#ted lasso ff

Your heart skipped a beat when one of them slightly turned his head and revealed his identity to you - his beautiful face turned your way and his eyes caught yours. A look of surprise spread across his features before he flashed a big moustachioed smile towards you. You nodded at him and turned back to your table immediately, heat rushing through your body. It was Ted, from work.  

You haven’t spoken an awful lot to him, mostly just small talk in the cafeteria or a small wave on the corridors. But that didn’t stop you from having a huge crush on him. 

Your eyes landed on the couple in front of you and you rolled your eyes. You were damned wherever you looked. You took a sip of your drink, the alcohol burned your throat as it traveled and settled in your stomach, but the warmth you felt there wasn’t caused by the drink. You felt it was silly and maybe bit of a schoolgirl crush, but you couldn't help it. He just had something in him that made you want him close to you. Want to look into his eyes. Feel his hands on your waist. Feel his breath grazing your lips. 

A voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up at the man standing next to your table. You didn’t know him, at least you couldn't recall. He was tall and had kind eyes, small dimples framed his smile. 

“Excuse me?” You asked, embarrassed that you didn’t catch what he was saying. His smile widened before he spoke again. 

“Just wanted to see if you’d like to join me for a drink. But I don’t want to steal you from your... friends” he said, and he paused before saying the last word, cocking his brow at your friend and his date being entangled in each other. You sighed and stood up next to him. 

“Sure, a drink couldn't hurt.” You told him your name and shook his hand. 

“I’m Daniel” he replied, and he stretched his hand towards the small table he was sitting at and while looking over, your eyes caught a pair of beautiful brown ones. Your eyes lingered at him for a long second before you averted your gaze, heat creeping up your skin.  

With only one look Ted could make your heart flutter like a hummingbird. You followed your new date – Daniel – towards his table, which meant you had to pass by Ted and Beard. You tried not to look too much their way to not seem so obvious, but when you passed them you heard your name being called. You stopped in your tracks and turned around, and Daniel followed suit. 

“Hello there” Ted nodded your way, and Beard followed.  

“Hey Ted! Beard” you said, standing a few feet away from them. Daniel’s gaze shifted between the three of you. 

“Good to see you outside of work” Ted said with a beaming smile, his eyes wandering towards Daniel for a second. “Having some good ole’ fun!” He was nursing a beer with one of his hands and you couldn’t help but notice how the sleeves of his dark navy sweatshirt are rolled up, hugging his arms perfectly. You felt heat rise in your body as you tried to regulate your breathing. 

“Yeah, well… Gotta blow off some steam from time to time!” Holy shit, why were you so awkward? “I guess I’ll see you at the pitch on Monday?” 

“You bet, missy” he smiled and waved the two of you off. You turned away and slowly let out a shaky breath. You settled next to Daniel at his table and took a sip of your drink. 

“Was he your boss?” 

“No!” You protested before you continued. “Well, I don’t know. Sorta? He’s the coach of the football team that I work for.” 

“Bloody hell, you’re right, that’s where he was familiar from! You work for Richmond?” Daniel’s eyes were glowing with excitement, and you weren’t surprised – most people loved their football around here. 

“Yeah, I am” you chuckled and took another sip of your drink. You were sitting in the old leather booth with your back against a wall and he was sitting across of you, so you had a great viewpoint on the whole bar. That meant that you saw every time Ted’s eyes were wandering towards you through the crowd. You tried to pay no mind to it, but every time his gaze lingered on you, your stomach dropped, and your heart went into overdrive. 

Daniel was a sweet guy and you were having quite a great time – you were talking and laughing about your jobs, football and all kinds of stuff. Even though you weren’t a huge fan of the game initially, working at a football club made you quite fond of football. Especially since Ted was the gaffer. But that was nobody’s business. 

As the evening grew older the music became a bit louder, casual after-work groups were switched out by louder party people who occupied the dance floor. You nodded your head and tapped your fingers to the beat of the music before you noticed an inviting hand in front of you. 

“Would you spare me a dance?” Daniel asked and you raised a brow at him. 

“I’m a shitty dancer” you replied with your brow quirked, but you accepted the invite.  

You awkwardly shuffled to the small dance floor that was across the bar, where a certain football coach was still sitting. You tried to pay no mind to that fact, but the feeling of his eyes on you was hard to shake. Dan was holding your hand ‘til you found a comfortable spot and twirled you around to face him. A giggle bubbled up from your chest as he pulled you closer and you started moving to the rhythm. 

The alcohol worked hard to cut away your inhibition, and that mixed with the loud music in your ear made you bold and carefree. You were moving your body freely to the music, putting your hands above your head, in your hair, and on Dan’s shoulders. As you twirled your eyes caught Ted’s stare as he was gripping his thigh so hard his knuckles turned pale. It only took a second but a sudden feeling of light-headedness took over you and you almost tripped. 

Why was he looking at you all evening? Why did he seem anxious, even agitated? Was it because of you? Was he… jealous? 

The thoughts raced in your head as questions flooded your mind. He surely wasn’t jealous; it’s just your wishful thinking.  

Devilish thoughts ran through your head as you turned your back to your dance partner and smiled at him before you pushed your back flush against his chest and threw your arms up, surrendering your body to the beat and the music.  

You glanced his way, and he was staring, gripping his beer so hard that the vein was visible in his forearm. He raised his brows at you and gave you a knowing look before you slightly turned away. 

He was jealous, alright. 

You felt a bit guilty for using this sweet guy to make your work crush jealous, but oh well. He couldn’t say he wasn’t having a good time based on the way his hands rested on your hips while you danced. Your discovery made you bold, wanted, and sexy – you felt like a million bucks. You felt his eyes on you the whole time you were moving your body. 

After a few songs you settled back at your table and finished your drink before Dan spoke. 

“I had a great time with you” he smiled, his hair a bit disheveled from the dancing. 

“Me too” you replied and took a sip out of your drink. 

“I know this is always like… very awkward, but do you think I can call you sometimes?” he said and let out an awkward chuckle. You smiled at him and nodded before you wrote your number on a napkin for him. “Do you need a ride home?” 

“No, thank you. I live pretty close, and I want to say hi to my coworkers before I leave.” 

“Sure? I’d feel awful if I’d let you go alone.” Such a gentleman. 

“I’m sure, Dan. Have a good night” you said before he stood up, said goodbye and left. You waited a few seconds, finished the rest of your drink and you stood, picking up your purse before you turned and nearly bumped into him.  

The scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol filled your nose before you looked up at him. There was an unreadable look on his face, and he clenched his jaw once – twice – before he spoke. 

“Fun date?” he asked in a low voice; one you’ve never heard before. You looked over his shoulder to see Beard already left. 

“Pretty fun” you replied with a smile and your grip strengthened on your purse. “Did you have a fun evening?” you asked with a devious smile as you remembered the look on his face from before. Your gaze moved to his lips as the corner of his mouth twitched under the moustache. You felt so confident. He clicked his tongue before he spoke. 

“Darlin’” he paused and slowly moved his hand to touch your arm, slow enough to leave you space to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to. His touch was cold against your burning skin, and he grazed his thumb back and forth on your forearm. “Why do you want to break my ol’ heart?” You swallowed hard as the question caught you off guard.  

“Do I have such power, coach?” you asked coyly, and he swallowed hard when you called him “coach”. Heat rose in your belly as inappropriate thoughts filled your head with other situations where you could use this information. 

His grip tightened on your arm, but only a little, making sure not to hurt you as he stepped closer, which you didn’t think was possible. You felt his breath on your face as you looked into his eyes – his pupils were blown wide as he looked down at you with half hooded eyes. Your heartbeat kicked into overdrive as your gaze darted between his eyes and lips – his sweet, plush lips you wanted to kiss so badly. Bite them lightly. 

He didn’t say a word, but he was moving his hand upwards your arm – slowly and softly above your shoulder and he rested his big palm against your neck, his fingertips grazed your scalp.  

It wasn’t like him not to speak, but he just couldn’t find the words. You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath in anticipation, which he took as a clue and closed the gap between you. 

His kiss was sweet and gentle, his soft lips grazed yours in slow movements, exploring them like they were the most precious thing in the universe. His free arm moved to the small of your back as he pulled you closer and you felt the heat pool in your abdomen before you bit down onto his lower lip. He let out a low groan and deepened the kiss, his tongue softly grazed your lips, asking for permission which you were more than happy to grant. 

Your skin was on fire, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss turned into something else – passionate, hungry, and needy. His tongue danced in a perfect rhythm with yours, swiping against your lower lip before biting down lightly. 

You broke the kiss to get some air, and he rested his forehead on yours as his gorgeous brown eyes bore into your very soul, before you finally spoke. 

“I live five minutes from here.” 

You kicked off your shoes as you knocked the apartment door closed, your mouth never leaving his. He grabbed your hip with one hand and pushed you flush against the door, leaning on his other hand next to your head as he kissed you with the passion of a starved man. 

You gasped under his touch and felt need course through your veins, arousal soaking your underwear with every sloppy kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, your nails slightly digging into his scalp which earned you a moan from him. It all felt so surreal, and yet the only thing you could focus on was him, his skin under your fingertips, his scent in your nose, his moans in your ear, his taste in your mouth. His hand slowly moved from your hip and grabbed your ass, nudging you to lift your leg, which you happily did and wrapped around his waist. As you pulled him closer with your leg you felt his hard length pressing against you and you gasped. 

“Ted,” you whined, throwing your head back against the door. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He murmured into your neck between soft kisses, his breath fanning your skin as his lips traced the curve of your jaw. You let out a shaky breath. 

“I need you,” you breathed, and his head moved up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze searched your features for a second before he kissed you again – he devoured you and you didn’t protest. 

“You’ll be the end of me,” he groaned as he moved his other hand on your thigh as well and lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“Bedroom’s on the right,” you whispered between kisses as he navigated through your small apartment. He kicked the door closed before he put you onto the bed and climbed on top of you. 

You put your hands under his sweatshirt and rested your palms on the hot skin of his stomach for a second before you pulled the piece of clothing off. He was breathtaking, and every passing second you needed him more. It wasn’t that you wanted him anymore. You needed him, and you needed him bad.  

Your eyes wandered to his lap, and you saw his erection strain against the fabric of his slacks, and your mouth watered. You couldn’t help it anymore, you reached down and started to palm him through his trousers, making him moan into your skin. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he breathed and started to roll his hips against your palm. You weren’t sure how long you could go on without feeling him. 

You unbuttoned his trousers with shaky hands and helped him get rid of them together with his underwear before taking your own clothes off, leaving you bare in front of him. Ted clicked his tongue in amusement before he lowered his head and placed a soft kiss just above your nipple, and you felt another wave of arousal wash over your body.  

You slid your hand down his hard member, and he hissed before you wrapped your hand around him and started moving slowly, running your thumb across his sensitive head. He buried his head into your shoulder and groaned loudly as he started to roll his hips against your hand. He was holding his weight with one hand, and he slowly moved the other to cup your breast before he circled his thumb around your nipple. 

“Ted, God,” you moaned and he raised his head and bit your lip before he kissed you. His hand slowly moved away from your breast and trailed down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake before it settled down between your legs. He slid one long finger through your soaked lips, and he groaned. 

“Fuck, baby girl. All this for me? Such a good girl,” he said before he pushed his finger into you without any resistance. You whined and bucked your hips against his finger, wanting more. He ran his thumb against your sensitive bud once, then twice, testing your reaction. 

His lips moved from your lips to your jawline, to your collarbone, leaving sloppy marks behind them, before he reached your nipple and flattened his tongue against it. 

“Ted!” You whined and arched your back off the bed, trying to get even closer to him, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted him inside you. “Ted, please, God.” He swirled his wet tongue against your hardened nipple before he raised his head and looked at you through his lashes. 

