Work Text:
May 2021
Jamie doesn’t go out with the team after they win the match and get promoted. He knows he should because they’d done something great that no one really thought they could do. It’s just that the idea of socializing and being the center of attention used to give him a fucking thrill, but now it’s just exhausting.
It’s tough enough to get through the day while keeping up as much of the old Jamie as he possibly can before he’s just ready to collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours. He just needs everyone to see that he’s okay. Maybe somewhere deep down he thinks if they believe it, he’ll start believing it. Maybe he just wants to be left alone. He doesn’t really know anymore.
He sits in front of the television with a beer and a kebab. He has no idea what’s on, and he’s probably not going to pay much attention to it. These days it’s all just background noise anyway.
He thinks about the lads fake punching him on the shoulder after the match, asking if he’s going out with them. Even Roy was going out with them, fucking grumpy old twat, but Jamie couldn’t bring himself to say yes, not even today. He’s just tired.
He can hear his phone buzzing on the coffee table, but he can’t even be bothered to pick it up to put it on do not disturb. He just stretches out on the sofa because he doesn’t really see any reason to spend the energy it takes going up to bed, presses a cushion over his head and tries to go to sleep, tv low in the background.
/*/*/*/
August 2020
“You’re fucking shit, Jamie. Such a fucking embarassment of a son.” As soon as he opens the door, James Tartt is standing there, his face red and angry. He smells like booze because he always fucking smells like booze.
Jamie had had a shit match, and he’s already been going over it all in his head for the last two hours, sitting in the dark in his living room, open bottle of beer in his hand that he’s not even drinking. He does this even after a good match, preparing himself for his father’s words. He knows it’s never good enough.
He’s never good enough, not for himself, and certainly not for James Tartt. It’s been even worse since coming back to City.
He can remember a time when going out with the lads after a match - win, draw, loss, it never mattered - was all he wanted to do. The music and the girls, the smoke and knowing everyone was looking at him, he’d loved it. Jamie Tartt has never been afraid of attention. He’s always run towards it, clinging on to whatever he can get for dear life.
Now he just wants to be alone. Ever since Richmond, since Keeley, since fucking Ted, everything is just different. Just being great at football is never enough anymore. It used to be everything. Jamie wants to be a good person, but he’s not sure he even knows how to do that, and sometimes it’s just too exhausting to try.
Jamie steps away from the door and walks back into the living room, just leaving the door open so his dad can come in.
“Do you even care what you look like out there?”
Jamie’s honestly not even listening to him. He knows he’s speaking, but his ears are ringing and it just sounds like fucking noise.
“Fucking listen to me, Jamie.” His dad grabs his shoulder and forces him around so they’re face to face and then he grabs his hair. Jamie wants to hit him. Jamie wants to fucking hurt his dad the way his dad has hurt him for years, but instead he just freezes up, forcing himself to listen. He closes his eyes and swallows hard, nodding. “You’re such fucking shit.”
His dad pushes him back. “You’re not even fucking worth it. Pointless, worthless, not even good at the one thing you’re supposed to be good at.”
Jamie closes his eyes tighter. He can feel his chest tighten but just sucks in a breath and tries to let it go. His dad will be gone soon. This is what he does. This is what he does. He comes around to tell Jamie what a fucking embarassment he is and then he leaves. Jamie won’t see him for at least a couple more weeks if he can just get through this.
“Not even fucking listening to me.” He pushes at Jamie’s chest. “You should just quit. City would be better without you. You’re fucking pointless, Jamie. I wish I’d never come back into your life.”
Jamie wishes the same.
/*/*/*/
It’s been a week since the end of the season and Jamie still hasn’t talked to anyone. He had eventually checked his phone, but it was mostly people asking why he hadn’t gone out with them after the match or telling him what a mad night it had been.
Sam had genuinely messaged to check in, and Jamie just texted back he was fine just having a break. Sam seemed to accept it, or at least didn’t fight it which Jamie was grateful for. Jamie feels bad for blowing him off because it had taken a lot to get to a place where Sam was a friend, and it’s not like Jamie wants to lose that. It’s just -
Jamie thinks he’s done a pretty good job of never showing the cracks. He just ignores everyone when they’re not working. Sometimes he feels bad. They are his friends. He just doesn’t have the energy most of the time anymore. Maybe it would be easier if they all just went back to thinking he was a dickhead who thinks he’s too good for them.
He has a message from Keeley that he pointedly deletes without even looking at. He knows it’s fucking shit of him, and they are friends. It’s just everything with him and her and Roy, it’s just so fucking complicated. He thinks he’s friends with Roy now, and he’s not even sure how that’s going to work. He’s not even sure what he feels anymore.
All even more reasons to just keep to himself when he’s not with everyone on the pitch or at the club. Richmond is his family, but he really is much better off on his own. He thinks about maybe going out to find someone to bring home but that’s not even as much fun as it used to be. He just mostly wants to sleep. He’s exhausted, and vaguely in the back of his mind there’s a voice telling him you helped get Richmond back to the Premier League; this is your home now; you should be fucking happy but there’s a much louder voice telling him that despite all of that he’ll never be fucking good enough.
Why does that voice sound a hell of a lot like his father, who he hasn’t spoken to since -
His phone starts ringing and he doesn’t bother to check who it is; he’s not going to answer it anyway. It’s almost immediately after the phone stops ringing that his door buzzer starts going off. He wonders if he can just pretend he’s not even home. He has no fucking clue who would be here, and he doesn’t want to see anyone. Whoever it is won’t stop buzzing, and his phone starts ringing again after a minute or so.
Jamie pushes himself up off the sofa and stomps over to the door.
“What the fuck- “ He blinks. “Roy?”
Roy is standing there, about to hit redial on his phone again. He looks like the same grumpy old twat as always, but there’s an edge to it that Jamie can’t quite place. He looks tired and maybe something else.
“Fucking hell, Jamie.” Roy lets out a quiet breath. “I thou– we all thought you were fucking dead or something. No one’s heard from you for days.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” Jamie says. It’s easy to take all of the emotion from his voice, to hide the shock he feels that Roy of all people is here. He rolls his eyes and steps away from the door in lieu of an actual invitation.
His house is a fucking mess. He’s mostly been ordering takeaway and hasn’t really bothered to clean up the papers or cups or anything because there’s not really been a point. He’s here alone, and he’ll get to it eventually.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Roy mutters, glancing around at the state of Jamie’s place. “Okay, this is fucking worse than I thought.” He keeps making these faces that Jamie can’t read. “What the fuck, Jamie?”
“Wasn’t expecting a guest, was I? No one’s fucking come here since I moved back.”
“No one?” Roy looks surprised at that, but he shakes his head. “That’s not the fucking point. The entire team and coaching staff has been trying to contact you for days. What the fuck, Jamie?”
“Not everyone. Coach Beard hasn’t reached out. Haven’t heard from fucking Jan Maas, have I?” He knows he sounds like a bratty fucking child, but he’s making a point. He thinks it’s a fairly good one, that Roy is exaggerating - it's fine. He’s fine. “Anyway, I’m on holiday, aren’t I?”
“Looks like it.” He looks around at the mess, face unreadable. “Get fucking dressed and pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
“What the fuck?” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Where the fuck are we going?”
“Bought tickets for me and Keeley to Marbella, but that’s obviously not happening now, and you need to get out of the fucking house. You’re coming with me.”
“Wait, why isn’t Keeley going with you? Why am I your next choice?”
