Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jamie groans and rubs his head. There’s no sharp pain from a forming bruise that would indicate a bad header or something, but he definitely has a headache. Blinking his eyes he sees a very familiar ceiling above him; the Richmond locker room.

Well, that rules out just waking up with a hangover, he thinks, which is nice, because Roy will have his head if he’d been out drinking in the middle of the season. Not that he would though, Jamie doesn’t drink anymore.

Fuck, he can’t remember how he got here and that ain’t good. He don’t wanna miss their next match over something stupid. And since he is in the locker room, Jamie is 90% sure it must be something stupid, it’s always something stupid with him and the lads.

Though, maybe he doesn’t have to miss it. He feels well enough to push himself up to a sitting position and there is no one screaming for a medic or some shit. That’s gotta be a good sign, he tells himself… Then he sees the team.

The team is not his team. Well, they are, but they ain’t. Sure, there’s Colin and Isaac and Sam and Richard and Thierry, Roy too, as well as Ted and Beard and Nate. But they all look wrong.

Firstly, Roy. Jamie always finds Roy first, from the moment he was a little lad and saw Big Man Roy Kent tear down the pitch like a god, and Roy- Roy is wearing training gear like everyone else, Dubai Air blazoned across his chest, as he glares at Jamie with confusion and anger. His eyes are missing all the fondness Jamie is now used to seeing in him.

Then he can quickly see that everyone else is wearing outdated kits too, Dani is missing from the line up, Jan Maas too, Nate is cowering like he used to, Jamie’s cubby is not where it is now, and he remembers that Ted is back home in America right now. Has been for two season already.

“What the fuck,” he breathes.

Him being alive, so to speak, seems to be the thing that breaks the spell that had been over the locker room moments before. Colin shrieks: “What do you mean, what the fuck, boyo? You’re the one that just fucking appeared out of nowhere!”

“I didn’t do nothing!” Jamie yells back, defensively and equally freaked out. “And you’se the ones that’re looking all weird!”

“We’re weird? You’re weird, bruv,” Isaac says. “What the fuck did you do with your hair? Why are you blond?”

Offended, Jamie squawks: “I’m not blond! It’s fucking walnut mist, you arsehole. And you fucking love my hair, mate. What are you on about? I look fit as fuck with this hair.”

Everyone is now yelling and it’s chaos. Nothing is productive and Jamie isn’t getting many more answers. His headache’s fading though, despite the noise. The noise that is now loudly being interrupted by a whistle.

Conditioned by years of being coached and refereed, every single one of the lads falls silent and snaps their attention towards Ted, who is the one that blew the whistle. He seems pleased that it worked and quickly says: “Now hey there, fellas, I know this is one mighty confusing happening. Truly twilight zone, maybe even The Time Element.”

“Oeh, a deep cut. Nice,” Beard says, reaching out for their stupid little handshake they do.

And the fact that Ted and Beard are still Ted and Beard in their own confusing way, greatly comforts Jamie. Though he can see everyone else just looks confused and there isn’t a lot of fondness there.

“Why thank you,” Ted returns the handshake and gives Beard one of his smiles, before he turns back to everyone: “But there’s no use in everyone screaming. We’ll figure this out together.” That earns him some skeptic looks, but Jamie has full faith and he is glad when Ted turns to him and asks: “First, Jamie. Are you alright? How’re we feeling, bud?”

“Sound, coach,” Jamie tells him honestly, because he does. “Confused though. Don’t ‘member how I got ‘ere and it don’t feel like I got amnesia or some shit from a head injury. Feel like it don’t work like this. Y’know, making me appear somewhere and everyone look wrong and shit.”

Everyone stares at him like he’s grown a second head, even Ted, which is dead rude. Jamie is feeling proper freaked right now and he’s not even yelling about it or anything. They should be so proud of him, really.

Fortunately, Ted snaps out of it and smiles: “At least you’re doing alrighty there, Jamie. I gotta say though, everyone here is looking mighty normal to me. You, however, look very different from how you did this morning. And you did just fully appear there where the Jamie I remember was just at. Flash of light and everything.”

“Yeah, like some body snatcher shit,” Theirry pipes up.

“You’ve got to stop watching those weird movies,” Richard informs him, giving him a knock to the back of the head.

Ted quickly gets the conversation back on track before it can spiral. He’s surprisingly good at that for a man, who starts a new train of thought every two fucking seconds. “Okay, uhm, expound? Why are we looking weird to you?” he asks, curious but also a bit worried. Must be that American football head injury shit he’s always going on about, Jamie thinks.

“Your kits are from years ago and you all look younger and shit and Dani is missing and so is Jan and Roy is still playing and you’re still ‘ere for some fucking reason. And my cubby is not in the right place either. Just- It’s all fucking wrong, innit?” Jamie explains, feeling a bit like a knobhead as he does, because he’s also realizing that he’s the odd one out right now.

But he’s sat through the injury awareness lectures like everyone else. Head injuries make you forget shit, not hallucinate whole years passing and making you look different, because he does look different. He didn’t have nipple piercings when he was first loaned to Richmond and the matching pendant that he has on a necklace to go with those that Keeley and Roy have, sits heavy around his throat. He didn’t make that up, he can’t have made that up. He refuses to even consider that. Everything he knows, has to be true.

“Ahhh, he time traveled,” Moe says, nodding to himself as if that clears everything up and isn’t an insane fucking thing to say.

Again, the whole locker room explodes with disbelief and confusion. And again the chaos gets broken by a whistle, this time from Beard.

This time when people look over to the coaches, it’s not with a sort of bemused curiosity, but with cautiousness. Like they don’t really know what to expect or think of the fact that Beard will be speaking to them. It’s dead weird.

To Jamie it makes total sense when Beard says: “Bumbercatch is right. It happens,” but going off the protests from everyone else, they disagree.

The revelation makes Jamie’s head spin. Of course it does. However, this is some weird shit and Beard and Moe say this is happening and it does add up, so it must be true. If there are two people Jamie trusts when it’s about the weird shit in the world, it’s Beard and Moe.

Sadly, it seems like Jamie is the only person – other than Moe who already agreed – who can just take Beard’s words at face value. Even Ted says: “I’m gonna need a little more context and explanation than that, Beardo. Call me Matthew McConaughey, ‘cause I’m for sure dazed and confused.”

Beard, as unfazed as ever, replies: “The Universe works in mysterious ways and Fate is a fickle mistress. Anomalies like this happen sometimes. Jamie will return to his time in a few days.”

That startles Jamie as he suddenly realizes some of the shit he’s said already. Worriedly he asks: “Will it be all weird and fucked up, like that movie with the bloke who tried to fuck his mum and shit? ‘Cause I like me life. I don’t wanna be changing shit and what if I’ve already fucked shit up? I ain’t prepared for that.”

Roy scoffs and mutters: “Of course the fucking prick liking his life is the main concern here,” which Jamie is going to pretend didn’t hurt, no, sir.

Thank fuck for Beard, who is there to assure Jamie: “Nothing will change. Your timeline is already set in stone. This one has been the same, until now. You’ll return to the life you left. No changes and no needing to fuck your mom.”

“Mint,” Jamie sighs with relief. “I don’t wanna fuck me mummy. Like she’s aces and fit as fuck, ‘cause I got my good jeans from her, didn’t I. But not like that. Gross.”

He misses some of the lads mouthing ‘mummy’ to themselves with confusion. None of them expected the somewhat childish and unguarded language from him. Him as a whole has been off putting to everyone, but this is just another thing to latch onto.

“I’m not sure about any of this, Beard, but I’m gonna have to take your word for it, because I’ll be gosh dally darned if I can come up with a better explanation,” Ted says.

The team looks at Ted, then at Jamie, then at Beard, then at Jamie again, before they all look at Roy. It seems that none of them are sure if Ted’s acceptance of this reality means that they should accept it as true as well and are now looking to Roy for guidance.

Roy squints at Jamie, murderous eyebrows eyebrowing heavily in his direction. Jamie just smiles back at him, because even if this is 2020 Roy, who hates his fucking guts, he still knows Roy well enough to know that it’s posturing. That it’s covering up the fact that Roy also has no fucking clue what to do with any of this shit, but is refusing to let anyone else know that.

After what feels like an eternity, Roy eloquently goes: “Fuck,” before stomping off and the whole room lets out a collective breath.

It has been decided: Jamie is officially a time traveler.

“Well, that’s about as much as we’re gonna get out of that old fart today, I think,” Jamie laughs lightly, because Roy is as dramatic as he is, no matter how much he denies it. “Come on, lads, help us up. I don’t fancy eating shit if time travel shit messed me up.”

Around him, people hesitate for a moment, which is dead rude. But it also makes the first curls of discomfort thread up Jamie’s spine. This locker room is not supposed to feel like this. All wary and distant. The team he knows wouldn’t hesitate for a second and the sudden realization of how different things used to be and how Jamie is stuck here for fuck knows how long, hits him.

However, Goodman and Isaac are pulling him up and waiting for a second to check that he doesn’t collapse on them, before stepping away. So, Jamie plasters on a big smile as he strikes a silly little pose as he goes: “Tadaa,” to celebrate the fact he’s standing and fucking time travel didn’t fuck up his legs.

He gets some bewildered and cautious smiles back, but there is none of the gentle ribbing and taking the piss at his dramatics that there is when Jamie comes from. Fuck, he already misses it. He misses Roy calling him a little diva in that fond tone and the lads laughing at him with genuine amusement and no malice. He misses home.