“What do you want, darlin’? Use that pretty mouth of yours.” Your stomach twisted and you felt yourself clench around his fingers as he was moving them inside you in a steady pace.  

“Mmh, you like that, hm?” he asked and placed a soft kiss on your breast again. “You like when I say you’re pretty?” You could only moan as a response and buck your hips against his palm. “How much of a good girl you are? For me?” 

“Ted, I’m-,“ you stuttered and your grip on his arm tightened as a familiar knot started to build in your stomach. His fingers moved masterfully inside you, and he curled them ever so slightly just to reach that perfect spot that made you see stars as his thumb drew tight circles around your clit. Your nerves lit up one by one in your body. 

“My good girl. Is that what you are?” A moan got caught in your throat as your mouth fell agape, rolling your hips harder against his hand, your body wound up like a bow, ready to release at any second. You couldn’t muster up a proper response, only Ted’s name was falling from your lips repeatedly like a prayer. Ted. Ted. Ted. 

“That’s what you are, alright. My best girl. Come for me, darlin’” he whispered into your ears before he planted a sloppy kiss onto your lips and all the sensation was just too much, the bow snapped, and the floodgates opened as you cried out Ted’s name while your orgasm washed over you in crashing waves. 

His fingers fucked you through your orgasm, stalling slowly as you came down from your high. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss, biting his bottom lip lightly. 

“I need you,” you whispered against his lips, and he groaned as a response, a wide cocky smile spreading on his face. 

“Insatiable girl,” he replied, gently caressing your clit to tease you. “Use your words, what does my babygirl need?” 

“Fuck, Ted-,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I need you inside me, please.” 

He let out a load moan and repositioned himself to fully settle between your thighs, aligning his length with your entrance and slowly pushing in inch by inch. Your eyes watered from the sensation, the stretch was heavenly and you could savour every inch of him as he slowly bottomed out. 

“Shit, darlin’,” he said in a choked voice. “You feel perfect.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, wiggling your hips to urge him to finally move inside you, and when he did you swore you could see stars. He pulled himself back a bit then pushed in all the way again, setting a steady rhythm. You moved one of your legs to wrap around his waist, anchoring him closer to you, urging him to move deeper and deeper. 

Your high-pitched moans and his noises filled the air of your bedroom, and with each roll of his hips he hit that perfect spot inside you that made you feel like you were in heaven.  

“Harder, please,” you managed to get out between his relentless thrusts, and when his eyes met yours, you saw fire burning behind them. He grabbed your leg and pushed it up against your chest, thrusting in you deeper, harder. 

“Yeah? Dirty girl,” he panted, picking up his pace while he sucked a mark onto your neck. “Parading around in the bar, grinding on strangers like a little whore,” he whispered against your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he fucked you senseless. “Just to get my attention-, to make me jealous.” 

“Yes, yes- Ted, my God-,” you moaned, unable to form coherent sentences as his cock hit your sweet spot with every thrust, splitting you in half. You were entangled in each other, your one hand tangling in his hair, the other scratching down his back. 

“Do you sit at your desk every day, dreaming of me fucking you on it?” Sweat was beading on Ted’s forehead, his usually neat hair now a mess as he looked down at you with half-lidded eyes. You felt tension build in your body, the molten pit in your stomach growing with every thrust. Your mind was empty, pleasure took over every inch of your body. 

“Yes, coach,” you whined and Ted could swear he almost fainted when he heard you say that. He rewarded you with a harsh snap of his hips and another kiss. 

“Fuck, darlin’- say that again,” he moaned. 

“Coach Lasso, please-,” you said, already breathless, a whimpering mess under him. He groaned and you felt him twitch inside you, his movements becoming sloppy. He moved his hand to draw tight circles on your clit while fucking you into the mattress, and you arched your back away from the bed, squeezing your eyes shut as you tipped over the edge, your muscles tightening up then loosening all at once as you came with Ted’s name falling from your lips. 

He wanted to live in that moment forever, seeing you as you came, feeling your body react to him so strongly. The snap of his hips started to stutter and suddenly he pulled out of you – the empty feeling jarring all of a sudden -, and came on your stomach. As you both came down from your highs his eyes wandered up and down your body before he leaned down to kiss you. 

“I’m sorry for the mess,” he said, suddenly a bit shy as a faint pink colour danced on his cheeks. 

“No need,” you replied and chuckled. 

“Bathroom?” 

“On the right.” 

“I’ll be right back, don’t move,” he said and quickly hurried to the bathroom and returned with a damp towel to help you clean up, before settling down next to you and pulling a blanket over the both of you. 

“So, this will make work weird, huh?” You asked jokingly, looking up at him. His features were so soft as he looked down at you, like you were the most precious thing he’s ever seen. 

“Or gives us another reason to look forward to it?” He replied and leaned down to kiss you. 

“Hello, darling,” she said, but something sounded off. 

You stopped walking immediately. “Are you okay?” you asked, concerned. 

She sniffed on the other end of the line. “Yes. Well– no. But still yes, sort of.”

“Where are you?” 

“At home, darling. I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ve just received some pretty subpar news.” You waited for her to catch her breath. “My father died.”

You shut your eyes and froze in place. “Oh, Rebecca. I’m so, so, sorry.”

“My mother’s here, she’s staying for a few days. Just until we sort out his funeral, and other bits and bobs, and whatever fucking else.”

“Okay.” You listened intently. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rebecca breathed out. “Only you would be so quick to offer a helping hand. No, no, it’s all fine. Though, perhaps, you could tell Roy and Ted. I suspect I’m going to be quite busy the next few days.”

“Of course, of course– anything. I’ll let them know, don’t worry.”

“Okay, love.” Rebecca let out a huff. “God– it’s odd. It’s a very odd feeling.”

“I’m always here if you need to talk, or stuff our faces with garlic bread, or get ridiculously drunk on fine white wine, you know.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I know that. Thank you, darling.”

“Send your mum my love.”

“I will, I will. I best be off. I’ll see you soon, okay, darling?”

“See you soon, Rebecca.”

You walked straight to Roy’s house when you got off the tube at Richmond, unable to stop thinking about Rebecca and her mother. You’d never lost a parent, nor a sibling, but you’d lost others. You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose someone so immediate, even despite knowing that Rebecca’s connection to her father hadn’t always been incredibly strong. 

You rounded the corner and onto Roy’s lavish street, knowing the way even if you weren’t looking where you were going. A right at your front door, all the way down your terraced street, and then a hard right, past the two pillars that graced the entrance of the road to the huge fuck-off houses in the rich part of your neighbourhood.

The lights were dim inside Roy’s house, but you knew he’d be in. You knocked on his great oak door the same way you’d done a thousand times before.

Roy was barefoot when he opened the door, and his once emotionless face erupted into a surprised smile when his eyes met your own.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.

“Fancy seeing you here, too.” 

“In my own house?” Roy perked a brow at you playfully.

“Let’s not dabble on specifics.” You smiled. “Are you gonna let me in or what?” 

Roy moved out of the way enough for you to sneak past him and into his porch. You took off your shoes and dropped your bag to the floor comfortably, knowing you didn’t have to be anyone but yourself in his home.

Roy shut the door behind you. “Want a beer?”

“Please,” you breathed out.

You followed him to the kitchen, but took a left and settled at his dining table as he opened the fridge.

“Long day?” he asked, shutting the fridge before he popped the tops off two beer bottles.

You sighed deeply. “Kind of, but I’m actually playing messenger for Rebecca.” 

“Oh?” Roy slid a bottle your way and took the end chair at the table, so he could sit closer to you. 

You tapped the bottle sadly. “Her father passed away. She called me about an hour ago.” 

Roy leaned back in his chair, a pained expression donned on his face. “Fuck.”

“Yeah— fuck.”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” you repeated.

“Piss.” 

“If you’re going to reel through every profane word in the dictionary we’ll need more beers than this.” 

Roy shrugged. “I just don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Yeah, I feel you there.” The swig of beer you took after talking felt incredibly needed. It settled in your stomach warmly. Your shoulders relaxed. You leaned back in your chair, mimicking Roy.

“She said she’ll be busy the next few days with planning his funeral. Oh— and would you mind telling Ted and the guys? She asked me to, but I don’t know the next time I’ll make it to Nelson Road.”

Roy nodded. “Of course, no problem,” he said gently, lowly.

“Thanks.” As you spoke, you leaned forward and laid your head on the table, letting out a great sigh. “I guess that’s the end of my chipper streak.”

“Still riding high after that suckerpunch to Jamie’s dad’s fuck ugly face?” Roy joked. 

You lifted your braced wrist towards him, not looking at his expression. “Absolutely.” 

“Here.” Roy tucked his chair in abruptly, and before you could move, his fingers gently wrapped around your hand. 

You looked up at him then, as he handled you with such care. He pulled the velcro from the brace and let it fall, exposing your bare wrist. Gently, he twisted your hand so your palm faced upwards. His fingers prodded the swollen skin of your wrist delicately, and never to the point of pain. 

“It looks a lot better,” he said lowly. 

“You forcing me to wear that thing actually paid off, as much as that hurts me to admit.” You laughed to yourself a little, and a smile broke out on Roy’s face. 

“I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.” 

“You should,” you said smally. You caught his eye swiftly, your stare lingering on his own. You fell headfirst into this indulgence. “You were so quick to take care of me, you know.” 

“I could tell you’d never thrown a fucking punch in your life, that’s why,” he said, fingers still on your skin. Slowly, as if tempting fate, he slid his hand into your own. “No good being a writer if you can’t hold a fucking pen.” 

You chuckled lightly. “Well, I’m glad you were so proactive. If I lost my hand, then what use would I be?”

“Exactly my thoughts. I was only thinking of your future career as a novelist.” 

“Of course, you were,” you agreed sarcastically. 

“That was all it was about, nothing else.” Roy wrapped his fingers around your hand, so he was holding you warmly. Like two lovers on a date at the cinema, or hand in hand walking down the street—

Or sat opposite one another at a dining table, not knowing what other moves to make. 

You exhaled deeply, comfortably. “Nothing else,” you repeated. 

“Nothing whatsoever.” Roy squeezed your hand affectionately. 

If the two of you weren’t already a walking cliché of miscommunication, stolen glances and unimaginable angst, then you mentally added this unspoken thing between you to the list. You couldn’t kid yourself though; you knew that yourself and Roy hit every trope in the fucking book.

Roy leaned closer to you across the table. Not too much, but enough to make your eyes focus on him unwaveringly. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and disturbed the butterflies that slept there. Like a living rainforest, your insides ignited with feeling as the butterflies rose from their slumber and wreaked havoc on your guts.

“Do you think…” Roy began, speaking in the softest tone that he possibly could. “Do you think we’ll ever talk about the ‘nothing else’ between us?” 

Gently, Roy’s thumb started circling your palm. You froze in place, not knowing how to compute his words while your entire body focused on his touch. 

This had been coming for a while, had it not? You and him, him and you. The relentless back and forth played in your mind in an instant. What you’d started as, what you’d almost become, what you thought you’d lost at one point, until Roy had let everything out in his Jeep after you’d trusted him with your problems. 

Unwillingly, your thoughts also traversed the time that he’d been a ghost. After his retirement, when he’d refused to face the world and everyone who cared about him— you— for multiple months.

You knew he was trying to change his ways, could see how he’d started growing for the better— but was it enough for you to know that all would be well if things ever soured, if this ‘nothing else’ between you ended up as a simple friendship?

“We’re doing so well,” you let out involuntarily, hating the way your voice shook as you spoke. That wasn’t how you’d wanted to sound. You wanted to sound confident and controlled, not like an imminent mess.

“We are,” Roy burst, smiling. “We really are.” 

“I don’t want this— us— to stop.” 

“Me neither. Not ever.” 

