faintly, as he returns to the game. Time goes on and Jamie stands on the spot like an ancient sculpture, hypnotising the goalkeeper in front of him. Roy can't see his face from here, but thinks he looks murderously confident. He takes a few step backs, getting ready for the kick.

"Bet the ball goes to the left side." Beard says. So does think the goalkeeper, when Jamie kicks the ball, but it goes straight to the middle, hits the top crossbar violently and ends up in goal. Score changes to 2:1. "Well, at least goalkeeper thought the same."

"Hallelujah he did." Ted exhales.

It would've been much better tasting win, if not for Sam and his injury. Doctors said muscle was torn in few places, so it would take a while to recover, but he's gonna be fine with time. Sam was still glad they won, of course. Maybe even more than any of them at the moment. He insisted they should drink something for his health, and Rebecca said she would wait for doctor with Sam to keep him company through this. Some of them go with coaches to The Crown & Anchor, the crowd there goes wild, chanting and congratulating them all. Mae says the first round is on pub, so they stay there to party a little.

The last game of year, hell of a run. Next one is on 2nd of January, which is close, but still feels like another lifetime. Roy doesn't want to think of the next match yet, he's tired and stressed enough for today, and thank God tomorrow's a day off.

Everybody's having fun, more or less. Some players happened to be a center of public's attention, some sticked to other players, Roy, Beard and Ted sat closer to bartender. On the other side of the bar Jamie was sitting, looking down his glass thoughtfully and not participating in celebration at all. Few lads came by him just a couple of times to congratulate him and he forced a smile, raising his glass to cheer and thank them, but it was rather automatically, than earnestly, and, fuck, Roy hated to see him like this.

"You did fucking great. Not only the last bit, the whole game, too." Roy goes to Jamie and sits next to him, giving up on every promise he made to himself to keep distance. Jamie seems like he needs someone to be there for him, and Roy kinda wants to be there for him as well. Even if it's not quite right for them. "Mind if I join?"

"Of course not." He says dryly, barely looking at Roy. His glass is half full, drink was colourless, with lime and ice, maybe a vodka or gin and tonic.  "And thanks."

"What happened with Sam isn't your fault, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. Just-" Jamie let out a breath. "You said it's easy to lose everything in this sport and I was kind of thinking about how it's easy to ruin one's life as well."

"Sam's life isn't fucking ruined, he'll be back on track in couple of fucking weeks."

"I know, I know. Thank God, he will. I guess I just never thought of that before. Playing safe might have its perks, is all I'm saying." Jamie finally looks up to face Roy. He rises his glass to clink with Roy's beer and drinks up too fast for something that supposed to be a long-drink. "You know, a wise person once told me you 'n me, we're quite the same."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I didn't believe it at first, but I think they might not be so wrong after all."

"What changed your mind?"

"Overheard your little speech at your Diamond shit meeting before the game."

"Ugh, it wasn't a- Wait, how the fuck?"

Jamie chuckles. "Let's say, I have my channels."

"Let's say, you're just a weaselly asshole."

"Well that's one way to put it."

Roy huffs a laugh, and Jamie smiles at him. "So what's your opinion, Dr. Freud?" Roy asks, staring back at Jamie, as he was examining Roy's face very carefully.

"My opinion is we both fear the same things actually, we only react to that fear differently. I tend to run away, as you said, and you were - fuck, I hate to say that - you were right. And you tend to make people want to run away. I think that's why it couldn't have ever worked out for us anyway, but..." His eyes are back to the empty glass. "I kind of wish it could."

Roy doesn't get to say a word, as Isaac appears behind their backs, yelling to the other teammates, "I picked who gets to throw a dart first! Scored the last one, threw the first one, right, bruv?" He pats Jamie on the back.

"Only if this connard not gonna throw it so hard it hit someone in the eye." Richard yells back.

"Oi, fuck you too, mate!" Jamie grins and take the dart from Isaac's hand. "Sorry, coach, got to go make this fucker cry in French." 

"Good luck." Roy smirks.

"Don't need one, I'm bloody brilliant at everything."

