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When his mum’s name flashes across his phone screen, it takes every last bit of Roy appealing to his better nature to accept the call.
He knows why she’s calling, and exactly what she’s going to say, because they’ve been playing this game for the better part of two months now. With a sigh belonging to a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, he answers with a put upon, “Hello, Mum.”
“Roy,” Mum says, voice curt. “Who are you bringing to your cousin’s wedding?”
Another sigh. “Mum, I -”
“You said you were bringing a plus one and we need to know who that is, Roy!” Mum interrupts. “If you don’t give us a name, your aunt Natalie is inviting Greta, and you know how Andrea feels about Greta, so who are you bringing?”
“Mum, when I said I was bringing a plus one, I was still with Keeley,” Roy argues. “We broke up ages ago.”
Roy can hear his mother frown over the phone and he drops his head onto his desk with a thunk. “I could’ve sworn you were dating someone new,” she says. “Who’s that girl you’re always talking about…Jamie, right?”
At that, Roy snaps back up to attention, his heart thundering up against his chest. “Jamie’s a man, Mum.”
“Oh! Well, alright,” Mum says slowly, her voice carefully thoughtful. And Roy knows, he knows deep down to his bones, that he’s an idiot to hope that will be the end of it. There’s a long enough pause that the feeling begins to swell in his chest, when, “Well, I think that’s wonderful, Roy. I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend at the wedding.”
“It’s - he - we - it’s not,” Roy splutters, heat creeping up his neck and over his jaw.
“Roy, if you tell me it’s not serious, you’ll break my heart,” Mum sighs, like she’s the one about to have a heart attack on the phone. “You’re forty years old, Roy, and I’m sick of the family always asking me when you’re going to settle down. And if you’re worried about someone saying something about you dating a man, they’ll have to chat with me, first. Now tell Jamie we can’t wait to meet him and text me if he wants chicken or beef.”
Before Roy can find anything in him to fight his mother further on the matter, she hangs up. His heart continues pounding in his chest, anxiety rising in the back of his throat, and he tries desperately to remember any of the breathing exercises Dr. Sharon has been having him work on over the last several months. It’s just a misunderstanding, he tells himself. He can call his mum back and let her know that he does not have a boyfriend, has never had any intention of having a boyfriend, and that even if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be Jamie. His gaze darts out towards the window between the coaches’ office and the dressing room, where that exact same muppet is currently laughing at something Declan is showing him on his phone. Blond hair damp from the shower is flopping into his eyes, dripping down his face even as he rubs a towel over it clumsily, and whatever he says in response to Declan makes a chorus of laughter erupt from the rest of the group.
It might not be the worst thought, really, to take Jamie to the wedding. Andrea’s a sweet girl, and Greta is one of her least favorite people in the world, so honestly, it’s like doing the bride a service to take someone so that she doesn’t show up. And Jamie’s good company - his mum wasn’t wrong to assume they were spending every waking moment together, because they are . People take their friends as dates to things all the time. He can clarify the greater issue of the fact he and Jamie are not dating later.
Without conscious effort on his part, Roy has made his way across the coaches’ office and yanks open the door, bellowing out, “Tartt! Boot room! Now!”
Silence falls across the dressing room and Jamie glances around at the other lads before lifting a finger to his chest, mouthing, me? Roy gives a small nod and Jamie frowns but shrugs, following him out of the locker room and across the short hall to the boot room. He tugs the door shut behind them while Roy looks around carefully to make sure Will isn’t hiding in one of the corners in that unsettling way of his.
Satisfied that no kitmen are about to overhear what he has to say, Roy turns back to face Jamie, who’s looking at him, unimpressed.
“The fuck is that look for?” Roy demands.
“Er, the fuck did I do that you’re dragging me in here?” Jamie snits back. “Been nothing but a model player lately, Coach, even been conditioning my hair and everything.”
“I’m not - it’s not about how you’re playing,” Roy says. “You’ve been great on the pitch. I need to…ask you something.”
“What, you finally accepting that there are colours to wear beyond black? Good on you, Grandad. ‘Course I’ll help you find the right one.”
“Shut up, you muppet,” Roy growls. “I need to ask you. An actual. Favor.” The words punch their way out of his chest as if they cause him physical pain, which in all honesty - they just might.
Something in Jamie’s face softens and he nods. “Yeah, mate, of course. Anything. What’s up?”
“My cousin’s wedding is coming up,” Roy says, slowly, taking his time to work out the correct way to put this. He’s coming up dry, so instead he just continues, “And my mum is under the incorrect assumption that you’re my boyfriend, and I need you to go with me.” Jamie blinks at him. Nothing else - not a yes, not a no, not a fuck you, the idiot just stands there staring at him. Heat prickles over Roy’s cheeks, growing more intense as the seconds tick on. He swallows around the nerves leaping up his throat and opens his mouth, ready to tell Jamie to forget it, it was just a joke, never mention it again under pain of death, when -
“Yeah, alright,” Jamie says, shrugging. “Sounds fun.”
“Fun?” Roy echoes, unable to keep the surprise out of his mouth.
“Yeah,” Jamie says. “I like weddings, you need a date. And anyway,” a cocky grin slides over his face, enough to almost make Roy call the whole thing off before it’s even gotten started, “Who wouldn’t lie to their mum about me being their boyfriend?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Roy grumbles, but his heart isn’t in it. Jamie can obviously tell, as his shit eating grin grows even wider for just a moment before he snaps it into a pout.