Jamie clears his throat a little awkwardly, then decides to look for some actual information instead, because this whole thing is disorientating enough already. “So, uh, not that you lads don’t look dashing and shit, but when exactly am I? What was the last match we played?”

Another round of weird looks is send his way. Jamie doesn’t often feel self conscious, but if everyone keeps looking at him like that, he’s gonna develop a complex about it. He’s not behaving weird, swear down. He’s being so fucking normal about it.

Fortunately, there is Ted, who seems incapable of being weird about anything and is more than happy to talk to Jamie. So, he leads Jamie to his office to have a chat about when they are and what this means and how they’ll tackle it.

Why Ted insists on being nice to him, Jamie doesn’t know, because at this point in their talk he can gather that the charity gala has just been – which means he’s not together with Keeley right now, fuck – so Jamie has been acting like a right fucking prick to Ted.

Fucking Ted and his need to be so fucking nice to everyone, Jamie thinks fondly. However, the fondness mixes with the guilt, as it always does when thinking of this time. But he can actually do something about that right now, he realizes.

“Thanks, coach,” Jamie says. “And, uh, I’m sorry, yeah. Been acting like a proper prick to you. To all the lads, really. Nowt to do with you’se and I’ll do better, swear down. Just weren’t in a good place. Or aren’t, I suppose. Got better though.”

“Well, I’m mighty glad to hear that, Jamie. And apology accepted. Forgiven. Water under the bridge. Or in the pond, I guess, since we got that whole American-British thing going on there,” Ted smiles easily, forgiveness coming to him like it’s simple as it always has.

Jamie laughs at Ted’s Ted-ism, because hearing it is comforting. He has missed Ted too, with him being off in America and all, even if he knows it’s better for Henry, who deserves to have a dad who cares about him being there. Still, it’s nice to pretend for a moment that Ted is still on this side of the pond.

Though that doesn’t last for long, since Ted can’t fully hide his surprise at Jamie laughing good naturedly at how he speaks instead of sneering at him. And Jamie’s heart twinges with the reminder that this isn’t the Richmond he remembers and loves.

So he quickly ends the conversation with the promise to be back bright and early for training tomorrow and to not hesitate to call if he needs anything, before fleeing the scene.

None of the lads have hung around to wait for him and it’s a new weird alien thing that makes Jamie want to gnaw his own leg off. Even more so when he drives to Keeley’s on autopilot, where he remembers himself and makes his way to his current house instead, there he realizes that he doesn’t live there yet, before he finally ends up at his old house.

He hates it. He wants to cuddle with Keeley and Roy and disappear into their comfort, but Roy hates his guts now and Keeley has just broken up with him.

He considers calling mummy, but they didn’t really reconcile until after he came back to Richmond after Lust Conquers All. When he is now, things are weird between them and he doesn’t want her to be hurting about it, because he knows she will.

There isn’t anyone for him to reach out too. No support system, nothing. Hell, he doesn’t even know Dr. Sharon yet and he’s definitely in need of a therapist at this point. He feels like he’s losing his mind and shit.

He forgot how fucking lonely he was during this time. He forgot how badly he lacked the things he now loves life for. How the fuck did he do it, he wonders, curling up on the bed and having a good cry about it, since it’s like an emotional orgasm and orgasms are good for you. Or at least, that’s what Jamie remembers from Keeley’s drunken ramblings once.

Fuck, Jamie can’t wait for the past to be over.

Chapter Text

After his very reasonable and very deserved breakdown yesterday, Jamie feels a bit better about facing the day when he wakes up at 4:00 AM. Doing his work out routine without Roy being a sadistic prick – whose company Jamie loves anyway, since Roy always takes pity on him and buys or makes him breakfast, and Jamie’s favorite hobby is needling Roy anyway – is weird, but it gets some of the nervous energy out of his system, so he feels less like itching out of his skin when he arrives at the Dogtrack.

While having his small breakdown about how much he misses the Richmond he knows and how right now sucks, because he’d been a prick now and everyone hates him, even if he hadn’t fully realized that when he’d been living through it the first time, he had come to the realization that it didn’t have to be like this right now.

Sure, when he leaves and current Jamie comes back, the poor prick might still fuck it all up for himself – Jamie’s been him, he knows he’s prone to doing that – but he himself Jamie could just say fucking sorry and at least try not to be miserable when surrounded by friends. He did the whole making up for shit stuff before, he’s totally aces at it now. Besides, he hasn’t even relegated them all this time and talked shit in interviews. This should be easier, if anything.

With the plan in mind, he walks into the building, determined to get today done. Though he slows down a little apprehensively when the noise hits him.

Jamie isn’t used to there being noise when he arrives at Richmond. Since Roy still trains him early in the mornings and is the gaffer now, it’s easier for them to just go straight to the Dogtrack so Roy can do coach things and Jamie can get showered there and get ready for actual training, instead of just Roy training.

When he arrives during those days, the grounds are usually practically empty and the first person to get there will be Will, before Beard and Nate do, then the lads. But Will doesn’t even work here yet and Roy isn’t a coach and Jamie did training by himself and this morning he would have been by himself with Nate as the most likely next person to be in. Nate, who still hates his guts and is scared off him.

Well… Jamie didn’t fancy that much. He’s always been better at being fashionably late and putting up a front of alright-ness that way.

So, he’s fashionably late. For him. He’s not stupid enough to actually be late when he wants everyone to know he’s no longer the prick he used to be and he’s here for Richmond and the lads, and if they could all please be nice to him. He’s just not his usual amount of early, arriving late enough to not risk getting hit by Colin’s abysmal driving, while still being on time, making sure to arrive in the middle. Average like.

It’s going to be fine, he tells himself, before pushing the door open.

The morning buzz of people makes it feel more like the Richmond he knows, but it’s undercut by the fact that people avert their eyes when they see Jamie and hurry along. Jamie isn’t close with the office staff, but being with Keeley and with Roy being the gaffer, it’s inevitable that he gets stuck waiting around for them to be done so that they could all go home from time to time, so he’s friendly with most people in all parts of the building. Not now though.

And it doesn’t get much better when he enters the locker room and everyone falls quiet, as if they’d been talking about him before he came in. They probably had, he realizes, as he greets them all, unable to help but be a bit awkward about it.

Normally, the attention would make him preen and he’d make a crack about it, but now he just feels too visible. Too seen. He ducks his head somewhat and hurries to his cubby, face flushing in embarrassment when he automatically goes to where it used to be and quickly realizes it isn’t now, so he has to do an awkward pirouette to his now cubby… which still has a bunch of half naked pictures from Keeley still up in it. Fuck.

He cringes a little at the sight. Not because they’re topless pictures. All of them are from adverts Keeley did and chose to do, so they’d already been out in the world. She is fit as fuck and knows it and didn’t mind Jamie appreciating it.

The sight just makes him feel a little bit like an arsehole, because there ain’t a singular picture of her with her top on, like she’s nowt more than a rack, when she’s the best. He could have appreciated her tits and her personality, but hadn’t back then.

Secondly, it makes him feel like an arsehole, because they’ve been broken up for a few days already and these are still up, like Jamie is some gross teenage boy. He don’t like that. Doesn’t want to objectify anyone. Especially after he’d gotten Keeley’s video leaked. Makes him feel like proper shit.

So, he methodically pulls all the pictures down and stacks them up, before slipping them in his bag. He rolls his eyes a little at Ted’s tape – American sensibilities – but doesn’t care much. Keeley looks fucking banging in these pictures, but he likes the one he has of her more. The ones where she’s smiling and looking a mess as she snorts loudly at something Roy said in the bed they all share. Or the ones he has up in his locker at his Richmond, the ones others took of the three of them at gatherings where they’re all so happy or the ussies him and Keeley – and Phoebe sometimes – have corralled Roy into, where he is trying to look grumpy at them, but fails utterly, because he’s too much of a softie.

He won’t have his piccies here, which is a bummer. Jamie’s locker now looks fucking mint. He has pictures of Roy and Keeley and one of them with Phoebe too. Then there is one of mummy and Simon of their vow renewal they did for their five years, which made Jamie cry, ‘cause he’d been too pissed with her when she married Simon, so he missed their actual wedding. And there are some pictures of him with the lads… who’re currently all watching him and pretending they ain’t.

Jamie sighs and thinks once more: this is going to be a long however many fucking days.

However, at least there is footie. Footie is easy and simple and nice. With footie he can have some semblance of normalcy and fun. Maybe stop thinking for a while and put this whole mess behind him for a bit.

And it will be better when he apologizes. Though he don’t wanna do that until he’s changed. It’s dead weird to try and have an emotional chat when half the locker room has their dicks out. Trial and error with Ted taught them all that. There weren’t many emotional talks before that.

Pulling his clothes off, he doesn’t think much of it. Even before Richmond was his team, the lads are the lads. Nudity is just part of footie culture, no way around that. And Jamie has long since been comfortable with his looks.

Still, Jamie isn’t immune to being self conscious and it’s really hard to not be a little self conscious when it gets quiet the second he undresses. Fucking hell, he’ll truly hate the fucking universe if it’ll make him walk away from this with some sort of complex about himself.

He heaves a sigh and resists the urge to snap a ‘what’ at them, as he turns to look. They’re all staring at him like they’ve never seen him before. Which is true in a way, he supposes. Though he doesn’t look that different. Just a couple more tats and the piercings.