Roy just looks around as if to say, look around you, you fucking muppet. This is why. He throws his arms up and Jamie thinks he looks like a fucking cartoon character.
“I don’t want to go to Marbella with you. I want to sit alone in my living room in my pants eating shit food and drinking shit beer.” A year ago that sounded like a nightmare, but now it’s all Jamie wants to do.
“Too fucking bad. Go pack.”
“You could at least ask nicely.” Jamie mumbles, disappearing into the bedroom. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea, and maybe Roy will leave him alone. It’s not like the two of them have anything in common, besides their respective connections to Keeley and the same football team.
Maybe a holiday will fix him.
/*/*/*/
September 2020
The match yesterday had been fine. Jamie hadn’t started, but he’d gone on in the seventy-third minute and taken a free kick that resulted in a goal. He hadn’t scored the goal, though, and that was enough for his dad to come by his place after and rant at him for ages.
It’s an accident the way it happens, really. He calls in feeling poorly to training on Monday, and then on Tuesday he doesn’t show up and ignores all the phone calls from the captain at City, and some of the other lads and just sleeps the whole fucking day. There’s this feeling in the pit of his chest that won’t go away and he sits up with the realization of what he needs to do.
He calls his agent.
/*/*/*/
He’s sitting next to Roy, who’s dragged him onto a fucking plane and then opened a book like Jamie’s going to be able to sit quietly for however many fucking hours his flight is. Every time Jamie opens his mouth to speak, Roy just looks over at him, glares, and turns back to his book.
Jamie relents and rests his head on the window and looks out at the clouds. It doesn’t help this feeling in his chest go away, but it is nice to look at. He can’t for the life of him figure out why Roy picked him to go, or why Keeley isn’t going.
The flight isn’t as long as Jamie imagined it would be, or maybe he fell asleep without realizing it somewhere in the middle. In any case, they’re off the plane soon and being trailed through customs. Roy’s already hired a car to take them to where they’re staying, which ends up being this fucking amazing villa right on the coast. It’s right off the beach but there’s still a fucking pool and a jacuzzi and it looks like the entire fucking team could stay there and have plenty of room to stay out of each other’s way.
Maybe this will be fine. He can hang out on his own, and Roy probably won’t expect to actually talk about anything or even see each other much. Six weeks practically alone in a giant house will basically be just like being at home. No one - except for Roy - even knows where he is.
“You can pick whatever room you want.” Roy tosses his bag into the first one they come to. “There’s three more besides this one. This one is mine.” He stares at Jamie for a moment. “You aren’t going to spend the next six weeks in a fucking hole either, so put on some clothes you haven’t been flying in. We’re going to dinner in a couple of hours.”
Jamie wants to argue that he’s also meant to be on holiday and Roy isn’t his fucking dad, but Roy disappears into the room and closes the door behind him. Once he gets into the room (the furthest down the hall from Roy) and starts getting his things out, he looks at his phone.
Keeley’s called, but it seems like the rest of the calls and messages have finally calmed down now that people have realized he’s not going to answer. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, but an unsettled feeling sits in his stomach. Sometimes it feels like he’s swallowed a ton of bricks.
This is what he wanted, for people to leave him the fuck alone. This is what he wanted, isn’t it? It’s what he’s been thinking for a week. Just leave me alone. I just want to be alone.
He sits on the bed and clutches his phone like a lifeline. He hasn’t even looked at most of these messages. He’d deleted Keeley’s, so he goes through and just starts deleting the others too. The further they get from the season, the less they’ll care anyway. He’s their teammate more than their friend.
He checks instagram and twitter just out of a sense of routine but he really doesn’t care about social media anymore. So much of it is praising him. Richmond fans are happy that he’s back, that the team got back to the Premier League. Teammates tagging him in photos from throughout the season. He doesn’t care. He can’t remember the last time he posted a selfie that wasn’t the result of Colin saying What? Did your camera break? You haven’t been half naked on instagram in a while.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there before there’s a tap on the door. He had forgotten he isn’t alone.
“Tartt, come on. You’d better have fucking clothes on.”
“What? I thought I had a couple of hours,” Jamie says. He puts his phone down.
There’s a long pause on the other side of the door, and Jamie thinks maybe Roy had just left.
“Jamie, it’s been an hour and a half,” Roy says, almost inaudibly soft. It catches Jamie off guard.
“Oh.” He doesn’t make a move.
Roy opens the door anyway, despite not being fucking invited into the room and just stands there. He looks uncomfortable and unsure, and at least Jamie can still fuck with Roy Kent’s head, even if his heart isn’t really in it anymore. It’s something.
“What the fuck, Jamie?”
“I was just checking my phone and I lost track of time.”
“Okay.” Roy takes a breath and closes his eyes, like he’s trying not to lose his patience. “Just put some clothes on. We’re going to eat something that you didn’t eat from a wrapper, because I could tell from the state of your house it’s been a while since you’ve done that. Then you’re going to the shop with me because I want to stock the kitchen. I’m not fucking eating out for six weeks.”
“Well, how the fuck do you expect to eat.”
“There’s a full kitchen, Jamie. I’m going to fucking cook.” Roy rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go out to the living room while you get dressed. If you’re not out there in fifteen minutes, I’m going to come in here and drag you.”
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll get dressed.” He doesn’t tell Roy that he’s sorry and he really hadn’t meant to sit there for an hour and a half, even though that’s the truth. Time had just passed so quickly that he hadn’t realized.
He doesn’t think Roy would understand, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
Jamie pulls out a shirt and some jeans and mostly just runs his fingers through his hair. It’s really the most he can manage these days. By the time he gets back to the room where Roy is waiting for him, Roy’s just slipping his phone back into his back pocket.
“You do have real trousers.” He says. “I was half expecting you to step out in a different pair of trackies.”
“No,” Jamie says. “I brought jeans.” He’s aware in the back of his mind that Roy probably expects a smart comeback, but he’s exhausted. This is the most human interaction he’s had in a week. “Are we going?”
“Yeah, we’re going.” Roy looks pained, like he doesn’t know what to do with Jamie, and that’s fine with Jamie. Maybe Roy will leave him alone for the next 6 weeks. That would be ideal.
They go to restaurant, which is apparently the kind of place you need a fucking reservation. Jamie hasn’t really been out like this in a long time because usually he dodges invites and makes excuses not to go out with people. He definitely hasn’t gone out with anyone one on one since at least coming back to Richmond. He’s just too fucking tired all the time and even the idea of hours of small talk and getting to know someone feels like a heavy weight.
Jamie knows how to do this, though, and he can mostly push his way through it. He’s sure can make this go as smoothly as possible.
Roy tries to start a couple of conversations, but he’s shit at small talk by the looks of it. Jamie keeps trying to respond with more than one or two word answers because he knows that he should, but it’s proving difficult. He feels shit. He mentally adds this to the list of things he’s useless at.
They just fall into uncomfortable silence for most of the meal. Jamie wants to be better at this, and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers that he is better at it. Dating, hanging out with friends, being a normal fucking human being all used to come really naturally to him. He was always the fucking life of the party, the center of attention. He can’t remember how to be charming or fun. He can’t remember how to be Jamie fucking Tartt.
He’s not really sure when that happened.
