#inbloomwriting

"It's enough for this restless warrior Just to be with you"

Take my jacket, it’s cold & You can have half

She’s irritating. Everything about her manages to get under his skin. The way she’s always smiling that big radiant smile of hers or the perpetual scent of jasmine and vanilla that seems to follow her anywhere. She laughs too loud, she’s a terrible driver and even worse at parking. The music coming from the physio room is mostly cheesy 80s and 90s pop songs that make Roy want to give himself a lobotomy. She’s irritating in every which way you look at it — and maybe that’s the exact reason why Roy can’t keep himself from looking at her.

Tonight is no exception. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes manage to find her across the room and in the crowd, every single time without fail. It’s not like it’s a conscious choice on his part either. It just happens. That sparkly green dress of her’s just seems to call out to him like the damn light across the bay at the Buchanan’s dock.

And the worst part is that she noticed. She caught his eyes on her more than once, even had the audacity to smirk back at him. During the auction, for a small moment, he thought she might bid on him when her hand just barely twitched and her eyes held a sense of infinite mischief. She didn’t though and for a second he could feel a string of disappointment pull at his heart. Not because he wanted her to bid on him or anything, he just wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to spend time with Cheryl Barnaby.

He managed to find her across the room all night — except for right now. Everyone’s on the dance floor. Keeley, Jamie, Ted, even Beard. But not her.

No one’s paying attention to him right now, if he were to just slip out of here, no one will notice.

It’s not like he wanted to be here in the first place. Sure, raising money for underprivileged children is something honorable and he would never let his own disdain for overly glitzy social events get in the way of doing the right thing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

Emptying his glass with one last sip he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and steps out into the chilly air of a London night.

It’s funny, really, how the moment he stops searching, the green light calls back out to him and she steps into his vision. A glowing beacon of refuge, guiding ships through dark nights to safe shores.

The cold air nips at her skin, sharp and vicious and Roy doesn’t even have to get any closer to her to notice that she’s shivering. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at her. Of course, she’s cold, she’s only wearing the dress and some flimsy chiffon scarf thing around her shoulders. That’s gonna do fuck all to shelter her from the cold. Irritating. She’s so irritating.

The most irritating part though, is that he can’t help but slip out of his suit jacket. The most irritating part is that he can’t help but care.

“Take my jacket, it’s cold.”

There it is again, that smile of hers. The one he sees sometimes when he’s about to fall asleep. How ridiculous, he thinks, how foolish of him. How absurd it is to fall asleep to the image of a smile belonging to a girl that annoys him more than anything and anyone. (Except maybe Jamie).

“Are you — are you talking to me? Little old me? Are you being nice to me?”

“Jesus fuck, don’t make it weird. I’m always nice.”

She giggles and it’s bloody adorable. So adorable that a smile threatens to pull the corners of his lips upwards. See? Fucking irritating.

“You hardly talk more than 3 words to me when you’re in the physio room but — okay. If that’s your version of nice.”

“Take the jacket or not, I don’t care. I’ll let you freeze out here if you’re trying to be difficult. Means fuck all to me.”

That’s not true. They both know it. No matter how much Roy tries to deny or hide it, there is a soft heart buried inside the rough exterior. He just can’t risk showing that to everyone. Can’t have people getting the wrong ideas.

“No, please I — sorry I’m just — you make me nervous and when I’m nervous I talk a lot and then most of what comes out is just stupid nonsense or deflecting humor or something. I would really appreciate that jacket. It really is fucking freezing.”

Roy has been in the public eye for years now, he’s used to people being intimidated, nervous. Usually, it’s strangers though, people who don’t know him. Those that do, that work with him, usually lose that feeling pretty quickly.

“Why the fuck would I make you nervous?”

She just glances at him before turning her face back towards the street “Have you seen yourself?”

He’s not sure how to take that. Is it a compliment? Does she think he’s handsome? It’s not like it matters to him really. In fact, the thought that she might find him attractive is — say it with me — fucking irritating.

He contemplates asking her outright if this is something she does on purpose. If she’s deliberately trying to rile him up. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he notices her shiver once again and all that was on his mind vanishes against the desperate need to keep her warm.

“Jesus. Let me just — “

Jasmine. Vanilla. He smells it when he slips the jacket around her shoulders. He wonders if his jacket will smell like that, like her, when he gets it back. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not because it’s her or anything — just because it smells fantastic and Roy is not one to deny himself the simple pleasures in life.

“I really appreciate it, Roy.”

And the gratefulness with which she says it is not irritating at all. It’s endearing. It’s flutters-in-his-tummy kind of wonderful.

Instead of reacting like a normal, reasonable person with a simple “you're welcome”, he gives her one of his signature grunts. That’s as good a normal reasonable reaction as anyone can expect from him, really.

“What are you out here all by yourself for anyway? Trying to get kidnapped or something?”

“No,” there it is again, the giggle. Ugh. “ I’m waiting for my Uber. He’s — “She checks her phone, illuminating her face with the harsh blue light. He thinks she looks wonderful either way. Then scolds himself for thinking it. Some simple pleasures he has to deny himself. “ 12 minutes away.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He helps out his sister, he gives in to all of Phoebe’s wishes even if it means having to play the princess yet again and never getting to be the dragon. He donates more money to charity than the press is aware of, leaves hefty tips whenever he goes out to eat and though he does swear a lot, he still tries to be polite if he can.

He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let a woman wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Do you mind if I keep you company? Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive.”

A laugh tumbles from her lips. A step up from a giggle and god does it send shockwaves through his traitorous heart.

“The press would have a field day if that happened. I can see the headlines, ‘Football legend Roy Kent involved in the disappearance of Richmond sports physio’ and then they use a picture of you from like 10 years ago with the really bad long hair that makes you look a little sketchy.”

“I didn’t look sketchy.”

“You looked a little sketchy.”

Roy glances at her through the corner of his eyes. She really is a dream in forest green, the sequins, and rhinestones reflecting the street lights like little kaleidoscopes. He’s almost certain he’ll dream in shades of green tonight. He’s sure he’ll see her smiling face.

“You look beautiful.”

The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and it makes him want to put his head through a wall. Fuck.

“Thank you —” she replies bashfully, “do you want some sausage roll?”

In all the scenarios running through his head of how this conversation could’ve gone, this is not one of the outcomes he expected.

“What?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Do you want a part of my sausage roll?” she chuckles and pulls a brown paper bag from her sparkly clutch bag. “I wasn’t sure if they were gonna actually feed us or just serve us rich people portions so I brought backup. You can have half if you want.”

She breaks the flaky pastry in two and holds one piece out to him. Even her nails are painted to match the dress. If he was any worse a man he would risk it all for just one taste of her and whatever black magic she possesses that gets so deeply under his skin. He is a better man than that tough, so he settles for a taste of the sausage roll.

“You’re a strange woman”

“Strange or smart?”

Taking a bite from the sausage roll, buttery and flaky and greasy, he must admit she has a point.

“Bit of both.”

“I can live with that.”

Silence settles upon them, well as silent as a London night can be. It feels weirdly comfortable. No expectations to be someone or do something. Just her and the city and the fucking Greggs sausage roll.

And — Elton John?

“Oh, I love that song!”

A string of pink lights adorns the top of the rikshaw as it turns the corner, loudly blasting Can you feel the love tonight. The driver catches sight of them and Roy can’t suppress the annoyed groan slipping its way out.

“Good evening can I interest you lovebirds in a — “

“No, fuck off!”

Elton’s voice gets quieter and quieter as the startled driver rides his rickshaw further away and back into the inky black of the night.

Lovebirds, he called them lovebirds. Thought the two of them were anything other than acquaintances. People pushed together by circumstances and coincidence. As if anything between them could ever happen. She’s already getting under his skin, sticks around his thoughts, and ghosts through his head without him ever giving her permission to do so. She’s all he can think about lately and yes he knows it sounds repetitive but god it’s so damn irritating.

“I would’ve liked to hear the rest of the song.”

Roy scoffs “Figures.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He turns to face her and, for the first time since he’s stepped out of the building and into this tiny bubble they’re sharing for just this fleeting moment, he looks at her. Really looks at her. With her sparkly dress and her lips painted a deep red like candy apples. With flakes of the pastry sticking to her lower lip and his jacket wrapped around her looking almost like this is where it’s always belonged.

He’s never had a heart attack before, he wonders if this is what it feels like.

“You play the worst fucking music when you’re working in the physio room.”

“Uh — are you insulting my taste in music? Are you really out here insulting the legend, sir Elton John? The Lion King soundtrack is a religious experience, okay?”

He hates that he can clearly tell by the glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she is joking more than anything. He shouldn’t be able to tell. Mere acquaintances can’t do shit like that.

“No, in fact, it’s a pretty fucking great movie. It came out when my sister was a kid though and I had to watch that shit a million times. You know how traumatizing it is having to watch Mufasa die over and over again?“

She grants him a look of understanding and shrugs her shoulders in agreement “At least it’s not Frozen, eh? “

“I have a 6-year-old niece.”

Roy Kent has a lot of things in his life that he takes pride in. His career and talent, all the hard work he put in to be where he is today. He takes pride in being a good brother and a loving uncle and maybe even a good friend and leader.

Making her let out a snort as she laughs at his Frozen-induced misery? That might be his proudest achievement to date.

“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”

“What can I say? You’re a funny guy, Roy Kent. So funny in fact that I almost bid on you at the auction.”

He wants to let out the most guttural scream in the existence of mankind. She can’t just go ahead and say stuff like that. Not when he is trying so hard to keep their interactions at the most basic level. Not when she already haunts his dreams. She’s irritating, Roy. Not charming or lovable or — beautiful. Or maybe she is all those things but most of all she’s annoying and infuriating and — oh he’s so fucked.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, well I’m just a measly sports physician. Don’t get me wrong, it's good money but I don’t really earn quite enough to throw thousands of pounds at a man to have him spend time with me.”

He’d do it for free. Hate every second of it, naturally. But he’d do it for free.

Can’t tell her that though. Never. So once again he just grunts.

A silver Toyota pulls up to the curb, effectively bursting their little bubble of comfort as the driver leans down to look out the window. “You (Y/N) ?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

She makes a motion to slip out of the jacket, only for Roy to step in and hold it closed, keeping it in place, wrapped around her, and shielding her from the cold.

“Keep it,” his voice comes out all rough and husky. More than usual. It’s probably the jasmine scent getting to him, clouding his every sense. “Don’t want you to freeze on the way home. Just give it back another time.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Goodnight, Roy.”