Hm, the piercings, he thinks. He likes them, but they’re not exactly football locker room piercings. If Richmond hadn’t been the team it was, he never would have gotten them. Especially since they’re highly visible with him having to take them out and put them back in each day, since he don’t wanna risk injuring his nips on the pitch.

“Oh, uh, no worries ‘bout these, mate,” he says to no one in particular, figuring that that’s the issue. “I can take ‘em out. Going to. Don’t wanna hurt me nips, y’know. Not sexy like tha’, eh. I’ll just put them in me- I don’t have me jewelry box. Fuck. Uhm bumbag will have to do.”

“I didn’t even notice you had those,” Colin says as he stares, before he blinks and quickly looks away, deflecting: “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s dead sexy, innit?” Jamie grins.

He feels a bit bad about it when Colin doesn’t meet his eyes and shrugs: “Wouldn’t know, mate,” since he knows how rough Colin had it with keeping his secret and Jamie don’t wanna out him on accident or something.

Thankfully, there is Richard, who is shameless and more than willing to says: “Very sexy.”

“Mint,” Jamie is grinning again. However, then he catches up to what Colin says and asks: “Wait, if you ain’t staring at me for these, then why the fuck are you looking at me for?”

The lads share some looks, an internal debate going on about if they’re going to tell him and what they’re going to tell him. It’s a bit insulting, if he’s honest, but he tries not to care. This is all probably as weird for them as it is for him.

In the end, Isaac is elected to speak for the group. It makes Jamie proud of him in a way. He’d been confused when Roy picked him, never saw the leadership he had in the locker room until he’d already been captain when Jamie returned. So it’s nice to see it now. Isaac says: “You got buff, bruv.”

Immediately the pride makes way for offense. “Oi! I were already buff, what are you on, mate? I weren’t some twink! I’m a professional football player. I already had muscles.”

He tries very hard not to react to the face Colin makes when Jamie says ‘twink’ since he isn’t going to out him, even if a gay reminisce would’ve been nice. Instead, he focuses on the offense.

A part of him knows he has more muscles now that he used to. Back then he had functional footie muscles, but also a lot of vanity muscles. When first training with Roy, the man bulked him and turned all the muscles into power he could use, instead of weight to carry around. Roy had also been a midfielder, for whom power was more important than the speed that is preferable for a striker. Jamie is a midfielder now too, but versatile in how he plays – total football, innit – so the muscles are useful for him too and he keeps them up. Still, he likes to think that even as a striker, he was fit enough to not have it be gawk worthy now. It’s dead rude of everyone.

“Yeah, but you’re like… thick now,” Isaac says carefully.

“Hey!” Jamie pouts, even if he ain’t really offended. He is thicker, he supposes. He got like hydrated muscles with a layer of fat over them and his squat routine could kill god – which Roy is totally putting him through for his own enjoyment. Man loves arse. Not that Jamie minds, course. However, he remembers on time that he can’t go around saying that.

“Sorry!” Isaac grimaces, eyeing Jamie carefully like he’s about to explode or something. It’s proper fucking weird.

“’s alright, jus’ messing with you. Bein’ dramatic an’ all,” Jamie quickly assures him. This is already not going well. He hasn’t even gotten to the apologizing part yet and he’s already fucking it up. These people around him just wear faces of lads he’s comfortable with, but they ain’t them. It’s a right mind fuck.

And his assurance isn’t much help either, earning him a new round of looks, before people go back to their own changing. Geez, Jamie knew he were a prick, but freaking everyone out by assuring them he’s okay after a joke is truly next levels. He should really get to that apology soon.

First, though, there are his clothes. The nipple piercings are always more finicky to get in than to take out – and Jamie is trying very hard not to think about the putting them back in part, which he is going to struggle with, since Roy usually does it for him. Or Keeley when he gets home if Roy were busy – so he takes them out as fast as he can and stuffs them into his bumbag. Hopefully they won’t get lost in it.

Same goes for his necklace. It’s pure gold, because Roy is a sensitive lad and a posh fucking twat when he wants to be, as much as he rags on Jamie for it. It’s a simple pendant really, just a small crown with their first letters subtly worked into the design. Roy’s had his inset into a watch, while Keeley wore hers as a ring. Not quite wedding rings, but close enough.

Fuck, Jamie misses them.

He stuffs the necklace into his bumbag and quickly pulls on the training kit. If he thinks about it too long, he’ll start crying and he don’t think that’s the impression he wants to make.

No, Jamie is going to apologize to everyone, tell them he’s no longer a prick and then get out there and show them all he’s a team player now. Should be easy. None of the lads are pissed enough with him right now to not pass to him like they did when he returned, so actions to words will be a lot easier to do.

And running around will get him out of his head too. No matter what happens, he can run his legs out from under him at training and let his mind go blissfully empty for a bit. He never holds back at training, even when his extra training with Roy means he outruns the other lads most times.

It does earn him some jeers, mostly about Roy playing favorites, which are all good natured. Jamie offered the others to come join, but they all found him insane and too gone on Roy for even doing it and they refuse to believe Jamie started doing it for himself, not Roy. Even though he can’t deny he enjoys the one on one time with Roy it grants him now.

Roy, who is glaring daggers at the back of his head like Jamie did something to him. Jamie should be fucking annoyed by it, should be upset too, but he’s just fond. And okay, maybe a little upset, but he feels like that’s valid, because one of his life partners now hates him and the other has recently broken up with him. Not grand.

However, Roy being a grumpy old twat is normal. Jamie knows him too well now for him to take Roy’s attitude to heart, really. Besides, he knows that at this point, Jamie himself had been butthurt and actively making Roy dislike him, because it was better than the apathetic non-captaining he’d been doing. So it’s partly on him.

Still, he is aware of Roy’s eyes on him. He’s always aware of Roy’s eyes. He wonders what he said to piss him off like this, because there is something brewing in his eyes.

He tries not to worry about it too much as he clears his throat. Ted and Beard have come in and he wants to talk before they can get into the game plan for today. “Uh, lads, can I say something real quick before we get out there?”

Curious eyes turn towards him and Ted gestures for him to go ahead, going so far as to say: “Right and dandy, Jamie. Floor’s yours. Go on and sing your heart out.”

“Thanks, coach,” Jamie grins. The strangeness of that from everyone must not have worn off yet, because it earns him a new rounds of looks, this time from Ted too. At least Ted has the decency to look pleased at the development instead of just baffled.

“Okay, so yeah, uhm-” Jamie turns to the lads now. “I know it weren’t really me, ‘cause like different universe or whatever, but it kinda was me, ‘cause same things until now and shit. Uhm, anyway, I just, uh, wanted to say sorreh for being a prick, yeah. I got better, swear down. But I don’t expect you to believe me, but just wanted to say it, you get me?”

God, this is fucking awkward and awful, Jamie thinks. Last time he did this, he at least had everyone yelling at him that he was a right cunt, now they just… stare. He truly will develop a fucking complex at this rate.

“Well, that’s very big of you, Jamie. I’m proud,” Ted cuts the silence. Thank fucking fuck for Ted honestly. “We all appreciate you takin’ the time to say that. I’m sure you’ve grown a lot in the next few years. Gosh, ain’t that a weird thing to say, huh?”

“A little, coach,” Jamie grins, because it is and he’s glad Ted is the one to say it, so it doesn’t feel like he’s going mental alone.

“Uh-huh,” Beard confirms too.

The two agreeing makes Ted smile wider. He’s probably going off his rocker right now with Jamie also playing along with his yee-haw bullshit, since he must still be a bit deprived with the whole team not sold on it yet. So, Ted is a bit more enthusiastic than usual as he tells him to go to practice, uh, training.

Jamie doesn’t have the heart to rib him about it, he’s enthusiastic about training too. He’s going to kill this being back in the past shit.

Chapter Text

‘Your kits are from years ago and you all look younger and shit and Dani is missing and so is Jan and Roy is still playing and you’re still ‘ere for some fucking reason. And my cubby is not in the right place either. Just- It’s all fucking wrong, innit?’

‘…Dani is missing and so is Jan and Roy is still playing…’

‘…Roy is still playing…’

The fucking words that this future Jamie said when he suddenly fucking appeared yesterday keep fucking ringing in his head and he can’t shake them off. How Roy being there among the players was what tipped the fucking prick off to it all being wrong. How casual he was about it.

They all kind of got dismissed yesterday while Ted sorted the appearance of this Jamie out and Roy admittedly did stomp off when he had to accept that Tartt was a fucking time traveler of all things, so he doesn’t know from what year this Jamie might be. All he knows that somewhere in the coming few years, his career will be over. He won’t play anymore.

He has known for a while that it is coming at some point, but knowing theoretically that it will become reality at some point and having the fucking prince prick of all pricks be there to confirm it to his face, are two very different fucking things.

It’s terrible too, because he wants to ask, but doesn’t want to know. Needs to fucking torture himself with the time he still has left on his knee, but wants to stick his head in the sand about it too. Wants to lie to himself that he can keep going forever, but also knows that he can’t. Still, he craves a hint about it, just an allusion. Maybe even just some plain fucking answers.

And to make matters worse, it’s Jamie fucking Tartt who has those fucking answers. Fuck.

If passing to Jamie makes Roy want to puke a little, asking him about his apparent inevitable and given retirement makes him want to fucking projectile vomit. Even if this future Jamie bloke seems weirdly alright for someone who is a version the Jamie Tartt they all know and loathe.