“Is that anyway to talk to your boyfriend?” Jamie looks up at him with wide, wet eyes from beneath his lashes, those stupid lips still folded in on each other, and Roy’s blood thrums beneath his skin in something similar to anger but annoyingly tainted by fondness.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Roy grumbles, shoving past Jamie to leave the smell of boots behind. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Thanks, babe!” Jamie calls after him, and Roy is hit with the realization that he’s just made a massive mistake.
––
“Can you send me a link to their registry?”
Roy pops his head up from where he’d been bent over his desk to see Jamie standing in the doorway of his office. “The fuck do you need the registry for?”
Jamie picks idly at his nail, shrugging. “Can’t show up to a wedding without a gift, mate,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s bad manners, innit?”
“I’m paying for the wedding, Tartt, you don’t need to buy a gift,” Roy says, turning his attention back to the scouting reports in front of him, which as manager, he unfortunately now has to read. “Don’t worry about it.”
From the doorway, Jamie sighs and scuffs one of his trainers against the ground. “C’mon, man, I’m trying to do this right and shit. I don’t want your family thinking I’m a shit boyfriend or summat.”
“Jamie,” Roy says slowly, not looking back at him. “You’re not actually my boyfriend.”
There’s a silence long enough to give him pause and he glances back at the door, where Jamie is still lingering, lips twisted as he stares at the ground. A faint pink has dusted itself over his cheekbones, nearly obscured by the downward tilt of his stupid ICON hat. Something like guilt gnaws at Roy’s gut and he sighs, swiveling his chair to face Jamie with his arms crossed.
“I’ll send you the registry,” he finally growls. “But you don’t need to worry. The family’s going to like you fine.”
The color over Jamie’s cheeks deepens, but at least he’s smiling again, tilting his face up to beam over at Roy. “Cheers,” he says. “What are you wearing? Want to make sure we don’t clash.”
Roy scoffs, but even he can tell how fond his stupid face looks. Jamie’s grin widens.
“Black,” Roy says, and now it’s Jamie’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Of course,” he sighs. “Well, as long as I don’t show up in white, we should be fine then.”
“We’ll leave tomorrow after training,” Roy turns back to his desk. “So pack your bags and I’ll pick you up in the morning so we can leave straight away. It’s about a two hour drive.”
“I thought the wedding was Saturday?”
“There’s a welcome dinner for people coming in from out of town tomorrow.”
“Fucking hell!” Jamie cries. “I’ve got to plan two outfits - what’s the dress code for the fucking welcome dinner ?”
Roy sighs, long suffering and put upon. “Cocktail attire. I’m wearing black,” he preemptively cuts off Jamie’s next question and is satisfied when he hears the snap of his jaw shutting. He’s less happy, though, at the sound of Jamie’s footsteps coming closer, before the twat has plopped himself down on the edge of Roy’s desk, making himself comfortable.
“So what do I need to know about your family?” Jamie asks, picking up one of the scouting reports and grimacing before tossing it back down on the desk. “What would a good boyfriend know in advance? How long have we been dating, by the way? Want to make sure our story’s good and all, don’t I?”
For maybe the millionth time since he was enough of an idiot to involve Jamie in this half-brained scheme, Roy believes deep down to his core that he’s made a terrible, awful mistake. It may be easier to call up his mum to tell her the truth and to just invite Greta. He’ll make it up to Andrea somehow.
“Does this matter, Tartt?” Roy sighs. “You know plenty. We’ve been dating for however fucking long.”
“Jesus, you don’t know how to commit to a bit,” Jamie says, and Roy turns his face up to glare at the little idiot, who has the audacity to look at Roy like he’s the one making this more difficult than it needs to be. Jamie’s gaze flits over the length of his face for a long moment, making Roy want to squirm under the intensity of his scrutiny, but he stays resolutely still. Finally, Jamie nods, like he’s made an important decision. “Right,” he says. “We’ve been dating six months. I asked you out first.”
“Fuck off!” Roy snaps. “Why’re you the one asking me out?”
“C’mon, Grandad, we both know you’d never pull your head out of your ass enough to actually ask me out,” Jamie’s grin is shit-eating and cocky; Roy resists the urge to slap it straight off his face. “I asked you out, and we both know it. We had dinner at mine. I ordered us takeaway. It was nice.”
“Not much of a date,” Roy snorts and Jamie glares at him. Roy holds his hands up, placating. “Fine, fine, we had dinner at yours and you ordered in because you’re so shit at cooking.”
“Exactly,” Jamie nods, somehow satisfied with that. “And you’ve been proper obsessed with me ever since.”
Since there doesn’t seem to be much reason in arguing, Roy just nods. “It’s my cousin Andrea’s wedding. She’s a pet groomer. Her husband-to-be is named Josh, and he’s a knob.”
“Andrea the pet groomer and Josh the knob,” Jamie nods slowly, like Roy’s just revealed some deeper meaning to the universe and he needs time to chew it over. One of his legs swings absently off the edge of the desk and brushes against Roy’s leg over and over as he thinks this information over, and with a growl Roy snaps a hand out to grip Jamie’s knee and still his motion.
“You don’t need to be this stressed,” Roy grunts. “We’ll go, we’ll have a few drinks, and my family won’t think I’m a miserable old bastard set to die alone.”
“Nah, man, you might be a miserable old bastard, but you won’t die alone,” Jamie teases, his smile widening. “Got me, don’t you?”
He looks soft even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the office, somehow glinting gently in his eyes as he looks down at Roy with that same stupid, charming smile. They stay there for a moment, just looking at each other, until Roy suddenly grows acutely aware of his hand still on Jamie’s knee where his thumb has started rubbing back and forth of its own accord. He snatches it back and sets it in his own lap where it belongs with a thick clearing of his throat.
