Chapter Text
Jamie Tartt could get drunk off this feeling.
The television is playing a recap of the match. Excited reporters are talking about the score while it simultaneously flashes on the screen. Every time Jamie sees it, he thinks the excitement might kill him.
Three to one. AFC Richmond wins.
There are lots of winners here tonight.
The Crown and Anchor is buzzing with excited cheer. Half of Jamie’s teammates are at the bar, chatting up Mae and a few other fans. Jamie, Colin, and Dani had found themselves an empty table in the corner. They’re only on their first round, but Jamie suspects there are many more free drinks coming. He can’t complain. If he’s too tipsy to drive back to his flat, he has another excuse to go back to Ted’s place and crash in his guest bedroom. He really likes it there.
(He’s not quite ready to admit it yet, but he prefers it over his own flat.)
Ted is here. He’s talking to Roy and Beard in another corner, a cold beer in one hand and a bright smile on his face. His voice is carrying through the room. “I’m just so proud of my team. They’ve worked so hard this season, and it’s really paying off.”
(Jamie isn’t ready to admit this part either, but he really loves these people. And he’s just as proud of all of them.)
He leans back in his chair and smiles at a passing fan, laughs as a few people start chanting his name. They’re like a very out of tune choir. Just an hour ago, the same chant had been sung by tens of thousands of fans in the stadium. It’s a feeling he’ll never, ever get used to.
He’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes as they all clap him on the shoulder and Isaac playfully punches his arm. He scored all three goals for them, after all, and even Roy had it in himself to begrudgingly admit that Jamie is the man of the hour.
And it feels good to have people to celebrate with. It feels good to have friends. It feels good to kick Colin’s foot under the table, the two of them laughing and clinking their glasses together before taking sloppy sips of their drinks that cause drops of beer to spill down their chins.
It all just feels very, very good.
Jamie’s only about halfway done with his drink by the time Isaac speaks up, waving his empty glass in the air. “You lot up for another round?”
“I’m good,” Jamie says, gesturing to his still-full drink. “I’ll get one later.”
“Such a child,” someone drawls from behind him. Jamie doesn’t have to look back to recognize the sound of his voice. He raises his hand and flips off Roy, who’s standing almost directly behind him.
“Fuck off,” he says, although where there would once be malice behind his words, now his voice is light and cheerful.
“Good fuckin’ job today,” Roy says to all of them seated at the table. “Even you, you little prick.”
When Jamie flips him off again, Roy swats his hand away before walking off to rejoin Keeley.
“I’m getting more drinks,” Isaac says. He pushes his chair back and stands. Colin and Dani follow, practically skipping to the bar all while smiling and nodding at fans.
Jamie lets his smile soften as he leans back in his chair, losing himself in the sound of laughter around him. There’s still a few people singing his name, and a few other people sneakily taking photos of him.
When he looks up to check where his friends are, his eyes drift towards the only other solitary body in the room. The man is hard to miss. He’s sitting by himself at the bar, elbow resting against the counter as he surveys the hoard of people with what seems to be curiosity. Jamie doesn’t recognize him, and he’s not a face Jamie would easily forget. He’s got dark brown, almost black hair that curls at his ears and freckles dotted across his nose. He half smiles at Mae as she says something to him, and even from where he sits, Jamie can see dimples. The man is tapping his fingers against the counter as if he’s waiting for someone.
Jamie actually stops breathing when they lock eyes. He’s the first one to look away, though he can still feel the stranger’s searing gaze on him even after his teammates rejoin him at the table.
“The drinks were free!” Dani proclaims excitedly. He passes one to Jamie, even though he’s still working on his first beer. “We got you one ‘cause it was free, obviously.”
“Thanks, mate,” Jamie says. He picks up his first drink and downs it quickly so that he can catch up to his friends, who are all talking so quickly and excitedly that he finds it hard to keep up with their conversation.