You squeezed Roy’s hand back, trying to communicate in the best way you could when words were failing you. You weren’t made for this; you were made for letter writing, and acts of service, and nothing that required you to dispel your feelings so openly and to someone’s face. 

God, you wanted him. You really did. Your thoughts betrayed you every time you got scared of something more. But this, right here— he was literally in the palm of your hand.

So why couldn’t you just fall?

“Roy—,”

You were ripped from the present by the abrupt ringing of your mobile phone. You closed your eyes instantly and wished for the shrill ringing to stop, but Roy had already ripped his hand from yours before you could say a word.

“You should get that,” Roy said bluntly.

Quickly, disgruntled, you grabbed the phone from your pocket and read the name on the screen. Your fucking boss. Jesus fucking Christ, what awful timing.

“I— I’m sorry,” you stuttered and rose from your seat, answering the call.

Roy sat back in his chair and placed his hands in his lap. He watched as you paced his living room, only hearing your side of the conversation. Lots of yeses, and okay’s fell from your mouth. A minute in, you clamped your eyes shut and squeezed the bridge of your nose with your fingers callously. It was plain to see how much you hated it— your job, your world.

Innately, Roy desperately wanted to stand up and grab the phone from your hand. He wanted to yell at whoever was on the other line to fuck off before hanging it up on your behalf. 

“Yeah, okay. Alright, bye.” You hung up the phone then, holding it in your hand with shaking fingers.

You stood in Roy’s living room with your back turned to him at the dining table, absolutely fucking fuming. 

“That was work,” you said. “Apparently I forgot to finish an important lead off for tomorrow, even though I never got the email. Must have slipped through the cracks.” You placed your hands on your hips and turned back to Roy, sending him the most apologetic stare you were capable of.

Roy’s face was sour. He wasn’t practised in changing his expression for the sake of others. You knew he was pissed off.

“I don’t know why you stay,” he said lowly.

“Money. Life. Living the dream. All that jazz.” You plodded back to the table and sat down again. You picked up your beer and held it in your hands, just so you had something to fiddle with.

“Nah, that’s fucking bullshit.” He took a swig of beer, not daring to hide his opinion. “This isn’t living the dream, this isn’t your dream in the fucking slightest.” 

“Yeah well, it’s all I’ve got right now,” you said shortly.

“Not if you let anyone give you a crumb of fucking help,” he snapped. “Do you know how much all of us worry about you? That job is a fucking cesspit of incels who’ve never worked a day in their lives, who give you all their fucking dirty work to do—,”

“Not all of us were blessed with finding their dream fucking career, Roy.” You sent him a red stare. “Some of us have to work for what we want.”

“Oh, and you think that’s what you want? Those fucking yaps at Pluto Press sucking you dry for all you’re worth?” 

“It’s the only thing I have right now! So, what the hell do you expect me to do about it?”

“Give yourself a fucking chance!” He exploded. “Rebecca says you won’t let her get you a job.” 

You slammed your beer on the table and crossed your arms defensively. “I won’t be a pity piece, Roy. I’d rather fucking move back home than let her give me a job on a silver fucking platter—,”

“You earned that right! You worked with us for a year and never let us forget you! You’re not a fucking pity piece—,”

“You’re an ex-professional footballer, Roy! You don’t fucking understand what real life is like!” 

With every fired sentence, the two of you got closer to the other across the table. Fingers were being pointed. Faces were turning red. Heat was passed between the two of you, but not the kind that warmed you gently— it was the kind you never wanted to face Roy with.

“What, you think I didn’t work to get where I am?” He bit.

“Of course, I don’t think that! I know you work hard, Roy, but that coaching position was fucking waiting for you as soon as you realised you wanted it. I don’t get the fucking luxury—,”

“Bollocks to that shit! You’ve been dying to be back at the Dogtrack since you fucking left, and me, and Ted, and Rebecca have been waiting for you to accept any fucking offer we put out—!”

“But I didn’t work for that!” you screamed. “I didn’t work for that, Roy. Keeley does what I used to do, and she’s amazing at it. Rebecca will create a position purely for me to be back, but that’s not what I need or want. I don’t want favours, I want to earn it like the rest of you earned the right to be there. I want to write my book, and be around you all, and not take things for granted— so no, I won’t take favours. That’s not the kind of person I am, and I never fucking will be. I’ll pay my dues the same way you all have, and you’ll all be fucking happy for me when I finally finish things rightly.”

Roy downed the rest of his beer immediately, and almost smashed the bottle as he slammed it back on the table. “Well, I’ll be fucking happy for you as soon as you get your head out of your fucking arse and accept help from your friends.”

“God!” you yelled, then quickly mimicked Roy in downing your drink and dropping the bottle back on the table. You stood abruptly. “Well, I’ll be waiting for you guys as soon as you realise my fucking side of things!” 

“Fine!” Roy stood quickly. 

“Good!” you yelled, then headed for the door. 

“Fucking fine!” Roy was on your tail as you made your way towards your things. You shoved on your shoes clumsily and grabbed your bag, swinging it around your shoulder swiftly.

“Fucking good!” You pulled the latch on his door and left as fast as you could.

“Give me a call when you figure out how much all of us want you to succeed in life!”

You contorted yourself as you fired back at him. “I will!”

“Good!”

“Fine!” 

Roy slammed his door as you fast walked home, seething. You’d never got this angry around him, nor he at you, but you wouldn’t falter. Roy wouldn’t ever understand the position you were in.

Roy put his head in his hands as soon as he shut the door. You didn’t understand what it was like for him and every other person who cared for you to see you so tired, so runned down, so burnt out. 

You spent the evening pretending the visit to Roy’s had never existed. Sure, you thought about it. You thought of the way he looked at you, and held you, and touched your bare skin. You thought of the words he’d said directly to your face, not faltering for a second. You didn’t even know what ‘nothing else’ meant anymore. 

The next morning, a disgruntling newspaper was posted through your letterbox. The headline: Ted Lasso suffers panic attack at important match. You remembered that day, that game, the one before Wembley; the one where Ted had been seen trotting off the field from what everyone believed to be an upset stomach. The truth had come out in the worst of ways. You scowled as you immediately deposited the paper in the bin before you left for work.

There was no word from Roy, no texts, no calls: no apology. You pretended like nothing had ever happened the previous night as you hopped on the tube to central London. 

The weekend after, you donned a black dress and matching kitten heels. You wore no make-up, not because you didn’t want to look good, because you knew it would be futile upon seeing Rebecca and her mother’s faces. The church was in Richmond. The service was in an hour. You’d assumed that Roy had held true to his word and passed on the news of her father’s passing. You knew they’d all be attending, even the team. 

When you approached the church on that overcast day in June, you found yourself holding your breath. This was a new realm for you. Not the funeral itself, but being a support system for someone else in this circumstance. Rebecca needed her friends and family around her more now than ever. It made you flashback ages ago– to the night of the charity ball.

You’d turned to Rebecca in the bathroom and spoken your mind about Rupert. You weren’t even friends back then; it was odd to put the pieces together of that time. The timid lunches, the feeling of being dirt in the corner that she’d like nothing more than to feather-duster away. Things had changed drastically after the Everton game, and you had never pinpointed why.

Not that you were complaining. You relied on her, on Keeley, on…

Roy’s face flashed at the forefront of your mind. Your heart hurt for him, but your head thought of a few nasty words you wanted to call him to his face. 

Rebecca had once ignited those same words in you, way back at the beginning.

Now, here she was– standing outside the church beside her mother, greeting people with the same confident and strong smile that she’d always been capable of donning in dire situations. Your good friend who had done so much for you, and continued to do so. 

Your heart swelled as you approached them, joining the small queue of people who waited to say hello and express their condolences. 

When an elderly couple finished and pootled inside, she finally met your eye. Her hard exterior began to crumble in an instant. Before she could say a word, you wrapped your arms around her strongly. She smelled like expensive shampoo and Chanel No.5. 

“Darling,” she whispered. 

“Rebecca.” You squeezed her tightly once, before pulling away. A few crystalline tears pooled in her eyes. 

“Thank you for being here,” she said, then cleared her throat. 

“Always.” You smiled at her strongly. 

“Is this who I think it is?” Rebecca’s mother chimned in. When you looked at her, you could see the resemblance immediately. Her stance, her fashion, even the way her hair was styled. This was Rebecca Welton’s mother through and through. She was shorter than her daughter, but that was no challenge to most people; even when wearing stilettos. 

“Mother, this is–”

She stuck her hand out and grabbed your own quickly, leaning towards you. “You’re the gem of the Dogtrack, aren’t you? The one that left for bigger and brighter things after stealing their hearts.” 

“W-well,” you stuttered. “I don’t know about that.”

“Stop being modest, darling.” Rebecca smiled amusedly. “Those weren’t my exact words, but they sure are close to what I told my mother of you.” 

“How’s your book coming along?” Her mother smiled knowingly.

“I told her a lot, though,” Rebecca added, enjoying the awkward redness of your cheeks. 

“It’s lovely to finally meet you.” You finally composed yourself enough to speak full sentences. You shook her mother’s hand warmly before she eventually tugged away. “Despite the circumstances, of course.”

Rebecca’s mother smiled at you smally. “Quite. And yes, thank you for being here.”

Timidly, you glanced round the entrance of the church. There were people brimming indoors, and a few getting out of cars or walking through the gates at the front. You wondered where the team was, where Keeley was, where Ted and Beard and Nate were. In that instant, you couldn’t wait to see them all. 

You hadn’t spoken to Roy since your argument. 

“He’s coming,” Rebecca’s mother said suddenly, as if she’d read your damn mind. You turned back to her, at a loss for words. 

“Who?” you asked as your heart pelted against your chest.

Her mother perked her eyebrows accordingly. “Your footballer.”

Abruptly, you scoffed. “He’s not mine.” You tried to shake off her words, knowing that Rebecca would have got into her head about something or other. Her eyes scraped over your face, all while you tried not to meet her gaze. 

Your face softened when her eyes looked beyond you, to the front of the churchyard. “Are you sure about that?” she asked mysteriously, nodding quickly to a point behind you.

You turned around gently.

The AFC Richmond team bus came to a slow stop outside the gates of the churchyard. One by one, your boys disembarked. They were dressed in their Sunday best; you’d never seen half of them wear more than jeans and track pants.

You met Sam’s eye first, and his soft features graced you with a much needed smile. Behind him, Jamie helped Dani down from the coach steps, and beyond them Isaac donned an expensive pair of sunglasses and gorgeous suit— the kind only a professional footballer could afford for a funeral. 

Your heart swelled as they approached. Behind you, you sensed that Rebecca felt the exact same as you. 

They were dazzling, it had to be said. Seeing a football team congregate at any event besides a match itself was an experience, but seeing them all here to support the owner of their team was better than you could imagine.

Sam was the first to reach Rebecca, encasing her in a hug that felt intimate and genuine. The others followed, but you were distracted as they all lined up by the front of the church— Keeley had joined the team still disembarking by the coach, Beard and Nate next to her, and the fourth member of their rabble was the one that made your fingers twitch. 

Roy donned a black suit. Nothing extravagant, but simple and clean. He’d trimmed his hair and beard. He looked good, and it made your insides twist.

Quickly, as Rebecca pulled away from greeting Dani, you muttered about going inside. Before Roy could even spot you, you headed inside the church to avoid the incoming awkwardness that you knew would come as soon as you said hello to him. 

You’d never considered yourself an avoidant. Hell, you’d chased Roy down the street last year after months of him ignoring you. You’d always confronted him when he wasn’t kind in your first few months at Richmond. You’d always been the first to apologise, or mend your relationship, or fix what he’d unintentionally broken. This time, you thought, you didn’t want to do it. It was his turn to approach you and break the ice, address the obvious, attempt to fix what your argument had caused.