“You can ask me more questions on the drive there,” he says, mouth suddenly dry. “Now off you get, go home, get some sleep. It’s going to be a long weekend.”
Jamie lingers for a moment more before hopping to his feet and clapping Roy on the shoulder on the way out.
It’ll be fine. It’s all going to be fine.
Thank god it’ll be an open bar.
–
By the time they make it to the hotel and to their room, Roy’s half convinced Jamie will never make it to the wedding, because his dead body will be rotting in the hotel bathtub. The twat brought not one, not two, but four different suits, since, in his words, Roy didn’t give him enough information to know which one to choose. He shoulders his way into the room, his one sensible garment bag in one hand and a duffel draped over his shoulder, and is mulling over all the ways he can get away with explaining exactly how Jamie came to die in their suite when he stops short, causing Jamie to slam into his back.
“What the fuck man?” Jamie complains, but Roy only growls in response, dismay bubbling up into his throat.
“There’s only one bed,” he grunts, kicking himself for forgetting to call and update the reservation. “I wasn’t expecting to bring my personal idiot along with me, and now there’s only one bed.”
Jamie peers over around his shoulder and laughs right in his ear, one hand reaching up to clap Roy on the shoulder. “Dibs on the left side of the bed!”
There’s no time for Roy to react to that before Jamie is shoving his way around him and tossing his suits and small suitcase onto the sofa before flinging himself onto the bed. He bounces slightly on impact and lets out a long, borderline obscene moan as he feels around on the soft sheets. Roy’s shirt collar suddenly feels very tight at the noises coming out of Jamie’s mouth, heat prickling at the back of his neck.
“The fuck are you doing?” he snaps, kicking the door shut behind him and making his way further into the room.
“This bed is lush , mate,” Jamie grins up at him. “Seriously, this is the most comfortable fucking mattress I’ve ever laid on. C’mon, give it a go.”
“You’re not sleeping in this bed, Tartt,” Roy growls down at him. “And stop making those fucking sounds. You sound like a porn star.”
Jamie’s grin turns wolfish. “What, Roy? Does your family think we’re waiting for marriage?”
“Fuck off!” Roy growls. “We’re not sleeping in the same fucking bed. It’s weird.”
At that, Jamie’s smile falls, twisting inside into a confused frown. “Why? It’s a huge fucking bed, man. And if you go down to reception demanding a new room with two beds, everyone’s going to think we’re having some kind of lovers’ spat. Doesn’t exactly sell the whole dating thing.”
The unfortunate truth is that the little prick has a point, and Roy squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a long breath through his nose. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. Just two nights, Kent, he tells himself, and then he can come up with some cockhaired excuse about why they broke up in a few weeks, during which he will simply avoid his family at all costs.
“Just…start getting ready,” Roy grumbles when he finds words again, and Jamie grins once again, clearly satisfied to have won the argument. “We need to head down to the hotel restaurant in an hour.”
“You got it, Coach!” Jamie chirps, bounding off the bed and grabbing his bags before slamming shut the door to the en suite. “Hope you don’t need anything in here!” he calls through the door. “I’ll take up the whole time!”
“Fucking muppet,” Roy mumbles under his breath, but flops down onto the bed as well, which he does have to admit, is incredibly comfortable. He pulls up his phone, ready to start texting Beard some ideas for the next week’s match, when it buzzes in his hand with a slew of rapidly incoming messages from his sister. His head tips back and he lets out a long groan, before pulling his phone up to read Heather’s onslaught of messages.
Why is mum telling me and Phoebe you’ve brought a boyfriend this weekend????
Roy why is mum saying your boyfriend’s name is Jamie??????????
ROY ARE YOU DATING JAMIE
“Fuck,” Roy breathes out, long and drawn out, scrubbing a hand down his face. In his hairbrained scheme, he’d not even considered the fact Heather would be here, let alone Phoebe -
His stomach drops out from under him. Fuck. Phoebe loves Jamie, probably on par with how much she loves Roy, which is offensive but unfortunately true. How’s he supposed to look at her little face and tell her that Jamie is his boyfriend, a boldfaced lie, and in the next tell her they’ve broken up? Guilt lurches through him at the thought - he’s never had to lie to Phoebe before, and his thumbs are hovering over the screen to reply to his sister when there’s a banging on the door of the room. He leaps three feet in the air, phone clattering to the ground.
The knocking continues, only growing more aggressive as he stalks back to the door, a curse ready to fire off his lips on whoever’s being enough of an asshole to natter on like this, but when he yanks open the door, the sudden weight of a nine year old hits him right around the midsection.
“Hi Uncle Roy!” Phoebe cries, and instinctively Roy wraps his arms around her small frame. “Mummy wanted to come say hi to you and Jamie!”
Roy looks up from Phoebe to see his sister staring at him with eyebrows raised, skepticism painted over every last one of her features. Extricating himself from Phoebe, he grunts and allows them in. Phoebe rushes ahead of him, her head darting around as if Jamie is hiding somewhere from her, and she opens her mouth to say something when the bathroom door swings open, Jamie popping out grinning with a pair of shorts slung low on his hips.
“I thought I heard my favorite girl come in!” he beams at Phoebe and bends down so she can rush to give him a hug as well.
His hair is damp from the shower, and Roy is not looking at a bead of water the rolls down the back of his neck, thank you very much, nor has he noticed how much more defined Jamie’s back has become lately. If he has, it’s only been in a professional way. A coaching kind of way. Yeah.