When he dares to look up at the stranger again, he finds that the man is no longer watching him. He’s watching the television, which is now playing a rerun of Bake Off. Jamie’s not sure where his sudden nerves are coming from. He’s Jamie fucking Tartt. He can literally command a room.
But when he excuses himself from the table and goes to join the man at the bar, he has butterflies.
(This is something he will never admit, not even later.)
He slides into the empty bar stool next to the stranger, who’s watching him with a light smirk on his face.
“Jamie Tartt, I take it?” he asks. His accent is smooth like butter. It’s the sort of posh that Jamie would usually make fun of, but for some reason, he finds that it’s really nice coming from the stranger.
“That's me,” Jamie says. It takes him a moment to realize that he left his drink behind, but before he can order another one, the man is gesturing Mae over.
“Two more, please,” he says. Mae shoots him an unreadable smile and nods, walking away to fetch their drinks. Jamie isn’t sure what that smile meant.
“What about you?” Jamie asks.
“Hm? Oh, I’m Charlie. I’m not from this area. I literally had no idea who you were until, like, five minutes ago when people started cheering your name. Is that rude? Probably.”
Jamie raises his eyebrows, a surprised laugh escaping his mouth. “You’d be the only one here.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that. Everyone here is obsessed with you guys."
Jamie nods. “It’s always like this. You should see this place when we lose.”
Charlie laughs heartily. It’s the kind of sound that’s contagious–and Jamie can’t help but burst into a fit of laughter himself, even if he’s not entirely certain what’s so funny..
“This whole town is obsessed with them,” Mae says, sliding their fresh glasses towards them with another knowing smile. Jamie’s still not sure what that smile means. He sort of wants to tell her to fuck off, to stop interrupting them, but he’s also pretty sure she’d throttle him if he did that.
When Mae leaves, Charlie’s smile softens as he wistfully sips his beer.
“Where are you from then?” Jamie asks. He doesn’t even care that he sounds cocky when he asks, “Can’t be anywhere close if you don’t even know who I am.”
Charlie raises an eyebrow and laughs again, lowering his glass and leaning back in his chair. “I grew up in Yorkshire, but I live in America.”
“America?” Jamie asks.
Charlie hums. He’s studying his drink. He seems nervous when he speaks again. “Hockey. I play for the NHL.”
“Fucking hell,” Jamie says, laughing. “Do you really?”
“You can google my name,” Charlie says. Jamie doesn’t fail to notice the way he’s fingering the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn’t know this is a nervous tick yet, but he will. “Charlie Dixon.”
“Fuckin’ hockey players,” Jamie says, resting his elbow against the table.
Charlie chuckles. “Fucking football players, right?”
The two of them share a laugh. They wave Mae down for another drink.
Charlie’s easy to talk to. They fall into conversation–the sort where Jamie can let his guard down and just be. It’s strange to feel this comfortable around a total stranger. It took him months to open up to Ted, and even still he sometimes carries with him his reservations, but soon enough he’s tipsy and laughing so hard he can hardly breathe. Charlie’s laughing too, and Jamie likes his laugh. He likes it a lot.
He learns that Charlie’s only here for two months visiting his parents. He learns how supportive Charlie’s parents are about his career and his move to the States, and that he has a little sister named Melody, and that he’s got as many Instagram followers as Jamie.
By the time he pulls his gaze away from Charlie’s face (not his lips, to be clear), he realizes that most of his team is gone. Isaac and Dani linger, talking to some guy Jamie doesn’t know. Ted’s gone, but Jamie knows he doesn’t have to ask to crash at his place anymore. About a month ago, Ted gave him a key to his flat and told him he could call it home whenever he wanted.
His smile softens when he thinks about it.
“Here,” Charlie says, interrupting his thoughts. He passes his phone to Jamie, a new contact open so that Jamie can input his information “Tonight was really fun.”
Jamie inputs his number without really thinking about it. It’s only after he passes the phone back and Charlie texts him so that Jamie has Charlie’s number, that he notices the way his heart is pounding and his stomach is fluttering in a way he doesn’t recognize.