Jamie Tartt is a massive prick, who belittles those around him at any fucking moment, choosing to poke and prod at everyone’s insecurities and weak spots with a sick sort of glee. He prances around with the knowledge he is better, ready to rub it into everyone’s faces. He is a twat and a prick, who has likely been praised for being a prick his entire life and never thought to think that maybe being a giant fucking knobhead to everyone wasn’t the way to go.

This Jamie, however, doesn’t seem to have that. He seems almost weirdly polite and well adjusted, smiling at people and thanking them, and actually meaning it respectfully when he calls the gaffer coach. Fucking hell, the prick even apologized.

There is still a confidence to him and he seems to love himself plenty, that much hasn’t changed. But it is obvious to anyone with fucking eyes that Jamie grew up. Jamie grew into himself. And Roy fucking hates it.

They’re training now and Jamie is being bearable and the fucking worst at the same time. Despite everyone being weirded out by him, he keeps trying to be encouraging and cheerful. He’s cracking jokes that Roy has to begrudgingly admit are actually funny and is pulling everyone along with his infatuating energy. He’s also really, really fucking good. Right foot kissed by fucking G-d and all that.

No one can deny it, Jamie is vastly outshining fucking all of them. It makes Roy want to strangle him even more than he did before Jamie returned from the future. Because the Jamie they know is good, but doesn’t know how to use it and not be a fucking prick about it. This Jamie is better and knows it in a good way. Fucking annoying, that is.

Everyone runs their laps and Jamie is faster than all of them without being out of breath, nor taking the piss out of any of them because of it. They’re doing agility training and Jamie’s control with the ball is fucking beautiful and the prick has the nerve to smile fucking bashfully about it and chirp something about extra training paying off when Colin whistles about it.

Roy wants to fucking scream.

He’d already known that everyone in the team was slowly getting better, while Roy was only getting worse. The years catching up with him until it didn’t matter how much experience he had, because he was getting outpaced by the others, who were only gaining more experience and skill.

However, until Jamie, Roy could still comfort himself with the fact that he was the sharpest on the pitch still. It’s the whole fucking bloody point he even went to Richmond for. Until Jamie came and fucked that up.

Still, when Jamie was still – G-d fucking forgive him – their Jamie, Roy could at least be on his high horse about Jamie being a fucking arsehole to everyone and fucking up the team like that. Now that is gone too and Roy is left to just stew in how much fucking worse he’s gotten and how he’s never going to get that back.

The prick even has the nerve to be way too fucking flexible too when they’re all stretching. The fucking arsehole, shitstain, cunt, wanker. Prick.

Richard notices too and wiggles his eyebrows about it, nudging Jamie as he asks: “Doing extra training for more than one purpose, non?”

Jamie flushes as he smiles and snorts: “You have no fucking idea. But no, started doing yoga, ‘cause it’s good for me core, y’know? But I don’t mind it paying off elsewhere.”

Roy freezes a little at that. Yoga is good for the core and Roy will swear by it until the day he fucking dies, because he’s not admitting shit about liking yoga for the company of the yoga mums and the shit telly they watch. And he knows Jamie can’t know about that, but him using that same logic still makes him falter for a second, before he tries to cover it with a menacing glare that seems to do fucking nothing to Jamie. The twat.

Thankfully no one seems to notice him freeze, all of them too busy snickering at what Jamie has just said, which only hardens Roy’s resolution to never breathe a fucking word to anyone about his yoga nights.

“Is there someone you’re being flexible for?” Moe asks, wiggling his eyebrows at Jamie and making the prick blush. Like full on blush. Jamie doesn’t fucking blush and he definitely doesn’t look fucking endearing. It’s just plain wrong.

Roy is not the only one who picks up on Jamie’s ugly blushing, because a round of ‘ooooohs’ goes through the lads. The fucking muppets. Jamie just looks fucking pleased as he touches his toes – the flexible fucker – and says: “Yeah, yeah, I am. Practically married at this point. Hate that my future phone don’t work, miss the piccies we have.”

Fucking hell, Jamie Tartt of all people is whipped. Roy never thought he’d see the day. Explains why he took down those pictures of Keeley with a weird expression on his face. Must be weird to just be broken up with her when you’ve moved on like that. Roy pities whoever Jamie ended up with and privately is glad Keeley is single now. She’s too fit and funny for any version of Tartt.

The rest of the lads don’t seem to think that, instead cajoling Jamie about it. Jeff’s voice breaking through the chatter to demand: “Who is the lucky girl, Tartt? We can introduce past you, set you up with your soulmate.”

“You wouldn’t believe me, mate. And I ain’t telling you shit. I can’t risk you lot playing terrible wingmen and mucking it up for me, now can I,” Jamie laughs, though not maliciously.

This is naturally an invitation for the rest to try and weasel it out of him anyway as they boast about how well they are at setting people up. It’s the most lively and cohesive they’ve all been since Roy got to Richmond and he fucking hates Jamie for suddenly being good at team morale and showing Roy how much he’s been fucking up this whole captain thing once more.

“Come on, lads, it’s not tha’ big a deal. You’ll figure it out eventually. Don’t wanna spoil it,” Jamie says and he sounds a bit desperate. Roy frowns as he watches Jamie give Colin of all people a desperate look, before seemingly catching himself and looking away.

Colin gets wide eyes, before also looking a bit panick-y. However, whatever the fuck that was, seems to have gotten Colin on Jamie’s side. Because he breaks through the hub of noise and says: “So, flexible for a hot date and your athletic sex life, plus being more buff and outrunning all of us. The future is bright for you, boyo.”

“Yeah, it’s mint,” Jamie says, smiling brightly and looking relieved when it stops everyone pulling at him about his future wife. “Very lucky, me.”

“I’m happy for you,” Colin tells him, sounding genuine. Then he clears his throat and asks: “So, any encouragement to give to the rest of us, ey. Are we still stuck in almost relegated hell in the future? You laughing at us from the Man City benches? Or are you finally a starter now?”

It’s a question no one would have felt comfortable asking the Jamie who disappeared from their locker room yesterday, but this Jamie has this approachable friendly air about him that Roy doesn’t know what to do with.

When Colin asks it, Jamie snorts with laughter, like the question is so inconceivable to him, it is almost funny it’s being asked. Roy wants to think that laugh is malicious, that he’s mocking Colin for thinking the answer is going to be anything other than ‘Richmond’s still shit, mate. That’s never going to change. Of course I start for City, I’m aces, ain’t I?’ But he knows that that’s not what the laugh is. It doesn’t sound mean, it sounds surprised, maybe even delighted by how alien the guess is. As if what Colin guessed is so far from the truth that it’s funny.

That makes Roy feel weird too, because there is this other implication in Jamie’s words and actions, one he has tried not to think about – in contrast to the implication of Roy’s retirement, which has been stuck on a loop – and that’s that Jamie somehow, someway, still seems to fucking play for Richmond G-d knows how many fucking years in the future.

Roy knows Jamie is still here from the way he knows who comes onto the team later (and who fucking leaves), because he’s sure as shit not just keeping up with Richmond out of the goodness of his fucking heart. From how he calls Ted ‘coach’ like it’s easy and ingrained. From how his cubby is not where it is here, like he finished his loan, so it wasn’t his anymore and then transferred back, so got a new one. From how Jamie wasn’t at all surprised to be at the Dogtrack, despite waking up in the past.

And Roy doesn’t want to think about how Jamie has been carefully avoiding looking at him or talking to him. As if Jamie is uncomfortable around him. As if Jamie doesn’t know how to act with him. As if they haven’t spoken much in years. As if Roy hasn’t been around the Dogtrack. Around football.

It makes him feel nauseous, but he can’t do anything that wouldn’t make a fucking fool of himself to stop Jamie from replying to Colin’s question. Though Jamie surprises them all by showing restraint. “I dunno, mate. Feel like I could fuck shit up by spilling.”

The consideration is fucking mature and shit, so Roy has to instantly hate it about Jamie, even if it would be what he wanted from Jamie yesterday. Jamie can’t be mature. He can’t have grown this much while Roy is fucking declining. It’s un-fucking-fair.

But thankfully Jamie is not entirely all high and mighty and grown up and shit, because he gives in when the lads whine about it. Especially when Moe says: “I mean, not like we can fuck up your future, you just go back. Universe is mysterious, right. Might be a reason you’re here?”

They all hum thoughtfully at that, before Jamie nods: “Yeah, maybe I’m like that Tin Man fellow from that old people rock song, y’know?” Before making some noises that are meant to be a melody from a song Roy actually fucking knows.

“You mean Iron Man by Black Sabbath?” Roy asks, unable to help himself. He likes that song, but it doesn’t seem like music Jamie listens to, especially not with how he describes it.

Jamie snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that fucker.”

“He fucking destroys the world,” Roy frowns, questioning his sanity about even having this conversation of all conversations with Jamie.

“Well, then maybe not,” Jamie shrugs.

“Just tell us if we get relegated, bruv,” Isaac cuts through the nonsense and gets them back on track to the important stuff. Good lad.

“Uhm…” Jamie grimaces, which is as good as a fucking answer. The mood instantly plummets and Jamie quickly waves his hands around as he says: “No, no, it’s all mint, swear down. ‘Cause like yeah, you guys got like relegated this year and shit and I might have been kinda responsible for that, but then I blew me life up and got back ‘ere and now we’re like third year Champions League. Private plane and everything, yeah. So it works out.”

Of course the little prick pre-Madonna makes it all about himself, Roy thinks bitterly. Though the thought gets lost between the cheering of the lads, even if there are yells of excited disbelief. Roy understands, the lot they have here doesn’t really scream Champions League material. He wonders if he’ll still be on the pitch when they get there. Refuses to ask, though.