“How you doing, Phoebs?” Jamie asks when she’s tugged away from him. “You’re alright?”
“Jamie,” she says, “Why did my Nan say you and Uncle Roy are boyfriends?”
Jamie snaps his eyes to meet Roy’s, who in turn glares over at Heather. She shrugs, arms folded over her chest, and raises an eyebrow, as if telling him to go on.
“We…are boyfriends,” Roy grits out. “But it’s new, so we’ve been keeping it a secret for a little while.”
Phoebe frowns up at him and his heart aches with the guilt of lying to her.
“You don’t keep secrets from me, Uncle Roy,” she says, and she sounds so sad it physically pains him.
“Your Uncle Roy was just nervous to tell ya, Phoebs,” Jamie cuts in quickly, and Roy snaps back to look at him, his expression earnest as he takes Phoebe’s small hands in his own. “He didn’t want to risk you officially liking me better than him, so he thought it was best we keep it a surprise for a little bit.”
Roy scoffs. Phoebe mulls it over for a moment, her small face twisted as she considers what Jamie’s said. “Alright,” she allows finally. “But Jamie, I’d never like you better than Uncle Roy. He buys me loads more ice cream than you do.”
“Hey!” Jamie cries, while Roy and Heather begin snickering.
“It’d have been nice to have some fair warning,” Heather says once her giggles have died down. “Rather than you letting me get ambushed by Mum in the lobby and getting told you were bringing your boyfriend as a date.”
“It’s new,” Roy grumbles, echoing his earlier lie. Anxiety eats at his chest. “We haven’t told much of anyone.”
“How new?”
“Six months,” Jamie supplies helpfully. “I asked him out and he couldn’t continue resisting my wiles.” He waggles his eyebrows at that, making Heather snort.
“So not that new,” she says. “Mum’s already told most of the family by now, so I hope you’re both ready for the Kent Inquisition tonight.”
Roy groans and Jamie beams, rising back to his feet from where he’d been crouched next to Phoebe. He glances quickly at the clock on the nightstand before mumbling a quick shit and darting to grab his garment bags, hauling them into the bathroom with him to get changed. Roy and Heather both roll their eyes.
“I’m glad you’re dating Jamie, Uncle Roy,” Phoebe decides finally. “It’s good to date someone you’re best friends with.”
It takes everything in him not to fall to his knees and come clean to her, beg for her forgiveness for ever lying to her, but somehow Roy manages a tense smile and grinds out, “Thank you,” between clenched teeth.
“We’ll leave you two to finish getting ready,” Heather says, extending a hand for Phoebe to take. “Just wanted to see it with my own eyes.”
Roy glares at her, trying to convey how badly he wants her to piss off without having to say any actual words for fear of how much cash he’ll owe Phoebe by the end of it. Heather just rolls her eyes and snorts before dragging her daughter out of the room, closing the door behind them. He lets out one long fuck! Before grabbing his own suit bag and angrily changing clothes. This was a bad idea. This was a terrible, horrible fucking idea, and he needs to go into the bathroom and drag Jamie out of this hotel kicking and screaming if he has to, because there is no way they’re going to be able to convince everyone they’re in a six month relationship if he can barely keep his shit together around his nine-year-old niece - The door to the en suite opens once more and Jamie steps out, hair freshly dried and coiffed back, wearing a well tailored pair of black trousers beneath a deep teal jacket with swirling gold along the body and a smart black lapel. He’s layered a crisp white dress shirt beneath it, tastefully buttoned, and a small gold hoop dangles from his left ear. He looks, in a word, striking, and Roy must stare for a beat too long because Jamie folds in on himself ever so slightly.
“Too much?” he asks, picking at the sleeve of his jacket. “Fuck, this is the most toned down thing I brought - is it too casual if I skip the jacket?”
“You look,” Roy starts, throat suddenly dry. He clears it once, still looking for the word. Amazing? Gorgeous? Sexy? an unhelpful voice whispers in the back of his mind. He clears his throat once more. “Nice,” he finally settles on. “You look nice, Jamie.”
The faintest of blushes tickles over Jamie’s cheeks, but he smiles. “Not bad yourself, Grandad.”
Roy glances down at himself - black on black on black, no tie - and grunts. Jamie rolls his eyes, looking fond.
“You ready to head down?” he asks.
Roy’s heart thunders in his chest, every nerve in his body alight, but he nods and they make their way out of the room and back to the lift. It’s fine. They can do this. All they need to do is get through this weekend, and everything will be back to normal by Monday. None of this does anything to soothe the anxiety rolling throughout his body, because this was a mistake , everyone in the family is going to see straight fucking through him. He reaches up and loosens his collar, suddenly too tight around his neck.
“You alright?” Jamie asks quietly beside him.
“Fuck no,” Roy barks. “Jamie, this was a terrible idea, there’s no way-”
“Bit late for second guessing, lad,” Jamie says, reaching out one hand to rub between Roy’s shoulder blades. The contact burns, even with the layers of clothing between them. “Don’t worry,” he says as the elevator dings when they reach the level with the hotel restaurant. “It’ll be fun!” Jamie shoots him a wink as the doors open, and then there’s no more time to second guess before they’re walking straight into the welcome party.
There are all kinds of relatives milling about, and Roy’s just about to make a beeline to the bar when he hears an unmistakable, “Roy Kent!”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, but tips his lips in a smile as he turns to face his mother, who’s marching straight over to him, her own face smacked over with a grin. “Hi, Mum,” he says when she reaches them, dipping to press a kiss to her cheek. “You alright?”