/*/*/*/
October 2020
When Jamie takes the gig on Lust Conquers All he does it for a few reasons. One, his agent tells him it will keep people talking about him, and Jamie loves people talking about him. Two, he fucking knows his dad will hate it. He knows it will piss his dad off so much that maybe he’ll never fucking speak to Jamie again, and Jamie doesn’t know how to say don’t ever speak to me again to his father. Maybe this will do the fucking trick.
Except when he gets there he feels a bit strange and awkward. He knows it’s not where he should be, but he doesn’t know where that is anymore. This is going to have to do for now. So he just does what he thinks he should do. He finds the fittest girl, fucks her, proposes, fucks someone else in a hot tub, and viola. He’s the most hated in the house, but probably the most charming and loved on the outside.
That’s usually how it works, right?
Except he gets sent home. He gets rejected from fucking Lust Conquers All, City doesn’t want him back, and as it turns out, neither does fucking Richmond.
Jamie knows he’s fucked everything up, and he’s not sure when he lost complete control, but it definitely feels like he deserves it.
/*/*/*/
Grocery shopping with Roy is fucking weird because Roy doesn’t seem to care when Jamie just throws random shit in the cart. He gives him a look that definitely says you are a fucking child, but there’s something behind it that Jamie can’t quite read and he can’t be bothered to try.
It turns out Roy can cook elaborate fucking things that take a lot of ingredients because it seems like he’s just throwing everything on the shelves into the cart, but he’s doing it with purpose. Unlike Jamie, who just sees a pack of biscuits he wants and tosses it in.
“I hope you don’t expect me to cook any of this shit,” Jamie says.
“Jamie, no one on this planet expects you to be a decent cook.” Roy starts putting things on the counter.
“Fuck you, I can take care of myself.” It gets awkward after that because they both know what Jamie’s house looked like when Roy got there this morning. Jamie just looks away. It’s possible that lately he’s not so fucking great at taking care of himself.
He just can’t be bothered to put a lot of effort into it, is all. He eats when he’s supposed to and he showers at least after training and matches, even if it’s not every fucking day. He knows how to look like a normal human being who isn’t exhausted all the time and can do basic human functions.
Most of the time, anyway.
“Come on, let's go back to the house.” Roy loads up the groceries into the car. “You’re going to help me put this shit away, by the way. I’m not letting you slink off to your room the second we get back.”
“It’s your food.”
“It’s our food.”
“Fine, whatever.” Jamie mumbles. He really just wants to go to bed. He suspects Roy knows that.
They get back to the house and quietly put things away. Jamie hasn’t spoken much all night, but just being around another person is making him feel drained.
“Can I go to my room now, or do we have to do more fucking chores before I’m allowed to go to bed?”
“Jamie, I’m not making you do chores.” Roy sighs. “Yeah, you can go to bed, if that’s what you want. I’m not fucking forcing you to stay awake or anything.” Roy looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Jamie’s thankful for that because he’s sure there’s a bigger conversation here, and he doesn’t want to have it.
Jamie spins on his heels to go to his room without saying anything.
“Oi, Tartt!” Jamie turns his head to look at Roy. “Goodnight.”
Jamie nods. “Yeah, goodnight. Goodnight.”
He doesn’t know what else to say.
/*/*/*/
December 2020
“Are you coming to Higgins’ thing today?” Sam turns to Jamie in the middle of the gift exchange.
To be honest, Jamie doesn’t care much about Christmas. He’d been surprised they’d even invited him to this exchange, even though he is part of the team. He’s even friendly with most of them now, especially Sam. He honestly figures they just didn’t want to exclude him purposefully, since it was right after training.
For a couple of weeks it felt good to be back at Richmond, to be a part of things, rather than constantly trying to best everyone and set himself apart. Jamie started to feel a feeling he hadn’t felt since that night singing around a bonfire in Richmond before it all got pulled from beneath his feet. It was free and happy and fulfilling.
“Nah, you know me.” Jame grins, easily forcing it out. He’s getting better at that part. No one seems to notice it isn’t real. “I’ve got loads of invites, parties, offers from girls, haven’t really decided where I’ll be yet.”
Mostly Jamie just wants to go home, sit in front of the TV with a beer, and then go to bed as soon as it gets a bit dark outside. He doesn’t want to tell Sam that even the idea of spending hours hanging out in a crowded house making small talk makes him feel exhausted before it even happens.
“Of course,” Sam says. He rolls his eyes easily. “I should have known Jamie Tartt would have plans.”
“Probably involving a jacuzzi and a hot blonde with big - “
“That’s okay, Jamie.” Sam winces. “You don’t have to elaborate.”
Jamie winks because it feels like the thing to do. In the middle of the room Bumbercatch is giving Colin a fucking scarf. Jame looks up at the ceiling and comes up with an excuse to leave the room. He should feel like he belongs but he doesn’t.
It’s not that Jamie hadn’t known he should bring a gift. It’s just that it had completely slipped his mind. He’d gone home completely exhausted every night after training, ate whatever he could scrounge together, and then fallen into bed. If he didn’t shower after training at the club, he’s not sure he’d have remembered to even do that. Buying a gift was far on the list.
But he knows everyone thinks of him as selfish and thoughtless and it’ll be easy enough for them to believe he just didn’t know, and to their credit they help him. He should feel pleased and honoured, but he just feels sad that this is what he’s having to do. Beg for help because he can’t buy a fucking bottle of alcohol for a gift exchange. And worse, that no one is really that shocked it wouldn’t occur to him.
Once the gift exchange is over and he says goodbye to everyone, he goes home with a brand new full bottle of expensive alcohol he’s never heard of with plans on watching shit tv and drinking until he passes out. It’s honestly the only way he can think of to spend this fucking holiday.
He doesn’t have family, really. His mum is gone and his fucking dad is the last person he wants to talk to. He knows he could have gone with Sam to Higgins’ but he doesn’t really fit into who was invited. It’s not that he’s not from here. It’s just that no one gives a shit about him, and really, he’s never given anyone a reason to. No one on the squad is going to miss him or even wonder where he is. They’ll just assume he’s somewhere having jacuzzi sex, and he’s perfectly happy to play that part.
He settles on the sofa with a pot noodle and his bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t know why his television is set to the fucking Christmas channel on Sky, but he can’t be bothered to change it to something else.
“Fucking black and white bullshit,” he mutters to himself. He’s never seen the film before and it seems really fucking depressing for a Christmas movie, but he can understand the idea of wondering if people would just be …fine without you. Not necessarily better but maybe the same. Even now Jamie’s not sure he makes a difference in anyone’s life, just on the pitch and there are a lot of people who can do what he does, probably.
He finishes his pot noodle and leaves the rubbish sitting on his fucking expensive coffee table, before taking another swig from the bottle. He doesn’t really need a glass. He’s watching moment after moment of this fucking sap George Bailey and he passes out before he can find out if, actually, life isn’t so bad and the man was important after all.
/*/*/*/
It’s been a few days and Jamie has really only come out of his room to eat.
Even that’s only because Roy is a fucking twat about it. The second day, Jamie had slept until 2PM, which he’s definitely allowed to do on holiday. By the time he’d forced himself out of bed and gotten dressed and finished scrolling on his phone it was starting to get dark outside.
Roy bangs on the door, knocking him out of his scrolling trance.
“Come the fuck on, Jamie. I cooked and you’re going to fucking eat it. I’m not wasting it.”
“Fuck, I’m coming.” He tugs on a pair of trackies and a t-shirt and opens the door. “Grumpy old twat. You dragged me here. The least you could do is let me enjoy my holiday the way I want.”