He opens the door for her and closes it softly once she’s settled into the car. Roy tries so hard to be a good man, a good person but in that moment all he wants to do is be a little bit worse, just a little bit. Just enough to rip the door open again, pull her out of the seat and kiss her stupid.

Instead, he wishes her a good night and sends her off before stepping out into the night himself. There is a smile playing on his lips all the way home and it’s so fucking irritating.

I was in the neighborhood & It’s okay I couldn’t sleep anyway

The door leading to her apartment is bright red and there is a little white sign and the picture of a dog with huge fucking ears that reminds him of Gizmo from the Gremlins. It says “Beware of the dog — might cuddle you to death.”

It’s cheesy as hell. He loves it.

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Losing is never fun. Feeling yourself slowly becoming unable to do the things you love, the things you were good at, and actively playing a part in your team losing? That’s absolutely mortifying.

Of all the places he could’ve gone, all the people he could’ve seen — he ends up in front of her door. Red and shiny like her lips that night.

It’s almost 1am and all things considered, this is a really dumb idea. She’s probably asleep and waking her up would be fucking rude. He should just go and forget this ever happened instead of knocking on her door in the middle of the night. That’s what the rational part of his brain tells him at least.

Roy was never really good at listening to the rational part of his brain.

Tiny barks, no doubt belonging to the dog on the sign, echo through the hallway before the door swings open just enough for (Y/N) to look at him with tired eyes.

“Roy?”

“I was in the neighborhood I — I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”

It’s not a lie, really. He was in the neighborhood. He walked here specifically to knock on her door and see her.

“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Now that is most definitely a lie. Her eyes are sleepy, her hair disheveled and he can just about make out the pillow print on her cheek.

“Do you want to come in?”

He does. He shouldn’t but he really does.

The apartment is small but it feels cozy rather than cramped. The walls are lined with pictures, little reminders of happy moments and people she loves.

There’s one of him too, well him and Isaac and Sam and then her at the end of the line. He thinks it was taken at some get-together after a particularly hard-fought win. He likes to know that there’s a picture of him on her wall even if his appearance in the photo is probably more incidental than anything.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, there is so much he doesn’t know about her. He doesn’t know where she was born or if she has siblings or if she always wanted to be a physiotherapist. But there are things he does know, like the specific way she likes her coffee and that she always gets a snickerdoodle cookie from the bakery down the road from the stadium, every Wednesday without fail. How she scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated and that she snorts when something makes her laugh really hard.

“His name is Yoda. He’s a papillon and also my best friend.”

“Don’t let Sam hear.”

“Oh, he’s also Sam’s best friend.”

Yoda, it’s a fitting name. He does look like a Yoda.

“So what brings you here, Roy? At uh — “ she glances towards her open kitchen and the digital clock on the microwave “ 1:04 am?”

Should’ve gotten his story straight before he came here. What is he supposed to say? I felt like proper shit and wanted to see your smile? Surely not.

So he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Came to get my jacket back.”

Absolute dumbass.

“Your jacket? Oh uh. sure. Let me go get it.”

She regards him with confusion and curiosity, he can tell she’s not really buying his story.

“Or, if you aren’t in a rush, I was about to pop in a movie and pig out on some popcorn? Do you want to join me?”

This might be the first time he lets her see the smile she continues to put on his face.

“Fuck yeah, what are we watching?”

“Vernon is such a little bitch. Antagonizing fucking teenagers? What a loser."

“Right?,” (Y/N) agrees, taking a sip from her glass of rose before stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn into her mouth. “Bender needed someone to care, not just another adult yelling at him. "Such a loser. Hey, now that I think about it, you do give me John Bender vibes. All broody and mysterious.”

Roy just scoffs in response.

Her eyes fall onto his empty glass of wine resting on the little square table in front of the couch.

“You want a top-up?”

“No, I’m good. I should probably get going.”

He hates to admit it, it’s something he’ll take to the grave with him, but there’s something about rosé that gets to him. It makes him tipsy immediately. He doesn’t want to go home but the longer he stays the more he opens himself up to saying something stupid and fucking this up — whatever this is.

“Did you walk here?”

“Mmh.”

“Oh well I can’t in good conscience let you walk home, half a bottle of rosé in your system and dealing with all the emotions brought on by the breakfast club. Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive”

Throwing his own words back at him should be infuriating, annoying. It isn’t. It’s lovely. She’s lovely.

“You can stay if you want. My couch isn’t the biggest but I think you’ll fit just fine.”

The sincerity in her eyes hits him like a dart to the chest. It’s something so simple as offering him her couch for the night but it means everything for a man who has grown so awfully accustomed to loneliness.

“If I stay, will you make me breakfast?”

“Fuck no”

Laughter fills the tiny living room and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own.

“I might be up for a Starbucks run tomorrow morning before work though.”

“Sounds great. I love peppermint lattes, those are fucking delicious.”

She grants him another smile as she gathers their glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to the kitchen before returning with a fluffy pink blanket for him. He thinks that smile could’ve just about killed him, thinks he might just die right here on her couch and it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well goodnight, then. Hope you don’t mind Yoda”

The dog is curled up on Roy’s chest like a little bagel. It’s gonna be annoying later, he’s sure but hell will freeze over before he disturbs the little pup.

“That’s fine.”

“He snores, just thought you should know.”

“Makes two of us then, hope he doesn’t mind.”

Another laugh. Another tiny heart attack.

She’s by the door, just about to turn off the light and plunge the room into darkness, when she hesitates for a moment.

“Hey Roy,”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry you guys lost today and I — I can see you struggling but I just wanted you to know that it was not your fault. I need you to know that.”

The entire way here, he tried to make himself rationalize that. Make himself understand that losing is part of the game and that he did his best. But knowing your best might not be good enough anymore is a hard fucking pill to swallow.

Hearing her say that it’s not his fault, it takes the weight off for a moment. Not all the way, never all the way. But a tiny little bit and that’s a whole lot already.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Night, Roy.”

He falls asleep with the taste of rosé on his tongue, the snoring of a little dog in his ears, and the sight of her on his mind, all sleepy eyes and messy hair. She never looked better.

It looks good on you & I like your laugh

He’s positively buzzing with euphoria. They won, something no one thought was possible. They won and he scored the winning goal.

Spirits are high as the team and their friends have taken over the Karaoke place. Shots and drinks flow with no regard to the tab they’re raking up or the headache that awaits each of them tomorrow. None of that matters right now. Tonight is made for celebrating. Consequences don’t exist right here and now.

Rebecca burns the house down with her rendition of let it go and after a short intermission by Dani, singing a Spanish song that neither of them managed to join in with their non-existent knowledge of the language, the opening chords to another familiar song fill the room.

“Well, thanks for making us all look like amateurs, Rebecca,” (Y/N) says into the microphone as she takes her place on stage. Her words are laced with happiness and laughter and Roy thinks she must have him under some spell because he can’t manage to not smile when she’s around. It’s a bit ridiculous if he’s being honest.

“I will most definitely not be able to live up to that performance but I thought we could stay in the Disney bubble for a moment.”

Her eyes meet his across the room and when she winks at him it takes everything in him not to get up on stage and devour her. Fucking irritating.

“I know you all know this song so sing along if you feel like it. This one’s for you, John Bender.”

He knows it’s one of the cheesiest love songs ever, written for a movie about a cartoon lion. But sitting on the couch at the karaoke place surrounded by his team, having just scored a winning goal and listening to the girl that haunts his dreams sing straight to him and only him, he thinks Elton has a point. He can feel the love tonight. It’s in the smiles of his friends, and the voices coming together all chaotic and off-key singing along to the song. And there is love in her eyes, clear as day and undeniable.

“And can you feel the love tonight How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds Believe the very best”

The night is coming to an end, everyone’s found their way to their respective rooms — or whoever’s room they felt like staying at. Roy’s pretty sure he saw Rebecca’s friend enter Ted’s room but that’s none of his fucking business, is it?

“Okay, you can’t laugh though!” (Y/N)’s voice calls out from the bathroom and drifts towards the main part of the room where Roy is perched on the chair by the window.

This isn’t his room and really he knows he shouldn’t be here. But being alone right now sounded like proper torture. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical night behind yet. Not like this. Not when she sang to him and he had nothing to give her in return. So when she invited him to her room to watch yet another John Hughes movie on Netflix, he couldn’t do anything but accept.

“Are you sleeping in one of those weird fluffy onesies?”

“No, god no.”

“Then I don’t know why I’d laugh at you.”

When she steps into the room, he can see why she’d think he’d laugh at her choice of sleepwear. The white shirt looks not so white anymore, there is a hole at the bottom and a mysterious red stain by the collar. It doesn’t make him laugh though. It makes him fucking hard. Because that’s his name on the back of it. That’s a 2014 world cup Roy Kent England Jersey.

“Fuck me.”

He doesn't mean to let it slip but alcohol and euphoria have made his lips go loose.

“I knoooow, it’s embarrassing. I meant to bring something else but it’s just so comfortable.”

“It looks good on you.”

It does. He thought the green dress was it. Then he thought she looked absolutely adorable, all sleepy and natural. But this? This is the look that pushes him over the edge. This is everything.

“Yeah?” she asks and twirls around the room, not unlike Phoebe whenever Roy gifts her yet another new princess dress. He’s just such a sucker, can never say no when she asks him for something. “You just wait and see, I’ll steal your job soon enough.”

That makes him erupt into laughter yet again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed quite as much lately as when he is with her.

“I’ve seen you attempt to play before. I’m not worried.”

“I like your laugh,” she says, all warm eyes and wistful smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Something takes over, an invisible force pulling him to his feet and making him walk up to her. She’s leaning against the wall as he places one hand on her hip, the other on the wall next to her head. This shouldn’t be happening, he knows this. It’s dumb to believe that whatever tension there is between them can lead to anything. That’s just not in the cards for him no matter how much he wishes for it.

Girls like her don’t fall for boys like him. They never did, they never will.

“Roy Kent, you won today.”

Winning the game is the last thing on his mind right now. How could he ever think about winning right this moment when her hand is softly resting on his cheek and her nose gently nuzzling against his and the —

A knock on the door cuts through the moment making Roy let go and take a step back.

“Fucks sake.”

In his defense, Sam looks apologetic as he stands in front of the door, signature smile on his face. Good-natured and lovable. If this was any other moment Roy wouldn’t have been able to be mad at him. But this is that moment and he is a little pissed right now.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb, I was just wondering if you had another phone charger. I can’t find mine and I know you always bring extra so — “

“Uh, yeah let me go get it real quick.” (Y/N) says and turns back towards the room.