“Oh, I’m wonderful,” Mum says, reaching up to fix his shirt collar from where he’d mussed it while panicking in the lift. She pats his chest once before turning to Jamie, saying, “And you must be-”
Mum keeps the smile carefully plastered over her face even as her eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. Now that she’s seen Jamie beside him, it’s clear she’s finally connected the dots between Roy’s “boyfriend” Jamie and Jamie Tartt, Richmond’s star player. Bless her, but she’s never kept up much with his football career, but with the way Jamie’s face has become plastered over every magazine, billboard, bus, and online ad in recent months, even she can’t avoid recognizing him. Tension burrows its way in Roy’s stomach and he’s just about ready to be sick when a hand rests on the small of his back, making him startle and look quickly over to Jamie, who has his most charming prick smile on and shining down at his mother.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Kent,” he says, reaching out the hand not stabilizing Roy to take Mum’s and press a gentle kiss to it. “I was starting to get worried Roy would never introduce us.”
Some of the tension melts out of Mum’s shoulders as Jamie gives her hand back, and she giggles. “So lovely to meet you, Jamie. Roy here has told me so much about you. You’re all he talks about!”
Blood rushes to Roy’s cheeks and he opens his mouth to protest, but Jamie has already turned back to him with that same, self satisfied smirk he had when Phoebe said the same thing at last year’s Uncle’s Day. Roy can feel the blush radiating off his face, blood surging in his ears when Jamie leans in and presses a small peck to his overheated cheek.
“I am pretty incredible,” Jamie croons, still grinning at Roy. “Can’t blame him for being obsessed.”
Mum titters with laughter once more and takes Jamie’s hand to lead him away from Roy, saying something about how she can’t wait to introduce him to the rest of the family. Jamie looks back over his shoulder at Roy, who is still frozen in place, and shoots him a wink that certainly doesn’t make Roy’s stomach swoop out from under him, then they’re lost to a throng of Kents.
Five minutes in and the world hasn’t collapsed, so Roy lets out a long exhale, only to nearly jump out of his skin when Heather slides up alongside him. Thankfully, she hands him a glass of Scotch on the rocks and he nods, grateful.
“So you and Jamie,” she says cooly.
“Me and Jamie,” he echoes.
“It makes sense.”
He doesn’t snap his neck to look over at her, but it’s a close thing. Instead, he raises his glass to his lips and takes a long swallow as both of them stare over at the circle Jamie has drawn over to him, all of them laughing at whatever the muppet is saying and eagerly asking what are sure to be inane questions about life as a professional footballer, as if they all haven’t been around Roy his entire life.
At some point, Jamie looks back over at them and catches Roy staring. His smile tilts shyly, and he gives a little halfwave. Maybe it’s the whiskey sitting warm in his empty stomach, but Roy gives a soft smile back, tilting his glass in faux cheers.
“God, he’s fucking gone on you,” Heather scoffs, but she smiles as she does it. “Should’ve seen this coming ages ago.”
Roy only hums, smiling into his drink.
–
By some miracle, they make it through the welcome party largely unscathed. They’re both on the other edge of tipsy, clumsily laughing as they tip out of the lift and back into the hallway of their room. The whole family was delighted at the chance to meet Jamie Tartt , England’s latest phenom, and he held court the whole evening, with even Josh the knob hanging off his every word like some fanboy.
“Your great aunt’s mustache!” Jamie giggles as they push into the bedroom, and Roy chuckles right along with him. “She looks like fucking Wario, mate.”
“That’s what I’ve always said!” Roy laughs, clutching at the door as he toes off his shoes.
“Lovely woman, though,” Jamie adds, falling straight back onto the bed. He kicks his feet, flailing as if trying to kick his shoes off. He gives a frustrated huff, then groans, “Roy, help me!”
“You’re such a fucking child,” Roy snickers. “Can’t take your own shoes off?”
“I’ve not drank since last year, mate, I’m too drunk to get them off! And it’s your fault! Help me!”
Rolling his eyes, Roy makes his way to the bed and picks up one of Jamie’s feet, carefully slipping the first shoe off, then the sock. He repeats with the second foot, holding it in his lap for a moment to rub at one of the arches that he’s sure is sore after being shoved into dress shoes for the better part of the night. Jamie lets loose a little moan that rockets straight through Roy’s body, but he ignores it in favor of pushing his thumb harder into the arch.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For coming with me, and doing this.”
Jamie raises his head to smile dopily at him. “Of course, Roy.”
And the way he says those words - it’s like doing something this insane for Roy is the most natural thing in the world, and maybe for him, it is. Roy’s always said jump, and Jamie’s already doing it before he thinks to ask how high. The thought swirls in the whiskey addled parts of Roy’s brain, sending a warm feeling down to the base of his spine. They stay like that, just looking at each other for a moment, and Jamie looks as though he’s working out what he wants to say next.
“We should get some sleep,” he finally settles on. “And some water.”
Roy grunts in agreement, lifting Jamie’s foot from his lap and standing to begin shucking off his clothes and staggering over to the mini fridge in the corner to grab them both a bottle of water. Jamie’s stripped down to his boxers and is tugging a tshirt on over his head when Roy returns, holding out the water that he takes gratefully. Roy cocks an eyebrow as Jamie settles back into the pillows.
“You’re sleeping with pants on?” he asks. He hears the words as soon as they fall out of his mouth, but he makes no effort to pick them back up. “What happened to hot downstairs and cold upstairs?”
A thrill shoots through him when Jamie blushes. “Well, you know, we’re sharing a bed and all,” Jamie mumbles into his water bottle. “Trying to be polite, dickhead.”