“You want to hangout tomorrow?” Jamie asks before he can lose his nerve. “I don’t have training until later in the day, if…”
“It’s a date,” Charlie says, and smiles, and suddenly Jamie panics.
“Right. I, uh. Just letting you know, I’m not, like. I’m not gay, or anything like that.”
He’s not entirely sure which one of them he’s trying to convince.
Charlie actually throws his head back and laughs, revealing a neck that for some reason, Jamie feels drawn to, before looking at him again. “Me neither, mate. I just thought we could fuck each other as friends.”
Jamie kicks his leg. “Fuck off,” he says good-heartedly. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Charlie says. And before Jamie can respond, he’s slipping off the barstool and leaving.
“He’s hot,” Mae says from behind Jamie. Jamie jumps, turning towards her.
“Shut up,” he says, glaring at her, before he leaves the pub as well.
On the walk to Ted’s, Jamie’s quite literally glowing. He’s feeling particularly victorious. Of course he is. He won them their match. And he made himself a friend that’s neither paid to like him, or only interested in him because he’s famous. It’s a pretty good feeling.
He doesn’t bother knocking when he enters. The lights are all on, so Jamie peaks his head into the kitchen and living room to try and find Ted.
“Coach?” Jamie asks.
Ted emerges from his bedroom wearing pajamas. The second he sees Jamie, his face brightens.
“Hey, Jamie.”
“Hey,” Jamie says. “Didn’t really feel like goin’ home yet.”
“Not a problem with me. Leftovers are in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’m gonna hit the hay, I’m exhausted after today and, y’know, I’m not 24 anymore.”
“Right,” Jamie says. “Thanks, Ted.”
“‘Course. And Jamie?”
“Yeah?”
Ted smiles softly. He clamps a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and squeezes. It’s such a paternal gesture that for a second, Jamie feels a twinge in his heart. “Good job today, kiddo.”
Jamie swallows the lump in his throat and nods. Before he can say anything, however, Ted is pulling him into a hug. Jamie melts into it immediately.
And he pretends that Ted had been his dad all along.
He sleeps in late the next morning. So late, in fact, that by the time he eventually drags himself out of bed with half-lidded eyes and a pounding headache, he finds Ted’s flat empty. He gets himself water, all the while cursing himself for being such a lightweight. On his way to the fridge, he finds a note on the counter.
Feel free to make yourself breakfast! I’m out grocery shopping and didn’t want to wake you
Jamie smiles as he sets the note back down. He settles himself down on Ted’s sofa and turns on his phone.
He almost chokes on his water when he sees two unread texts from Charlie.
Hey! It’s Charlie from last night
You still down to hangout today?
Jamie responds immediately.
fuck yeah let’s do it
So this is how Jamie finds himself waiting outside a diner, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he rolls back on his heels. He’s not nervous, obviously.
Of course he’s not nervous.
Except as soon as Charlie turns the corner, Jamie’s stomach does something that is somehow both pleasant and not so pleasant at the same time. Especially when the two of them make eye contact, and Charlie doesn’t simply smile.
He beams.
“Jamie!” Charlie says, and God, something about Charlie’s Yorkshire accent is so soft and smooth that Jamie could literally melt into it. The two of them fist bump once Charlie reaches him, and something about the contact makes the feeling in Jamie’s stomach worse.
“Charlie,” Jamie says. Charlie smiles and Jamie thinks he’d burn this entire city down if it meant he'd see it happen again. He opens the door to the diner and leads Charlie inside, where they find a table by a window. It’s not a date, obviously, but it feels an awful lot like Jamie and Keeley’s first date, when he took her out for dinner and they watched people pass by out the window, all while talking and offering each other nervous glances.
Any worries Jamie had that he wouldn’t enjoy Charlie’s company quite as much when he’s sober vanish as soon as they Ssettle into conversation. Charlie is naturally funny as he talks about all the strange things about America, from the portion sizes to the cult-like patriotism. Jamie quips that his coach is American.