There is a demand for more answers and Jamie stumbles something about his loan ending early and him playing with City in the match that would decide their fate. He mutters about knowing their tactics and tries to avoid Roy more than usual with a look on his face that Roy can’t place, but fucking hates regardless.

He also hates the way Jamie looks bashfully pleased when everyone mutinies about him being send away early, even if it’s only because they just learned that is the misstep that got them relegated in the first place and not about Tartt as a person. Roy would bet his whole fucking arm that no sane person would want Tartt here.

Maybe it’s for the best that Roy isn’t playing anymore. He can’t imagine having to share a pitch, let alone a locker room with Jamie for longer than he fucking has to. (That’s a lie and he knows it, he’d do anything to stay on the field. Roy ignores that, however)

A part of him wonders what has caused Jamie to, as he put it, ‘blow up his life’ to such a degree it apparently ended up with him signing back onto Richmond, which he hated so much and who had been relegated, thus not even a Premier team when he had. But he doesn’t. He refuses to be interested in Jamie fucking Tartt.

Thankfully the coaches whistle that this part is over and they’re moving to a scrimmage, before Roy has to work too hard to ignore that maybe a small part of him is really fucking curious.

Playing footie will be good. His knee will still hurt like a fucking bitch and he will be painfully reminded of how much he’s gone downwards, but it will get him on the pitch, the only place he truly belongs.

Plus, he wants to see if this arrogant and apparently Champions League player version of Jamie can back it up on the pitch. See if he’s actually gotten as much better as he claims he has or if he’s just blowing smoke, because he’s a fucking prick.

Chapter Text

Footie is not as helpful as Jamie had hoped it would be. Sure, the first part of training had been mint, because getting to run is always fun and getting to be better than everyone else is even more fun, even if he is so humble about it now. But currently they’re scrimmaging and it all sucks.

Well, no, it doesn’t all suck. His teammates all suck. Not only are regular presences missing, so Jamie is calculating for the wrong set up, but the teammates he does know very well are playing like shitty fuckers out there today.

A part of him wants to be kind and maybe blame it on the fact that he’s used to total football and this is a different strategy, but he knows that’s bullshit.

He had already been playing total football under Pep and he’d switched into Richmond just fine the first time around, and when he plays for England they don’t play total football either and he falls back into it there easily enough. It’s just truly that everyone else is playing like shit. But Jamie can’t just fucking say that, now can he?

Still, it’s the truth.

Richmond as it is now, is fucking shit. He already said that loudly every day when he’d been there and vaguely knew it were true, but he’d been mostly saying it, because he knew it would piss people off and he was angry and he hated being angry, so it was easier to make others angry at him instead.

Looking back on his first year at Richmond, he always thought he had exaggerated it in his mind. That the lads hadn’t been that awful, especially with how they soared to new heights after Jamie came back and actually played the game how you’re supposed to. Hell, he had half thought that the team being so shit had been his fault. That he was the reason they played so bad, ‘cause he didn’t pass and shit.

Now, however, he looks around at the teammates he knows are amazing players and wonders when they learned how to be that, because it wasn’t before Jamie got there, that’s for fucking sure.

I mean, Sam seems almost afraid of the defenders, instead of bowling through them, Colin keeps tapping the ball back and forth like he’s a pin ball machine instead of trying to keep possession, Isaac is too busy frowning to keep up with the strikers, Moe is very much not where he’s supposed to be, like he forgot how to look for openings. Like Jamie said, it’s shit. Kinda sad too.

He hadn’t realized how much better everyone had gotten. Of course he knew they all trained and he himself gotten better, but they grew with him, so they had always all remained on the same level. To see it so starkly contrasted now, is almost humbling. He’s grateful to Ted and Roy and Beard and Nate for making all of them as good as they are now. For making Richmond into a team that everyone has heard off at some point. For giving everyone the career they worked so hard for.

Jamie still doesn’t know if it was the right move to tell everyone about their three year streak in the Champions League. Hopes that it won’t fuck with them and they’ll stop working as hard, because they think it’ll happen no matter what. But he doesn’t think so. As unfamiliar as they are now, he knows these people. He knows they work hard. They’re going to be fine. It’s just going to take a couple of years to get there.

For now, Jamie simply tries to take into account the fact that this team isn’t the team he knows. Even if muscle memory in the heat of the moment when he sees familiar people out of the corner of his eye isn’t easy to de-program.

Indeed, halfway through the scrimmage, Ted is blowing his whistle and calling the whole thing to a halt as he does. He loudly calls: “Love all the extra passes, Jamie. You’re playing hot potato with that ball and that’s good. Your hellos are definitely goodbyes. Be great if you can pass to the other players.”

“Yeah, I’m trying. Fuck!” Jamie yells back, sounding frustrated to his own ears.

“Hey, hey, I know you are, bud. Just take a coupla breaths for us, yeah?” Ted soothes immediately. It’s something Jamie would have found patronizing and condescending a few years ago, but he knows that with Ted it’s totally genuine and that it helps. So he takes the breaths. “That’s good, Jamie. Like that,” Ted encourages. “Now can you tell me what’s happening right now?”

“No one is where they supposed to be,” Jamie frowns, trying very hard to find a way to explain this that doesn’t make him sound like a massive prick, even though he is incredibly fucking frustrated with everyone and just wants to scream. Footie was supposed to be helpful, get him out of his head, not this fucking mess.

“What the fuck you mean, bruv,” Isaac frowns right back, big arms coming to cross in front of his chest.

“Yeah, boyo, you’re the one that’s all over the place,” Colin adds.

And Jamie knows he’s right, because he is all over the place. That’s the whole fucking point in total football, and yeah, they might not be playing like that now, but Jamie can’t help but want to give support, because the defense and mid-field are weak, even with Roy fucking Kent there, and it’s been ingrained into him to find those weak spots and fill them.

But it’s also dead rude of everyone to think Jamie’s the problem when Jamie has been very nicely trying to make up for the fact that all of them are the problem. So he sulkily spits: “I’m not all over the place. I’m filling gaps.”

“Filling gaps?” Jeff repeats with confusion.

Behind him, Roy is making his murderous expression that tells Jamie that Roy knows exactly what fucking gaps he’s talking about, but Roy’s being a twat about it, because with his shit knee he’s no longer the king of the pitch and can’t be every-fucking-where anymore. It makes Jamie want to call him a self absorbed arsehole and massage the frown off his face; both things he absolutely cannot do.

“Yeah, uh, in the defense,” Jamie says, wrenching himself away from Roy before he does something fucking stupid. “You two keep drifting out and it’s creating a gap in the middle for the opposition to get through, so I’m falling back to fill it.”

“Why?” Sam asks, sounding genuinely confused while also a little nervous about talking to Jamie and cautious. Like he isn’t sure who this person in front of him is and expects the worst. Fuck, Jamie should really talk to the lad.

“Uh, cause it’d be pretty bad to leave a hole like that?” Jamie replies, also a little unsure on what’s confusing ‘bout that. “I mean, you and Colin got the scorin’ covered when it gets to it, right? But if they get through, then it’s our goal on the line. So we should make sure they can’t, so no gaps.”

He thinks that is a pretty logical explanation, however, everyone is looking at him as if he’s got three fucking heads. Which would be mad fit, because the world can never have enough Jamie Tartt, but also… that complex is getting created as they speak.

“What?” he asks, somewhat defensively.

“Me and Colin have the scoring covered?” Sam repeats his words, offering them back to him like he’s going to realize the problem by hearing them.

“Yeah, mate,” Jamie replies. “You’re a striker, ain’t you? That’s your fucking job, mate. I mean, you’re mint as a midfielder too, but you’re aces as a striker. And- What the fuck are all of you’se looking at me like tha’ for?”

“Think you broke him by being so nice to him, mate,” Colin tells him, also looking at Jamie like him being nice to Sam broke him a bit too.

“Fucking ‘ell,” Jamie swears. “I know I was a right cunt, but this is tragic. I were just saying you guys can keep on the goal and I can fall back. I know it ain’t the strategy you lads play, but this defense is truly sad and I play midfield now anyway. It’s no problem.”

“Midfield? You?” A bunch of people are screaming and yelling now and Jamie startles backwards at the wall of noise helplessly. He knew he’d been really into being a striker when here, being a right twat about scoring all the goals, but Pep had always liked that he was mad versatile on the pitch – it’s what kept him from being a starter, he was easy to sub in anywhere – and Jamie knows that everyone knows he’s fucking mint at footie no matter where he plays. So the fact that they’re this shocked takes him by surprise.

And it sucks too, because no one at home is surprised Jamie is a team player, no one at home is surprised Jamie plays midfield, no one at home keeps looking at Jamie like he’s going to be awful, no one at home looks at him like he doesn’t belong.

Jamie is tired of this. He’s already put so much time and effort into proving to everyone he ain’t a proper dickhead anymore, that he has changed and does better now. Sure, they ain’t tackling him or nowt, but they’re still wary of him. He doesn’t want to be an outcast, but the thought of having to make it right all over again just to feel normal, when he doesn’t even know how long he’s going to be here, is a terrible fucking feeling.

“Yeah, I play midfield now and I’m fucking good at it,” he snaps, annoyed at everything. “You pricks gotta fucking stop acting like I’m a freak or summat when you-” He cuts himself off, before the upset insult can pass his lips. He doesn’t think calling everyone ‘shitty knock of versions of themselves’ is going to help anything. “Never fucking mind,” he mutters.