Roy’s eyes connect with hers for a split second and it’s like a bucket of ice straight over his head. They both know whatever magical spell they had been under, it’s broken and gone and all that’s left now is a big old pile of what-ifs.

“It’s getting late, I should leave. Goodnight, (Y/N). Night, Sam.”

“We’ll reschedule, yeah?”

Tiny smile on his lips he nods his head in agreement.

He gets a soft “goodnight” in return and though he hates to admit it, the touch of her hand against his cheek lingers there all the way to his room and even further into his dreams.

Call me when you get home & We’ll figure it out

Rain pounds against the roof and windows like tiny bullets. A rainstorm has Richmond tight in its clutches so cruel and unforgiving the team can’t even train right now.

And yet for some reason Roy still finds himself in the workout room, trying to push himself to do just 5 more minutes on the treadmill. Just 5 more.

Actually, it’s not entirely true. He knows why he’s here. Part of him hopes that if he just pushes himself enough, he can overcome the pain in his leg and all the issues it causes. That if he just tries harder, he can go back to being the talented overachiever he used to be.

But it hurts. A sharp stabbing pain rushes through his knee forcing him to step off the treadmill. He hates this. In fact, it’s his worst fucking nightmare. Football is all he’s ever been good at, he can’t lose that. It’s his entire life.

If he’s not Roy the footballer, who is he? Some bloke named Roy with a dead career and no one to come home to? Now doesn’t that sound delightful?

"Roy?"

“Jesus, fuck!”

There she goes again giving him a heart attack, only this time it’s not because she’s being cute or anything.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The smile on her face falls as she catches sight of him holding onto his knee. He can almost see the thoughts running through her head. She knows about his knee. If anyone knows how bad it is, it’s her. She told him not to overdo it. Said that would only make it worse.

He knows she has pity on him and he hates it. It’s irritating coming from everyone. Irritating and misplaced. Why would they pity him? It’s his own damn fault for not being good enough anymore.

But coming from her? That’s even worse. No one wants a guy that’s getting too old to do his job properly. That’s falling apart and breaking.

— Not that he wants her or anything. Oh, Roy, who are you trying to fool here? Of course, he wants her.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, in that bratty way that drives him crazy.

“I said I’m fine, (Y/N).”

“I hear what you’re saying,” she says and comes to stand next to him, crossing her arms in defiance. “but I can also see the way you’re holding your knee and that face you’re making. You’re in pain, love.”

Love. He doesn’t hate how it sounds when she calls him that. Irritating for sure but also — sweet.

“I’ll be fine! What are you even doing here?”

He hasn’t seen a lot of her ever since the night in Liverpool and while part of him was quite glad about it because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up whatever had or had not happened between them, another part of him had missed her smile desperately.

“I work here.”

“You’re a fucking smartass, aren’t you.”

“I try.”

Fuck, even when she’s being deliberately difficult she manages to pull a smirk from him.

“I had some paperwork to do but by the time I arrived here, the storm was so bad that now I have to wait for it to stop before I can drive home. I hate driving when it rains.”

“Oh you should,” Roy returns, nodding his head in agreement “You’re a horrible driver in the best of weather.”

She responds with a scandalized gasp and a hand placed on her heart in mock upset “I am not a horrible driver! Take that back.”

“It took you 18 minutes to park your car the other day. I know because I saw it, we all saw it. Boys took the time and had bets going. Jamie won 20 quid.”

“Wha — okay I’ll have to have a word with the guys, you’re ridiculous. But don’t think you can change the topic on me, Mister. Is your knee getting worse?”

Yes, and he fucking hates it. Can’t even say the words out loud because that feels like admitting defeat. And that’s a terrifying thing to do.

Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to say anything. A look is all it takes and she nods her head in understanding.

“That’s okay, Roy. We’ll figure something out.”

We will figure something out. We as in him and her. Since pretty much the beginning of his professional career, Roy had admirers. People who would latch onto everything he did or said and hold him to abnormally high standards he would never be able to reach. They adored him but they also didn’t know him. She knows him even when he tries so hard to keep her at arm's length. She knows him and is still in his corner, still has his back. The only people who ever did that were his family.

It’s an unusual feeling but he really really likes it. Even if it’s a little terrifying.

“What if — “ he takes a deep breath, trying to form the words that weigh so heavy on his heart “What if I can’t go back to how it used to be? What if this is the end for me?”

“Do you want me to be honest or nice?”

“Lay it on me then.”

“Things might not get back to how they used to be and there’s not really much you can do about it other than learn to accept it and then figure out a new place for yourself.”

“Football is all I have.”

“That’s not true but even if it was there is so much more about it than just the players.”

She’s right but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.

“…and with that smile of yours, you can always go into modeling. I’m sure they’re always looking for new faces in the toothpaste commercial business.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“See! There’s that smile I was talking about.”

“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes.”

She is. He adores it.

“Oh, but you like it — right?”

“What?”

“You do — like it? Like me?”

It’s the first time he’s seen her act insecure. She’s always so bubbly and happy and smiling, he hates that he put any doubt in her mind that he does anything but cherish her.

“You irritate me, woman. Drive me up the fucking wall, every day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No! Don’t say sorry. I love it. I think you’re a fucking knockout. Best thing since sliced bread.”

He does, he truly does and it feels nice to say it out loud for once. To admit it to her and to himself. It feels nice when she comes closer and when she rests her arms around his neck and it feels fucking phenomenal when her nose brushes past his and he can almost feel her lips on his.

Almost.

That’s until her phone beeps and she pulls away altogether.

“Ah shit, I gotta go.”

“Fuck sake. The universe hates me.”

“The universe doesn’t hate you, Roy Kent. We just have bad timing. ”

He’s not convinced.

“What about the storm?”

“I think the rain stopped, listen.”

Roy hears nothing. Where raindrops were drumming against the roof and windows just minutes ago, there is silence. He’s never wished for a rainstorm to persist more than he does at that moment.

“Well, call me when you get home at least. Roads will still be wet.”

“Aw, Roy, are you worried about me?”

His lips say no, but his eyes and his smile tell a different story.

You can stay & Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?

This is it. This is the end. He’s seen this one coming for a while now but he tried so hard. He trained and pushed and it was all for nothing. They’re losing and his career as an active footballer is over for good.

The door to the locker room opens slowly, almost cautiously and he’s just about to yell and whoever dares to disturb him, when his head snaps up and he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here? Game is still going, you’re the fucking Physio.”

“Good thing there’s more than one of us. I have to make sure all my players are okay.”

I’m not okay. That’s what he wants to say. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. He’s not okay. He’s not sure he ever will be.

“Get out, (Y/N).”

She can’t see him like this. Defeated. Broken. Old.

Instead of listening to him, she sits down beside him and holds an ice pack to his injured knee.

“As a physio, I need to tell you that what you did was really stupid.”

He knows it was. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take and if nothing else, he kept Jamie from scoring and the fans appreciated it. That was all that mattered at that moment.

“But as a friend and Richmond fan, I think it was brilliant. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.”

Silence settles over them and (Y/N) is just about to get back up when he grabs onto her arm and pulls her back down. “You can stay.”

“Okay.”

And for a long while they just sit. No words, no expectations. Just them.

Softly, almost like a whisper, he feels her touch against his hand, sliding her fingers between his.

“Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?”

It’s not okay. It’s phenomenal. It’s everything he could’ve wished for in that moment but never would’ve had the nerve to ask. It’s a promise that he isn’t alone in this. There is someone there holding his hand through the darkest of times.

A green light guiding him to safe shores.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go.”

Stay there, I’m coming to get you & I can't wait for tomorrow

Turns out, retiring from a successful football career does not mean you suddenly have a lot of free time. In fact, Roy doesn’t think he’s ever been this busy doing shit he doesn’t like.

Everyone wants an interview, a statement, a “what happens next”. It’s a lot of paperwork and contracts and shit he doesn’t care about. The point is, he’s fucking busy. So busy he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in quite a few days. Nothing has really changed since their moment in the locker room but somehow everything feels different.

It’s exactly 4:12 am when his phone rings. He almost doesn’t want to answer but calls at 4am usually mean bad news and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to his sister or Phoebe or (Y/N) or even (and he will deny this if you ask him about it) Jamie just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer his phone.

“Hello?”

“Royoooo.”

Oh. Oh!

A smirk pulls at his lips.

“(Y/N)?”

“Sorry —” she says and stops for a giggle “Sorry to wake you. I just — I was out with the girls and I didn’t plan on drinking but I did. They had a buy one get one free deal. It would be stupid to say no, right?”

“Right.”

"So, yeah."

“Go on. Didn’t just call me to tell me about the drinks, did you.”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to talk to you while I wait for my Uber. I miss you.”

“Do you?”

“So much!” her words are slow and slightly slurred. “Every fucking day. Like — god, I just wanna see your stupid handsome face.”

“It’s handsome, innit?”

“You have no idea! I just want to kiss you, so badly.”

Kiss him. She wants to kiss him. Sure, it almost happened twice but it’s still different hearing her outright say it. But then again, she’s drunk and by the time she wakes up tomorrow, she probably won’t remember half of what she’s saying right now.

“Where are you?”

“It’s that weird little bar around the corner from Sam’s restaurant. The one with the green door.”

“Go on and cancel that Uber.”

“Then how am I going to get home?”

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let the woman he’s absolutely head over heels for wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.

“Okay,” she agrees, a giggle slipping past her lips “Thank you. Can’t wait to see you.”

And though Roy had other plans for his weekend than picking up a drunk girl at 4 in the morning, he also can’t wait to see her.

“…and like it was mostly sugar, right? So I thought why not have another one. Turns out it was mostly vodka.”

“Who could’ve guessed.”

She’s cuddled up on his couch in one of his shirts looking into his eyes and retelling her night in vivid detail. Her story is slurred and a bit all over the place, blame it on her tipsy brain. It takes her forever to get to the point and when she does, the point doesn’t even make all that much sense. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to her ramble forever if it meant he got to spend time with her wearing his shirt sitting on his couch — looking into his eyes.

“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

“I know,” she shrugs then scoots closer to him and wraps her arms around his “but you’re here so it’s only half as bad really.”

“If I’m feeling generous I’ll even make you breakfast.”

“You really are the dream, Roy Kent.”

She’s clawing at his chest, prying open his ribcage and burying herself where his heart used to be. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“You have to stop saying shit like that. People are gonna think you’re in love with me or something.”

She pulls away slightly and looks up at him with those big eyes of hers before resting one hand on his cheek.

“Roy, I am. I thought you knew.”