“He’d like you,” Jamie says, though he’s not quite sure why he says it. Or why he cares what Ted would think of his friends. “You’d get on.”
“I should meet your American coach one day,” Charlie says.
Jamie curses time, traitorous as it is, for passing by so quickly. He knows he has training soon and he’s probably already running late as is, but he finds he’d much rather not go.
He’s never felt this way about any of his friends before. Not Colin, not Isaac or Dani, and most certainly not Roy (if Roy could even be considered a friend), so it makes no sense why all Jamie wants to do is beg Charlie to stay with him.
“I’ve got to go,” he finally says. “Fuckin’ training.”
Charlie nods. “Of course.” And, as if it’s an afterthought, he says, “this was a lot of fun, Jamie.”
Jamie likes the way Charlie pronounces the syllables of his name, the way his accent curves on the A. And he likes the way Charlie is looking at him right now, a soft smile playing at his lips as he rises to stand.
It becomes something of a routine, the next few days. Jamie wakes up and practically scrambles out of bed to get dressed, smiling at his phone like a teenage girl with a crush (which he does not have, by the way). Jamie and Charlie meet at the same diner, sit at the same window seat, and talk about whatever’s on their minds. He goes to sleep each night dreaming about the sound of Charlie’s voice, unable to recognize the fire in his stomach when he thinks about him for too long.
He chalks all these strange feelings up to how similar the two of them truly are, and how this is the easiest time Jamie has ever had making a friend in his life.
He thanks whatever gods are watching him that he didn’t meet Charlie last year, when he was still a raging prick bent on revenge against the entire world for his shitty childhood. He takes Charlie’s appearance in his life as a reward for his efforts to become a better person.
Day five of their meeting feels different, somehow. It’s the first sunny day they’ve had in a very long time, and Jamie’s practically skipping to meet Charlie at the diner. The two of them chat, like always. Someone recognizes Jamie and he takes a selfie with her, shooting Charlie a bemused smile once she walks away. Charlie says something about Jamie looking radiant in that photo.
He’s heard lots of compliments before, but this is his favorite one.
"Radiant?" Jamie asks, leaning back in his seat. He pretends he's not blushing, but he's certain his face is bright red.
"You always look like that," Charlie says with a shrug, as if it's the most noncommittal thing to say to someone. As if Jamie's heart is waging war on his ribcage.
Jamie Tartt's not usually lost for words, but he is now.
After an hour or so, Jamie begrudgingly checks the clock and knows he has to go to training. He doesn’t want to. He’s not quite done soaking up Charlie’s presence yet. When the two of them stand, Charlie shrugging on his jacket, it only takes him a few seconds deliberation before he steps closer.
And to his surprise, Charlie doesn’t pull away.
He’s never kissed a man before, but he’s kissed loads of girls. None of it ever felt like this. It’s the sort of kiss that makes Jamie question if he’ll ever be able to kiss anyone ever again because he’ll be chasing this very feeling for the rest of his life, and every other set of lips will fall short.
By the time he pulls away, Charlie’s looking at him like he’s got the entire world in his eyes. And that’s when the panic sets in.
“I’ve got…” Jamie fumbles over the words, digging in his jacket for the keys to his car. “Got to go. See you later. Uh. Right. Bye.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s out the door and in his car, and only then does he allow the reality of the last five minutes to set in.
He kissed a boy. He really, really liked it.
It doesn’t make sense. Jamie isn’t gay.
He’s clumsy as hell during training. He misses goals that should come easy, and when Roy chastises him for it, he does nothing except hang his head and keep playing like he’s brand new to the game.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, so the team gives him a wide berth. No one really knows how to approach him in the locker room, and it’s probably because they’re all shocked he seems so down after his grand victory just a few days before.
When he checks his phone after training, he’s got several texts from Charlie.
You okay?