“No,” Roy says – growls really – big sexy frown on his face and arms bulging as he crosses them. God, he’s fucking fit, Jamie fucking misses him. He’s even thrilled about Roy getting in his face like he used to, getting all up and personal like. “You fucking say what you were going to fucking say.”

“I’m gonna sound like a prick if I do,” Jamie says, not cowed by Roy, because he never has been, but a bit embarrassed anyway. And maybe a bit hot under the collar, which this Roy can never fucking know, because he hates Jamie and- fucking hell, Jamie really wants to cry a little.

There is no round of middle fingers telling him it’s okay, that he can just get his thoughts out and then work on getting them into a better order to convey what he actually means. Jamie misses that too. Misses the security that came with knowing that everyone around him knew he didn’t mean it like that, but was just bad at verbalizing things.

And he hates it just a little – no matter how Roy it is – when Roy scoffs: “Well, you always sound like a fucking prick, so just fucking say it. Why are we all the freaks, huh?”

“You’re not the freaks, co-aptian,” Jamie says, nearly fucking it up. See, this is why he don’t talk to this Roy. “I just- You’re all acting like I’m fucking up. I’m not. You guys are just all playing like shit and it’s hard to try to fucking compensate.”

For a moment, Jamie thinks Roy is going to be pissed and push him or some shit. Which isn’t necessarily a part of their dynamic he missed, since it’s not yet teasing roughhousing, but it’ll still be Roy’s hands and attention on him. But then Roy’s eyebrows creep up and actually looks a little relieved by Jamie’s prick-ish words.

Jamie has no clue what is going on there.

However, he doesn’t get much time to figure it out, because everyone is being mad at him, which is exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, because he hates it when people are mad at him. Hates it almost as much as being angry himself.

“Hey now, hey now, let’s all calm down for a moment, okay.” Thankfully there is Ted, Ted who believes in people and who is willing to hear anyone out, even if they sound like a prick. “Jamie, expound.”

“I expect everyone to be gelling better, I s’ppose. I mean, I see Sam and I expect him to play like Sam, or I see Richard and I know he’ll do this, but then he’s doing that. It’s fucking messing me head up,” Jamie tries to explain clumsily. “But it’s good yeah? It means you all got better, don’t it? Would be kinda sad if all of you didn’t learn shit in the past five years.”

It’s quiet for a moment as everyone considers that, before a murmur of reluctant agreement goes through the lads and the defensiveness fades, much to Jamie’s relief. Though he doesn’t like how Roy is furrowing his brows again now. Like Jamie is a puzzle he cannot seem to figure out.

“Well, you’re right there, bud,” Ted distracts him as he starts talking again. “And I’m glad y’all got to grow so much. But let’s try to play with the players they are, not the players they’ll become, yeah? Just focus on playing striker and not the gaps, get used to playing with these fellas right here. And the rest of you gentlemen, keep an eye on those gaps.”

Everyone nods, including Jamie. He can do that. It’s like when he goes to Phoebe’s training and plays with them for fun. At 11 years old, they’re not really professionals yet, but they’re pretty fucking good anyway. Still, it’s always more of a mental than a physical exercise for Jamie to play with them. Roy will be pleased with the practice at least. It’s only a small comfort, though, and it makes him ache more as he gets back into position.

This time, it goes a little bit better, which is nice. Still, Jamie still thinks footie isn’t as helpful this time around as it should have been. He can’t even enjoy getting to play with Roy properly, like he has always wanted. Roy hates his guts, even if Jamie’s feelings have changed and he knows they’ll be obvious to anyone with eyes if he lets himself acknowledge Roy.

All in all, this whole being in past thing really fucking sucks.

Chapter Text

After the disaster that was the scrimmage, Jamie has been more than happy to put in some earbuds and retreat into himself when they’re working out. His own future phone is a fucking brick, but he found his past self’s phone – which is a fucking weird thing to think – and that has music on it. He also deleted that fucking email, because fuck if he puts Keeley through that again.

The music he has isn’t the best. He only got into curating fun playlists after he came back to Richmond, since he felt freer to do whatever the fuck he wanted then. So he doesn’t have them yet. And the album he’s obsessed with right now has not been released yet either, which is so fucking annoying, ‘cause he don’t know all the lyrics yet and it’s stuck in his fucking head, innit.

He doesn’t know whether he’s grateful or upset that everyone else seems to be equally content to keep their distance from him.

It’s strange, like. ‘Cause it’s not like Jamie isn’t used to people staring at him while they’re not talking to him and pretending they ain’t. Loads of times people recognize him, but don’t know how or feel bad about approaching him, so they just stare. But this isn’t just random people on the street, these are people he loves, friends.

But they aren’t friends now. That’s the issue. He is surrounded by the people that are in the day to day his support system, the ones he can joke with and talk to, vent at if necessary. He’s been doing so much better since first getting here and when he feels like shit, the people around them right now, are the ones that are there for him.

Of course, because of this whole time travel bullshit, he can’t talk to them. He can’t complain about the fact that all his mates are acting weird about him being friendly and his two partners are not in his fucking bed and that he feels so fucking lonely he wants to rip his hair out. If he did that, they’d just look at him as if he’d gone mental. Hard pass.

And that’s not even starting on Roy. Like, yeah, he knows he was a prick right now and him and Roy both hated each other, but it still sucks, don’t it?

Look, Jamie likes how they got together. Likes how both of them and Keeley grew as people and then found each other again and they’re all happy now, because it was for the best. He weren’t the greatest at this point and Roy was right to hate him and Keeley deserved better. He knows that. It’s just different to have it rubbed in his face like this.

He knows he’s spiraling a little, but it’s not like he can help it. He’s been dunked into – definitely not the worst – but a pretty shit period in his life and he doesn’t even know his therapist yet. He thought his small breakdown yesterday would help, but apparently one cry isn’t enough. Probably ‘cause he now knows what it’s like to cry in Roy’s steady arms and he don’t have that right now.

Fuck!

Jamie swallows thickly and blinks so he won’t start crying in the weight room. He feels fucking pathetic. This is so fucking sad, like he’s going to be fucking fine, it just sucks right now, but it’s not utterly terrible, Jamie’s been through worse.

Still, that thought doesn’t make him feel much better. Dr. Sharon and him talked about not invalidating how he feels, that just because he’s been through worse, it doesn’t mean this won’t effect him. That he can still feel like shit, even if he isn’t writhing around in agony and shit. And right now, he’s feeling pretty fucking shit.

Sam keeps sending weird looks at him then snapping back to his own work out, Colin keeps fucking observing him and everyone else is very studiously not looking at him when he glances their way, except for Roy, Roy is unsurprisingly enough glaring at him. Makes Jamie feel like he didn’t fix shit with his apology, just made everything so much fucking worse.

In all honesty, his first time at Richmond had been pretty good, I mean, he’d gotten all the glory, had Keeley on his arm, and his dad were four hours away. Sure, there were still the shitty texts, demands for money and all that shit, and Jamie and the lads were friendly, but not friends, so that was a bit lonely, and having Roy hate him had been disappointing. But it hadn’t been all bad.

Not until Ted came and Jamie felt like he’d been pushed underwater. He just didn’t understand that someone could be actually kind and still okay, that someone would expect that from Jamie too. He had always been tough and tough was the only thing that had been respected, so to have someone request him to be kind and soft felt like a mind game. Felt like Ted was setting him up to let his guard down, just so he could hit him where it hurt when he did. He’d never considered the possibility that Ted could be genuine and only realized what he’d missed out on when he fucked over his own life.

Naturally, that had worked out for him, since he got back to Richmond in the end and has been happily soft for the last coupla years. However, at the time, it had just felt like from one day to the other, everyone had turned against him on the whims of some American rodeo clown, who was manipulating everyone and out to get Jamie.

He’d figured that by saying sorry and playing like a team player, he’d smooth some of the strain that had been there after Ted’s arrival. However that clearly hadn’t worked.

No, instead of making it all better and having fun at Richmond from the start, he made everything fucking weird and more isolating. He can’t even suggest that the lads go out to the club so he can forget everything, because they’d only look at him more weirdly and maybe even try to set him up with someone which he isn’t going to go for, which will lead to questions about his relationship, which he cannot talk about.

So he’s just stuck, being lonely and feeling bad without anyone to talk to or cuddle with. Again the tears threaten to well up and Jamie is starting to feel really fucking tired of this shit.

Suddenly unable to take it anymore, he gets up and racks the weight he’d been lifting. It’s not like they got anything else going on after this and he can finish this work out at home. Him storming out without a word might even be comforting to everyone, since it’s pretty prick-ish and all that.

Jamie skips the shower even though it feels gross, because he doesn’t want to be there. Doesn’t even change out of his kit. There are spares, it’ll be fine. Jamie just wants to be home, to not have to deal with people being weirded out by him being buff or whatever, and maybe also so he can cry in the shower without anyone being able to see.

It’s still fucking weird to drive to his old house, but Jamie manages without crashing and without breaking down. The last thing he needs is for The Sun to run an article about how apparently football star Jamie Tartt had a breakdown and was seen crying in his car after he’d dyed his hair blond. Because those fuckers would call it blond, even though it’s fucking not.

At home he gets under the shower, then slides down, sitting on the shower floor with his bare bum despite the fact that it’s fucking gross. He curls up into a little ball, then lets the tears flow out as he fucking sobs.