Roy chuckles once more and climbs into his side. “Whatever,” he says, flicking off the bedside lamp and plunging the room into darkness. “Good night, Jamie.”
“Yeah,” Jamie’s voice is soft. “Night, Roy.”
–
When Roy wakes up, it’s with a tuft of hair tickling right beneath his nose and a heavy weight slung across his middle, as well as, if he’s not mistaken, a small pile of drool gathering on his chest. He blinks groggily in the bright light of a new day, twisting his head around to get a better sense of his bearings, when he realizes the heft of top of him and the hair brushing on his face must belong to Jamie. Embarrassment curls in his gut and he makes a few slow jerks in an attempt to get out from beneath him, to no avail. Jamie is heavy on the best of days, a solid rock of muscle, but asleep he seems to have gained three stone, pinning Roy beneath his deadweight.
“Jamie,” Roy tries whispering. “Jamie, get off me, I need to take a piss.”
Jamie mumbles something back sleepily, but instead of pushing himself off of Roy, he somehow curls even tighter onto him. It feels nice, a bit - it’s been a while since he woke up to anyone cuddled up on top of him, which is a top five way to wake up, in Roy’s book, but something about the fact that it’s Jamie sprawled on top of him makes his stomach flutter and heard pound.
Roy knocks his head back onto the pillow, unsure of how to disentangle himself from twelve stone of footballer. He kicks a leg up beneath Jamie in an attempt to rouse him, but stops short when his thigh brushes against what is, undeniably, morning wood, unless Jamie has suddenly decided to start keeping a torch in his pants in case of emergency. Heat spreads over every last inch of skin on his body, and he clears his throat, loudly.
“Tartt!” he finally says, louder this time, and Jamie stirs on top of him. “Wake the fuck up, you muppet.”
Jamie lifts his head, blinking blearily up at him for a moment to get the sleep out of his eyes. The side of his face that had been mushed into Roy’s chest for god knows how long is rumpled, and his usually carefully styled hair is mussed beyond belief. He looks…cute, like this, but the need to not accidentally sexually harass his star player and the increasingly urgent need to piss doesn’t let Roy linger on that thought for too long. He shoves Jamie off him, letting the muppet land on his back with a small groan, before darting out of bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
He manages to finally have a slash and brush his teeth without lingering on how nice it felt having Jamie on top of him, how warm and solid his weight is, before returning to the bedroom, where Jamie is sprawled over the bed and scrolling on his phone. He glances up at Roy and grins sheepishly, tucking his phone down on his chest.
“Sorry,” Jamie says, the edges of sleep roughing his voice. “I can get clingy in my sleep.”
Roy doesn’t know what to say to that - fucking obviously? No problem? It was kind of nice? - so instead he just grunts in barely there acknowledgment, making his way back to his side of the bed to check his own phone. They’ve had a bit of a lie in, but nothing terrible - the wedding’s not for another six hours, so they’ve got plenty of times to work off any lingering effects of the booze from last night with water and food before the evening’s festivities. There are a few texts from assorted aunts and cousins telling him how charming and handsome Jamie is, as well a request from Mum for them to join her and Dad for lunch. Sighing, Roy tosses his phone back on the nightstand before turning to look at his fake boyfriend.
“We’re having lunch with my parents at noon,” Roy says. Jamie’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he nods, an easy smile slipping back into place.
“Sound,” he says, stretching out his limbs but not getting up. “You mum’s aces, man. Will your dad be there?”
Roy grunts again, digging around in his bag to pull out his shower products. “Yeah. We’ll head down in about an hour.”
Jamie makes some kind of affirmative noise and Roy closes himself back in the bathroom, turning the tap as hot as it goes as if that will scald the prickling out from beneath his skin. Lots of people are cuddlers in their sleep - doesn’t really mean anything, does it? Not that Roy wants it to mean anything. It’s just a bit awkward, is all.
It’s fine, he tells himself again. They’ll make it through lunch, and then the wedding, and then the weekend is done, and they can go back to normal.
He ignores the way his stomach twists at the thought.
—
Lunch with his parents goes fine, with Jamie holding court between them like a long lost king, chattering about Manchester and his mum and how glad he is to have Roy as manager. Roy expected the worst from his father, some kind of snide comment at minimum, but mostly he looked on in confusion as if not understanding the sight of his son with a man in front of him. At one point, Jamie had lifted a hand to rest on top of Roy’s on the table, and even hours later, his skin still burns with the imprint of Jamie’s fingers tangled in his.
He’s lounging on the bed, waiting once again for Jamie to finish getting ready, and is about to go pound on the door and tell him they need to get going or else they’ll miss the whole ceremony, when the door to the bathroom swings open and Jamie stands there, haloed by the light, holding his arms out to either side of himself as if to say tada!
Roy’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of him. His hair has been carefully combed back so it doesn’t flop all over his forehead and emphasizes the shape of his ears, which until this moment, it had escaped Roy’s attention exactly how cute they are. They’re tough to linger on, though, when the rest of Jamie is wrapped up in a perfectly fitted suit, black pants that cling to his thighs and emphasize the tightness of his waist, an all white button down shirt, and an obnoxious dark green jacket decorated with blooming pink flowers. His tie matches the pink perfectly, and the jewel tone of the green brightens every feature, from the gold in his hair to the gleam of his eyes.
He looks, in a word, gorgeous.
“What do you think?” Jamie finally asks, once Roy has finished raking his eyes up and down. “Too much?”
“No,” Roy says. His tongue feels dry, heavy in his mouth. “No, you look. Great.”