"Yes, you fucking are," Roy whispers under his breath, as Jamie goes to the others, pretending playfully he's aiming Richard with the dart.

There was no point in twisting and turning bedsheets, Roy just couldn't make himself go to sleep, thoughts buzzing in his head, fucking with his mind, replaying Tartt's fucking words like the old broken record player that got stuck and circles around one bit over and over and over and over and-

Roy stands up. He makes tea with milk. He forgets about it. He pours it down the sink. He makes another one. He drinks it. He reads on the couch. He stands up. He reads, while walking room to room, until his knee nags. He sits again. He throws a book across the room, cause that shit doesn't work. Nothing does. Everything he do leads him back to fucking Tartt again, it's almost disease, a fucking fever.

Tartt doesn't know shit. He fucking doesn't. Roy doesn't tend to make people feel like running from him. Well, yeah, he yelled at Keeley once for seeing his vulnerable side when his goddamn career was falling apart, but that's fucking different, right? Jamie, he- fucker ran away first. Roy didn't even want him to run. He fucking wanted to wake up and to see his stupid face beside him, and he wanted to kiss this stupid face, he wanted it so fucking much, he would've survived waking up with the worst headache he ever had in life, feeling like his legs bones about to dust and absorb in blood. He wanted it so much, he believed it's possible. And all he got in the morning is pills and keys like a fucking invitation to go fuck yourself. Not even a bloody note.

Roy was just angry. With all of this and with how Tartt didn't even try to come see him or even fucking call him after he got back from Manchester, he just strutted into the training the next day like nothing ever happened and everything's okay, like he didn't fucking cared at all. But now he has bollocks to fucking act like he knows and understands and feels something, that's just-

Fuck it. Roy reaches for his phone, because he needs to hear him again, to talk it all the fuck out once and for all, let fucker explain himself and what the hell did he mean by 'wish it could work' bullshit. And if he won't, then fuck this all, Roy's too old to feel that way about anyone.

A fucking voicemail. Of course, there's a fucking voicemail. Jamie Tartt is too nang to answer his goddamn phone. Well, good for Roy, he knows exactly who to call in this case.

"Roy? Hey," Keeley sounds a bit awkward. They haven't talked for a long time now, but hearing her voice still cools his head as well as back in the days. "Congratulations on the win. Hope, Sam's gonna be fine."

"Yeah. He's a tough lad, he'll be okay."

"Can I visit him anytime soon?"

"Sure. He definitely wouldn't mind it." Roy exhales, trying to make it less awkward for both of them, so he gets to the point right away. "Listen, I need to speak with Tartt, but his phone's dead. He said you two live together, so if you can give him your phone for a second or to tell him to turn his one on..."

"Um, actually, Jamie isn't at home yet."

"What?"

"Yeah, last time we spoke, he said he's gonna be late and told me to not wait for him. I guess he's celebrating with the rest of the team, maybe you should call one of your players then."

That's not good. "We was celebrating, he left pub even earlier than I did. Said he's bushed and that he's heading fucking home, it was two fucking hours ago."

"Oh, I- I didn't know that."

"Can he be somewhere else?"

"I don't know, maybe. But I guess he'd come home to change, if he was going to a club or something."

That's not good at all. Roy isn't frustrated anymore, he's nervous beyond the fucking edge of sanity. He tries to get a hold of himself and to not jump to any conclusions with fucked-up questions filling up his head, but fails and fails hard, which is bad, cause Keeley's getting nervous too.

"Roy? You still there?"

"Yes. Fuck. I'm gonna go search him."

"Where? How?"

"Don't fucking know, he has to be at least somewhere, right?" Roy change his home pants to the jeans and put a sweater on a tee while talking. His mind mocks him about Jamie having an affair with some bird he met on his way home or fucking finally reached Catherine with a C, and he's surprised about how relieved he feels about this thought. In that case Jamie would be safe at least. "I'll text in the Richmond group chat, maybe you're right and he's with someone from the team. He could've crash at Dani's. Maybe I should call Dani."

"I'll go with you."