He had a hunch, of course. Fostered a spark of hope in his heart that there could be something between them after all. But once you grow accustomed to loneliness it’s a little hard to let yourself believe.

“Do I need to show you to believe me?”

She pulls his face closer to hers and for a millisecond he wants to let go, but when he smells the alcohol on her breath he pulls back. This isn’t right.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re off your tits. I’m not kissing you like this. Our first kiss is not going to be some inebriated tongue-wagging. You hear me? I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, that kiss is gonna be special. I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”

She bites her lips to suppress the smile from taking over.

“So if I were to ask again tomorrow, you’d say yes?”

“Mh.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

At that she snuggles further into his arms and rests her head against his shoulder, a content smile on her face as she closes her eyes.

“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

He doesn’t admit it, but neither can he.

I think you're beautiful & I’ll meet you halfway

“Roy?”

Her voice echoes through his house as the eggs sizzle on the stove.

“Why is there a small child looking at me?”

“Phoebe, stop staring at her you little creep!”

“She’s so pretty.”

She has a point.

10 minutes later the girls join him in the kitchen, walking in hand in hand and big smiles on their faces. Seeing them get along makes his heart grow approximately 12 sizes. That being said, the two of them teaming up against him sounds like trouble to him. Good trouble though. Trouble he loves to deal with.

“Good morning, Roy.”

“Morning. Pheebs, go sit down, breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay, Uncle Roy.”

Once she’s out of the immediate earshot he turns back towards (Y/N). Though she tried her best to conceal it, yesterday's makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is a downright mess. She’s wearing his shirt though, standing barefoot in his kitchen after bonding with his niece.

Sometimes life is fucking sweet.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know I look like a mess.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You’re delusional.”

“That’s not what you said last night. Think you called me the fucking dream if I recall correctly. Said you were in love with me.”

(Y/N) leans against the kitchen island, her hands flat against the countertop and her eyes trained on Roy.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

Roy mirrors her position, arms resting on the kitchen island across from her. God, she really is so beautiful.

“Remember what you said?”

“Do you?”

“You promised me something, Roy.”

Roy Kent doesn’t make promises lightly. He thinks there’s hardly anything quite as heartbreaking and awful as breaking a promise. He prides himself in keeping all the ones he’s made.

It’s only right to keep this one too.

“Phoebe,” he calls out to the little girl without moving his eyes away from (Y/N) for even a second “Blindfold!”

The 6-year-old slaps her tiny hands over her eyes obeying her uncle's orders with no hesitation and no questions asked. He’s proud of her. Silly little idiot.

Leaning across the counter, his lips almost reach (Y/N)’s. She’s so close. So close.

Only —

“Fuck, I can’t reach. My knee.”

There’s so much love in her eyes as she regards him. It almost knocks him out.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you halfway,” She says and gets up on her tiptoes.

Across the counter their lips meet. There are no fireworks or butterflies or an angel choir singing. But there is her tasting of toothpaste and smelling his deodorant. Her and the feeling of belonging. Of comfort and domesticity and love. He loves this woman, undeniably and irrevocably.

It’s a great kiss. Fucking mindblowing. There is no need for rom-com-induced fairytale fantasies when you have the real thing and it is so much better than any story could ever be.

“Hey Roy,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air.

“Hmm?”

“The eggs are burning.”

“Fuck!”

“You owe me a pound, Uncle Roy!”

Irritating! Both of them.

They’re his whole entire heart.

I love you & I love you

“I love you.”

It’s a normal fucking Tuesday when she says it for the first time. Really says it. Using those exact words. There’s nothing special about that day but with those words, she puts magic into it. The way she puts magic into his life every single day.

“Fuck you!”

“Sorry, what?”

She’s laughing. She’s always laughing and smiling that goddamn smile that makes him go all soft inside. Beautiful, lovely, knockout that she is.

“I said fuck you. I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all fucking week and here you go and say it first. You’re infuriating.”

Softly she rolls over so she’s resting on his chest, fingers softly tracing patterns into his skin.

“You’ve said it a million times before, Roy.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

Can’t hurt to say it again.

“I know. I knew. I always knew. From the moment you gave me your jacket.”

Of course, she knew. She took one look at him and it was like she got a view straight into his soul. Straight into his heart with all the vices and virtues, all his triumphs and defeats. All the good and the bad.

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. It’s a chore to love him, the real him not the overly confident golden boy he portrays on the pitch. Just look at his track record, that just proves his point. Sure his mom loves him, he never questioned that, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for her. He’s convinced he’s made her cry more than once with yet another stupid decision. Then there’s his father who loves nothing more than to belittle him and lay out all his flaws for him and the world to see. And if even your own dad doesn’t love you, how can you expect others to. 

So maybe that’s the reason he doesn’t let anyone close enough to even begin to love him. Sooner or later they’ll figure out how much of an effort it takes and that he, of all people, truly isn’t worth it. 

And maybe, perhaps, that’s also the reason he doesn’t allow himself to explore the feelings he harbors for his best friend. He tried to deny them to himself for so long. Tried to pass it off as pure, unfiltered friendship. That’s bullshit though. He knows the feelings are there and there is no use in denying them. That doesn’t mean he can ever allow himself to act on them though. He’d just fuck it all up, the way he usually does with everything he touches. 

The shiny hardwood floor feels cold and smooth as he sits leaning against the kitchen counter, legs stretched out before him. A smile is permanently etched onto his face as (Y/N) talks about something that happened at her work today. He should listen, it’s probably a fun story judging by the way her giggles make her stop talking every few seconds. He should listen but he is so enamored with her that he can not pay attention to anything else. In a perfect world, in a world where loving him was easy, he’d lean over and kiss her. He'd kiss her silly and she’d kiss him back and life would be sweet and it would make sense. In that perfect world, she would love him back the same way he loves her and it would be easy and he’d deserve her. 

But that is not the world he’s living in. That is not his reality. Just a beautiful daydream he allows himself to escape to every once in a while. Loving her in a daydream is safe. It’s secret and quiet and there is no hurt there and no rejection. 

“Why are you grinning like that, huh Tartt?” 

She asks before taking a sip from the beer bottle clasped tightly in her hands. It’s an unusually hot summer’s day. One that makes it impossible to do anything but sit on the floor in as little clothing as possible and drink one cold drink after the other. Even if that means getting a little tipsy on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Nothing. Just happy to have you here. Missed you.”

“We didn’t see each other for a week and you already missed me?”

He misses her the minute she leaves. It’s like his heart isn’t complete if she isn’t there but he can’t really say that can he? Friends don’t tell friends things like that. And a friend is all she is. His best one but still. Telling her any of this could jeopardize their friendship and Jamie doesn’t think he could handle life without her. Not when a week already felt like torture. 

“Well yeah, I’m proper shit at cooking. I need you to feed me.” 

“Oh, is that so? Thought Mr. Bigshot footballer could get free food at any restaurant he fancies.”

She’s teasing but never mean and never hurtful. That’s something he cherishes so much about their friendship. His feelings, his fears — all of it is safe with her. There is no hurt or pain or fear. Just her and her friendship and warmth. And a pair of open arms ready to catch him whenever he stumbles and falls.

“True. But some fancy place in Mayfair will laugh at me if I ask them to make me dino nuggets, won’t they?”

Her laughter, he decides then, is his favorite sound in the world. It makes everything feel alright even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. He needs to keep his feelings locked up in that beautiful daydream because he can never lose this melody her laughter creates. And anyway, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he ever really had her.

— It’s not like she’d say yes anyway.

“You’re probably right about that,” she says and leans her head against his shoulder. And though it’s muggy and hot and he’s sure he can feel their skin stick together, he doesn’t shake her off. She’s part of his heart already, might as well melt into one completely. “You want me to make you some nuggets?” 

“Nah,” Jamie replies and places a soft kiss on the top of her head. Friends kiss friends on the head all the time, everyone knows that. Right? "That's okay. Already had a Kebab with Roy earlier.” 

“You guys are becoming friends then? Should I be worried I’m gonna lose my best friend status?” 

Jamie lets out some mix between a chuckle and a scoff. As if anyone in all the world could ever replace her. What a ridiculous thought. 

“Well he doesn’t make me nuggets, does he? No alphabet soup either. So no. Not yet.” 

The little shake of her fist she does in victory makes him grin even bigger. He must look like a damn fool. 

“I should probably get going sometime soon, I need to finish up some work and do laundry and do all that boring adult stuff that’s waiting for me at home.” 

There are lots of things he should be doing instead of sitting on his kitchen floor on a Tuesday afternoon getting half drunk on cheap beer and half on his overwhelming love for her. He’s sure there are a bunch of texts and emails waiting for him to sort through. Keeley might be popping a blood vessel soon if he doesn’t answer her about that brand requesting to work with him on some ad campaign. And he will get back to her — soon. 

Right now it doesn’t matter. Right now all that matters is him and (Y/N) and their little corner of safety and — home.

“But I don’t want to.” 

“Yeah, me neither. Just want to sit here with you and — “ 

“ — hang out?” 

“Mh. Hang out.” 

That was not what he wanted to say but none of the words ghosting through his head are meant to be spoken out loud. They are his to feel and think and keep hidden and quiet. 

“Good, we can hang out a little longer I think.” 

And he’ll take what he can get. All the precious minutes she grants him he cherishes. 

Right now could last forever and he wouldn’t mind at all.

Not as long as he’s with her.

Some early 00s pop song is blasting from the speakers of the bar. Everyone’s in good spirits and drinks are flowing freely. 

(Y/N) is leaning against the bar talking to Colin, laughing about something he said, radiating joy and happiness. 

She loves his friends, his boys, his family. Jamie loves that she loves them so dearly, so fiercely as if they are her own family. At this point, they might as well be. She remembers all their birthdays, drops by unannounced with cookies for everybody, cheers them on louder than anybody else. Hell, she even gets Roy to smile and that’s quite something. She’s as much a part of the AFC Richmond family as she is a part of his life. 

“Jamie-Jam-Jam what are you sulking over here for,” her voice cuts through the crowd and the music as she slides into the booth next to him. She looks gorgeous in the hazy neon lights. Then again, she always looks gorgeous. 

“Not sulking. Just — thinking.” 

“About what?”

You. He’d say if he was honest and not such a coward. You and how much I adore you and how hard it is not to tell you any of this and fuck up our friendship. 

“Was considering getting me nipples pierced. I’d have to take them out though and I imagine that would be quite annoying.” 

“Probably,” she agrees and nods her head before adding “It would look sick though.” 

“Right? I reckon it would.” 

She laughs at that and once again it shakes his entire world. Like little earthquakes inside his heart. 

