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"Come on Andrew, get this right!" Robertson surveyed the assortment of boxes on the counter, hands on his hips. He breathed once, twice before sorting them.
Robertson knew that Milner didn't want a lot of fanfare around his departure. The Yorkshire native was generally a man of few words, exceptions only taking place when he sarcasticked the hell out of his teammates or when he gave a motivational speech. Robertson knew that, deep down, there was a soft side of Milner. Even if he never expressed it outwardly, Robertson saw the sadness in Milner's eyes as he said his goodbyes.
So after the match, Robertson headed straight to the kitchen, knowing Milner would be finished with interviews in fifteen minutes. Taking out several grocery bags and their favorite mugs, Robertson set a table for just the two of them, using the same simple, tasteful china set from Milner's 37th birthday. Robertson barely had time to take a shower before Milner arrived, but he managed to do it, and in record time too.
When Robertson sprinted back to the kitchen, tying his tie as he ran, Milner was already there. He was definitely surprised by the set-up counter--and even more shocked when he saw Robertson's outfit.
"I have only seen you wear a tie three times in the past five years," he said, shaking his head. "And three out of three times, I had to re-tie it for you because it looked like a silly string bomb detonated around your neck. This will make four."
With that, Milner took Robertson's tie and re-tied it. Usually Robertson protested about Milner acting like a dad, but now he couldn't help but think about how much he'd miss it when Milner left.
"Something on your mind?"
Robertson shook her head, breaking away from Milner. Of course Milner would see inside his thoughts. "Nah, I was thinking about the match earlier."
Milner glanced at him, his face unreadable. "It's not just the match, is it?" Robertson didn't reply, but he knew Milner had seen the truth. "You can talk to me," Milner said softly.
"Anyway..." Robertson pulled the lace tablecloth away from the counter, revealing a covered silver platter. "Ta-da!"
Milner eyed the platter suspiciously. "You'd better not have a mini mariachi band under there."
Robertson took off the cover with a flourish, revealing a plate full of biscuits. "I thought you might be hungry."
Milner's suspicious expression dropped immediately, replaced with one of surprise and familiarity. "These are all the dunking biscuits from that stupid video we did. I had to toss out, like, four of them."
Robertson moved the platter to the middle of their table, pulling up a seat for Milner. "I still think that was cruelty to biscuits."
"You've got to be kidding me! Those ones didn't even qualify as dunking biscuits. They didn't even qualify as biscuits! That's like taking cardboard and calling it velvet. It's just wrong. I'm not even sure why they call them dunking biscuits if they're not even going to be able to survive a dunk. They should just call them something else, like utter rubbish."
Robertson chuckled at Milner's biscuit tirade, shaking his head. "I think we'd better just stick to our Jammy Dodgers. Nothing beats the real thing, eh?"
"You said it." Milner took five jam cookies from the platter, pouring himself a cup of tea. "You know I'm still making us work out after this, right? Jammy Dodgers..."
"...and Jumping Jacks.” Robertson sighed, setting his biscuit on the corner of the plate. All of a sudden, he’d lost his appetite. I'm gonna miss you, James."
Milner smiled sadly. "I'll miss you too," he said, wrapping his arm around Robertson's shoulder. "But this isn't goodbye. I'll be back before you know it, retying your ties and telling you how Ribena is infinitely better than that god-awful orange sugar potion. You can't even dunk a biscuit in it."
"Yeah. I...I love you, mate. More than you will ever know. Even though you love getting under my skin all the time, you're like the older brother I always wanted. The sarcastic, grouchy, boring older brother I knew would protect me."
Milner opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he smiled and pulled his friend in for a hug. "Same here. I guess you'll just have to settle for being the annoying, mischievous younger brother I love to hate."
"Shut up, mate."