"No, you stay. What if he comes home while we're running around trying to find him?" He searched for the keys for a minute before he remembers leaving them in the coat pocket.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Keeley stops for a second to think. "If he's not with lads, try Nelson Road."

"Why there?"

"He said something about how standing in the middle of a stadium at nights, when no one's around, is meditating."

"Yeah, I will meditate the living shit out of him, if I find him there." Roy groans and takes the coat before leaving. "I unironically will kill him. Why have a goddamn phone if you don't fucking use it. Other than taking fucking selfies obviously, this selfish little- Jamie?"

There he stands, as Roy opens the door, pretty much alive and undamaged with his hand raised in the air, he probably was about to knock when the door opened.

"It's alright, he's here. Call you later." Roy exhales, feeling his heart pumping in the goddamn ears. Keeley on the other side of the phone just let out a relieved sigh and doesn't protest, when Roy hangs up. "Jamie, where w-"

Next second, Jamie's lips are on his and he forgets completely every little shit he wanted to say to him or to argue with him about. Roy automatically closes the door behind them, but before he can even think about how to react to that, Jamie breaks away, looking all damn serious, raising his hand, stopping Roy before he speaks.

"I did it, so you know I'm not drunk now. Not even a little bit tipsy." Tartt says. And yeah, he made the point he wanted to make - Roy doesn't feel the alcohol aftertaste at all, just tempting citrus freshness and obsessive warmth of his lips. "Now it would be very kind of you, if you shut up and listen, because I suck at talking and especially all this 'lets discuss our feelings' department of talking, and if I don't say it all in this bloody minute, I'll run out of courage- or, you know, folly or desperation or whatever, and might not have enough to even start again."

He pauses to take a breath, checking if Roy has something to say, but Roy just emotionlessly gestures him to go on.

"Okay, fuck. Well." Jamie clears his throat nervously and runs his fingers through the hair, trying to find the right words. "You wanted me to be honest, so here's the truth. That time when my father showed up after the Manchester game, it was the first time I've cried in public since the age ten. I watch fucking romcoms more than any other kind of films, some of them I know by lines and quote in my head daily. I'm probably bi, and that's the second time I say it out loud, the first one was with Keeley. I listen to Ed Sheeran- more than I'd like to admit. And I've been pinning over you longer than I'd like to admit. Long enough to kiss you and take you home with me that night and long enough to get fucking scared of the idea of you waking up next to me and looking like you made the worst mistake in your life. So yeah, I ran. And then I regretted it. Multiple times. Cause the only thing worse than losing your chance is not taking it at all. So this is me, taking this chance with a few weeks delay."

A long goddamn pause follows Jamie's words, as he finishes. Poor lad can't even look and Roy, but he must admit, this whole damn monologue was impressive.

"You really serious about that?" Roy finally asks, and Tartt glows with fucking hope like some fucking teenager.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"So you won't mind answering one question?"

"No, ask fucking anything."

"What's your favourite Sheeran song?"

Jamie's caught by surprise and looks at him closely trying to indicate if this is a joke, while Roy looks back as serious and unreadable as he can. "Well, um. Shape of You?" He tries, but Roy grimace, not really buying it, so Jamie gives up. "Okay, it's Hearts Don't Break Around Here. Now you're mocking me. God, I feel like a fucking idiot."

Roy smiles a little, when Jamie doesn't see it. "It's probably because you fucking are one..." He says and stops all the protests by pulling Tartt by his shirt closer. Jamie looks up, lost and confused, and he's wearing the same cologne as that night, and that is pretty fucking irresistible shit. 

Kissing Jamie overall isn't new, but not like that. Roy nearly brushed his lips against his, touching noses and there was nothing deep, nothing passionate about it, it was considerate, slow and sweet and so fucking good. "I fucking missed you too." Roy whispers right in the slightly parted lips and in the same soft gentle tone he adds, "But if I call you and your phone's gonna be dead again, you will also be dead the second I find you."

"Aww, so that's where you were heading, you were worried-"

Roy doesn't let him finish nor start, their lips locked and Jamie's locked in his arms too, properly, like Roy takes no chances of him running away again.