Her voice is quieter after her laughter subsides, soft and gentle, and with the loud music it feels like her words are only meant for him. “I like this,” she says almost wistfully.

“The song? Who’s that, Rihanna?” 

“Not the song, silly boy. This — “ she gestures around the room towards all their friends, dancing and laughing and having the time of their lives. And then she motions to the two of them, secluded and safe inside their own little bubble. “escaping our busy lives for a moment.” 

“Lot of journalists would disagree with you there, love. That my life was busy.” 

“They don’t know you like I know you.” 

There’s a sincerity in her eyes, a warmth, something he can’t quite explain. It’s familiar and foreign all at once. 

“No one knows me like you do. You had pity on Jamie Tartt, messy little prick from math class. They just know Jamie Tartt, the footballer from Richmond.Still a prick but now with better hair.” 

Before he knows what’s happening, her hands take hold of his face and gently rest against his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. Really look at her.

“I never had pity on you, Jamie. I thought you were funny and exciting and infinitely cool. That’s why I wanted to be your friend. And I was right! About the funny part, not the cool part.” 

“Obviously.” 

“But I never took pity on you. I don’t think you realize how highly I think of you. Now let me get a sip of that drink.” 

He’s still in some sort of haze brought on by her words when a groan coming from her shakes him from his thoughts. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust as she places his glass back on the table. “Ew, what the fuck is that?” 

“I’m not sure, honestly. Barkeeper said she’d mix me a Jamie Tartt and I was like fuck yeah, a drink named after me.”

“It’s disgusting. Did you shag and dump her at some point? Like, is she mad at you for some reason?” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman before in my life … so yeah maybe.” 

Shaking her head with a smirk on her face she grabs a hold of his hand and pulls him out of the booth and towards the bar on the other side of the place, the one with the older male bartender with the impressive beard.

“You ever had a thing with him?” she asks as she leans against the counter, trying to get the man’s attention.

“Nah, I’d remember that facial hair.” 

From then on the night tastes like tequila and beer and it feels like a warm hug. She doesn’t join in on all his drinks, stops herself after a beer and a shot, but she does join him in all the other shenanigans. Like when they make up ridiculous backstories for strangers and have a laugh about some corporate douchebag trying desperately to get with some woman who clearly has no interest in him. 

“Henry from accounting.”

“Nah, that’s Charlie from HR.” 

“Well, either way, Maisie from South Shields is not interested.” 

He could stay here forever, laugh the night away. Drunk on happiness, on love — and also on quite a lot of booze. 

“Come on, Jamie-Jam, “ she says and hands him his jacket. She’s all gentle hands and gentle eyes. “Let me give you a ride home.” 

“We’re going home?”

“I think it’s time. Think someone had a little too much.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He is but also not. He’s sorry for being a burden — again. He’s not sorry for letting himself enjoy a night of unadulterated happiness with the people that mean the most to him.

“No need to apologize, Jamie. I’m glad you had fun. Now come on, silly boy. I’m tired.”

And when they step out of the place and into the night, all sweaty and hair a mess, he thinks that of all the things his eyes have ever seen, the best by far is her. Then and always. 

London passes by in a blur as (Y/N) drives them towards his house. All the bougie buildings and the iron fences and the trees in the parks, it’s all one kaleidoscope of color, a smudge of light and shadows. 

It’s not like he can really focus on that though. Partly because all he can think of is her and partly because he’s absolutely wasted. Mostly her though. Definitely mostly her.

“Did you have a good time?” his voice slices through the comfortable silence.

“I always have a good time when I’m with you, silly boy. Did you?” 

He rests his cheek against the smooth leather of her car seats and regards her with an infinite sense of wonder and adoration. In any other situation, this position would be deeply uncomfortable but he’s numb to anything but the beating of his heart and the strings that pull him towards his best friend.

“Obviously. Had my best girl with me. “

“Keeley?”

His eyebrows raise in confusion. “Keeley? No you numpty, you!” 

“Me?”

“Why would you think I was talking about Keeley?”

He wishes he could see the look on her face. This is not a car conversation. 

“Uh, she’s the only real adult relationship you ever had and you had a poster of her on your wall. Makes one think things. In fact, I believe that poster is still up.”

Jamie can’t help but scoff at her words. Not in a dismissive way necessarily but this whole conversation seems so silly to him. Yeah, he loved Keeley in a way and yeah she’s still one of his best friends but never has she come close to (Y/N). Keeley hardly ever got to see the real Jamie, the one that didn’t hide behind this larger-than-life footballer persona. (Y/N) met him before that persona even existed.

“Stop thinking things then. You’re my best girl, always.”

He still can’t see her face since she is looking at the road in front of them, but he can see the smile pulling the corner of her lips upwards, and for the moment that’s good enough for him.

Her car comes to a stop in front of Jamie's house but while he drags himself out of his seat, she stays put. 

“What are you doing, love?” 

“Dropping you off?” 

“Are you not coming inside then?” 

“Do you want me to come inside? We spent pretty much all week with each other, I thought you might be sick of me by now.” 

A ridiculous thought if he’s ever heard one. He could never get sick of her. They could be glued to each other for the rest of eternity and he wouldn’t mind one bit. 

Even in his drunk state of mind though, he realizes that’s not something he can tell her. That crosses out of friend territory. So he just chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Do I want you to come in? What a dumb question is that? Of course, I do. I have a bag of those disgusting spicy crisps waiting for you in my kitchen.”

“In that case —” 

10 minutes later they’re sitting on his couch, her legs across his lap, munching away at those god-awful crisps as some overly dramatic American home renovation show flickers across the TV screen. 

In moments like these, love lives here. In these walls and on this couch. And it’s terrifying because thinking about love also makes him think of the possibility of losing it. But every once in a while, Jamie lets himself feel a tiny bit of it. Just enough to keep him going. 

“Hey Jamie,” she speaks up, her face only illuminated by the light coming from the TV. She’s wearing his shirt and he wills himself not to focus too hard on that because that will cause images to ghosts through his mind that he can’t allow himself to ever think about. Images that cross every line ever drawn when it comes to friendships.

“Yes, love?” 

“You’re my best boy too. Not sure I ever told you.” 

He doesn’t answer, not in words at least. But he squeezes her legs as they rest on him, and he hopes she knows. Oh god if only she knew. 

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. (Y/N) knows he thinks so because he let it slip once or twice when he was drunk and his words were all jumbled and his mind was all hazy. 

And every damn time it breaks her fucking heart. Because loving Jamie Tartt is the easiest thing she ever did. It comes as natural as breathing. It feels like a nice ray of summer sun on her skin, sizzling and exciting and warm.

Loving Jamie is a gift.

Now if only there was a way she could make him realize that. But every time he lets himself be even a little vulnerable he is so quick to cover the cracks with stupid jokes or misplaced arrogance before a real conversation can happen. 

She needs him to realize it though. To understand that loving him isn’t difficult. Because how can you tell someone you love them and make them understand just how much they mean to you when they deem themself unlovable? 

Turning her head to the side she looks at his sleeping face. Somewhere between Fixer Upper and House Hunters, he fell asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts. He’s snoring something awful but she still thinks he’s adorable. Jamie has a mischievous, lovable quality to him that just makes you open your heart to him whether you want to or not. Yeah, sure, he’s let people down, he’s done shitty things, but he’s trying. He’s learned and he’s changed and the price for being young and stupid and cocky should not be a life spent questioning if you deserve other people’s love. 

Jamie Tartt is not hard to love. But loving him and not being able to tell him because he doesn’t love you in quite the same way, that’s just fucking cruel.

The air is loaded with static. Everyone is on the edge of their seat. (Y/N) is huddled in between Rebecca and Keeley, holding their hands and nervously biting at her lip. Emotions are running high as Richmond is playing Manchester. Correction — they’re not only playing them, they are kicking their asses.

It’s 2-0 for Richmond and they’re already 1 minute into the 3 minutes of additional time. If Manchester doesn’t get a miracle, Richmond wins. The thought of that makes a fluttery feeling spread in (Y/N)’s stomach. If this is how she feels, she can only imagine what Jamie must feel like. 

1:30

2 minutes

2:30

3 minutes.

“Blow the whistle. Come on. Blow the fucking whistle.” 

And as if he heard her pleading, the referee blows the whistle giving Richmond their win. 

Laughter and cheers and songs fill the air as every Richmond fan is on their feet celebrating a win they so desperately wanted and that the team fought so hard for.

The win Jamie fought so hard for. 

She tries to find him across the pitch but there are too many people, hugging and celebrating, too much noise. She just hopes he knows how proud she is.

And she hopes that somewhere out there his dad is watching. Sees him win, with the team he doesn’t approve of. Watches him succeed and be the man he never was and never will be.

She hopes somewhere deep in the inky black pit that is his heart, he finds a glimmer of pride for his only son, even if it comes entirely belated.

Jamie has won quite a few matches by now and it’s always a great feeling but some wins stand out. This is one of them.

His heart is filled with gratitude and pride, and his entire system is flooded with adrenaline and utter euphoria. He’s positively buzzing as the team gathers in the hallway leading toward the locker room. Some of them have been whisked away to give short post-match interviews — as if there is much to say other than how fucking awesome it feels to win — while the others are waiting for them to come back so they can all meet up at the locker room for some after match briefing. 

“Superstar, you did it!” 

Her voice carries through the hallway above the rest of all the noise. Like a siren calling out to him, she can’t hear anything but her, it all shifts into the background.

She weaves through the crowd like a fucking goddess in blue. He always thought she looked good in the Richmond colors and seeing her with his name on her back never fails to make his heart shutter with delight. But there’s something about today that makes this even more special. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline of winning. Of making his mom proud and proving his dad wrong. Of proving himself wrong. Maybe it’s seeing her in his kit, with his name and his number smiling that radiant smile of hers. Maybe it’s a combination of all these things. But something makes his brain short-circuit for a moment. Just a fleeting moment but long enough to make him push through the crowd until he’s standing in front of her, matching smiles on their faces. Just long enough for him to softly place one hand on her waist and pull her closer, so unbelievably close. Just long enough to cradle her face in his other hand, gentle and careful, like the most precious thing in the world. Long enough for him to place his lips on hers in a kiss so sweet, so long in the making, it feels surreal. It feels like he’s still stuck in his saccharine daydream.

And then reality snaps back and he pulls away, opening his eyes to a smiling (Y/N) staring back up at him through curious eyes.

“Silly boy, what was that?” 

She doesn’t sound upset, in fact, his delusions might even make him think she sounds delighted. 