He doesn’t want to do this again, he doesn’t want to be alone, he hates being alone. Him and mummy are still on the outs, him and Keeley are fucked, Roy hates him, team’s weird. Everything is just the fucking worst. Jamie has never done well with being alone. Never. He’s clingy and needy and everyone around him knows it and indulges him, but now… fuck, he hasn’t gotten a hug in over a day. He needs hugs to fucking live.

Fuck the fucking universe. Jamie don’t need to be the Tin Man from the future to tell Richmond jack fucking shit. They did fine without a future Jamie intervention when he came from. So why couldn’t these fuckers figure it out without him? Or was it him? Did he have some cosmic lesson to learn or some shit? And what would that be? That he was a prick? That he got incredibly lucky that any of these people ever let him try again? That he fucks it up everywhere?

Jamie knows. Jamie is already very aware that he’s incredibly fucking lucky to be where he is and loved by the people he is. Growing up thinking you’re probably not going to reach retirement due to poverty, abuse or suicide, to now planning old age with Roy and Keeley made him very aware of just how fucking lucky he is. He didn’t need the whole universe to remind him that it very easily could have gone wrong, because he made a fucking prick of himself.

He knows he’s lucky and he knows he has so much. It doesn’t need to be ripped from him for him to remind him. He’s already aware. Please.

The water pours over him until it gets cold while he keeps crying. He continues to sit there for a minute more, before he scrapes himself of the shower floor. He hasn’t washed his hair or conditioned it, or even scrubbed his body, but he doesn’t care.

On the counter are the necklace and the piercings he hasn’t put back in yet. Seeing them makes him cry all over again, because usually Roy or Keeley put them back in for him, because they’re so fiddly, but they’re not here right now. Not in the way he wants or needs.

He snatches the necklace from the counter but leaves the piercings there, not wanting to go through the frustrating task in this emotional state. He doesn’t dry himself off either, just crawls under the covers and curls up, clutching the necklace to his chest as he cries again.

Right now, he can’t help but wonder how long this is going to last. Beard said a few days, but a few days could mean anything from gone tomorrow to two weeks as far as Jamie is concerned. He doesn’t know if he can do two weeks of this. Hell, he doesn’t know if he can do tomorrow of this.

Okay, deep breath, Jamie. No spiraling.

Forcing himself to uncurl and sit up straight, he tries to hear Dr. Sharon’s calm and level voice in his head telling him to take a moment to step back and assess the situation, instead of staying too zoomed in to get out of the panic.

But zooming out isn’t helpful. Yeah, sure, he’s catastrophizing about being all alone and having no one, because he does, he just needs to get there. However, no matter how far he zooms out, it doesn’t change that he’s stuck in the past for fuck knows how long with no guarantee he’ll ever get back and a mountain of work he already had to struggle through once before to get to a place where he has all the support he needs. Because Jamie does need support.

His breathing gets more difficult again, so instead he pictures Keeley rubbing his back as she croons softly into his ear that he should breathe, as well as Roy placing a stead hand on the scruff of his neck as he does deep breaths for him to follow. It’s not real of course and their arms won’t be there to fall into once this is done, but it’s still nice anyway. And it helps.

Slowly, Jamie gets his breathing under control, the anxiety that had been racing under his skin turning into something a little bit more manageable.

Once his breathing is under control, he can listen to the Dr. Sharon voice in his head – which is a voice he tries to listen to, she’s dead smart and good at all the feelings and shit – and zoom out. Being stuck here alone is bad, but not unsolvable. It’s fucking shit, of course, but nothing Jamie can’t handle. He’s the fucking best, ain’t he? He got this.

It’s mostly bluster, because Jamie is feeling anything but the best, but fake it till you make it, innit. So, he clings to the thought.

The issue right now is that Jamie needs people and he doesn’t have them. It’s taken him years to get to a point where he’s comfortable admitting that without feeling like a soft pussy, who can’t even do owt without someone holding his hand. Years to get that voice out of his head. And he’s grateful for that, because currently, Jamie needs to find support.

Having the lads be weird isn’t great, but it’s not the end of the world either. Jamie would also freak if any of them came from the future and started acting differently, even if he likes to think that after this shit, he’d have more empathy. So, he can’t fault them for that. Jamie just has to fucking try again, he supposes.

Or at least get to a place where he doesn’t feel so lonely. Like today out on the pitch all stretching together was fun. He can use more of that. He doesn’t need deep, personal conversations about everything. He can manage without that for a bit, but just normal contact would be nice. That is an achievable goal that he can strive for.

Next to the lads, there’s Ted. Jamie is glad that he’s at least dropped into a Richmond that has Ted, because Ted loves all the emotional support shit. If Jamie truly needed something, Ted would be there, even if they never fully had a relationship like that. Ted is supportive and nice. Jamie could lean into all that a bit too.

There is of course the Roy and Keeley of it all. Jamie misses them like crazy, it almost makes him feel a little sick.

Today around Roy was weird enough. The two of them have always had a more complicated history that has taken a lot of work to get through in terms of their relationship. Roy only started talking to Dr. Sharon after he became gaffer and Jamie has seen how he has grown. He’s so fucking proud of him, but he knows how hard it was. So no matter how much he just wants Roy’s strong arms to wrap around him and for him tell Jamie it’ll all be fine, he knows that’s a big ask, too big right now, in fact.

Keeley, on the other hand, is a whole different story. Even without the whole future drama that is in store for them where they both grow before finding their way back to each other, him and Keeley have always been easy together. Both at first when they were just fun, then after their break up when they were friends. She has always been his rock and he loves her.

Yeah, Keeley is a smart decision. Even if she closes the door in his face, he’ll at least have seen her again and that is worth a whole lot. Besides, he doesn’t think she will. Keeley is nice like that.

With the decision made, he feels slightly better about himself. Enough that he doesn’t want to lie in the wet sheets anymore. He dries off further and slips into comfy pajamas, missing the ones he has back home that are pink and fluffy and he didn’t get comfortable wearing until way after Wembly.

He sits on the couch under a blanket and orders junk food. He’s sure Roy will forgive him the break in his diet when he gets out of there. He has to with how he’ll feed Jamie comfort foods on the rough days without a word.

Jamie still feels a little sorry for himself as he stuffs a chippy in his mouth and watches shitty reality telly, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s fraying apart. Small victories and all that, eh.

Chapter Text

Jamie arrives to work like a man on a mission. He has decided to stick to his later routine instead of creeping around like a weirdo, but he’s early enough that he can pull Sam aside before he can go into the locker room.

Sam looks apprehensive and Jamie feels fucking awful. Sam is his mate, one of his best mates. He is witty and smart and snarky and so unbelievably kind. He is confident too. But this Sam is not confident. Not when Jamie is there, not after all he said to him.

This suddenly feels a whole lot harder to do, but it also hardens his resolve. Sam is the person who has always deserved Jamie’s apology the most.

“I know it weren’t technically me, but it were in a way too. So, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorreh. I already said it to all the lads, because I were a prick overall, but I especially were a prick to you and it fucking kills me, mate. You never deserved that shit. It was all me own shit, nowt to do with you. And it’s totally fine if you still don’t like me or forgive me, but I jus’ wanted to say it,” Jamie rushes out.

It’s a speech he knows well in a way, though it’s slightly different. Back when he first came back to Richmond he actually practiced apologizing with Dr. Sharon after his own failed attempt. He never really got to say it though, with the protest and everything, but it feels nice to do so now. Closure or whatever.

Still, despite it feeling nice to have said, Jamie is also bracing himself for whatever response Sam will have to him. Braces himself for the rejection that’s sure to come.

However it’s Sam, who has always been too kind. So he doesn’t yell at Jamie to fuck off, instead he takes a breath and says: “Thank you. It is good to hear you are remorseful, you have been very unkind to me. I do not know that I can forgive you, but I have wanted nothing more than to be your friend. You seem like you want to be my friend as well. We can try starting there.”

“Yeah, mate, I’d love to be your friend,” Jamie says quickly, thrilled by this development.

Sam seems a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm but then breaks out in a shy smile as he holds out his hand for Jamie to shake: “Friends?”

“Definitely,” Jamie says as he shakes it. See, he’s totally got this creating a support network and making friends thing down. He’s fucking aces at apologies and all that accountability shit. He feels lighter already and instantly makes use of his newly acquired friendship status to ask: “Are you already cooking or is that something you got into later? I mean, I dunno how long it takes for you to be able to cook like that and I know you and your dad do it a lot, so I assume you already know how, but could be homesickness too right? Like I only learned to make these granola bars Simon used to make for me once I moved down ‘ere, y’know?”

“You know I cook?” Sam asks surprised, but also pleased about the compliments that accompany the revelation of Jamie knowing that.

“Yeah, mate, couldn’t live without it at this point. The best part of winning a match is eating your food after,” Jamie enthuses.

“Well, I am glad you like it so much,” Sam tells him. “And, yes, I already cook. I have been working on making recipes from home when I call with my father.”

“Mint!” Jamie grins, throwing open the door to the locker room. He gets a lot of weird looks for coming in with Sam, both looking happy to be talking with each other. However, Jamie has already decided to pretend to not give a shit until it sticks, so he just greets everyone cheerily.

Most of the lads stumble over their own greeting back, but Ted is already there and Ted is always more than happy to have a chat. So, it’s no surprise when Ted replies: “Morning there, Jamie. You seem to be in one chipper mood today. Getting adjusted to the past?”

“Nope, this is still fucking weird, coach,” Jamie grins cheerily. “But at least it’s still fucking England, innit. I think it’d really fuck me up if I had to get used to tha’ American shit. So, kinda in the same boat ‘ere, ain’t we?”