“By laying in bed, with your door closed, scrolling your fucking phone for hours and ignoring all of your friends?”
“Whatever.” Jamie rolls his eyes and pushes past Roy. He’s glad Roy seems to drop it after that.
They eat quietly, and Jamie refuses to give Roy the satisfaction of telling him it’s one of the best meals he’s had in a very long time. To be honest, he’s been living off foods that definitely aren’t on his nutrition plan, except for when he can be bothered to stay and eat in the canteen at the club. Usually he goes home half exhausted, makes cheese on toast, and then falls into bed.
“Why haven’t you talked to anyone since the season ended, Jamie?”
“Fuck, Roy.” Jamie rolls his eyes. “Because I don’t fucking want to, okay?” He comes off more harsh than he means to, but he really wants Roy to mind his own business.
“Right.” Roy looks uncomfortable. Jamie’s glad; maybe he’ll stop fucking asking now. “You can clean up. I cooked.”
“Fuck off,” Jamie stands, tossing his plate in the sink. “I didn’t ask you to force me to come down here and eat.” He stomps out of the kitchen and goes back up to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Roy must get the fucking picture because he doesn’t hear from him for the rest of the night.
****
The next night Roy doesn’t bother to pull Jamie into the kitchen, but when he wanders down at midnight to find something that will make his stomach shut up there’s a plate sitting on the counter with a small note beside it.
Just in case you get hungry, you fucking prick is written in a messy scrawl.
Jamie can’t figure out why Roy cares or wants him here, but he heats up the food and thinks it probably would have been better if he’d eaten it fresh.
When he makes his way back upstairs and gets into bed he has a text from Keeley.
Roy says you’re being a twat.
Jamie sighs. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not Keeley, and he can’t fucking figure out why she’s not here and he is.
You can keep ignoring all of us but we’re not going to stop texting you.
Jamie thinks he could stop her by blocking her if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to ask a million questions. At the same time he wants them to leave him the fuck alone, so he leaves her on read, turns off the light, and goes back to sleep.
/*/*/*/
March 2021
After Roy finally stops being a dickhead and helps Jamie get a bit out of his head, Jamie thinks again that things might get better.
They win the quarterfinals against fucking Spurs, and he gets to act like a fucking prick all over again, and it’s fun. It’s the first time he’s had fun on the pitch in months, and he fucking loves it. So when they ask him if he’s going out with him, having basically won them the match, he wants to say yes.
But as soon as he thinks of going out and drinking with all of them, dancing and chatting and forcing smiles for hours, he just can’t say yes. He knows as soon as he gets there he’ll want to leave, and it’s so much easier to not go at all.
He tells everyone he has plans and just ducks off. He can feel their questioning looks, but he hopes they’re just thinking, like, of course he’s still the same old prick, too good for us, even now. He hopes they don’t realize that he’s honestly just too tired to go out with them.
He walks out to the parking lot and sees Roy and Keeley getting into Roy’s car.
“Hi, Keeley,” he waves at her, forcing a smile. She could always see right through him. He hopes that has faded with time. “Grandad.” He nods at Roy.
Roy rolls his eyes.
“Not going out with the lads, Jamie?” Keeley smiles.
“Got plans, don’t I?” Jamie hasn’t had plans as long as he can remember that weren’t sitting on his sofa with a beer and a pot noodle, watching bad tv.
She smiles tightly, giving Roy a sideways glance before she nods. “Have a good night.”
“Always do.” He grins and waves them off, getting into his own car. He feels someone’s eyes burning into the back of his head, and he hopes Roy doesn’t think he was hitting on Keeley or something.
/*/*/*/
It’s been a week and a half now, and they’ve settled into a quiet routine. Roy stops banging on Jamie’s door to get him to come eat, stops asking him if he wants to go down to the beach or leave his room at all.
Roy still cooks for them both though, and Jamie goes down to reheat his plate and eat once he knows Roy is in bed. Sometimes he goes right to bed after, and sometimes he paces the halls for hours if it's one of those nights that he just can’t stop his brain from thinking long enough to get a few hours of sleep.
He still gets texts from Sam, Colin, and Keeley now and then, but he barely reads them before just ignoring them. They keep asking how he is, and he’s not sure what to tell them, really. He’s not even sure if they really care.
The days pass quickly enough that Jamie can’t really keep up with them, and before he knows it they’re two weeks into the trip.
“Come on, we’re going to the shop,” Roy says. It’s a rare moment when Jamie’s out of his room. He’s only come down to get some water because his throat has gone a bit dry and he needs a break from staring at his wall or his phone.
“Why? I thought you’d finally given up on pretending you want to do shit with me.” Roy pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Jamie shrugs. “We both know you only brought me because -“
“We don’t both know anything, dickhead. We’re going to the shop. Put some fucking trousers on without an elastic waistband. We need food. Also, it’s your turn to pay, so bring your fucking wallet.”
“No one said anything about me spending money. You dragged me here.”
“And you fucking love the food I cook, so if you want to eat anymore of it, you’ll come with me.”
Jamie has to admit that he’s gotten used to Roy’s cooking. It’s pretty much the one meal a day he eats, wandering down at midnight to see what Roy’s made them.
“Fine, but I’m doing this under distress.”
Roy looks at him like he wants to say something, but then he just shakes his head. Jamie’s sort of annoyed when shopping with Roy once again proves to be not the worst use of time. It’s just that by the time they get back to the house he wants to sleep for a fucking week.
****
Jamie can’t fucking sleep. It’s been a couple of days since the shopping trip with Roy had left him feeling drained, and he’s spent most of the time since in his room. It’s 2 A.M., and he finds himself wondering what everyone back home is doing. It’s the first time he’s really thought about it.
He could ask, but he wonders if everyone has given up on him. He would have given up on someone who didn’t respond to any texts for weeks. At least he has the hope that they really all think he’s just a thoughtless, selfish person anyway. Maybe he is. Maybe all of this is because he hasn’t changed as much as he wants to have changed.
He’s just selfish in a new way.
He’d gone downstairs around 10, once he’d heard the door to Roy’s room shut, to have dinner. It’s mostly become their routine, and Jamie appreciates that most days Roy leaves him alone. He doesn’t think Roy sits around the house all day hoping he’ll come out. He hears doors opening and closing from his bedroom, anyway.
He’s mostly spent the days when he’s alone watching TV he doesn’t really understand because he can’t be bothered to find something else. He’s thought about at least going to sit down by the pool or the beach or something but the bed is comfortable and warm.
Right now he just feels fucking trapped in it. He stares up at the ceiling, tries to count sheep, tries to think of all the things Sharon had told him should help when he can’t shut down, and he tries so hard to just stop thinking. He’s not even sure what he’s thinking about, really. Everything he’s going through he’s brought on himself.
He’s ignored his friends for weeks, spent the last year slowly falling into all of these bad habits that he can’t break out of now, and he’s been avoiding the one person who seems to actively give enough of a shit to want to spend any time with him. It just makes him so fucking tired, all of it.
He closes his eyes and sees images pass by like he’s watching a movie, except he’s the star of it, and it’s a fucking tragedy.
Losing Keeley. Leaving City. Losing fucking Lust Conquers All. Feeling open and broken after the Manchester City match. Fucking up with Keeley again. Avoiding the team after the promotion. Deleting message after message. All he does is fuck everything up, even when things are good.