“I — “ 

“Jamie, locker room. Let’s go, boy!” 

Ted’s voice calls out to him all full of glee and jubilation. The guy sounds even more chipper than usual and that says a whole lot. 

Pulling away from her feels like having a bubble suddenly popped. Every what-if that has been clouded by post-win euphoria suddenly bears their ugly head again. Sometimes Jamie wishes his thoughts weren’t so fucking loud all the time.

“Go, your coach is asking for you. I’ll see you at the after-party. We’ll talk then, yeah?”

Only they don’t because, for some inexplicable reason, Jamie avoids her like the plague.

Everyone is gathered at the bar for celebratory drinks, it’s a private function, just the team and family and associates. Spirits are high, everyone’s excited. And all things considered this night should be magical. Only it’s not, because once again Jamie refuses to let himself be loved.

Rejection tastes bitter. It’s sharp and metallic. Rejection also tastes quite a lot like tequila.

The salt, the lime, the liquor — it’s supposed to make her feel better. It’s supposed to mend the cracks in her heart, if only for a night. 

It doesn’t do any of that, it only makes her fucking sad.

How foolish of her to believe that he’d feel the same, that he’d finally pick up on the hints she’s been dropping for over a decade and reciprocate the feelings. Maybe they never stood a chance anyway. Maybe —

No, actually fuck that.

He can’t do this, it’s unfair. You don’t kiss someone, not like that at least, and then ignore them for the rest of the night. Especially not when that person is your best fucking friend.

Bumping against people left and right, she makes her way across the room to stand next to a smiling Jamie deep in conversation with a pretty girl, who (Y/N) is quite sure is the sister of one of his teammates.

“I need to talk to you.” It’s not a request. Not this time. This conversation has been a long time coming. It’s time, she thinks, to finally be brave. One can only swallow down their feelings and emotions for so long, until they come bubbling to the surface like a fucking volcano rolling over Pompeii. She just hopes that once the dust settles there will be hope instead of death and destruction.

“Uh, kind of in the middle of something here.” 

She can’t stand this part of him. This fake, unbothered cool guy who has no empathy for her or anyone other than himself. She hates it mostly because this is not the real Jamie, just some cardboard cutout version of him.

“Too bad, that'll have to wait.” 

She doesn’t give him another second to resist or shake her off, just grabs onto his arm and pulls him through the crowd and towards the exit.

The nightly London air feels cold against her skin, making her shiver as goosebumps appear on her arms.

“What the fuck is going on with you?”

“What the fuck is going on with me?”

He can’t be serious.

“Yeah. I had something going there. She was well fit too.”

The urge to smack him across his stupidly handsome face is seriously fighting her desire to kiss him again right about now.

“Good for her but you owe me a conversation.”

“(Y/N), I — “ 

The way he rolls his eyes so dismissively, so suave and cool, it’s like a dagger straight to the heart.

“No, you know what — fuck you, Jamie. I know you have a hard time letting people in completely, and I get that that’s something you have to work through on your own time but the way you're treating me right now is really shit. You can’t kiss me like that and then run. I’ve been waiting for that fucking kiss for over a decade.” 

“What?” 

He looks at her with the signature Jamie Tartt look of confusion and innocence. Like a damn puppy or something. And if she wasn’t so annoyed, so hurt, maybe she’d find it endearing.

“I’m in love with you, Jamie. I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you. I’ve been in love with you since I was sat next to you in class and you asked me if Pythagoras was that French guy. I’ve loved you when you were just a chaotic teenager. I’ve loved you when you won your first game and when you lost. I’ve loved you when you signed your first contract and when you made a complete fool of yourself on that ridiculous tv show. And I love you now. So to think you finally picked up on it and reciprocate my feelings was — I was so happy, Jamie. Only for you to completely ignore me for the rest of the night. I don’t deserve that. Not from you of all people. “

“Will you let me talk?”

“No, I’m not done yet.”

“Alright, go on.”

“I love you, Jamie and I know you think I shouldn’t and that you don’t deserve it, but guess what? I don’t care. I love you anyway and I am not asking for permission to love you. That’s not how it works. And I don’t love you despite your flaws, I love them too. Even your stupid 2003 looking haircut and your ridiculous clothes that make you look like a male Bratz doll sometimes. Sorry people in your life made you feel like you had to earn it just because they couldn’t see how phenomenal you are. Just you, Jamie Tartt, messy little prick.” 

Silence wraps around them like a thick blanket as a moment passes, then two. Jamie raises his eyebrows in question.

“Can I?”

“Yes, you can!”

“Jesus, alright. Stop yelling at me.”

“Well, I’m upset!”

“And I’m sorry about that. I never meant to upset you. Ever. I just — do you remember that one birthday, I think I turned 12, when me dad showed up and he was just being his usual asshole self and he made me play against him and then yelled at me in front of all the guests when he won? “

She sure does. Even at 12, she wanted to put her tiny little fist straight between Mr. Tartt’s eyebrows. “Yes.”

“You sat with me when I went to my room to escape. Refused to leave my side. Called my dad a wanker and you made me laugh. Then you got me a piece of cake and we ate it on my bed while watching Spongebob.” A smile plays on his lips as he reminisces about that day.

“I was 12 and I didn’t know a lot but I knew that night that I was in love with you and I immediately promised myself I wasn’t gonna do anything about it. Losing you is the scariest thing I can think about and my track record with people is pretty shit, honestly. So yeah I didn’t want to even risk fucking up with you. Rather have you as a friend than not have you at all.”

“So why did you kiss me earlier after all?”

“For one, you looked so fit in blue, with my name on your back. I was full of adrenaline and just so fucking happy. I uh — I think my mind was telling me that it’s finally time to be brave for once.”

Hearing him say it, it’s something she never expected but always hoped for. She’s played this scene out so many times in her dreams and yet she doesn’t know what to say or do now that it is actually happening.

“So what now?”

“Well, if you let me, I was gonna kiss you. Because if you think that other kiss was great, this next one is going to change your life.”

As those words fall from his lips, (Y/N) can’t get close to him quick enough. Pulling him towards her by the front of his shirt. Closer and closer until there is no room left between them and he gently nuzzles his nose against hers. 

“Jamie Tartt?” 

“Hmm?”

“Change my life!”

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thought so. And maybe a part of him still does and always will. But kissing (Y/N), his best girl, the fucking love of his life, it feels quite easy to let himself be loved. 

The store smells like dust and cardboard and old carpet. It's not necessarily a bad smell, it just doesn't live up to her memories.

She remembers the perpetual scent of menthol cigarettes and some kind of cheap men's perfume wafting through the air. The store used to smell like her dad and now it doesn't. And that just makes it all even more real.

Boxes upon boxes litter the room, filled with records. Some older, some newer. Guitars adorn one wall while the others are covered in posters from tours that happened long ago, some even before she was born.

There is something comforting about being here. It’s like stepping back into the past. Long nights watching Dad and his friends play their guitars after store-closing. Discovering new bands whenever a new shipment of records came in. And yes - she is the first to admit that in her younger years, she mostly chose the records by how cool the cover looked. 

It’s also memories of Dad getting caught up in the after-hours jam sessions and forgetting about her dance recital and that one time he threw a guitar at the window out of anger that a shipment of records got lost. It took him months to get the window replaced. She could probably still trace exactly where the crack used to be. 

Being here is very reminiscent in all the good and bad ways. But it’s a warped version of the past. One that’s laced with all the knowledge she has now. Like a movie that you’ve seen a million times.

“I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to be doing that!” 

Jamie’s voice cuts through the nostalgia-induced fog like a sunbeam through the clouds. And it also gives her a little heart attack as the only sound filling the room up until now had been her moving around and the soft tunes of an Eric Clapton record playing in the background.

“Jesus fuck! You scared me. I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to startle pregnant women either and give them heart attacks.” 

He looks at her with those big expressive eyes of his and a comically overdone pout on his lips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But seriously give me that.” 

He’s so quick to take the box of records from her hands (Y/N) hardly has time to process what’s going on. 

Quite honestly, his worry is a bit misplaced here but she appreciates the sentiment even if he might be a little overly cautious at that moment. It feels nice to be cared for. 

“You know I’m pregnant, not sick, right? I can carry stuff.” 

“Yeah but why would you if you got me carrying it for you?” 

He has a point, she has to give him that. 

“Fair enough. Those go over there in the corner please.” 

Jamie follows her order without hesitation and, after setting the box down in its designated place, his eyes dart across the room and light up with childlike wonder and curiosity.

“This used to be your dad’s place, yeah? It looks really neat with all them posters and shit. Like stepping into an old person’s mind but like a cool old person that buys you alcohol when you’re 15 and lets you watch horror movies when your mum said no.” 

Of all the adjectives in the world, (Y/N) wouldn’t ever think of using the word “cool” to describe her dad. He was creative and fun and eccentric and stubborn — but cool? 

Then again he was her dad and no one ever likes to think of their own parents as cool. Oh god, will their kid think she’s uncool?! 

“Uh yeah, the shop and the apartment right above us. He owned it, now I do. I’m trying to get it all fixed up and ready to be sold.”

“What? Why?” 

There is something to be said about Jamie’s face and his absolute inability to mask his emotions. Everything he thinks and feels is mirrored twice as vividly on his face. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips. 

“I mean — it’s a record store. People don’t really buy records anymore. Be honest, when was the last time you bought one instead of just streaming the music?” 

“Like two weeks ago.” 

“Fuck off, no you didn’t!” 

“Uh — yeah, I did. Olivia Rodrigo if you must know.” 

A soft giggle falls from (Y/N)’s lips. How fitting for Jamie to buy an album full of teenage angst. 

“Well, you’re one of very few people though. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to sell. I’d keep it open. Instead of selling instruments, it’d turn that part of the shop into a little stage with a coffee counter or a bar. Host open mic nights and shine a spotlight on undiscovered artists. But the world isn’t perfect and there is no way I can afford to turn that vision into reality so really there’s no use in letting myself get too caught up in it.” 

There is pity in his eyes and she hates it. She doesn’t want pity, not his or anyone else’s. Has seen enough of it, especially lately. If she had received just one more “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail from relatives she hadn’t seen in decades, she probably would’ve stabbed a fork in her own eye. Pity does no good to no one. 

“Anyway, Jamie. Not that I don’t enjoy hanging out with you, it’s kind of necessary if we want to get this whole beings-friends-thing right, but uh — what are you doing here?” 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just come around to say hi to his baby? “ 

She thinks the way he says the word “Baby” in his thick accent is surprisingly and undeniably adorable. As if it ends in an “eh” instead of a “y”.