It was quiet inside. The vast church walls and arched ceiling made every whisper reverberate back into the room. An organ played a sombre tune. You stood at the back of the room and waited. 

You didn’t see Roy in the service, but you knew he was there. Rebecca recited Rick Astley, and the entire church joined in. The only break in play had come from a stray Ted arriving in the middle of the service. It was uneventful, besides the constant pitter patter of your heart beneath your ribs.

Back at Rebecca’s mother’s house you stayed with the boys. Colin caught you up on all of their recent games. Isaac kept his sunglasses on inside. Sam was nowhere to be seen for half of the wake. 

Everything felt strange, like you were waiting with bated breath that you didn’t even properly have. The unusualness of being reunited with the team was lost due to the occasion, but you knew that was for the best. This day wasn’t for you— it was for Rebecca and her mother. 

As you got yourself a refill of wine, a gentle hand deposited itself on your shoulder. “What’s up, writer?” Ted’s Kansas accent warmed you instantly.

You hugged him immediately, settling into his arms as if you’d been tensed for a number of hours. Perhaps you had been. “Coach,” you addressed him, standing back from the embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the headlines about him a week prior. You grimaced without meaning to. “Oh, well that’s not a good face, is it?”

“Who the fuck sold that story about you? I swear, I’ll find them and make them regret it—,” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your damn horses.” Ted chuckled lightly, placing his hands on your shoulders. Your sudden defensive stance was dissipated by his touch. 

“Seriously, Ted. That’s private, and not fair in the slightest. I’m sorry they wrote about you like that.”

Ted shrugged. “It’s not like it was a lie made up by the tabloids. It’s alright.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s still shitty.” 

“Sure it is.” Ted reasoned with you. “Swings and roundabouts, writer. I don’t care what they write about me. I’m just not fond of what it does to the team as a consequence.” 

Your face softened. “Colin tells me your games are going well.”

“We’re almost top of the table, baby.” His smile was dazzling. “And that’s all I care about. Not some snooty paper trying to weed us out.”

In your peripheral vision, you felt the familiar stare of someone. Nate held a beer in his hand and faced you full frontally. You didn’t pay any more attention to him to see the state of his expression— he didn’t deserve knowing that you thought about him.

It took less than a second to realise that it was him that sold the story to the Sun. Of course he fucking had. You could’ve confidently bet money on him being the snake that exposed Ted’s private information. 

You refocused fully on Ted, smiling sullenly as you settled in place before him. 

You made light conversation with most of the team that afternoon, simply checking in and glad that you had some time to catch up on the current standings. Winding through the corridors of the vast house, you couldn’t help but ponder if Roy would be around another corner. Every room you entered you mentally prepared yourself to face him, but you never found yourself face to face with him as the minutes turned to hours. 

At one point you found yourself with no one to chat with. In the grand living room, Keeley and Jamie muttered in the corner. On the other side, Ted and Beard chatted with plates covered in single serving sausage rolls. 

You exited the room and headed for the stairs. Quietly, you ascended. Perhaps you wanted to explore the house, or see Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, or get some air away from the subtle hubbub of the various downstairs rooms.

You found her room quickly, noticing the pink bedspread and posters on the walls from the nineties. What you weren’t expecting was the life size cut out of Roy Kent surveying her trinkets. You stalled quickly, enough to make the floorboards creak beneath you. Before you could leave the room, Roy turned to you. Spotted– at last.

“I didn’t realise anyone would be in here,” you said, innately cursing yourself for speaking first.

“I came up here to get away from everyone for a moment,” Roy replied. 

You nodded awkwardly. “I’ll leave you to it–”

“No.” Roy stepped forward once, and that was all. “Stay.” You stayed frozen to your spot. “This room is fucking big enough for the two of us.”

He was right. As far as teenage rooms go, Rebecca had a good one. With large bay windows that sprawled out with a view of the back garden. It was light, it was airy, and you could only feel the subtle jealousy of wanting a space like this when you were ten years younger. 

You surveyed the walls and took it all in. “This is a nice room.”

“A nice gaff, more like. This place is a fucking mansion.”

“Rebecca’s always been well off,” you said, stepping trepidatiously further into the space. You gravitated towards her bed, until you finally sank onto her mattress. It was soft; memory foam. “It doesn’t surprise me that this was her family home.”

Roy shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. There was tension in the air, to say the least. It was apparent that both of you felt out of place, still reeling from your argument the week before, and the lack of closure from it. This was the longest you’d gone in months without actually talking to Roy– not small talk about houses or bed-rooms or the like, but actually talking. 

You stuck to your promise of not making the first move, but you opened up the conversation while you still had the nerve. “I guess you saw the paper. About Ted.”

Roy growled gently. “Yeah, I did.” He strolled forward slowly, approaching you on the bed. “I was there, y’know, when he told us coaches about his panic attacks. I don’t want to believe that it was one of us who shared his fucking secrets…”

“But?” you let out before you could stop yourself. 

You caught Roy’s eyes, and they twinkled with something unspoken. Did he know about Nate? Did he know how much of a manipulator he’d been to you? 

Roy only shrugged, before he finally deposited himself next to you. As much as you felt you deserved an apology still, you were thankful for his proximity to you. “Fucking but. I don’t know who spread that shit around.”

You kept your thoughts to yourself. “Ted seems okay despite it.”

Roy huffed with subtle amusement. “You know Ted and his happy-go-lucky American bullshit. If he was even torn up about it, he wouldn’t fucking tell anyone, especially not anyone from the team.”

“Hmm,” you hummed with concern. You tapped your fingers on your thigh anxiously. “Can you please keep an eye on him,” you said, finally looking into Roy’s eyes properly. “I worry about him. Just keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

Roy’s face softened. His eyes danced over your face for the first time in over a week. “Okay.” He waited for a beat. “For you, I will.”

You looked away first, trying not to blush violently, and suddenly enamored with an overloaded cork board above Rebecca’s bed. Beside you, Roy scooted closer. “Hey,” he said softly. 

You kept your gaze glued on the opposite wall to him. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. You sucked in a deep breath, sinking further into the memory foam. “I shouldn’t have said all that fucking shit. I was angry, and you didn’t deserve me screaming down your throat about a job that you can’t control.”

Turning towards him, a smile settled on your face before you’d even said a word. “I know you only want the best for me– all of you–  and that’s… that’s…”

“It’s a hard pill to swallow sometimes, I get it.” 

“I don’t like fighting with you, you know,” you said. 

Roy chuffed immediately. “I’m in the same fucking boat with you there, sweetheart.” You chuckled abruptly at the return of his honesty. This was normal; this was what you and Roy had created from the moment you’d first become friends. 

“I would’ve apologised sooner,” Roy started. “I just didn’t want to do it over fucking text, or a phone call. It didn’t seem like enough.”

“You’ve been busy, too.”

“Hey– so have you. With that shit job you still have.”

“Are we going to start arguing again, Roy?” you asked jokingly. 

“Nah,” he said, a smile plastered on his usually stoic face. “You already know how I feel about it all.”

“I do.” You nodded.

“And you already know that I’m here if you ever sack it all off.”

“I do.” You nodded again.

“Well.” Roy reached out for your hand instantly. His fingers wrapped around you warmly. “Give me a call if that day ever fucking comes.” You huffed with a mixture of amusement and warmth. “And every day it doesn’t, as well.” 

When you looked at him then, you had to fight against crumbling completely. Roy Kent really was something. And you’d spent the better half of two years trying to figure out what that something was. As much as he was reactionary, he also took accountability. As much as he’d made you feel sad sometimes, you could outweigh that with the amount he’d made you feel the complete opposite. He was part of what had kept you in Richmond for all this time, even despite Pluto Press, even despite the shit situation that had placed you there in the first place– he kept you here. 

“And I’ll be there to answer.” You meant it. “Every single time.”

“Good,” Roy said softly.

You chuckled to yourself. “Good.” 

As the two of you rejoined the wake downstairs. Roy grabbed you a beer without you even asking, and you couldn’t help but notice the line between your unspoken thing getting thinner and thinner. 

After the wake, Keeley organised a girls night at hers. You couldn’t remember the last time she’d had you and Rebecca over to the house. Her home was lovely; a real architects dream; with floor to ceiling windows everywhere and an abundance of skylights that lit her home with natural light, even during the winter months.

You made yourself comfortable on her plush sofa, glass of wine in hand, as the three of you caught up properly for the first time in well over a month. 

“It was odd, seeing my mum in that kind of environment. Especially when it was all about my dad,” Rebecca said, taking a sip of wine with a fluffy pillow snuggly on her lap.

“Funerals make me feel weird,” Keeley said. “Like, when I die, I think I want to be buried underneath a young apple tree. And that way, my decomposition will help fertilise the tree above me, and then everyone can eat the apples from my branches.”

You refrained from grimacing involuntarily. It was a nice sentiment, but the thought of biting into an apple from Keeley’s death tree made you feel a bit sick. 

Rebecca laid a hand on her leg from the other end of the sofa. “That’s lovely darling.” The look on her face showed she was lying. Keeley chose to ignore her. 

“Where even were you at the wake?” you asked Keeley. “I didn’t see you for practically the whole time we were there. I hung around with Ted, mostly.”

“I was with my mother, mostly. But you’re right–” Rebecca nodded at you. “I don’t recall seeing you around the house much.”

You clicked your fingers abruptly. “Oh– I did see you with Jamie at one point.”

You and Rebecca laid your gaze on Keeley. She was swiping her finger timidly around the rim of her wine glass, acting as if she wanted the plush sofa to engulf her whole. You’d never seen her so obviously wanting to disappear from a conversation.

“Keeley,” you said lowly. “What’s going on?”

Keeley shrugged smally. It reminded you of Roy.

“Darling,” Rebecca said, pushing her ever so slightly. 

“Yeah, I was with Jamie. Maybe.” Keeley finally caved. 

You leaned closer to her, bridging the gap in the Keeley sandwich you were in, of which you and Rebecca were the thick and soft slices of bread. When the two of you got close enough to touch her cheeks with your noses, Keeley exploded. 

“Alright!” she yelled, propelling herself up with the sofa. She rounded the coffee table until she stood, almost jumping on the spot, before the telly. “You two are the worst at minding your own fucking business!”

“Oh, please– you were practically omitting radiation with how much you wanted to spill this.” You said with amusement, repositioning yourself on the sofa to sit on your feet. 

“So, come on, darling. Spill it.” Rebecca copied you, hopping onto her ankles. 

Keeley let out an array of noises, that could only be described as utter gibberish, before she let it all out. “At the wake, Jamie told me he’s in love with me.”

In unison, you and Rebecca jumped up from the sofa. The fluffy, cream carpet beneath your feet felt the most of the brunt, as the red wine in your glass had already jumped ship straight to the floor. Your sock was drenched in Merlot, but you didn’t give a shit. 

“He said what?” Rebecca screamed.

“No fucking way!” you screeched. 

“I know!” Keeley responded, running in place to dispel her relentless nervous energy. “He just said it! Like it was the easiest thing in the fucking world to tell me!”

Rebecca placed her fingers on her chin, almost freezing in place. You, however, were still riding the same wave as Keeley. You jogged on the spot the same as her, not even thinking of the bigger picture, or the reasons why. Of course, Jamie Tartt was in love with Keeley Jones. Why the fuck wouldn’t he be?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’ve been having a secret affair with Sam Obisanya.” 

You practically performed a double take as your stare slotted towards Rebecca. Keeley stopped jogging, frozen to her spot at the telly behind you all started playing an advert for car insurance. 

“Rebecca Welton!” Keeley exclaimed.

You rushed towards Rebecca before you even realised what you were doing. “It was Bantr, wasn’t it?” you asked bluntly. 

“How did you know that?!” Rebecca’s shocked expression was golden.