Jamie is so fucking tired and he can’t sleep. He tosses the blankets off of himself and slips on a t-shirt and pair of trackies. He tries to be quiet as he goes out into the hall. The time on his phone says 3 A.M. now, and he hadn’t realized he’d been lying there thinking for a fucking hour.
He goes to the kitchen first. He grabs a bottle of wine that Roy had bought the last time they were at the shop, pops the cork, and takes a swig. Maybe he can just drink until he passes out. It seems to be the only thing that works when he just can’t make his brain shut down. He paces around the house, drinking now and then. He hasn’t made a dent in the bottle yet.
He ends up wandering out to the back of the house. It’s the first time he’s been outside when Roy hasn’t forced him. He can’t fucking believe a villa overlooking the beach has a pool, but he’s grateful for it. He kicks out of his trackies, just in his t-shirt and pants now, sits on the edge of the pool, kicks his legs in, and takes another swig from the wine bottle.
He thinks of the bullshit black and white American film he fell asleep to on Christmas. That prick had ruined everyone’s lives too. Jamie’s never been the type to need to be talked off a ledge, but right now just falling into the pool doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. At least maybe he’d fall asleep.
He sighs, closes his eyes, and looks up at the moon.
“What the fuck are you doing, Tartt. You’re such a fucking twat,” he says, to no one, to himself, to the fucking moon. He isn’t sure anyone is listening, not even himself.
He just wants to go to sleep. He just wants to go home.
He takes another drink from the bottle.
Looks at his phone, nothing. It’s nearly 3 A.M. at home now, but no one has messaged him in a couple of days. Maybe they’ve finally given up on him.
He takes another drink and looks down at the water, wondering if George Bailey ended up jumping from that bridge afterall.
/*/*/*/
April 2021
His dad won’t leave him alone. He’s done a pretty fucking good job of making sure that he never speaks to that man again. He knows the next step is just blocking his number, rather than just ignoring him. That way he would never even know that James fucking Tartt was trying to reach him.
The thing is, that’s his dad. Jamie knows that his dad doesn’t care about him. He knows that he’s been a punching bag, literally and figuratively, for way too long. He has a life now that doesn’t include James Tartt at all, friends and people who he thinks might care about him if he let them.
But it’s his fucking dad, and deep down all Jamie really wants is for his dad to be proud of him. He hears the way Sam talks about his dad, the way he talks to his dad and his dad talks to him, and that’s what Jamie wants. He doesn’t think it should be too much to ask.
Maybe Jamie has just never been worthy of that kind of love. Maybe he really is the piece of shit he’s worked so hard not to be for the last year. It wouldn’t be surprising if he ended up completely alone, really. Even his dad has friends.
He had sort of hoped Higgins would tell him it was too late to get his dad on the guest list, but he doesn’t have that kind of luck. Higgins starts spouting off bullshit about dads, and Jamie just wants to scream that his dad isn’t like that - it’s not complicated. His dad is a piece of shit, and he’s spent most of his life turning Jamie into the kind of person who even his friends believe is selfish and thoughtless and only good for one thing.
He goes home that night and turns on the TV, eats a cold piece of pizza, and falls asleep on the sofa.
/*/*/*/
“What the fuck, Jamie!?”
Jamie wakes up to loud loud noises and everything hurts. He blinks his eyes and the sun is blaring in his eyes. Roy Kent is in his pants, standing over him, arms crossed, red faced anger obvious. “What the fuck.”
Jamie groans and pushes himself up. At some point he’d gotten himself into a fucking pool lounger and fallen asleep outside. He tries not to think how bad it could have been if he’d fallen asleep at the edge of the pool. He knows he’d considered it. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside him. He has no fucking idea where his phone is.
“Your fucking door was open, so I was like oh he must have fucking gone out, but you don’t fucking do that, do you? You just sit in your room all fucking day and night. So then I tried to call your phone, and it went straight to voicemail.”
“Must have died,” Jamie says.
“No, I’m fucking talking now.” Roy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you drink an entire bottle of wine at 3 in the morning?”
“How did you know it was 3 in the morning?”
“You weren’t very fucking quiet, wandering around in the middle of the night.” Roy sits in the lounge next to Jamie’s. “What the fuck is going on, Jamie?”
“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.” He looks up at the sky. The sun feels warm and wrong on his skin. He wants to go back to bed. He has a fucking headache, and he’s starving. Everything feels like way too much right now, and he can feel this feeling building deep in his stomach that he doesn’t really understand.
“Come on.” Roy stands up. “You’re getting dressed and we’re going to lunch. You need to get out of this fucking house.”
“You’re not my fucking dad.”
Roy turns back to him, a pained look on his face. Jamie feels immediate shame well up in his chest. Everything feels like it’s bubbling to the surface. He wonders if he just jumped in the pool would Roy follow. Roy mutters something Jamie doesn’t hear and can’t make out.
“You’re fucking right. I can’t tell you what to do,” he says louder. “So I’m asking. Come on. We both need to get out of this fucking house, Jamie. I didn’t bring you to Marbella so you could fucking sleep for 6 weeks.”
“What if that’s what I want to do?” Jamie isn’t sure it is anymore. It’s just, sleeping is all he can do sometimes. Everything else is so exhausting.
“Fine. Do what you want.” Roy sighs. He turns to go back inside, but then he stops and turns back.
“No, you know what. I’m trying to give you space here, Jamie, but everyone is fucking worried about you. Keeley will not stop asking me how you’re doing, and even fucking Ted texted me a couple of days ago. You’re being a fucking twat, and no one understands why.”
“Well.” Jamie sucks in a breath. “If I’m such a twat, then everyone can fucking stop wondering how I’m doing and just forget about it. You can forget about it. I don’t need your fucking pity.”
This is exactly why Jamie stays away from everyone. He knows what they think about him. It’s so easy for everyone to just see him as a twat, especially Roy.
“Fucking hell, Jamie.” Roy sighs, depleted. “You’re really fucking fucked up, aren’t you?”
“Thanks.” Jamie closes his eyes and swallows back a lump in his throat. “Thanks, Roy. I wasn’t fucking aware.”
Jamie grabs his clothes and stomps past him. He goes into his room and slams the door behind him. If he’s such a twat, maybe he’ll just do a runner. Everyone always seems to do just fine without him anyway.
/*/*/*/
April 2021
Jamie is vaguely aware as his dad rips into him that nearly every fucking person he knows is watching. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know why his dad has this ability to make him shut down and take it the way no one else does.
His dad comes at him, and Jamie can’t think, just reacts. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until his fist connects with his dad, and then all he can think about is fuck he’s going to kill me he’s going to fucking kill me because he’s never fought back like this. He’s never fought back against James Tartt because he knows what James Tartt is capable of.
He completely shuts down, just bracing himself for what’s going to happen and then he feels someone’s arms around him warm and steady, and Jamie knows it’s not his dad. He knows it’s not his dad but he can’t think enough to figure out who it is. He just knows he feels safe.
He doesn’t want to fall apart, but he can’t help it. He’s being held up by someone who feels safe and warm, and he just hugs him back, lets himself break and fall apart and do all of the things he’s been trying not to for so fucking long. He’s aware that he’s sobbing, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s doing it in front of all of his teammates. He’s been holding this back for so fucking long.
It’s a long moment, or maybe a short one, Jamie isn’t sure, before he starts to hear the movement of people trying to get changed start back up behind. When he pulls away, Roy is there, hand still steady on his back, and Jamie is fucking mortified now that he’s come back to reality. He just wants to melt into the floor.