“Well, you got me there. We’re like two foreign exchange students, stumbling our way through. You know we had an exchange student when I was a Sophomore,” Ted starts one of his ramblings that used to piss Jamie off and confuse him. Only the latter part is still true, but it’s a comforting confusion now.

Jamie chatters along, even if he don’t really get all the details, because it’s fun to keep Ted talking. It’s real easy too, kinda like distracting the teacher from the fact he assigned homework in a way, which they had sometimes used against Ted during boring match reviews.

At this point, no one else is used to the way Ted talks yet, so they’re watching the whole thing with bewilderment. It’s a little thrilling to be the one that understands Ted the best from all the players after so long of being the one feeling like he’s falling behind.

By the time they’re all changed, it seems that some of the lads have even gotten used to Jamie being social and nice with Ted.

Beard appears next to Ted and nudges him, causing Ted to cut himself off mid story with a confused noise. All Beard does is hold up his watch and Ted gasps: “You got me chatting.”

“Sorreh, coach,” Jamie chirps, not entirely sorry, but still wanting to say it.

“Ah, it’s okay. My own fault for being such a chatter box. You know, my mama always said-” Ted gets cut off by Beard clearing his throat and he nods: “Oh, yeah. My bad. To the field everyone!”

“Pitch, coach,” Jamie corrects gently.

“Of course, pitch. I’ll get that pesky son of a gun sometime.”

They all stream out onto the pitch and Jeff appears next to him as they walk, leaning over as he asks: “What was that? Since when do you and the gaffer get along?”

Jamie laughs at that, because fucking hell that’s one hell of a fucking story, innit? So he just jokes: “I suppose since I started believing in miracles,” calling back to Ted’s little speech. Then he adds: “And since I stopped being a massive prick to everyone and let ‘im actually coach me. Though, it’s mostly been R- Well, we got other coaches too, later. It helped to have a translator.”

“He is a bit confusing sometimes,” Jeff agrees with a small grimace on his face.

“The most confusing,” Jamie instantly concurs. He didn’t know others had thought the same thing as him back then, so he’d just sat with the shame of not even being able to understand the fucking gaffer, when footie had always come easier to him than school. It’s retroactively nice to know he hadn’t been alone in all that.

Training itself is a bit better than it was yesterday. Jamie is trying to not run on muscle memory, but to clearly think every move through. It slows him down a little, but at least it ensures that when he passes, the others actually get the ball.

It’s a little funny to see how the others trip over the ball in surprise whenever he does, but it’s also exciting to see how they get better when they get used to his passes. It’s the thrill of playing midfield that Jamie never understood back now, the thrill of knowing how you can get the ball in the goal if you flick it just so to the person running to the side, the set up the enemy hasn’t even noticed yet, because everyone is moving into place and then it works out. Jamie is Richmond’s conductor for a reason. He loves it.

However, he can’t deny that as much as he loves conducting, there is something special about scoring, and there is something even more special about scoring of an assist from Roy fucking Kent. Like, sure he looks a little like he’s about to puke and very fucking confused with himself that he did that – which is fucking adorable – but he did it! He passed to Jamie and Jamie scored and it was beautiful and fun.

He’d always known they could be magic on the pitch together, always mourned that they were both too much up their own arse to do so when they had the chance, but experiencing it is something else. Even if everything about this experience has been rather shit thus far, Jamie will have this and, to him, that is already more than worth it.

They make eye contact across the pitch and Jamie lights up, elated despite it all. Roy still looks constipated for a moment, before he gruffly nods, which is about the same as a cheer for Roy. Jamie grins wider, before he gets distracted by Colin jumping on him in excitement, Sam joining in, cautious at first then more like normal when he is accepted.

He’s flying high by the time they’re off the pitch, the feeling he’d been craving yesterday finally here and he’s reveling in it.

Nate is there handing out the bottles to everyone. He looks skittish when he hands Jamie the bottle and Jamie’s insides twist up. He’s gotten so used to Nate the Great that he had almost forgotten where Nate had started. He can recognize the hurt that lashed out when Nate first got promoted to coach. Jamie had been much the same way for a long time.

“Thanks, mate,” he says softly as he takes the bottle, then makes sure to linger as he drinks until it’s just him and Nate left.

Of course that also makes Nate look nervous as he stutters: “Oh, uhm, Jamie, is there- can I- Do you need anything else? More water, perhaps?”

Jamie instantly feels a bit bad and he quickly assures him: “Nah, lad, I’m mint. No worries. Jus’ wanted to, uh- well, wanted to apologize. For the bullying, y’know. I know I weren’t the only one, but I kinda did encourage it and make it worse an’ all. You didn’t deserve that, so I’m sorreh.”

“Oh, well, yes, uhm, that’s- it’s fine really,” Nate says, even though Jamie knows from how it twisted later that it’s not.

“Don’t have to be, mate. More than welcome to hate me for it. I mean, it’ll be grand if it’s actually fine, but it kinda feels like you’re saying that it’s fine when it’s not, but I’m not great with like the whole body language thing,” Jamie confesses.

Nate just stares at him with big uncomprehending eyes. Jamie doesn’t usually stump people who are way smarter than him and he doesn’t really know what to do here. He can’t even feel smug about it, because he knows what it’s like to be stumped by assurance, just because you never expect it.

Awkwardly he nods a few times, then says: “Just sayin’, you can be more confident, coach. You’re mad smart,” then quickly skips off into the tunnel, before Nate can react.

He doesn’t see Nate mouth the word ‘coach’ to himself, nor how he straightens up a bit, looking pleased with himself after. Jamie doesn’t realize or see, but it will have mattered regardless.

In the training room, he gets Sam to spot for him and returns the favor, trying to built the friendship more, because he fucking missed Sam and bantering with him is fun, even if this Sam isn’t as comfortable being a dickhead back to Jamie yet and he can’t tease as much as he usually would.

Him being normal with Sam encourages some of the others to fuck around too. And yeah, it’s not the same as it is at home, Roy is still radiating a weird energy in the corner and it’s all just a shade off. But it’s leaps and bounds better than it had been yesterday and Jamie actually feels settled in his skin as he heads off to the showers with the rest.

Jamie is about to leave when Ted stops him, welcoming him into the office to have a chat. Unlike when this would happen the first time around, Jamie is more curious than worried. “Everything alright, coach?”

“Yeah, Jamie, everythin’s just peachy,” Ted assures him, leaning against the desk. “I just wanted to say that I’m very proud of you, kid.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you, coach,” Jamie flushes. This isn’t the first time he’s heard that, not even the first time he heard it from Ted, but no matter how much time passes, he’s never known what to do with the genuine praise.

“I mean it, Jamie. I mean, wowie, I can see the potential that you have now – well, not you, but our you – but to see it so clearly have flourished like a butterfly from a cocoon?” Ted whistles, “it’s phenomenal.”

“Thank you, coach,” Jamie says shyly, looking at his feet a little as he stretches out his shirt. “Meant a lot to get a second chance, y’know, to figure it all out. Took me a while to get it, get you, but it was mint when it clicked.”

“And thank you for letting me help you,” Ted says, before he hesitates, then asks: “What did it take for you to get it?”

“I kinda blew me whole life up,” Jamie snorts ruefully. “Not easy getting back from that. And-” now he’s hesitating, before he confesses: “And Keeley explained to me what you meant. I mean, I get the ramblings most of the time now, but you’re mad confusing, coach. Told everyone I knew what you wanted from me, but I didn’t, swear down. Thought I was doing what you wanted, but it weren’t that apparently. Finding the balance between being nice yet still an awesome player took a bit.”

Ted blinks for a moment, as if he’s realizing something. Jamie doesn’t know what he did to cause that, but it makes him a bit anxious as he waits for a reply. After a beat, Ted finally says: “Well now, Jamie, I feel like I owe you an apology.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Ted says, expression genuine. “I try to meet players where they’re at, talk to them in a way they’ll get, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to do that for you. I should have tried harder to reach you, instead of assuming you didn’t want to try. So, I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you, coach,” Jamie replies, feeling a bit choked up as he does. He had always felt so guilty about not getting it, about fucking it all up, about being responsible for his own stupid downward spiral that came after his loan was cut off. To hear a sorry from Ted was something Jamie never expected from him, never thought he needed, but it means the world to him.

It makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been solely on him for fucking it up. That, sure, he could have tried harder, but it weren’t his fault Ted spoke an entirely different language.

“Foreign exchange student. I’ll figure it out,” Ted smiles, squeezing Jamie’s shoulder. “And hey, if you got any tips, my ears are about as open as a 24 hour gas station.”

“Uh, I’m bad at metaphors,” Jamie stumbles, because he might as well make it easier for himself. “And I don’t do well with hints. Just fucking smack me in the face with it. ‘s why me and R- coach, uh- other coach. Not Beard. Later. Anyway, ‘s why me and ‘im work so well. He don’t mince words, just calls me a prick and tells me to do this instead.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ted nods. “Again, thank you. Have a good day, yeah.”

“Yeah, coach, you too,” Jamie says, leaving the office still a bit dazed and unsure. The past sure is fucking weird. Hopefully Keeley will be somewhat normal. They’ve always been normal with each other, no matter how fucked it got between them. As much as today has been a win for him, he is exhausted after all the social intricacies he’s danced around today. He longs for a comforting familiarity, even if Keeley is now his ex and it’s bound to be a little strange.