Jamie flashes him another mega-watt smile and looks Roy up and down appreciatively. “Not bad yourself, Grandad,” he says, but goes back into the bathroom to retrieve something from his garment bag. He comes back into the room looking shy, with a slip of something shiny and green that matches his jacket in his hands.
“I, er,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I brought you a tie that matches my jacket, if you wanted to wear it. I dunno, it’s stupid, I guess…”
“No,” Roy says quickly, faster than he knew he could speak. His fingers are already undoing the knot of his own black tie, tossing it carelessly on the bed. “It’s not stupid.”
Jamie’s face relaxes and he moves closer to him. Roy holds out his hands, expecting Jamie to hand him the tie so he can put it on, but then Jamie is stepping into his space, lifting the collar of his shirt carefully to slide the slip of fabric in place. This close, Roy can smell his cologne, something woodsy but sweet and definitely not fucking Lynx, and it draws him in, the smell of Jamie and the sight of him nimbly tying a knot around Roy’s neck, the tip of his pink tongue caught between his teeth as he focuses. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he nods, bringing a hand up to pat Roy’s chest.
“There you go, Royo,” he says. “Now we match.”
His hand doesn’t drop immediately, and Roy doesn’t make a move to brush him off. The air between them feels suddenly charged, like there’s a bolt of lightning about to crash between them. Jamie’s looking up at him from under his lashes, holding his breath, and with his hand shaking, Roy reaches up to place his fingers over Jamie’s, where they stay burning a brand into his chest.
“Thanks,” he says quietly, watching as the line of Jamie’s throat bobbles when he swallows.
“Yeah,” Jamie says, just as soft. “Anytime.”
They stay like that for a moment, just staring at each other, and Roy has half a thought that maybe he should lower his head just a little further down, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he just brushed his lips down on Jamie’s, when his phone buzzes aggressively from the side table.
Both of them snap apart, Jamie running his palms down the front of his jacket to smooth an invisible wrinkle and Roy going to grab his phone, where there’s an annoyed text from Heather asking where they are. He nods once at Jamie, who understands the silent message of we need to go , and they make their way back to the lift once more, their shoulders brushing more than is strictly necessary as they do.
Heather is irritated when they arrive, making some snide comment about fucking lovebirds under her breath, but was still nice enough to save them each a seat beside her and Phoebe. The ceremony is beautiful, just as Roy knew it would be. White flowers spill over the top of every surface, and the lighting is soft around them, hundreds of candles glowing gently to cast the whole space in an otherworldly kind of glow. The crowd is quiet at the swoop of the music quieting, so the officiant can be heard as they’re all asked to rise for the bride’s arrival.
Andrea looks beautiful as she walks down towards Josh, but Roy can’t even focus on how happy he is for his baby cousin because Jamie is standing in next to him looking like a fucking vision. He does his best to tear his eyes away and focus as the pastor begins making his opening remarks about the beauty of love and all it entails, but when the couple begins reading their vows, there’s an unmistakable, quiet sniffle from his right.
“Are you crying?” he whispers to Jamie, who looks back at him with wide, wet eyes. A single tear rolls its way down his cheek, but he wipes it away quickly.
“Just something about weddings, man,” Jamie mumbles back. “They really get me.”
“Muppet,” Roy says, his voice far too fond.
The guests in the seat in front of them turns to glare at them for talking. He holds his hands up, falsely placating, but when he goes to set them back down again, he snatches one of Jamie’s up in his own, thumb rubbing small circles over his knuckles. Jamie’s head snaps to look at him, stunned, but Roy keeps his eyes forward, determined to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the way Jamie’s fingers tighten around his own.
The wedding wraps up in the usual way, and the guests all stand to cheer as the bride and groom make their way back down the aisle, grinning wildly as they do. Jamie doesn’t drop his hand when he turns to Roy, eyes still shining, and says, “It’s gotta be nice, right? Loving someone enough to make it legal and all?”
Words are beyond him, so instead Roy grunts, but Jamie just rolls his eyes and smiles, giving his hand one last squeeze before dropping it. It’s not disappointment Roy feels when he has his limb back to himself.
The crowd makes their way to the hotel’s grand hall where the reception is to be held, mingling and chattering while awaiting the return of the happy couple for the celebration to begin in earnest. Hors d'oeuvres are being passed on small trays and a line is already forming at the bar.
“You want me to grab you a drink?” Jamie offers. “You can grab us some snacks? I’m fucking starving.”
Roy nods and with a quick squeeze of his bicep, Jamie is off, lining up behind other guests. Two servers with some kind of appetizer - fuck knows what it is, something posh - swing by, and Roy grabs a small plate, before being left standing there awkwardly for half a beat before a hoard of Kent family members descend upon him.
“Roy!” his aunt Deborah croons, sliding straight up to him. “Where’s that lovely boyfriend of yours?”
“By the bar,” Roy says, cursing when he feels a blush forming at the tips of his ears. “He’s just grabbing us some drinks.”
“He’s just lovely,” his cousin Corey says dreamily, looking over at Jamie in a way that makes Roy bristle. “How long have you two been together?”
“Six months.”
“God, you should’ve heard him talking about you last night when we all gave him a proper interrogation,” Deborah sighs. “I think you two might be next, Roy!”
She waggles her brows and gestures around at the wedding, and a proper blush races down Roy’s whole body. He only has a moment to splutter before a warm forearm is settled around the small of his back, that all-too-distinct Mancunian voice saying in his ear, “Here you go, babe, got you a whiskey. Hello ladies!”