Roy looks awkward, like he doesn’t know what to say or do, and Jamie just pulls away, turns around to get himself ready to go, wishes he could just melt into the fucking floor.
“Tartt…” Roy’s voice is somehow rough and soft at the same time.
“Fuck off, Roy.” There’s no heat behind it. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not - “
“I said I’m fine. I just want to get back to the bus, okay?” It comes off more harshly than he means it, and it looks like Roy knows that because he doesn’t go away. “Sorry, I just - I’m fine, okay? Don’t fucking feel sorry for me. I’ve dealt with James Tartt my entire life. This isn’t new.”
If the other people around them can hear them, they aren’t showing it.
“That doesn’t make it better, Jamie.”
“Can you not fucking call me Jamie? It doesn’t sound right. Just go back to calling me prick or twat or dickhead. Just because you watched my old man push me around doesn’t mean anything. I’m still - “ Jamie shakes his head. “Fuck off, Roy.”
Roy looks like he wants to say something else, but he sighs quietly and puts his hands up in defeat. Jamie is thankful because even if he wanted to talk about this, he absolutely doesn’t want to do it here.
The bus ride back is quiet. Jamie sits in the back by himself, and no one says anything to anyone. Jamie knows that’s his fault.
/*/*/*/
It’s later that evening, and Jamie’s stomach is making rumbling noises because he hasn’t eaten. It’s around the time he usually gets out of bed to get whatever Roy has left for him to reheat, so he’s really surprised to find Roy sitting at the table, two plates of food laid out.
“I figured you’d be up about this time.” Roy says, kicking the chair opposite himself from under the table. “What the fuck is going on with you?”
Jamie sits in the chair and picks up a fork. He just wants to scarf down this meal and go back to bed. If he’s really on holiday, he should get to spend it the way he wants. This is starting to feel less like a holiday every moment that passes. He doesn’t say anything, hoping Roy will just drop it.
“Everyone is fucking worried about you, dickhead. Would you say something?”
“I didn’t fucking ask anyone to worry about me.” He looks everywhere but at Roy. The kitchen is a dull yellow with cracks in the ceiling. It’s old, probably, and needs some work. Or needs someone to mind it who pays more fucking attention to detail. Who rents out a fucking house with cracks in the ceiling, anyway?
“No, you’ve done everything you could do to push us all away, haven’t you?” Roy spits out. “Fuck, Jamie. People give a shit about you.”
“Well, they can stop.” Jamie picks up his fork and taps it on his plate. “You can stop. I didn’t fucking ask you to bring me here. I didn’t ask Keeley to force her boyfriend to take me on holiday, and, like, what? What’s the point of this?”
“You’re such a prick.” Roy laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re just such a fucking prick. Just eat your dinner, Jamie.”
Jamie pushes the food around on his fork but doesn’t really make any moves to eat it. Roy mostly does the same. Jamie keeps trying to look at everything else. There’s a spot on the floor that looks like a stain and a long scratch down the front of the stove. This place would really use some fucking work. He wonders if Roy spent way too fucking much renting it for the summer.
“I’m not Keeley’s fucking boyfriend, okay.” Roy sounds a bit pained. “We split up weeks ago, before this fucking trip.”
“What?” Jamie snaps his attention to Roy. Now that Jamie really focuses on him, Roy looks exhausted. Jamie really is a shit friend. He hadn’t even noticed. Then again, he’s not sure he’s really friends with Roy.
“Why the fuck do you think you’re here and not her?”
“Because she’s busy.” Jamie frowns. “That’s what - “
“Yeah,” Roy says. He taps the table with his finger. “I mean, yeah, that is why. It’s just been - “ he lets out a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”
“Why aren’t you telling anyone what the fuck is going on with you?” Roy looks at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Fucking right.”
“Nothing is going on with me.” Jamie studies the table and all of it’s imperfections. The owners should really buy some new furniture. “I’m fine. You said it yourself, I’m just being a prick like I do.”
Roy snorts to himself but doesn’t argue.
“Fuck,” Jamie says. “I just want to fucking sleep, Roy. I’m just fucking tired all the time. I’m tired. That’s all.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I’m just so fucking tired.”
“Yeah,” Roy says. “Yeah, I know.” He says it in a way that Jamie thinks means something else, but he can’t be bothered to try and figure out Roy Kent’s inner fucking monologue.
“Thanks for, like.” Jamie takes a moment to get his thoughts together. “Dinner. Thanks for dinner.”
Roy just nods. They eat quietly until they’re both done.
Jamie does the dishes before he goes up to bed.
****
It’s 3 A.M. and Jamie can’t sleep again. Every time closes his eyes he thinks about Roy and Keeley and how he seems to always be the last fucking person to know everything about his fucking friends. He wonders why Keeley hadn’t told him, why Roy hadn’t told him.
And why is he here?
He ends up wandering outside again, but he avoids the pool. He still doesn’t have a fucking clue where his phone is, but he has a vague memory of throwing it at some point. He’ll have to buy a new one when he gets back home.
For now it’s kind of nice to not have to deal with it. If anyone asks why he didn’t reach out, well, he doesn’t have a phone. It’s hard to text your friends back when you don’t even know they sent you anything.
There’s too much in his brain, and Jamie just wants to go to sleep.
He goes back inside and just walks along the corridors. The villa is way too big for two people, and he wonders why Roy had even planned a romantic holiday for him and Keeley where they could easily spend the entire time not even seeing each other.
Maybe that’s why they’d broken up.
“Jamie.”
Jamie jumps up in the air and spins around to see Roy standing at the end of the hallway, bleary-eyed and yawning.
“What the fuck? You fucking scared me.”
“You’ve been walking around for fucking hours, Jamie. It’s 5 in the morning. Go back to bed.”
Jamie knows it was 3 when he got up. There’s a digital clock in his room, and that’s what it said. Maybe it’s wrong.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Fucking try because you’re keeping me awake.”
“That’s what I’m doing.” He rolls his eyes. “If I walk around and burn off my energy I’ll go to sleep. It’s either that or down our last bottle of wine.”
Roy frowns, mouth twisting in a way that makes a lump climb up into Jamie’s throat. He doesn’t want Roy to think he’s a fucking alcoholic or something. It just helps him sleep.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“Jamie, I - “ Roy shakes his head. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Jamie sighs.
“We’re going to bed.” Roy turns to walk to the bedroom. Jamie stares at him from the other end of the hallway, not really sure what he means. “Well, are you fucking coming or not?”
Jamie follows him.
/*/*/*/
April 2021
Jamie hates everything about this. He hates death, and he fucking hates fathers, but everyone was going and he hadn’t wanted to be the odd man out. He feels awkward and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel a lot better to walk in with Dani, to have something to focus on beyond the fact that the last time he’d seen his own dad he’d punched the shit out of him.
His dad hadn’t been calling or texting him since. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t needed anything, or maybe he was just done with Jamie. He’s not sure how he feels about that really. Sharon had told him that’s fine, that it makes sense to have complicated feelings about his dad.
Jamie thinks it’s bullshit.
It’s kind of nice to be a part of this whole thing with the team, and he really likes Rebecca. They all do. He knows deep down this is his family, where he belongs, or at least where he’d like to belong. Sometimes he’s not sure it’s that simple.
After the funeral, he spots Keeley, and he’s not really sure what he’s doing. He’s feeling a lot of things today, but he knows she’s special, and he just wants to tell her. He needs to know there’s someone who looks at him and doesn’t see a piece of shit or a fucking idiot or a dickhead.
