Work Text:
"Roy.” Jamie rubs his eyes as he stops at the bottom of the stairs. “You comin’ to bed? ‘S late.”
He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, and there are lines across his skin to mirror the wrinkles of the sheets. Jamie went to be hours ago, is only awake now because he needed to use the bathroom. And apparently because someone has to make sure Roy takes care of himself.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” he says, without looking up from the folder he’s reading. “Just going to finish this set of articles first.”
“Roy.” Jamie stumbles on his way across the living room, still not completely awake. “It’s almost three. C’mon, you aren’t really gonna make me sleep up there all by meself?”
“You’re a big lad, you’ll be fine.” He flips the page.
“What kind of an article is more important than coming to bed with your boyfriend? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’re half asleep,” Roy argues. “That’s hardly consensual. Season starts next week; I’m reading up on how to be a decent fucking head coach.”
“What?” Jamie takes the folder away from him, ignoring Roy’s noise of protest. He has to blind a few times before the headline comes into focus.
Ten Tips For First Time Football Coaches
He flips through the rest of the folder. It’s more of the same: Practical Advice For Coaching Football, Football Coaching 101 – Players, the Pitch and You, a whole stack of them leading, disturbingly, to the last article in the stack.
Tips for the New Soccer Coach.
“Roy!” Jamie admonishes. “Soccer?”
“Fuck off,” Roy snatches the folder back. “Coaching is coaching, innit it? Fucking fundamentals aren’t any different.”
“You movin’ to America with Lasso?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then quit reading bullshit about soccer,” Jamie puts on a mocking American accent, which wins a smile from Roy. “And come lay down.”
“I’ve got to get fucking ready for the fucking season. You lot are expecting me to be a good head gaffer.”
“Yeah, we are.” Jamie nods and reaches for Roy’s hand. “Because we know that you already are. All we’re expecting is for you to show up and be your grouchy, sweary self. That’s the coach Miss Welton hired, and that’s the coach we all know you’ll be.”
“It’s not like last year. I’m in charge of the team now, Jamie. Fuck if I know how to do that.”
“You know how the game works, yeah?” Roy nods. “And you’ve had good coaches? And less good ones?” He nods twice more. “Mint, then all you gotta do is be like the good ones, and not like the less good ones."
“It’s not that fucking easy.”
“Probably not.” Jamie shrugs. “But you know we’ll tell you if you start fucking it up. The team trusts you, Roy. You can trust us too.”
Roy sighs something that sounds like the word fuck, but he closes the folder so Jamie thinks he’s maybe won.
“Fine.” Roy leans forward and puts the folder on the coffee table. “Words quit making sense fucking hours ago, anyway.” He stands up and offers a hand to Jamie. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Finally.” Jamie follows him back up to bed. “Easier to sleep when you’re there.”