He beams at the women gathered around them, who all coo and huddle in closer. Roy takes the whiskey from Jamie’s hand and gulps down too large swigs.
“I was just telling Roy that maybe we’ll all be at your wedding next,” Deborah leers, sounding all too thrilled at the idea.
Roy bites back a groan, but Jamie laughs good naturedly. “I’ll have to propose to this one if anyone ever wants a ring on a finger,” he teases, and for a moment the vision of Jamie down on one knee makes Roy’s heart stop altogether. “But that’s a long ways off. Right, babe?”
“Right,” Roy agrees, voice ragged even in his own ears. Jamie’s body is pressed in a long line aside his, the heat radiating off him and the smell of his cologne wrapping around Roy’s nose in the most delicious kind of way. “Bit soon for…that.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, then leans towards the women conspiratorily. “I’ve been in love with him for ages, you know. Had his poster on my wall as a kid and everything. I think he just needs time to catch up with me.”
It sends the small crowd around them into peels of laughter, but suddenly everything around them feels too loud and hot around them, so Roy peels himself away from Jamie’s arm with a gruff excuse me , making his way to the French doors leading to a small terraced area. He undoes the carefully done tie around his neck, popping a few buttons so he can fucking breathe properly. There’s no reason for him to have run out like this, straight into the night like a fucking coward, but something about Jamie - gorgeous, talented, funny Jamie - saying the words I’m in love with him activated his primal fight or flight, was too much to handle on top of all the other confusing fucking feelings he’s been having all weekend.
It’s - he can’t have feelings for Jamie. They’re playing a game, setting up a ruse - Jamie is just a mate doing someone a favor, and just happens to be a great actor. Roy’s impressed, beneath his panic, at the ability to commit to a bit. That’s what this is. It’s a bit, and Roy’s just got himself too caught up in all of it, in how nice Jamie’s hands feel in his, in how nice it was to wake up with his warm weight on top of him, how fucking gorgeous he looks tonight and every other fucking day of his life.
“Roy?” Jamie’s voice comes softly from behind him, but Roy still nearly jumps out of his skin before turning to face him. Worry has painted itself all over his features, his fat bottom lip pulled between his teeth while he looks at Roy as though he’s some kind of spooked animal.
“Sorry,” Roy rasps. “Sorry, just really needed some air.”
Jamie takes a cautious step towards him, reaching at an arm before dropping it as though thinking better of it. He worries at his lip for another moment, and Roy fights the urge to reach out and coax it out from beneath his teeth so he can pull it between his own. Even with his brow creased in concern, Jamie looks so fucking beautiful that Roy doesn’t think he can stand it.
“I’m sorry, man,” Jamie says eventually. “I didn’t mean to like, freak you out, or whatever. I were…just selling it, I guess. Probably went too far. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Roy shakes his head, firm. “Don’t be sorry Jamie, I just needed some air.”
One of Jamie’s shoes scuffs at the concrete beneath them. “I meant it,” he says finally.
Roy’s heart stops in his chest. “Meant what?”
Jamie sucks in a deep breath, as though steeling himself for a penalty in injury time, and he looks up at Roy, the proud line of his jaw jutting upward but with nerves dancing in his eyes.
“I’m in love with you,” he declares. “And I have been for a long time. You don’t have to say anything, I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay. But you’re my best mate, and I thought you should know.”
Time slows before it stops all together. It’s unclear how long they stand there, just staring at one another. Jamie doesn’t waver, brave bastard that he is, and he doesn’t back down. He stands there, still and strong, and waits for Roy to say something to him, to tell him what comes next, and before Roy knows it he’s closing the gap between them in two long strides and gripping Jamie’s waist.
Jamie startles at first, his breath releasing in short pants, and Roy has to look at him for just another moment, takes in the blue of his eyes and the pink of his lips.
“Jamie,” Roy murmurs, but there’s no follow up, not when Jamie’s staring up at him from under his lashes with something like hope dancing between the reflection of the candlelight leaking outside. Instead, all he can do is tilt his head down just slightly and pray Jamie understands what he means. Of course he does. He always does. Jamie’s face tips up the smallest bit to connect their lips in a whisper of a kiss.
They could still pull away, pretend it was an accident, but Roy finds he can’t stand that idea, not when Jamie’s hands are tightening around his neck ever so slightly and the whole world shifts around them when Roy pulls them tighter together. Instead of running away, because he is so goddamn tired of running, Roy tightens his grip on his waist to pull him up to him properly and slides their mouths into a firmer kiss.
The reality of having Jamie’s lips on his is better than every last fantasy he’s tried to deny himself. He tastes like minty gum from earlier and the faintest bit of champagne bubbles, and he’s so warm pressed chest to chest against Roy, his weight solid and real and grounding against him. It’s not the kind of kiss that leaves Roy spinning out of his head, feeling like he’s floating away in a daydream, it’s the kind of kiss that shocks his system and keeps his feet planted firmly on the floor, determined never to separate from it if he doesn’t have to.
Only when his lungs begin burning for air does Roy pull away, but only far enough that he can lean down once more to rest his forehead on Jamie’s. A wide, delighted grin has split over Jamie’s lips and he hums happily, tipping his head to press a small, lingering kiss to the corner of Roy’s mouth.
“Should’ve said something ages ago,” Jamie murmurs, the words vibrating through his chest and into Roy’s. “Would’ve if I’d known it’d get me kissed like that.”
“I’ll kiss you like that anytime you want,” Roy whispers.
“Anytime?”
“Anytime,” Roy reassures him. And, because there’s no time like now, he pulls Jamie back in to kiss him like that again.