Keeley is special and beautiful, and Jamie loves her. He thinks he probably owes everything to her. He needs to tell her. He knows she loves Roy, knows that she can’t ever love him back. He’d made sure that would never happen, and he’s not sure he’d ever want her to love him back anyway. He’s not sure the love he feels for her is even like that.
He just knows she’s special and she’d believed in him when no one else had, and that means something. Jamie feels worthless on the best of days, and he needs her to know that her belief in him means something. He rips the words off like a plaster and then runs off like the fucking coward he is.
He finds Dani and goes with him to find alcohol because that seems like the thing to do now that he’s completely embarrassed himself in front of one of the most important people in his life.
****
That night, Jamie sits in his house alone, watching shit tv and drinking way more than he should. He thinks about his fucking dad and Keeley and Roy and fucking Richmond and wonders why all of the things he loves are things that make him feel so fucking hard to love.
/*/*/*/
“No,” Roy says, when Jamie reaches for his doorknob. “In here.”
Jamie wants to ask why and fight him, but he’s all fought out and he just follows Roy into Roy’s bedroom. Roy gets into the bed and lifts the blanket up.
“Get in, dickhead.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything. He slips under the blanket but stays as near the edge of the bed as possible. He closes his eyes, unsure how this awkward feeling of trying not to touch someone he’s not even sure likes him very much is supposed to help him sleep.
“How is this going to help?”
Roy grunts and slips his fingers around Jamie’s wrist, pulling him a little closer.
“It might help if you stop acting like such a prick and relax.” He squeezes Jamie’s wrist, and Jamie doesn’t want to admit how nice it feels to just be touched like this. He hasn’t slept in the same bed with anyone in a long fucking time. He’s been too exhausted to hook up with anyone, and Keeley was the last person he’d dated beyond that fucking embarassing stint on tv. “Relax, Jamie.”
Jamie sighs a little. “I’m fucking trying.”
“I know,” Roy says. He doesn’t let go.
Jamie wakes up hours later and feels more well rested than he has in a long time, even though Roy Kent is fucking snoring next time. He’s still holding Jamie’s wrist.
****
Neither of them mentions it, but Jamie starts sleeping in Roy’s room. He just sleeps better. They eat dinner together and then go to bed, and maybe it’s just having someone there, a solid weight that gives him something to focus on. Roy’s snoring lulls him to sleep in a way that nothing else can, and Jamie doesn’t know what to fucking think about that.
Jamie lost track of the days a while ago, but he thinks it’s nearly three weeks in, and he’s kind of sad he’s spent most of it locked away feeling fucking sorry for himself, but he doesnt know what else to do. Being around people makes everything feel heavy.
Why is it that being next to Roy makes it feel lighter?
Roy talks Jamie into going down to the pool. He hasn’t been near it since the night he got drunk and fell asleep.
They’re just sitting on the edge, feet kicked in, and Roy is reading a fucking book. Jamie doesn’t know why Roy is making Jamie watch him read a goddamn book.
“Are you doing this because you think I need a babysitter?” Jamie asks, kicking his feet.
“Do you?” Roy gives him a sideways look.
“No,” Jamie says. He’s not sure that’s true. Maybe he needs someone to make sure he doesn’t do anything fucking stupid.
“Then no, I don’t think you need a babysitter. I told you, I wanted company.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me you and Keeley broke up?” He pulls one of his knees up onto the slab and rests his cheek on it. “Everyone always tells me we’re friends, but it seems really fucking one sided. You didn’t even tell me you’d broken up.”
“What would you have done if I had?” Roy puts his book down.
“What does that mean?”
“You said you fucking loved her, and you respected our relationship. Do you want to date her now?”
“No.” It’s an easy answer for Jamie. Keeley’s way too important to fuck her over again, and he doesn’t trust himself not to. “I think that ship has soared, don’t you?” He slides his hand through the water. “She didn’t tell me either.”
“Maybe you should have read your fucking texts,” Roy says, calmly. “She fucking knew you were deleting them.” Roy looks out into the distance. “I still talk to her all the time. It’s hard to stop loving her. I guess you know that.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Roy looks down at the water. “She’s worried about you. We all are.”
“So this is a fucking intervention?” Jamie splashes the water towards Roy, and Roy laughs.
“I guess it is.” He stands up. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
“Why did you get volunteered? Did you lose a fucking bet? Oh short straw has to babysit Jamie all summer and make sure he doesn’t fucking kill himself.”
“Wait, was that something I should be worried about?” Roy has a pained look on his face. “Fucking hell, Jamie.”
“No, probably not.”
“Probably not.” Roy repeats after him. “Fuck.”
“I’m fine.”
“You seem fine.” Roy stands up behind him and slides a hand into his hair. “I didn’t lose a bet, Jamie. Keeley didn’t want to come. She has a lot going on right now, and we had a long fucking talk. After that we decided to split up and take some time apart. I had an extra ticket, and we’re all worried about you. I wanted to bring you before I realized fucking no one could reach you.” He’s quiet. “I came to your house that day to ask you to come.”
“Oh.”
“This has been going on for a long time, hasn’t it?”
“What has?” Jamie knows Roy can see through his act, but he has to try.
“This, you - fuck, you look so fucking tired.”
“I’ve slept better since - “ he doesn’t want to say since I started sleeping with you, but well.
“The night I found you out by the pool, half way through that bottle of wine - “
“I was fine. I’m fine. I was just thinking, like. Thinking about things, you know. Like all the things I’ve fucked up and the mistakes I’ve made.” Jamie looks into the distance. The view here really is beautiful. “Wondering how many people would really miss me.”
“Jesus, I - “ Jamie feels Roy’s grip on his hair tighten, but it’s not a tug it’s just - it’s fucking comforting and Jamie doesn’t want to think too much about it. “Jamie, please come inside.”
“Okay.” Jamie pushes himself up, but Roy hasn’t moved. He’s just standing there in front of Jamie, sad look on his face. Jamie sees pity and he fucking hates it. “Roy.”
“Fuck, you’re so fucking - “ he wraps his fingers around Jamie’s wrist. “Sometimes I just fucking hate you, Jamie. You just - you fucking scare me.”
“Well, sorry if I - “
And suddenly there’s no space between them. Roy is kissing him, and his ears are ringing and his body starts to feel warm. He can’t feel the bricks in his stomach or the lump in his throat because all he can feel is Roy’s fingers on his wrist and Roy’s lips on his own and warmth.
“Fuck,” Roy says. “You’re so fucking stupid, Jamie.”
“I - okay?” Jamie frowns. “I mean, that’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to me after kissing me, but - “
“Why did you fucking think I brought you here? Because I wanted to spend 6 weeks in Marbella with someone I don’t like?”
“I just thought, like.” Jamie slumps his shoulders. “I don’t fucking know. Everything in my head is a mess. I thought you felt bad for me, or Keeley made you or fuck, a million things. I can’t think most of the time. I can’t sleep, and I feel so fucking tired. I feel so tired.”
“Jamie,” Roy frowns. “God, I’m so sorry. We all knew there was something going on with you. I could tell that you were like - I’ve been worried, but I didn’t think - “
“What that you had to fucking make sure I didn’t slit my wrists? Don’t worry, Roy. I’m not going to do that. Sometimes I just - “ Jamie shuts his mouth quickly, not finishing his thought.