“By the way, they’re as big as a blueberry now.” 

And the way he’s keeping track of the baby's growth gets her right in the heart. For some reason, this seems to come so naturally to him when it all still feels weird and foreign and surreal to her. As if it were happening to someone else and she’s just a mere spectator. The idea that something as small as a blueberry will one day turn into a proper baby, a child, a teenager … a whole ass adult - is so wild to her. Almost incomprehensible. A person with their own feelings and dreams and personality. (Y/N) wonders if at any point in this pregnancy, she'll wake up and it'll all just make sense or if that only comes once she's holding the baby in her arms.

“That's cute. Doesn't answer my question though. What brings you here?”

A shadow of something flickers across Jamie’s face. Something unreadable and unfamiliar. Something that makes (Y/N) feel a sense of dread bubbling up in her stomach.

“I uh — I can’t do this.”

And there it is. That unfamiliar shadow is now a metaphorical atom bomb, a mushroom cloud of all that could have been and won’t be.

“Oh okay. I mean no, not okay. This sucks actually. You said you wanted to be part of the baby’s life and now you’re bailing? That’s a shit move, Jamie. You’re a right prick for pulling that crap.” 

“What? Oh no!” his eyes widen as the realization sets in. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what did you mean? Cause you’re truly giving me a heart attack right now. Second one for today. You really need to start working on your conversation starters.” 

She had given him the chance to opt out of being a dad, to not be a part of the baby’s life. It seemed like the right thing to do and, foolishly, (Y/N) had believed that she’d be okay with him doing just that. In this very moment though, she feels everything but okay. The idea of Jamie changing his mind is terrifying. 

Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you need something — or someone until you’re faced with the possibility of losing them.

“I mean, I can’t do this alone. I need to tell someone. All I keep thinking about is the baby and I feel like I am going to explode any second now. I know we can’t tell everyone yet ‘cause of — well you know, things going wrong and stuff. But I need to tell someone. You got to tell Rebecca and your mum, I think it’s only fair I get to tell two people as well, yeah?”

A sense of relief floods her. Starts in her toes and fills her all the way to the top of her head. He wants this — wants the baby. It’s not just her in this. It’s nice to know you have someone in your corner. It’s also scary. Because he deserves to know just whose team he’s on. And being vulnerable fucking sucks. 

“Jamie, that’s fine. Absolutely you can tell your mum.” 

“And Simon? You got two people so — “

“I didn’t though.” 

“Uh yes, you did. I know you told Rebecca.” 

“That’s right.”

“And your mum too”.

The silence that follows his words is deafening. Being vulnerable means also admitting guilt. It means owning up to all of your mistakes. Though we are not the sum of our mistakes, they are what help shape the person we become. And (Y/N) really doesn’t think they make her a very good one.

“And your mum too?” 

More silence.

“You didn’t tell your mum? Why not? “

To his credit, Jamie looks truly surprised and confused. There is no judgment there, just absolute bewilderment and that signature softness that rounds out his features and settles in his eyes whenever Jamie talks to her about something serious. Granted they’ve not had that many conversations but she hopes that softness stays. She hopes that maybe their baby can have those soft, gentle eyes too.

“I’m not sure. I think I’m scared. My mum and I have a — complicated relationship. I disappoint her, she judges me. You know, the usual.” 

“You think she’ll be disappointed because we're having a baby? Is it because of me?”

(Y/N) shrugs, breaking eye contact and fixing her gaze on the old grey carpet with the ugly 90s pattern. What if those soft eyes can look straight through her, see all the ugly parts and the insecurities? That’s too scary for now. Too much too soon.

“No, it has nothing to do with you. Think she’ll just be disappointed I didn’t get pregnant according to the timeline she dreamed up for my life when I was like 2 years old. Had it all planned out for me and I never stuck to it.” 

Jamie is quiet for a moment but (Y/N) doesn’t dare to look back up at him. She can’t deal with any more pity.

“Well if you want to practice telling a mum, we can start with mine.”

“Huh?” 

“You can come to Manchester with me if you want. To tell my mum. We’ll have one mum down then, makes it easier to do it a second time. It’s science.” 

Jamie has the fascinating quality of making you believe in his words just by being so undeniably charming and because he believes in them himself. He makes it look easy when it is everything but.

“And if things don’t go well with your mum at least you’ll know you have at least one mum you can rely on, even if it’s not your own. She raised me pretty much by herself so she knows a thing or two about babies and parenting and stuff.” 

The mocking raise of (Y/N)’s right eyebrow doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who opens his lips to a silent gasp and clutches his chest with an overly dramatic gesture. 

“What? You saying I didn’t turn out perfectly?”

“No,” she laughs, a lightness festering in her chest. Like the first rays of sunshine after a cold winter that never seemed to end. Like a glass of wine after a long day at work. Like your favorite song on the radio at the exact moment you need it most. “I think you turned out exactly the way you were supposed to.” 

“Thanks,” Jamie says with that cheeky smile playing on his lips that makes him look a little younger than he actually is. Then he dares to wink at her and it’s a little annoying but also insanely charming. “Not sure you meant it as a compliment but I am taking it. Now when are you free for a trip up to Manchester?” 

(Y/N)’s been on a lot of road trips around the country when she was younger. She’s even spent a whole summer traveling Europe, partially by train but most of the time was spent stuffed in a Fiat Punto with 3 of her friends and all their luggage. It was stuffy, it was chaotic and it was immensely fun. None of those road trips ever involved a shiny black Aston Martin Rapide though. 

Or a famous footballer dressed in the ugliest lime green sweater (Y/N) has ever seen. 

“That’s all the luggage you got?” Jamie questions as he moves the black shades off of his eyes and sets them on the top of his head, holding back some of his hair. It shouldn’t work so well but it does. 

“I mean, we’re only staying for a night right? Why? Should I have brought more? How much did you pack?” 

He glances at her, then towards the car, and back at her. A sheepish look crosses his face before being replaced by his childlike cheekiness. “That’s confidential. Don’t worry about it, yeah?” 

“I got my ginger lollies, that’s all that matters really.” 

“You feeling alright?” 

“Mh, I’m good. Just pregnant.” 

His eyes drop down to her stomach for just a second before he nods his head in what (Y/N) can only describe as a mix of pride and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.” 

That’s new. Well not new-new but it hasn’t happened since the day of the funeral. That tingly feeling in her stomach that has fuck all to do with the baby and everything with how the baby got there. Yes, Jamie is hot and (Y/N) is the first to admit as much but there has been so much stress and chaos and she hardly had time to think about anything but surviving and making sure not to completely lose herself in bad visions of what-ifs that her brain has had no time to process any feelings of arousal or lust. That look he just gave her though, that one made her remember it for just a second.

“You sure you’re alright?” 

Jamie’s voice shakes her from her daydream and brings her back to the real world, her eyes focusing back on the obscene car parked in front of her tiny apartment building looking so insanely out of place.

“Uh yes, I’m fine. I just — sometimes I forget that you’re famous.” 

Jamie regards her for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and grabbing the bag from her hands. “I don’t. It’s fun. Now come on, let’s goooooo.” 

His voice is dipped in excitement and there’s a bounce in his step. If this is how the prospect of seeing his mother makes him feel and behave, she must be one lovely woman. Whenever (Y/N) thinks of her own mother her chest fills with tiny metaphorical icicles. Sharp and rough and painful. It’s all regret and judgment and disapproval. It’s “You gained weight”, “you look tired”, and “You should really look into getting a new job”. Daggers disguised as roses. Stabs right to the heart in the name of being honest. “I just care about you, because I love you, because I am your mother!” 

If there is one thing (Y/N) knows for sure, it’s that she will never ever find the need to resort to criticism and thinly veiled malice in order to show her child that she cares. They will know. Every single day. Because she’ll make sure to show them. Every single day in all the big and tiny ways a person can show their love. 

“Kidney Bean?”

“Kidney Bean. And apparently, the baby is sprouting webbed fingers and toes right now. Oh, and it’s starting to move!” 

“Can you feel that?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“It’s mental. Last week she was the size of a blueberry and now she’s a kidney bean. Kid’s growing up too fast.” 

It’s true. There is so much happening all at once and it’s almost impossible to really process it all. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of a human inside her. Not really a baby yet but a baby to her. And it's moving and developing and changing every second of every day. Fucking insane.

“Wait … you said she. You think it’s a girl?”

Maybe it’s the sunlight casting a glow through the windshield but (Y/N) is almost certain she can just about make out a blush dusting Jamie’s cheeks. 

“Dunno.”

“Jamie Tartt, do you want to be a girl dad?” 

He glances at (Y/N) through the corner of his eyes for just a moment but it’s enough for her to see the sincerity in him. This is something he’s thought about before. Learning new things about Jamie is fascinating.

“Ah,  it’s stupid, really. It’s — It’s dumb or whatever.” 

“No, come on, don't go shy on me now. Tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath. A moment passes then another. There is no rush. Sometimes silly thoughts are the result of harsh truths. 

“Told you my dad was a prick. Like the biggest piece of shit walking this earth, yeah? And I knew that all my life. Thing is I still tried to impress him. I just — I wanted him to like me so badly. Just felt wrong that me own dad didn’t care about me and that made me angry. And I kept that anger inside me for so long. Sometimes when I think about the baby and the future I am scared that if I have a son that anger will jump over to him. Like maybe all Tartt men are cursed or some shit like that. But if I had a little girl maybe that would make it easier for me to be a good dad. I don’t mind either way, obviously, but the idea of having a son scares me.” 

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been with her so far and by the way he clenches his jaw and grabs onto the steering wheel just a little tighter, (Y/N) can tell this isn’t easy on him. It means a lot that he shares this part of him with her anyway. It feels like they are actually becoming friends. So opening up to him in return is only half as horrifying. 

“When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12, I wrote a short story for school and I won an award. They did this big ceremony thing where the 3 finalists got to read their stories out loud for an audience and then receive their prizes. My mum didn’t show up, not sure if it was because she stayed longer at the office and didn’t care enough to leave on time or if she just didn’t feel like getting out of the house. Point is, she wasn’t there. When I came home that night I was sad, obviously, and I was also pissed. Because why the fuck couldn’t she take one night off to come see me succeed at something even if it wasn’t something she deemed worthy of praise. 

So I yelled at her and I’m sure I said some hurtful things. But I was so devastated and angry and I needed an outlet for once. She called me ungrateful but I was used to that, she always called me ungrateful. Then she looked at me with that look of absolute resignation and malice and she said that she hopes I have a daughter like me one day and that she makes me realize how hard it is to love me. 