You smiled slyly. “He tells me everything, you know?”

Instantly, Rebecca went red in the face. “I hope not everything.” 

When Keeley rushed forwards, you couldn’t help but innately regale at the scene before you. All your lives were so inherently intertwined. Everyone knew each other, everyone cared for each other, no one would let the other down. 

Sam had been periodically texting you updates about the woman he’d met through Bantr and the run-up to finally meeting her in person. After their dinner, he’d uncharacteristically gone silent about most of it. Bar the odd conversation when you’d begged to live vicariously through his love-life, the shift from on the app to in person was apparent.

It all made sense. 

It also made sense when you pieced everything together about hardly seeing him at the wake. Evidently, Rebecca and him had been tied at the hip in private. 

“I can’t believe you kept this from us!” Keeley yelled.

“I can,” you said, calming down slightly, but still feeling warm from this entire get-together. “He’s a player at AFC Richmond, the club that Rebecca owns. It sounds complicated.”

Rebecca let out a gentle breath. “It was.” She swallowed. “That’s why I broke it off with him.”

Keeley immediately calmed down. “Oh… Rebecca. I’m so sorry.”

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I am, too. That must’ve been hard to do.”

Rebecca looked down-trodden for all of two seconds, before she inhaled deeply. As she did, her back straightened, her chin rose. She was a strong woman incarnate. “It was. But– it had to be done. Sam knew it, too.”

“I bet.” You smiled. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t adore him. I think… I think we’ll both hold onto the past few months for a long time. But!” She exclaimed, flipping the narrative. “That’s not a bad thing. It was fun, Sam and I together. It was fun while it lasted, and I don’t resent it happening.”

“Way to go, Rebecca!” Keeley said, tone full of encouragement. 

Rebecca huffed with a smile on her face. As the moment ended, she finally turned to you. “So,” she said. 

You took a small step back, scoffing. “So?”

“So, what about you then, darling? It’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

Keeley turned to you now. You were cornered. They had you at every angle. 

“Your turn to spill it,” Keeley said. 

Innately, your lungs collapsed. But– you didn’t have anything you were hiding. You didn’t have news, you didn’t have a confession of love sitting in your lap from anyone, you didn’t have news of an elicit affair with someone from work, nothing. 

Though, when you allowed your thoughts to spiral, there was one thing that cropped up above all else.

Roy.

Roy. 

Stupid, stoic Roy, with his potty mouth that meant he was thousands in debt against Phoebe’s swear jar. Annoying, nagging Roy, who wouldn’t give it a rest with trying to interfere with things that you didn’t want fixed. 

Gorgeous, kind Roy, who you knew would catch you if you ever were to fall. 

God fucking dammit. 

Without thinking, the words burst from your mouth. 

A few weeks after Roy’s return, you found yourself feeling the love. When you came to, you were screaming your head off. Everything was a giant blur of those familiar reds and blues, so you knew you were home. The locker room still looked the same as always, but the players within were so drastically separate from how they were a week ago that you could hardly fucking believe it. 

AFC Richmond were going to Wembley for the FA Cup final. The only downside– they were against Manchester fucking City. You weren’t about to dampen their joy, though. You suspected they all knew exactly what was at stake, but they deserved this. They deserved to feel like winners. 

Sam bound over to you as soon as he could. His embrace brought you back down to earth, and you hugged him back so tightly that it was a miracle neither of you passed out. “God, I am so proud of you,” you whispered into his shoulder. 

He reciprocated by squeezing you once more, before you tugged apart. “You still bring us good luck. You are part of the reason we have come this far.” He spoke so earnestly that you couldn’t stop your throat from drying up. 

You swallowed painfully, utterly overwhelmed. Sam went one step further, however, when he stepped onto one of the benches. “Hey, guys! Guys!” he yelled, bringing the sound in the room right down. Every player, and coach alike, turned to him and listened intently. “We wouldn’t have gotten to this position without the help of every single person in this room.” Sam looked down at you then, smiling like the golden sun. “Thank you, everyone! We’re Richmond till we die!” 

The room erupted into roars that no jungle could replicate. You soaked up their cheers, their happiness, their togetherness, and as you did you sensed someone close by: Roy. 

He stood in the doorway of the manager’s office, wearing a tracksuit that donned Richmond’s logo. He’d fallen into his coach position as if he’d always been here– assertively, strongly, respectfully. When you glanced around the room and saw him, you had to stop just for a moment to take him in. You smiled at him, even though he wasn’t looking at you. When he eventually caught your eye, you quickly looked beyond him, acting as if you hadn’t been eyeing him up for the better half of a minute. 

Roy liked it when you looked like this– happy, content, in the middle of a bustling and buzzing room yet perfectly fine with just existing and not speaking. You were good like that, good at listening and observing. You were also good at talking when you got to it, but Roy’s initial annoyance whenever you opened your mouth had quickly disappeared after a few weeks into your placement at the club. That sentiment had only grown over the past year and a half.

Jesus– eighteen months. It’d really gone fast, hadn’t it? Eighteen months, and you’d grown into your talent and only increased your work ethic (even if you secretly hated your current position). Eighteen months, and Roy had played his last game of football ever, but coached his first professional game since. 

Roy leaned on the doorframe of the manager’s office and crossed his arms. Dani had his hands wrapped around your neck lovingly from behind. The two of you swayed back and forth as the team continued rejoicing. Slowly, you latched your fingers onto Dani’s forearms and held them tightly. Roy knew what that felt like, having you close. He’d been there with you once, when it was impossible to keep your hands off each other in a crowded room like this. 

There was another thing that hadn’t happened in eighteen months. You and Roy. Roy and you. In truth, you’d thought about things more than he had. This was amongst one of the first times he’d allowed himself to think of you together, properly, and what it could have been like. 

He thought back to November, almost six months ago now, when he’d told you that he had no intention of fucking things up. To do that, you and Roy couldn’t happen– wouldn’t happen. 

Roy frowned when he thought about how awful he’d been, not even during that conversation, but afterwards. He hadn’t put up any boundaries, had continued acting the same as he always was around you. It wasn’t kind; he knew that as soon as he’d seen your face on Boxing Day, practically scrambling to get the fuck out of his house. 

The bad thing was, however, that Roy didn’t want to stop. Sure, he’d said things would never happen, and you’d graciously accepted that fate and tried to move forward over these past few months like any respectful and decent person would. But, he hadn’t. He’d said the words, but not followed them. 

Roy huffed to himself, only now realising– he was a fucking idiot. 

This was Roy’s more prominent disease, it seemed: delayed on-set realisation of selfishness. DOROS for short. Maybe he’d always known, but had pushed it all away in favour of keeping you close. Maybe he’d always known, but innately knew that he had never wanted to cut things off with you, so simply acted like he’d never fucking said a thing. 

Mentally, Roy added a new to-do box to his list. 

Fix things with you. 

He would. Oh, he would. 

“Roy!” Ted’s familiar accent called from behind him. Roy turned around and looked down at his fellow coach, sat before him with his feet on his desk. Beard was the same, and the two of them looked like peas in a pod. “How’re your first few weeks going?” 

Roy balled his fists instinctually. “Good. I think.”

“Well, you gosh darn thunk correctly!” Ted burst, jumping out of his chair in excitement. “And now, I need your help once again. This match next week, the big one.” He stopped directly in front of Roy, chin to chin. “How do we keep the guys like this?”

This meaning the ruckus behind him. Joyful, strong, ready to fight with all they’ve got even if the outcome isn’t in their favour. Roy knew that feeling well, having felt it too many times to count. 

He sighed. “It’ll be tough. Come tomorrow, they’ll all start to spiral.”

“How so?”

Roy shrugged. “It’s the hope that kills you.” 

Ted’s face soured immediately. “I don’t like your sayings over here.” 

“Yeah, well…” Roy turned around to look at the guys. “It’s easier than being fucking disappointed.” 

“Screw that!” Ted suddenly exploded. He grabbed Roy’s shoulders and urged him to look in his eyes. “We’re stopping that today. What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you look at those guys right there, acting like that?” Ted asked. 

Roy swivelled his head back around to look at them. “I… I dunno?” he said. 

Ted squeezed his shoulders abruptly. “Yes, you do! Say it. Say it!”

“All-fucking-right!” Roy yelled. “Her!” He pointed at you without hesitating. 

As if on cue, you laughed. You scrunched your eyes shut in happiness, giggling as Dani placed his chin atop your head. He squeezed you tighter, and you giggled even harder, gripping his arms stronger than before. Sam and Colin laughed opposite them, still overcome with the buzzing adrenaline of the win. They all were. You perpetuated that feeling, made the guys want it even more so you could join them at times like this. 

Ted moved next to Roy, looking at the same scene. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Ted whispered. “You’ve never been more right in your life.”

You had to suck in a deep breath as your laughter dissipated. Your lungs were empty of all reserves, but you’d never felt better about it. Dani gently removed himself from you to head towards Richard and Zoreaux. As he did, the most unexpected thing happened. 

Someone tapped you on the shoulder, and when you turned to greet them with a glowing smile, you stopped short. Jamie Tartt stood before you. “Hey,” he said. 

You kept things light as you perked your brow at him quizzically. “Hi.” You smiled. “Congratulations.”

Jamie laughed awkwardly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Thanks very much.” You’d never tire of his accent, secretly. You were fond of Mancunian. “Listen, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh– sure.”

“Privately,” he added. 

You glanced around the locker room quickly, before nodding once. Jamie led you out to the corridor and beyond. He opened the door to the kit room and held it for you as you entered, then followed you inside and shut the door behind him. 

You didn’t know where to place yourself. Stood in the centre of the room, overwhelmed by the scent of soggy feet, you turned to the striker and waited. Jamie stood opposite you with the same feeling of being utterly out of place. 

“What can I do for you, Jamie?” you started, getting the ball rolling.

“I know we’re not really… er, close.” He clutched his hands together awkwardly, almost unable to meet your eye. “But I know how much you mean to the club and that.”

You huffed amusedly. “Sure,” you agreed. 

“Which is why I know you won’t laugh at me when I ask you this.” Tartt finally met your eye, and you were taken aback. Whatever was on his mind you now knew was a big deal. I mean, it had to be for him to approach you like this, surely?

“Okay,” you said sturdily. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s Roy.” You held your breath as he said it. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that Jamie would come to you about a Roy problem, yet here he was. “He won’t coach me. Not like the others, you know. I know I was a dick in the past, for lack of a better word, and that Roy was on the receiving end sometimes–”

“All the time,” you said, matter of factly. Jamie subtly exploded.

“Okay, fine– all the fucking time– but I’m back now, and I need a fucking coach. I want him to teach me the same way he teaches Sam and Isaac and the rest.”

“But, you don’t know how to ask him,” you said your thoughts out loud. 

Jamie nodded quickly, agreeing with you tenfold. “I know he’d tell me to fuck off.”

“Well, of course he’s going to do that.” You almost chuckled from how right he was in saying so. “But, I see where you’re coming from.” Your mind spiralled down different routes, unknowing of where you came into this equation. You could tell Jamie what to say, but you knew what Roy would reply simply because it was Tartt, not you. “Why come to me, though?”

Jamie’s face squished questioningly, like he couldn’t understand why you hadn’t put two and two together just yet. “Roy fucking listens to you.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh now. “Oh, please. Yeah, he listens. But whether or not he decides to do what I say is a completely different ball game.”

Jamie reached out to you suddenly and gripped your shoulders in desperation. “Please. I know I’m making up for lost time and bad behaviour and whatever else I did to the guys, or Lasso, or Roy, but I need to be useful here. I want to be useful here.” 

You regarded him thoughtfully then. It was hard not to take him into account when he was like this, bearing his soul to a person who had never connected with him beforehand. Reaching out to you was a shot in the dark for him, but he’d done it anyway because he wanted to succeed. It was commendable, when you put it all into perspective. 