“Say it.” Roy looks at him. “Fucking say it, Jamie.”
“I don’t know, sometimes I’m just so fucking tired. I stare at the ceiling for hours and I still can’t go to sleep. Someone invites me out to a club, and I just feel so tired that one more second with another human I think I might just fucking collapse, and sometimes I just think falling asleep would be nice, even if it meant - “
“Fuck.” Roy wraps his arms tight around Jamie. “Don’t.” Roy stops him, even though he’s the one who had asked Jamie to tell him how he was feeling.
Jamie closes his eyes, settling into Roy’s hug. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. He’s been so busy avoiding it, not letting himself get close enough to feel this thing he very much needed. “I’m not letting you out of my fucking sight.”
“I’m fine.” Jamie’s not sure he even believes it anymore. “I’m fine.”
But maybe if he says it enough.
****
That night they eat dinner in silence, but Jamie feels Roy’s ankle twist around his own under the table and he wants to be annoyed about it. He wants to feel like he wants Roy to go away and just let him be alone, but it’s fucking nice. It doesn’t make him feel hot and suffocated.
Roy’s skin against his own makes him feel this steady warmth that starts to melt the bricks in his stomach and the lumps in his throat.
He doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it.
After they eat they do the dishes together in silence, but Jamie feels like Roy wants to say something. He doesn’t want to try to guess what that something is because Jamie is sure it’s nothing he wants to talk about.
Roy’s fingers wrap around his wrist and lead him up to Roy’s bedroom, and Jamie gets under the blanket with him easily. They go to sleep like that, facing each other, but only touching where Roy’s thumb is grazing over his wrist bone. Jamie breathes in the beat of it, and it calms him down. It stops all of the thoughts that keep him up at night and all he can think about is Roy’s skin against his own.
When Jamie wakes up the next day the sun is shining into the room, and Roy is pressed along his back, arm around him steady and strong. It’s the first time he’s slept 8 hours without waking up or drinking in months.
****
“Do you really think about - “ Roy looks up at the ceiling.
They’re sitting in the living room with the tv on, but Roy is reading a book, or he is in theory. Jamie is only half paying attention, mind thinking back over the last year of his life and wondering how it led him here.
He’s sitting on the sofa with a man he was, up until recently, sure wouldn’t care if he got hit by a bus. They’re in a beautiful place, but Jamie’s barely left the villa. He’s maybe had what a lot of people would consider a great fucking year, but any time Roy isn’t next to him everything feels so fucking heavy.
He doesn’t want to think he needs Roy, but maybe he does.
“What, Roy? You can say it, you know.”
“Do you think about killing yourself?” He sounds pained.
“No.” Jamie lets out a rough whisper. “Not - I don’t think I actually would. Sometimes it’s just a bit, you know - “ Jamie shrugs because he doesn’t know a good way to say it, and he thinks to Roy it’s all the same anyway.
“People would miss you.” Roy taps his fingers on his own thighs, looks up at the ceiling, and specifically seems to not want to look at Jamie. “I would miss you.”
Jamie snorts. “Sure.”
“Fuck off,” Roy says, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re fucking selfish.”
“Cheers,” Jamie says. “I’m glad the fact that I’m too exhausted to think most of the time gives you another thing on the list to hate me for.”
“I don’t hate you. Fuck.” Roy sighs. “You frustrate me.”
“I’m pretty good at frustrating people. Aside from kicked a fucking football, I think it’s my best skill. The only difference is I’m not trying to be a thorn in your side. Not right now. Sometimes I am. Right now I’m not.”
“I don’t think you understand.”
Jamie doesn’t understand much of anything about Roy Kent, or anything else, really. He understands football. He understands the person he’s supposed to be - arrogant and cocky, a selfish thoughtless twat who’s good at a game and knows it and thinks that means he doesn’t have to be a good person.
He’s not as tired as he was three weeks ago. He understands that maybe Roy has something to do with that.
Everything else is confusing.
“When Keeley told me that you’d told her you still loved her, I - “ He groans. “I fucking hate talking about my feelings. You fucking asshole.”
“No one asked you to talk about your feelings. It’s fine, Roy. I fucking get it. I didn’t even fucking mean it that way. I don’t even know - “
“Let me finish.” Roy still isn’t looking at him. “I was so fucking angry. I thought you and I were getting somewhere and it felt like a fucking betrayal.”
Jamie wants to scream. He doesn’t understand why Roy is saying this now. Is it supposed to make him feel better?
“The problem is, fucking, the more I thought about it the more I realized I wasn’t jealous because of Keeley. And I think she realized it too, long before I fucking did because Keeley is a good damn emotional wizard. Something between me and her broke at some point and I don’t know when or where.” Roy sighs. “But then you fucking wormed your way in and I didn’t understand why I hadn’t crawled under your skin the way you had mine.”
Jamie feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He feels a bit breathless and not - like he’s had this feeling before that his chest is going to collapse in on itself and everything is going to crash on top of him. This is so fucking different. His heart feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest, but he’s not scared.
“I fucking hate you sometimes.” Roy looks up at the ceiling. “But that’s not true is it. The fact is at some point I started to love you, but you’re such a twat you can’t see it.”
“I - “ Jamie can’t argue with that. “You don’t love me.” He barely hears himself. His ears are ringing.
“Don’t fucking tell me how I feel, Jamie. You scared me that night by the pool.” Roy sighs. “I asked Keeley to come here with me to try to fix whatever was broken with us and after we talked she said I should still come. I didn’t want to come alone. I wanted you to be here, specifically you.” Roy sighs. “I realized no one had heard from you for nearly a fucking week, and I thought, oh nevermind, there he goes just being a fucking dickhead twat prick again. Your fucking house Jamie. I knew something was wrong.”
“I’m fine. I promise. I’m fine.” Jamie wants to believe he’s fine as much as he wants Roy to believe it.
“You fucking terrify me.”
“I don’t mean to.” Jamie closes his eyes. “That’s not - I just can’t quiet - I don’t know how - “ He has all of these thoughts all the time, but he can’t put any of it into actual words to explain it. “It’s better with you. It doesn’t feel so - “
“I don’t even want to let you out of my sight because I’m afraid you’ll disappear. Either you’ll run or you’ll hide or you’ll fucking - “
“I won’t. I’m not going to do that. I promise.” Jamie’s quiet. “When you kissed me I felt warm. It felt like - like relief. I sleep better with you. The last few days haven’t felt quite so hopeless.”
“Good, that’s good. Good.” Roy nods. “Good.”
“Roy - “
“Yeah?”
“Can you do it again?” Jamie feels like a fucking idiot. He feels like a stupid idiot, but he feels so much better when Roy is solidly against him.
Roy doesn’t say anything but he does lean in and kiss Jamie, and Jamie relaxes into it as best as he can. This time he wraps his arm around Roy’s neck and presses easily into it. He hasn’t kissed anyone in months, except for fucking Roy Kent, and it’s different. It’s different than when he was just trying to make something spark because he feels like he doesn’t have to try.
Roy pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together.
“Better?”
“Better.” Jamie is quiet. “Better.”
Jamie still feels lost, like he doesn’t quite know how he fits or why, like he thinks maybe this is going to fade away as easily as it started. When he thinks about tomorrow and the next day and the next day he feels like this isn’t going to be there, like Roy is going to realize what he’s doing and push Jamie away.
But it’s better. It’s the best he’s felt in months, maybe a year, and he doesn’t want to let it go.