I’m sorry I really didn’t know that was going to happen
I promise I didn’t think it was a date or anything
I had lots of fun. We should do it again but I totally understand if you don’t want to.
Jamie wants to scream. Why is Charlie apologizing? Jamie’s the one that fucked up, the one that stepped forward and initiated the kiss. He’s the one that always ruins everything, doesn’t he? Even if he was ever into Charlie like that, which he most certainly is not, Charlie deserves someone who’s not a colossal fucking disaster.
He thinks about a response, staring blankly at his phone screen for what feels like hours but is really only a minute or so, before his screen goes dark and he throws his phone down on his duffel bag. He changes out of his kit, back into the same clothes he wore on their not-date. He can still taste Charlie’s chapstick on his lips.
He’s losing his mind.
He knows he doesn’t have to ask, but for some reason he’s nervous and fidgeting with his hands as he approaches Ted’s office. Ted is alone, packing up to leave when he looks up at Jamie.
“Hey, Jamie. You okay? You seem a bit off.”
“Can I come home with you?”
Ted frowns, his brows furrowing. “Yes, of course. You know you’re always welcome.”
“Thanks,” Jamie says. His voice is shaking.
“You good?”
Jamie laughs. It’s a bitter, unhappy sound, and he feels bad when Ted’s frown deepens because of it. Instead of responding with words, Jamie balls his hands into fists and shakes his head. He’s suddenly very angry, but it’s only at himself. He had been really looking forward to being friends with Charlie Dixon, the hockey player who lives in America, but he fucking ruined it.
“Your… your dad didn’t pay you a visit, did he?”
Jamie’s head snaps back up to Ted, who’s watching Jamie like he’s a dangerous animal. He shakes his head. “No. Haven’t heard from him in a while.”
“Good,” Ted says. “You don’t have to talk about it, but you’ve still got Doctor Sharon’s number if you need her, right?”
Jamie nods.
“Alright,” Ted says.
Jamie almost wishes Ted would offer him a hug, but he also knows that the last thing he wants is to be touched. So instead of asking for one himself, he follows Ted out the building.
He drives them back to Ted’s flat so that he doesn’t have to leave his car behind, and the whole time he’s silent, thinking of possible responses for Charlie. Jamie is a grown man. He doesn’t want to just ghost Charlie for good and ruin what could’ve been a really nice friendship, but he’s never done well with feelings . He doesn’t want to start now.
And it’s this stress–the anxiety of this entire stupid situation that he’s landed himself in, that prompts him to slam the car door once they reach Ted’s flat. He can practically feel Ted’s eyes on him, and he’s so angry at himself that he almost tells Ted to fuck right off, but he clamps his mouth shut and follows Ted inside.
It’s this stress that prompts him to speak about something he’s been thinking about for a very long time. The one rift he’s felt with Ted Lasso for well over a year now.
“Why’d you send me away?”
Ted looks confused, and Jamie wants to scream. “What are you talking about, Jamie?”
“You sent me to Man City.” Jamie hates the way his voice cracks. He hates that he’s bringing this up at all. “I didn’t want to go. Why’d you do it?”
Ted’s staring at him like a wounded animal and Jamie has to look away. He wants Ted to yell at him. He wants Ted to hit him, to call him a fucking idiot, anything. His dad was always predictable like that, but Ted’s not that easy to read. Because he’s still fucking staring, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the words.
“I didn’t send you away, Jamie,” Ted finally says, voice strained. “It was… it was a misunderstanding, but I swear to you I had nothing to do with it.”
Jamie looks at him again, trying to find the lie in his expression. Trying to find any hint of anger.
“What sort of misunderstanding?”
“It’s… complicated,” Ted responds. “You really thought I had you sent away?”
“It made the most sense,” Jamie argues. “I thought you fuckin' hated me, 'cause everyone else did. I know nobody wanted me to come back."
Ted's expression makes Jamie's heart break a little. "I never gave up on you, Jamie. I don't quit things, you know that."