You decided upon a middle ground. “I’ll plant the seed in his head to let you in, alright?” 

Jamie let out a clear sigh of relief when you agreed. “Well, fuck– thank you.”

“But!” you continued. “You need to go to him yourself. You need to apologise, and tell him exactly what you said to me. It’s Roy, so he’ll make it a fucking nightmare and will probably be childish and petty and whatever fucking else that grown man is capable of…” As you rambled, the cogs in Jamie’s brain finally understood the whole story– you liked him, didn’t you? “...but he’ll do it eventually. He has to. He’s a coach now, and if you’re here, you deserve to be coached properly.”

Jamie squealed and smiled at the same time, his eyes ablaze with boyish resemblance. He squeezed your shoulders affectionately. “I knew coming to you would work out. I just knew it.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Don’t make it a regular thing,” you joked. “There are only so many strings I can pull with Roy.”

Jamie raised his brows assumptively. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean by that?” All your amusement reluctantly trailed off alongside your words.

“Well,” Jamie started. His grin dropped instantly. “I mean– don’t make me fucking say it. You already know, don’t you?” 

“Know what?” you pressed. 

“That Roy, y’know. That Roy–” Jamie flailed his arms around like a flapping seagull. “He– y’know…” 

You squinted at him. “Are you speaking some kind of secret footballer language that common people like me don’t fucking understand?”

“He likes you!” Jamie finally let out. 

“Oh.” You stepped back. Jamie’s arms dropped to his sides. “Stop fucking talking now.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t see it?” Jamie looked you dead in the eye, but all you were capable of doing was looking away from embarrassment. “Well, you’re more stupid than I fucking took you for.” 

“Hey!” you exclaimed. “There’s no need for that shit when I’m digging you out of the mess you fucking made last season.” 

He raised his arms up in understanding. “Alright, alright. Sorry, my bad.” You let out your own sigh of relief when you realised the conversation was over. 

You and Jamie headed back to the locker room soon after. As he made his way towards the guys, you stuck to the outer limits of the cinder block walls. Roy was still in the manager's office, his back turned as he spoke to Ted and Beard. You didn’t want to intrude, so you made the decision to cut back into the corridor once more; not to leave, but to wait until the guys were ready for a pint. 

You slowly trudged down the familiar corridor that you used to traverse every fucking day. Past the locker room, you approached the gym. Beyond that, your old office still sat. Keeley had recently upgraded to a larger room deeper underneath the Dogtrack, however, so the usual array of pink pillows and her cheetah statue were nowhere to be seen. 

You entered through the half open door and walked straight into darkness. The walls were the same, just pinker. The desk was the same, just empty. Whenever you visited this office space after time away you felt the same pull to return. You didn’t care if it had no windows; you’d managed to make it home for nearly a year without any hiccups. 

God, you wanted to be back here. Everyone knew it, even Rebecca, but you daren’t take favours. You would never. 

A small knock sounded from the door, and you turned back quickly. “Ready to g–? Oh!” you exclaimed. You’d been expecting Sam or Roy, but were met with the still slightly unfamiliar face of Nate. “Sorry, Nate. I thought you were someone else.”

“That’s alright,” he said, smiling. “May I come in?” 

“Oh,” you spluttered. “Yes, of course. This isn’t my office anymore.”

He stepped inside. “No, no, it’s not, is it?” he said, and the tone of his voice was erring on patronising. You opted to ignore it, knowing that he wouldn’t have meant it that way. Surely?

The silent pause that flittered between you was very awkward, there was no denying it. It wasn’t that you’d meant to not really know him, but your circle at the club had seemed to travel in one certain direction that you hadn’t been able to control. The guys, Ted, Roy, Rebecca. Not Beard, not Nate. You didn’t mean anything by it innately. 

If anything, you were happy that Nate was making himself known to you. You’d love to get to know him more– or more than what you barely knew of him from your time at the club. 

“What a great game today, wasn’t it?” you started. 

“Oh yes, fantastic game,” said Nate. 

“And that thing–” You mimed what had happened on the pitch earlier, which happened to be a middle finger of all things. “That all four of you did to Jamie. Classic, really fucking brilliant.”

“Oh yes, the good old middle finger.” Nate copied you in miming what he’d done less than an hour ago. All four coaches had signalled to Tartt what needed to be done, and that signal happened to be swearing at him full-frontally. Four middle fingers had stood up on end, and Tottenham didn’t know what had hit them when Tartt managed to make a goal from just beyond the halfway line. 

“You were all absolutely brilliant!” you exclaimed. “I’ve been seeing you in the paper as well, you know? The whole Wonderkid thing.”

Nate smiled forcefully. “I definitely said Wunderkind.”

“Either way, it’s fantastic you’re getting that recognition.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Nate said, taking your compliment graciously; or so you thought. “So, here’s the thing.” He plunged right into his words like he’d had them on standby the entire time. 

“Go on,” you urged him happily.

“You can’t come to Wembley.” 

“What?” you asked, not fully absorbing his words.

Nate stopped smiling. He looked at you sternly, or like you were akin to dirt on his shoe, or whatever else. Your smile turned to a frown instantly. 

“You can’t come to Wembley,” Nate repeated. 

Those five words hit you like a tonne of bricks. You didn’t understand what he was saying, or what he meant. For a second, you thought he’d got his words mixed up, maybe, but even if they were un-muddled they wouldn’t make sense at all. 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you said smally, feeling multiple degrees of hurt even though you had no explanation. 

“Okay,” Nate replied. “I’ll spell it out for you.” He raised his chin and sucked in a deep and confident breath, “You cannot come to Wembley for the FA Cup final.”

You still didn’t understand, but you understood Nate’s words fully. Why he was saying them, though, you had no idea. Perhaps you hadn’t misinterpreted his patronising tone upon entering the room, but had picked it up perfectly. You didn’t know Nate enough to get mad– properly mad– but your blood boiled as you looked at him. 

“Why not?” you asked, swallowing sullenly to try and keep the butterflies in your gut at bay. 

Nate smiled. You hated that he smiled. It felt grimy and wrong. “Roy, Ted and Beard seem to think that you keep the team happy, and maybe you do. But, this is the fucking FA Cup final. They can’t afford any distractions, and you.” He looked you up and down like a blight. You’d never been looked at like that before in your life. “You are a distraction. You may think you’re helping, but the guys need clear minds and ready heads. You’re a distraction towards all of that.”

You laughed abruptly, at a loss for words. Nate’s smile turned to something much more condescending. Gently, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. You froze on the spot. 

“It’s just better if you sit this one out, alright? Don’t worry, the guys won’t miss you too much.” 

You opened your mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was air. Your lungs collapsed beneath your chest, your heart pumped blood uncomfortably and incredibly fast into your limbs, your organs, your gut. It hurt. It really hurt. 

Nate squeezed your shoulder. You stiffened further. “Good talk. Let’s catch up after the final.” He removed his hand from you and left promptly, leaving you in the darkned seclusion of your old office. 

Realisation hit you like a double-decker bus. Nate had always been like this a bit, hadn’t he? Not before he became a coach, but afterwards, certainly. A shift had cemented within him as soon as he’d donned the Richmond jacket and owned a desk spot next to Ted and Beard. The whistle around his neck clung to him like a trophy of his authority. 

Nathan Shelley was not a nice coach. Good, smart, intelligent, but not nice. 

You wondered if Ted knew. You wondered if Beard knew. You wondered if Roy knew. If they did, you knew they’d do something about it, so perhaps not. Innately, despite the weak way your chest scraped air through your crippled lungs, you hoped it was just you that he had gripes with. You hoped he wasn’t like this to any of the guys themselves. Just the thought alone made you angry beyond belief. 

No one on the team deserved to be treated the way that Nate had just treated you. 

You sucked in a sharp breath quickly, feeling the beginnings and endings of tears behind your eyes. You wouldn’t cry, not for this. If you twisted this entire ordeal on its head then it was borderline comical. Not to toot your own horn, but you knew that if any of the guys in the locker room next door found out about this, then they’d take your side. 

That was exactly why you couldn’t tell them. You weren’t about to be the reason that AFC Richmond’s managerial team broke apart. They’d come so far already after relegation. You couldn’t– wouldn’t– fuck that all up. 

Quietly, you swallowed away your pride and your feelings and left your old office. Silently, you headed back to the locker room and entered timidly. 

“There she is,” Roy muttered to Sam as you entered. As you approached him, you realised he’d picked up your bag and slung it over his shoulder to save you holding it yourself. “Ready to go?” he asked, face to face. 

Your eyes hit his. You struggled to keep everything at bay, but brushed it off as best as you possibly could. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Here.” You gestured to your bag on his shoulder, but Roy twisted himself away from you. 

“I’ve got it.” Roy frowned slowly, a sour feeling sprouted in his gut. “You alright?” 

You waved him off. “I’m fine. I just don’t feel all that good, if I’m being honest.” 

“Hm.” He reached out confidently and laid his knuckles against your forehead. Roy had done this to you many times. You were used to it, but still allowed yourself to silently indulge in his touch. Besides, you needed this. He didn’t know, but you needed him right now. “You do feel a bit hot, actually,” he said lowly. “Wanna skip the pub and go home?” 

Gently, you nodded. Roy’s hand dropped to your shoulder, the same one that Nate had held just minutes before. Quickly, you placed your hand over his. “Yes, please.” 

Roy stayed still. Something was wrong, he knew it. There was this look in your eye that coincided with you not feeling well, but that wasn’t all. The way you were standing; slumped, arms wrapped around yourself, as if you were desperately trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. The hand that rested atop his own didn’t feel strong. This wasn’t you, the real you.

Roy nodded at you in understanding. “Okay,” he whispered. Roy turned to the rest of the room and addressed the team. “You’ll have to catch us next week for drinks, boys.”

The collective groan that descended across the room made you feel awful, but there was nothing you could do about it. 

Roy sensed your unease. “Hey!” he yelled. “That’s fucking enough of that. Get some sleep after your well-deserved booze break, and I’ll see you all bright and early for practice on Monday!”

“Yes, coach!” 

You and Roy drove home in silence. Not the uncomfortable kind, but Roy could tell something was on your mind. It was rare that either of you evaded the weird sixth sense you had about the other now. Roy could read you as clear as he’d read your article about him. 

He stopped his Jeep outside your apartment building and killed the engine. You gathered your belongings and shot him a quick smile. “Thanks.” You went to leave. 

“Wait.” In one click, Roy had locked your door from the driver’s side door. “Tell me what’s wrong or I’m not letting you out.”

You huffed, slumping back into your chair in acceptance. “Really?”

“Really,” Roy repeated.

“This is childish, Roy.”

“I don’t fucking care. One moment you were happy as a daisy, and the next you look like you’ve landed on death’s fucking door.”

You sighed in exasperation. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

Roy twisted himself to face you more head on. He crossed his arms and waited patiently. “Go on.”

You rolled your eyes, wishing this to be over. “I’m on my period.”

Roy pointed at you quickly. “Don’t try and catch me out with a feminine problem that you assume men don’t want to hear about. I have a fucking sister, and I know all about how crazy her cycle made her. This isn’t that.”

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, raising your voice slightly. Your stress levels had grown exponentionally in the last minute and a half. You could feel your rapid heartbeat beneath your chest. “It doesn’t fucking matter, alright. If I wanted to talk about it then I would have told you by now.”

Roy perked his brow at you. “Is this about something football related, or something life related?”

“God!” you exploded finally. You wouldn’t mention Nate, but Roy’s incessant poking meant you had to say something real. Maybe this really was something you should have told him a while ago. “You really wanna know?” You turned towards him, eyes crazy and breathing erratic. “I hate my fucking job, okay. And everytime I go to the stadium for a game I’m reminded of everything I left behind and everything I continue to leave behind. The guys, Ted, Beard, you.” 