When I think of the baby, sometimes I see a little girl too. One that I will love so much she never has to doubt it for a single second. And I will also prove my mother wrong. Because it will be so easy to love my little girl and it would’ve been so easy to love me, her little girl.” 

It’s the first time she’s ever said those words out loud. Truly, (Y/N) had not expected for them to come out in an Aston Martin, on the way to meet her baby’s father’s mother but life doesn’t seem to care for plans very much these days.

Softly, as if to not startle her, Jamie places his hand on hers, squeezing gently.

“I think your mum is a right bitch.” 

“Thanks. I think your dad is a huge asshole.” 

“We’re gonna be better than them, right?” 

It’s not really a question. It’s more of a promise.

“We will. I know it.”

His hand doesn’t leave hers for a good long while. 

The nerves don’t hit her until they pull up to the quaint little house with the white front. There’s a rose bush to the side and some kids playing football just across the way. The nerves don’t hit her until Jamie puts the car in park but when they do, they hit her like a freight train.

“Woah, you alright?” 

“Huh?” 

“You look all pale and like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Do you have to puke?”

A chuckle falls from her lips at the absurdity of it all. In all honesty, she’s not met a lot of parents yet but the few she did meet were parents of actual partners. People she had been dating for a while. It was a natural progression of steps. This is all wrong and sideways and topsy-turvy. You’re supposed to meet the mum first and then get pregnant. 

Again with the life and the plans. 

“I’m fucking nervous.” 

“Hah,” Jamie laughs. The audacity of this guy. “You’re nervous to meet my mum? Why? She’s an angel.”

“Do you not know how intimidating that is? Like, if she was shit I wouldn’t care but she sounds wonderful and I want her to like me. No, I need her to like me. Desperately. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me already. Some floozy who gets knocked up and really just wants your money.” 

Before she even fully realizes what’s happening, (Y/N) feels Jamie’s hands on her cheeks, framing her face in warmth.

“Calm down, please. I promise it’ll be alright. My mum will love you, I know it. Probably more than she loves me. Actually no that’s a lie, but she will love you and she will love our baby. Promise.”

“She’s not gonna judge me for — you know. Getting pregnant even though we’re not dating or anything.” 

“My mum was married to my dad, worst person on planet Earth. Don’t think she’s in any position to judge you. It’ll be alright, trust me.” 

She hardly knows this man and yet she can’t help but do just that. Trust him.

The first thing (Y/N) notices about Georgie is her smile. A smile that is so familiar because it looks exactly like Jamie’s smile. Warm and radiant and true. A part of (Y/N) hopes that their baby inherits that same smile. Partially because it’s a really good smile and partially because maybe that could help Jamie realize that he is more than the sum of his father’s problems and mistakes. He is all his mother’s boy.

“Oh, I missed you, my baby.” 

Georgie wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, getting swallowed by his frame for a moment. There’s no denying that part of (Y/N)’s heart breaks a little seeing how loving of a relationship these two have and wondering where she and her own mother went wrong.

And as it so happens with so many kids that have never been loved quite the way they deserved, (Y/N) can’t help but search for the problem in herself. 

“Yeah sorry for not visiting earlier. You know how it is with training and stuff.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know my boy is busy being a star.” 

The words hold a slight mocking, never mean but in the way that only people who are close can tease each other. You know every word comes laced with deep affection, with pride, with love.

“And it’s so nice to meet you too. I’m Georgie.” 

It takes a second for (Y/N) to realize that Jamie’s mum is now talking to her directly.

“I uh — oh thank you. Nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” 

Georgie smells like mint chewing gum and floral perfume as she pulls (Y/N) into a hug. She’s soft and gentle and it’s been the first hug from a mother (Y/N) has received in quite some time.

“Sorry, didn’t even ask if you’re a hugger.”

“Oh that’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

She’s not a hugger, never really was, but there is something about Georgie granting her some affection that isn’t all that bad. Maybe their kid can have at least one grandmother who cares and who isn’t completely disgusted by the idea of showing any kind of positive emotions.

“Jamie never brings girlfriends around so I’m a bit out of my element here if I’m being honest.” 

“Mum we’re not — she’s not.” Jamie takes a big breath before starting again “(Y/N) and I are friends, yeah? Told you about it on the phone.” 

“Right, right. Well, you don’t bring around a lot of friends either so same difference, really. Now come inside will you, I’m sure we got a lot to catch up on.”

Oh if only she knew how true that sentiment really is.

There are pictures of Jamie staring back at (Y/N) from every corner of the house and Georgie leads them through the hallway and towards the kitchen. Every wall and every shelf holds a memory of him at one point in his life. Gap toothed with a football in hand smiling, surrounded by a field of tulips arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulder, his teenage self smoldering at the camera with an even more questionable haircut than the one he is sporting right now. Oh to be loved in a way that every past version of you is being remembered.

As they reach the kitchen a sweet scent fills the room when a man clad in an apron turns around and faces them with a huge smile playing on his face. He has a dorky kind of charm to him that immediately puts you at ease. Maybe it’s just the frilly apron, maybe it’s the big oven gloves, maybe it’s the smile. Either way, (Y/N) thinks that if they take the news well, her kid might have truly lucked out on one side of the grandparents department. 

“Jamie, welcome home.” 

“Hi Simon, thanks, mate. Glad to be back. This is (Y/N).” 

“The friend, right.” Simon says and shoots Georgie a look that neither of them misses. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be one of his best qualities. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you too. It smells amazing in here.” 

“I found this new recipe for honey blondies. Not sure if they'll be any good but I guess we'll find out. If you guys want to go have a seat, I'll come bring them over.”

“Actually,” Jamie speaks up while nervously fiddling with his hands. “I was hoping we could have a talk before we do anything else. There’s something I need to tell you both.” 

Imagining the hypothetical scenario of telling your mum you’re having a baby and actually doing it really are two completely different things it seems. Gone is all of Jamie’s confidence and replaced with a whole lot of anxiety. 

“You're worrying me, Jamie. What has you acting so serious? Did you get someone pregnant or something?”

Georgie's words are followed by a thick awkward silence. It's heavy and suffocating and it makes (Y/N) feel uneasy in both her heart and her head.

It doesn't take long for Jamie’s parents to realize what his silence means. Everything communicated by not saying a single word.

“Oh, fuck.”

And there's nothing to add to Georgie's reaction. It's the exact same one (Y/N) had when she first saw those faint blue lines.

Of all the possible outcomes and ways this day could’ve gone, (Y/N) had not expected to find herself staring at not only a curly-haired Roy Kent but also come face to face with two very persuasive arguments belonging to no other than Keeley fucking Jones. 

“This is surreal.” 

The posters stare back at her all crinkled paper and bleached ink, as if to mock her silently. 

“Ah, well I told them to redecorate when I moved out, think they just haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

A light dusting of pink settles on the apples of Jamie’s cheeks as well as the tips of his ears. This man can’t hide his emotions for the life of him. It’s quite adorable really. 

“Do they know?” 

“Does who know?” 

“Roy and Keeley. Do they know you have their pictures up in your room?”

“Well no and It’s not my room anymore, is it? ‘S not like I have ‘em hanging at home. Put these up ages ago.” 

A giggle slips through (Y/N)’s lips at his desperate attempt to talk himself out of this situation. 

“It’s okay, Jamie. I won’t tell.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, alright?” he responds in mock offense before sitting down on his childhood bed next to (Y/N). “Just liked boobs and football and those two were the best those fields had to offer, yeah? Can’t really blame me.” 

“Not much has changed has it?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response “Nah. Still like boobs and football but no way I’d put up a poster of granddad’s ugly mug nowadays.”

From the few times they talked about his job, including his teammates and coaches, (Y/N) was able to gather that Jamie’s relationship with Roy is something special. Odd, but special. Maybe that’s what happens when you end up working with your childhood idol. Either way, no matter how much shit he likes to talk about him, it’s clear that Jamie respects and admires Roy a great deal still.

“And uh — and Keeley?” 

“What about her?” 

“Is she — are you — how are things?” 

She still remembers that crestfallen look on his face on the day of the funeral. That infinite sadness in his eyes. She hadn’t put two and two together at that moment but later that night it all clicked. Keeley was the woman he was in love with, the woman who did not love him back. And while (Y/N) knows that she and Jamie are only bound together by happenstance and fate — if one chooses to believe in that, and that there is nothing romantic about their situation, it does sting a little to know that the man you’re having a baby with is in love with someone else.

“We’re good. We’re friends, think that’s all we’ll ever be. Her and Roy, they’re happy and I don’t want to ruin it for either of them. Keeley and I just were not right together.” 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

He nods his head, a small smile playing on his lips “Yeah, I’m alright with it. If I hadn’t made a fool of myself at the funeral then you and I wouldn’t have — you know, and then we wouldn’t be having a baby. Little Kidney Bean.” 

“That’s true. Your mum seemed excited.” 

“Hah, sorry about her. She can be intense.” 

Intense might be the understatement of the century. It took her approximately 2.3 seconds to get over the initial shock of the announcement and really process it before Georgie let out a scream of pure excitement and joy and wrapped both Jamie and (Y/N) up in her arms. She didn’t fully let go for a good 20 minutes. It was intense. It was also phenomenal.

“Don’t apologize. I am so glad she took it so well, Simon too. At least now I’ll have the certainty that my baby will have one set of loving grandparents at least.” 

“Hey,” Jamie says and nudges her shoulder with his “We’ll sort out telling your mum next, okay. I’m sure it’ll go better than you think. And if not we can always call up my mum for some more hugs and a pep talk. Whatever happens, you won’t have to do it alone. I promise.” 

For what is probably the first time in her life (Y/N) lets herself believe that there truly is someone else having her back, undisputedly and all the way. It’s unfamiliar. It’s a little scary. It’s also wonderful.

“Thanks, Jamie. I appreciate it, I really do. Think so far we’re doing alright, huh?” 

“I’d say so. Two sexy parents and a little Kidney Bean.” 

Their laughter echoes through Jamie’s childhood bedroom for quite a while longer until at some point it stills and gives room to soft breathing and quiet snores. The bed isn’t meant for two grown adults and really Jamie truly meant to sleep on the couch but somewhere between talks of baby clothes and childhood memories, eyes grew heavy and tired, and soon enough both of them are fast asleep.

Just them and their little Kidney Bean 

— and a curly-haired Roy Kent 

— and Keeley’s boobs.

If I had you

Jamie Tartt is hard to love. At least he thinks so. Reader thinks it’s the easiest thing in the world.

A calm surrender