Jamie’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t break just yet. He’s hanging on by a thread, carefully measuring the distance between them as if Ted’s a bomb that could go off any second.
“I mean. You’re practically my son at this point, Jamie.”
And then he does break, bursting into tears the second the words leave Ted’s mouth. Ted is suddenly close to him, hugging him tightly, and Jamie leans into it without a second thought. He mourns for a little boy who never got these sorts of hugs, his dad holding him so tight that it seems like nothing in the world could ever hurt him.
“I’m sorry you thought that for so long,” Ted says against Jamie’s hair. “I’m sorry I never realized it was bothering you.”
“It’s okay,” Jamie chokes out. He’s aware of the way he’s clinging onto Ted, like he’s afraid the man will evaporate at any moment, but he can’t help but hold on just a little bit tighter. “‘M sorry for freaking out.”
“Is that what was bothering you today? At training?”
Jamie squeezes his eyes closed, forehead resting against Ted’s shoulder. When he shakes his head, he feels Ted’s hold on him tighten just a little.
“Then what’s up?”
Jamie pulls away even though he doesn’t want to. He’s having a very hard time looking at Ted.
He wipes the tears from his face with his sleeves, pointedly staring at the corner of the countertop as if it will make this any easier.
If he ever had this conversation with his real dad, the one who used to paint his body blue and purple with his fists, he’d end up in a hospital bed. Ted’s never talked about this sort of stuff with the team before, other than the general ‘everyone is welcome here’ speech he gives sometimes. He knows, logically, that Ted wouldn’t be an asshole about it. But he’s so confused himself, so terrified that he’s been wrong for his entire life, that he can hardly get the words out.
“Did you see the bloke I was talking to the other night?” Jamie finally asks. “At the Crown and Anchor.”
“Yeah! He seemed like a nice fella. What about him?”
Jamie takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think before he lets the words tumble out of him. “I kissed him.”
Where Ted looked as if he’d been shot to death just a few moments before, now he’s got a surprised expression on his face. It puts Jamie at ease, just a little, as Ted breaks into a smile.
“Did you now?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know what to do, Ted.”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t know!” Jamie throws his arms up in frustration. He starts pacing, back and forth while, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting. “I’m not gay.”
“I don’t think you have to be gay to like a guy. You could be bisexual! Or there’s tons of other labels. How active are you on Twitter?”
Jamie shoots him a look and Ted laughs.
“It felt like it did when I first got with Keeley,” Jamie says, almost to himself. “Like I was on fucking fire.”
“Then what happened?”
“I ran away," Jamie says miserably. “I freaked the fuck out and went to training.”
“Oh,” Ted says, as if everything suddenly falls into place. “Yeah. Checks out.”
“And he’s texting me, and I dunno how the fuck to respond, but I think I sort of want to do it again. I’m so fucking confused.”
“Text him back,” Ted says. He smiles a little and shrugs. “Start by apologizing for freaking out. Ask if he wants to hangout again. And just go from there.”
"I dunno if it'll be that easy."
"Sometimes, things fall into place way easier than we expect them to."
Ted's still got the same smile on his face, the smile that tells Jamie he's missing something. And suddenly, he's no longer biting down frustrated sobs or itching to punch a hole in the wall. Now he's the one who's curious.
“You’ve been hanging around that Trent Crimm guy quite a bit.”
“Have I? I haven’t really noticed," Ted says, although he breaks eye contact and his hands start fidgeting at his sides.
Jamie’s eyes narrow. “You just seem to be speaking from experience here.”
Ted shrugs. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. But he is coming over for dinner so I’m gonna need you to, at the very least, take a shower. I can smell you from here.”
And then Ted walks away, an extra little spring in his step, and Jamie’s a tad bit more confused than he was before.
But, after begrudgingly following Ted's directions, he starts planning out the text he's going to send while he's in the shower. He owes Charlie a text back, at the very least, and one more chance at being friends.