For the first tme since the car stopped, Roy shut his mouth and listened. 

“I– I wonder how much longer I can fucking do it. The commute every morning, the staleness of my work colleagues, the giant stack of papers and assignments that are always waiting on my desk to get done because no one else will fucking touch them. I don’t sleep at night properly, and I can’t even cook meals anymore. I feel like–” You sucked in a deep breath and finally looked Roy in the eye. “I feel like, even despite all of you including me in everything, I’m running on the spot behind you and will never be able to catch up. Like I’ll never be part of that world anymore. And it’s, it’s– breaking me.” 

Roy leant towards you instinctually. 

“Rebecca and Keeley know I hate it, but every time Rebecca talks about getting me a position at the club I freeze. It makes me feel sick that she’d so easily and without question hand me something because I don’t feel like I deserve it. And–!” Roy flicked his eyes over your face, at a loss of what to say. You laughed from a lack of what else to fucking do. “The game last weekend, when you showed up and finally realised your worth as a coach, I almost missed it because I couldn’t take being back there without thinking how much I fucking miss it all. I’m pathetic–”

“No, you’re not,” Roy interjected hoarsely. 

You laughed again, on the brink of tears. “Yes, I am. Who does that? Who cries before a fucking game because they can’t handle being there? Me. I do that now, apparently.” 

Silence descended inside the Jeep. You finally took a breath, and when you did you realised what you’d done. You leaned back in your seat and faced the windshield, utterly embarrassed that you’d burst at the seams. 

“So,” you said smally. “That’s that.” You turned towards Roy again. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Roy stayed as quiet as a mouse. That wasn’t his style. Glued to his spot, Roy kept his gaze on you thoughtfully. He regarded the look on your face and noticed the subtle embarrassment on your brow; you hadn’t expected to cave so easily when questioned about what was wrong. 

He looked down at your hands in your lap. Your fingers shook subtly as they brushed across your knuckles in worry. Roy hated that you were worrying after being honest about something in your life. It was only him, he thought. Surely you should know that you could tell him anything and he’d listen.

“Sorry,” you blurted out. 

Roy huffed, speechless. “What the fuck are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Fucking–” Roy moved closer to you. “Come here.” 

His arms were around you in no time. You stayed stuck in place, stunned, for just a second, until you found yourself hugging him back so fiercely that you couldn’t have thougth of anything you needed more. It was funny. You could count on one hand how many times you and Roy had hugged, and none of them had been like this. 

You’d been close before, sure, in proximity and in more. You were close even now, despite counting the conversation you’d both had in November. Everyone on the outside seemed to think of Roy as someone who wasn’t hands-on. He liked his space, he didn’t like to pry or poke, yet here you were– the air being squeezed from your lungs because he’d made you open up for your own good– because he couldn’t think of anything better to show that he cared than to embrace you. 

Roy Kent cared so much that it was a wonder he had energy to do anything else. 

When the two of you parted, you couldn’t help but laugh. You stayed close, foreheads almost touching. Roy smiled at you genuinely, fully, thoughtfully. 

“No wonder you’re going mental,” he said lowly. “That’s a lot to hold onto without letting it out.”

That’s not even the half of it. You wanted to say, but you didn’t. 

“You’re not running in place behind us,” Roy continued. “You’re what keeps us all together. You’re the reason I went back to Richmond.” You didn’t say anything, just took in his words. “I didn’t go back just for the game, or the guys– I went back because I knew you’d be in the box, looking down at me on the pitch again.” 

Your throat closed slightly, as the urge to cry hit you. You swallowed it away, not wanting to burst again in such a short amount of time. “Well,” you whispered. “I’m glad.” 

For a fraction of a second, Roy’s eyes dropped to your lips. 

You’d been here before, you thought. You’d been here with him like this so many times that you couldn’t even count them off the top of your head. If you had time, a few minutes maybe, you’d be able to pinpoint every occasion where the word almost screeched within your mind. 

Almost there. Almost on you. 

Perhaps you’d never get beyond the proverbial almost, but this time felt different. Something had shifted recently. You felt it. Roy’s stares lingered for just a tad too long. Electricity buzzed between you even when you weren’t touching. The joy you’d felt when he’d arrived at the Dogtrack and finally caved in had been second to none. In hindsight, maybe jumping the wall of the home box and running down the steps in the stands to him had been too much. 

Roy didn’t think so. He’d relished you being close. His stomach had somersaulted as soon as you’d yelled his name. Secretly, he’d hoped you’d react the exact way you did. He’d done it for you, had he not? He’d come back to Richmond for you. 

Without realising, you and Roy had inched closer to each other so much that you both hovered over the centre console of his Jeep. Foreheads almost touching. Hearts almost caving. 

You’d been here before so many times. 

Roy swallowed without moving a muscle, ready to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Instantly, you crashed back down to earth. You sucked in a deep breath and straightened yourself, leaning back towards the passenger side window. You thought the worst. Was this an ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this’? It had to be, surely. 

“Oh,” you let out, flustered. “Don’t apologise, don’t wo–”

“No,” Roy cut you off strongly, unexpectedly leaning closer. “I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot.” 

Time stilled. That word– that almost– lingered in the air like dust in the desert. Heavy, dry, suffocatingly warm. 

Roy’s expression grew to frustration as quickly as you’d both fallen to silence. “I thought I was doing the right fucking thing, stopping–” He gestured between you both, not able to find words. “I thought it would be better for you, to not get you mixed up in all my shit.”

The penny dropped. You squished your face into a hurt smile involuntarily. “It’s okay, Roy,” you said softly. 

“And worse yet,” he continued. “I’ve been a… a fucking arse. Not changing how I acted around you, or what I said, or what I did. I must have made everything ten times fucking worse for you.”

You shook your head immediately. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Roy replied instantly. “It does matter. I never wanted to play with your fucking feelings or make what I did more difficult for you, but that’s exactly what I did.” 

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s okay,” you repeated, just for good measure. 

Roy fell silent for a pause, taking in your words as if he really needed to hear them. In fact, you thought he really did need to hear them, straight from your mouth and no one elses. 

“You’re sure?” he asked, checked, wanted to make extra fucking sure. 

You nodded quickly. “I’m sure.” You smiled, trying desperately not to let the cropped up hurt on your face show through. That wasn’t on him; he hadn’t intended to damage you this way. 

“Okay.” Roy breathed out deeply, leaning back into the driver’s seat like the weight of the world had just been taken off his shoulders. “Thank fuck,” he whispered, before meeting your eye again. He smiled, accepting the silliness that one felt after being so vulnerable with someone else. “I really fucking need you, you know?” 

You laughed first, wanting to say so do I. Instead, you differed your response. “Of course, you fucking do. Who else is going to tell you what to do with your life?” 

Roy’s smile lit up all over his face. You remembered a time where you used to count how many times he looked at you like this; honest. Now, it was everyday. 

“Exactly,” he said. Gently, he stuck his hand out and laid it upon your cheek. “Fucking exactly.” His thumb swiped across your face warmly. You shivered immensely, but tried desperately to hide it. 

You glanced at the radio clock. Time ticked by, and you knew you had to leave this conversation soon. Innately, Roy knew it, too. 

“My mum’s coming to Richmond tomorrow morning,” you said softly. Roy’s hand stayed put. You didn’t mind. “I need to go and clean my flat, or she’ll start washing up mugs against my will.” 

Roy’s eyes flicked between your own. Affection seeped from within them, so far removed from when you’d first met. Slowly, he removed his hand from your cheek. His fingers skimmed your skin on the way back to his lap. “Okay,” he whispered; acceptance. 

Almost would stay the same. Almost had gone the furthest it had ever been.

You slung your bag over your shoulder. Roy unlocked the passenger side door with one button click. You gripped the handle strongly, but paused before you left for good. 

“Thank you for listening to me,” you said simply. “I mean– really listening to me.” 

Roy stayed still, not leaving your gaze for a second. “Always,” he said lowly. 

When the door to your building shut behind you, Roy was still reluctant to drive away. He watched as the light turned on from the window of your ground floor flat, saw your silhouette enter the living room– the room where he’d stood before a few times– and drop your bag to the floor in exhaustion. 

Roy drove away when your silhouette disappeared, the feeling of you still present on his fingertips. 

You didn’t tell anyone about Nate. You didn’t tell anyone that he’d warded you off or spoke ill of you supporting the team. Instead, you went to work. You encompassed yourself in your job, taking on extra responsibilities despite that being the one reason you felt spread thin. 

By Thursday, you were ready to crash. Your bed had been calling you every day, as soon as you disembarked from the train at Richmond tube station. Intentionally, you ignored texts from Rebecca and Keeley about times to rendezvous at Wembley Stadium. If they ever asked, you’d blame it on having too much of a heavy work week. That would be your out. 

Logically, you knew you wouldn’t be able to completely miss Richmond playing at Wembley. People would be expecting you there. The guys would be expecting you there. But, despite their cries and pleads for you to be present, you were prepared to keep them at arms length– for Nate’s sake. 

When Saturday came, you knew it would be hard for you to avoid everyone at the club. By ten o’clock in the morning, Keeley had already called you twice. By half past the hour, Rebecca had called you three times. 

On the fourth time she rang, you knew you had to pick up. 

“Darling,” she said quickly. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” you said (you lied), secluded in your flat. “This week has been insane. I haven’t been able to focus on anything that isn’t Pluto Press related.”

Rebecca made a guttural sound in her throat. “Bollocks!” she exclaimed. “I’ll send a car. It can be there in twenty minutes if need be.”

“It’s okay. I can get the tube. Don’t worry–”

“Oh,” Rebecca cut you off. Her tone switched instantly. “Actually, don’t worry about a car. I think someone is waiting for you out front.”

As if on cue, the horn from Roy’s Jeep sounded from your living room window. 

Quickly, you ran to the window. Between your sheer curtains, Roy’s obsidian black Jeep was stationed on the road by your front door. You couldn’t curse on your call with Rebecca, but by God– you wanted to. 

“Is that the cavalry coming for me?” you said down the phone, peeved. 

“Yes, it is,” Rebecca said smugly. “See you in an hour, darling.” She hung up the phone fast, so quick that you couldn’t give any excuse to get out of this match. 

Quickly, you gathered a bag of belongings and left your flat. Reluctantly, you descended the steps of your building and pulled the handle of the passenger side door of Roy’s Jeep. You settled quickly, without fuss, but words dangled in the air as soon as silence descended within the car. 

“Ready to go?” Roy said from the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out. Roy didn’t push you, but he did push upon the accelerator and toward Wembley Stadium. 

Roy parked in the car park beneath the stadium, only for players or coaches, and killed the engine. 

You grabbed your bag quickly and left his Jeep, knowing what happens when you’re trapped inside with nowhere to go. The two of you made your way through the back entrance of the stadium. It was a miracle that Roy hadn’t asked what was wrong– you were being quiet and subdued, that was enough of a trigger for him to know something was up. 

You wondered if Nate had eyes on you. You wondered if he was watching you traverse the inner sections of Wembley, if he saw you freak out when going past the locker room, if he saw you retreat into yourself past the press rooms. 

Roy didn’t wonder. He kept his eyes on you through it all. 

Silence hung in the air uncomfortably as you passed office after office. These were the inner workings of a stadium; a world that you knew well, but nothing like that of the Dogtrack.

You finally broke the air. “I should really get to Rebecca and Keeley,” you said.

“And you will,” Roy said. “There’s just one stop we have to take first.”

Your heart stilled as soon as he turned to the right, entering into the final office on the long corridor you’d traversed. You were hit with the nervous gazes of Ted and Beard immediately, but you didn’t care for the way their expressions faltered softly—

You cared for the way Nate’s eyes bored into you with no remorse. At the back of the room, he glared at you ten times worse than he’d done the week before at the Dogtrack.