"Does that mean I can... stay the night?" Tartt's hands find their way under the sweater and they're fucking cold again, but Roy can manage something with getting them warm.

"Well... I have an extra toothbrush. If you're interested." Roy hopes Jamie will get the reference to his favourite film, which got pretty fucking boring in some places, if you ask Roy, but he would never admit it. Tartt smiles more than ever at those words, trying to initiate a kiss but Roy pulls away, looking at him cheesily. "I have to let you know, though." He leaves a chaste kiss on Jamie's neck, and eagerly hungry one right next to it, beating a short breath out of Tartt. "I might not let you sleep till the fucking sunlight, you so owe me for all that waisted time."

"Ambitious thing to hear from someone with only one knee." Jamie laughs, pulling himself closer to Roy's body, with Roy looking over him with ambiguous expression, that kind of gets Jamie worried. "What?"

"Nothing." Roy lies. There is something. He's fucking happy. For the first in a long time he feels fucking happy and already makes some plans with his... well, they will discuss it sometime sooner or later, how it should be called. Roy learned something too, so he doesn't want to rush anything and if it all is gonna end within few weeks, as swiftly as it began, at least he could say they've tried. And if not... who knows. Nothing is quite sure with Jamie Tartt around.

Roy wakes up, rolling to the side lazily, trying to place his arm above Jamie's waist, yet his hand finds nothing but chilly soft bedsheets. The fuck?

He tears his head from the pillow, yawning and sleepily wandering with his eyes around the half sun lit room. "Jamie?" Roy's voice low and rough after their wild night. Not a sound in response. He can't hear a shower either. What a messed-up fucking déjà vu. He lays on his back again, covering eyes away from the light. Maybe he was fucking dreaming, it would've been a very fucking vivid dream, but also no, Jamie's scent still clings to the pillow.

He's probably downstairs. But Roy still feels fucking odd, reliving this memory once again.

It takes less than few minutes to dress up and go out of bedroom. No particular sounds were filling the first floor and it was a good fucking reason to start freaking out, but the smell of something that Roy could even consider as food and-

"Uncle Roy!!" Phoebe flies out of the corner so fucking unexpectedly and nearly gets him falling to the floor.

"Phoebe? What the... how?"

"Your sister came by." Jamie shows up after Phoebe, wearing the same jeans he had on yesterday, but with a Roy's tee. And it looked really wholesome. "Dropped her off, told she's sorry, but she has an emergency."

"Jamie cooks breakfast!"

"Yeah, I do my best. Decided you wouldn't mind to sleep more after the... well,  night shift," Tartt smirks.

"Did my sister ask anything about you in my house?"

"She was a bit surprised, but too in hurry to think about it. You may get some questions later." Jamie salutes with a spatula in his hand and Phoebe drags her uncle into the conversation. Roy talks with his niece a bit before saying he should give a hand to Jamie with cooking, so he escapes sudden morning child activity with cartoons on the TV.

Tartt was by the stove, humming some melodies under his nose, looking so domesticated and just the way Roy wouldn't mind to remember this moment for fucking ever.

"Will there be a morning when I get to lay with you, do nothing particular, just chat and mess around and stuff like that?" Roy comes from the back, Jamie shivers a bit with his arms around his waist and his lips on the half-naked shoulder, looking so hot Roy barely keeps himself in a place.

"Sorry I left you again. I was planning on making you a quick breakfast and eat in bed together, but the hurricane Phoebe wracked all my plans. Which I'm not complaining either. She's wonderful."

"She is. And you are. Don't get me wrong, I love when Phoebe's around, but I wished you could do what you planned".

"Yeah. Well, next time, I guess. Maybe after the proper date you take me on," Jamie turns to face him with his fucking grin and playful sparkling in the eye. "But not the first date, of course. I have very strict rules for first dates."

"Bet I can destroy every single one by the end of the evening," Roy groans, biting on Jamie's lip, as he smiles.

"Deal." They share a quick kiss and Jamie pushes Roy lightly after this. "Now move the fuck away, if you're not gonna help, I have a child to feed."