“Writer!” Ted exclaimed, filling the tension in the air with his enthusiasm. “Oh, thank God,” he added in a whisper. 

“Hi,” you said smally, accepting a hug from him suddenly. 

You hated this. As you removed yourself from Ted’s grasp, you could feel the steely eyes of one Nathan Shelley staring you down, like a child did to an ant before he crushed it with his shoe.

After you left Ted’s embrace, you stepped back so quickly that you almost tripped over Roy’s feet. He steadied you instantly, keeping his hand at your lower back.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Ted said, gaining some colour back on his face.

You laughed nervously. “I should really go and find Rebecca and Keeley. I shouldn’t be here.” 

“Poppycock!” Ted exclaimed. “You’re exactly what we needed. The guys are in the locker room just down there, why don’t you go and say—,”

“No!” you burst suddenly. 

The room went quiet instantly. Beard looked at Ted quizzically. You could feel Roy’s stare on the back of your neck.

“They need to focus,” you stuttered. “I should just go and find my seat.”

Nate stepped forward a few paces, coming between Ted and Beard silently. “I think that’s a good idea. Let her go and find her girlfriends.” 

You hated the way words fell from his mouth. You knew he had you exactly where he wanted you— uncomfortable, vulnerable, everything in between— but you were in no situation to open this can of worms with Ted, Beard and Roy. 

You gripped your bag on your arm tightly and turned to Roy. “I’ll see you on the pitch,” you said timidly. Quickly, and without thinking, you pressed a chaste kiss on Roy’s cheek, and left promptly.

You had no idea where you were going, but knew that you couldn’t stop as you made your way down the inner corridors of Wembley.

All you knew was that you needed to be where Nate Shelley was not, as soon as humanly possible. 

“Have a glass of wine,” Rebecca said sternly from the internal bar by the VIPs box. 

“I’m okay,” you said, keeping yourself contained.

Her smile turned to a frown. Oh, she knew you far too well for you to get out of this one.

“Take the fucking wine glass, darling.”

“Okay.” You took the glass of wine instantly and downed one, two, three gulps. You breathed out. “Oh, that’s better.” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, satisfied. 

“Sorry,” you said between gulps and sips. “It’s just been a long week.”

“I can see that,” she said, looking you up and down. “Are you sure that’s all it is? Your job?” 

Shit. She knew something else was up. They all fucking did, and it drove you insane. Innately, you cursed yourself out for being so well-known, so well-loved. You were surrounded by the people who knew you most in this world, but also by the people that didn’t want you around. It was a double-edged sword of inescapable proportions, and you were tired.

“That’s all it is,” you said, trying to adopt as much sincerity as you possibly could. 

Rebecca’s frown stayed put as her eyes roamed your face. Gently, she reached out her hand and ran her expensively manicured nails through your hair softly. 

“You’d let us know, wouldn’t you?” she said, and you froze with your wine glass to your lips. “You’d let us know if it was something else, too?” 

Keeley shoved a mini sausage roll in her mouth and approached you both quickly. “It’s Roy, isn’t it.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not Roy,” you groaned. 

“Then what is it!” Keeley exclaimed, launching pastry crumbs across the bar. 

Before you could respond, applause broke out from the crowd immensely. You gulped down the rest of your wine quickly and dropped the empty glass on a side table by the door to the stands. 

“That’s kick off,” you said, already on your way to take a seat.

The conversation went unfinished, as Rebecca and Keeley followed you out of the door towards the pitch. They didn’t attempt to pry during the game, too caught up in the song and dance of yelling chants for Richmond, of being present, of supporting.

You knew you’d dodged a bullet, as you screamed your lungs out from the stands. But, you knew your silence was on a time limit. If anyone would get something out of you, it was Rebecca and Keeley. 

And you knew it would only be a matter of time before they broke your silence (for the better). 

When the full-time whistle blew, you felt helpless. You could only imagine how the guys were feeling, knowing that they’d lost so spectacularly against none other than Manchester City. 

The person who your heart went out to the most, however, was not normal. It wasn’t Roy, it wasn’t Ted, it wasn’t even Sam or Isaac or Colin— it was Jamie Tartt. 

You knew he’d be hurting the most from this immense defeat. His old team, his past life, and at Wembley fucking stadium no less. He’d be in bits.

“Well,” Rebecca said, standing up and wrapping her scarf around her neck. “That’s that, then.”

“The guys will be crushed,” Keeley said sadly.

“Jamie will be crushed.” The pair of them looked at you as you spoke. Their sombre faces were enough for you to know that they agreed wholeheartedly.

“Come on.” Rebecca passed you and stepped out of the stands. “Let’s go and commiserate with them.”

You tensed instantly, watching silently as Keeley stood up and followed Rebecca. The two of them waited for you at the end of the row. 

“I should really head home,” you said finally, trying to keep your expression neutral. 

“What?” Keeley.

“Why on Earth do you need to leave now?” Rebecca.

“It’s just— I don’t want to crowd them, you know?” The pitch of your voice had risen. You sounded like a mouse, a lying, cheating mouse.

The two of them stared at you like you were mental. Neither said anything, their expressions spoke a thousand words for them— what the hell is up with you?

You faltered first. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Oh no, we absolutely will look at you like this,” Rebecca said threateningly. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? You look like a labrador that’s shit all over the carpet!”

“I really hope you haven’t shat on someone’s carpet, but if you have, you can tell us.” Keeley leaned down and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I haven’t shat on a fucking carpet!” 

“Then come on!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Your team needs you.” Her words stung you internally. “They need you.” 

Rebecca’s commanding nature jumped out tenfold. You were stuck at an impasse, between a rock and a hard place, whatever other metaphor you could use for being trapped. One side of your brain projected a sad picture of the guys in the locker room, begging for a friendly face to come and lift them up; and the other— Nate was glaring at you like you’d just done something terribly wrong. 

God, you hated this. No one knew the way he’d talked to you, or what he’d said. And the worst part was that you couldn’t tell them— wouldn’t— from how much drama it would create. 

Football was supposed to be your safe space. Watching matches with your girls, cheering or crying in the locker room with the guys, urging Ted, Beard and Roy on whenever you could.

Nate had taken that all away after one simple conversation. 

You didn’t know how to tell them no. If it was up to you, you would have sprung out of your seat and ran down to the locker rooms without any hesitation.

But, it wasn’t up to you. Nate’s words rattled around your mind like beads in a maraca. 

Rebecca sucked in a deep breath. She leant down and grabbed your hand swiftly, warmly. “We’re here with you. Whatever you need, we’re always here. But, those boys need us the most right now. You know them better than I do—,”

“And me! You know them better than me, too!” Keeley joined in supportively. 

“They don’t want us without you, and that’s a fact.” 

You let out a shaking breath, then nodded quickly. Nate would have to move to the fucking side.

“Okay.” You nodded again, strongly. “Okay— let’s go see our boys.” You stood up quickly, not letting go of Rebecca’s hand.

“Your boys,” Rebecca said sternly. “They’re all yours.”

Navigating the lower levels of Wembley was nerve wracking, you couldn’t lie. Scenarios raced through your head of things going terribly wrong; Nate stopping you in the corridor; Nate forbidding you from entering the locker room; Nate this, Nate that. 

Fuck this shit.

Rebecca was right. They were your boys, your team. You knew them on levels that didn’t revolve around football, you knew them as people. And by God, they needed that. This time, they needed someone to make them feel something other than defeated.

The corridors were clear when the three of you turned the corner to the locker rooms. Only a security guard stood at the door of Richmond, and he very easily let you all in when you approached.

You held your breath when you finally entered. The guys sat in their respective cubby holes sullenly, elbows on knees, heads in their hands.

You’d seen this before at Roy’s last game. Silence even deeper than when you both sat in the Dogtrack locker room alone littered the air at Wembley. You could only imagine what the guys were feeling, like history was repeating itself on so many levels for the team.

You caught eyes with Jamie first. He looked broken. 

Rebecca and Keeley headed towards the coaches, but you felt stuck in place by the door, frozen by the sad atmosphere in the room.

Roy saw you before you saw him. He strolled over slowly and reached out to grab your forearm. “Hey,” he said softly. 

You flashed back to reality and gazed up at him. “Hey.” Quickly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders tightly. He clutched you back strongly, and you knew that he’d been needing a hug with the same fervour as yours. 

You didn’t need to say you were sorry. He’d probably heard it enough already. He knew you felt the sting of a loss this big just as much as he did.

When you went to pull away, he squeezed you tighter. Evidently, he wasn’t done just yet. 

“Well, guys,” Ted said to the room. Roy finally tugged away, but he kept a firm grasp around your waist as the two of you turned to listen to Ted’s address. “We lost. You don’t need me or anyone else to say it, because the look on your faces says it all.” Ted’s southern drawl felt like therapy. Within seconds, the team felt acknowledged, and that was all that mattered. “We all knew this was going to be tough, and for just a moment I want you all to forget the score, forget the goals and whatever else, and just think of how you all played like a proper team.” 

Ted had a way with words that you knew was the main reason his career was so vast. You didn’t know a thing about American football, but you knew that Ted was a stellar coach whether it was football or soccer in his eyes.

“You played as a team today,” Ted continued. “And sure, you’re allowed to be sad about the outcome, I’m not about to tell you you can’t feel that sting, but—.” Roy squeezed your waist. You wondered if he was doing it subconsciously. “But you all need to know that you were a unit today. One that has got us up through these ranks and back on the radar of the Premier League, even if the FA Cup wasn’t ours this time around.” 

His words settled over the room and brought back a sense of self to all the players. Next to you, Roy breathed out softly and in understanding. You could feel the tension within him dissipate ever so slightly. 

And then, that all went away. 

“Knock knock!” a voice sounded from the door to the locker room. A second later, a face you didn’t recognise turned the corner and into the room. “Awh no, sorry for the loss, lads,” he said, as your eyes darted quickly around the room, trying to find any semblance of familiarity. You found it in Jamie’s eyes instantly. “Though, not fully sorry. Because Man City fuckin’ won!” His Mancunian accent reverberated throughout the room.

You understood immediately, as you watched Jamie’s hands ball into fists. The rest of the team stayed back, as if glued to their cubbies. This was Jamie’s father. It had to be. 

Jamie’s dad pottered further into the room, towards his son. Jamie stood up as he did, sucking a deep breath into his tired lungs. “My boy, my boy. You bottled it didn’t ya?” 

Your entire body tensed as everyone observed, not saying a word. Jamie’s dad only kept coming, not paying any mind to the other players in the room. Roy’s grip on your waist tightened suddenly, as if he could feel your anxiety rising. You could feel the same from him; every muscle in his body tried desperately to hold back. 

Jamie’s father lunged towards his son’s face, so close that Jamie couldn’t look anywhere else. “You hear me, boy? You fuckin’ bottled it, didn’t ya?” he repeated. 

“Don’t speak to me that way,” Jamie said quickly, seething. 

“Wha?” his father faked not hearing him, getting even closer. 

“Do not speak to me that way,” Jamie repeated. His father looked up to his face, catching his eye lethally. 

Your gut lurched as his father kept going, kept repeating wha?, kept getting closer and closer to his boy’s face. This was vile, and you could hardly believe no one was doing anything.

“Wanna say that to me again, boy?” 

Jamie stood his ground, puffing out his chest to be bigger, straightening out his spine to be taller, and better, and whatever else he hadn’t learned from his shit-bag of a father. 

“Huh?” he said again, louder. “Huh!” he exclaimed. Alongside his voice, his hands bombarded into Jamie’s chest– hard.

Something within you snapped. Your chest compressed, your intestines warped, and your legs started moving. Roy’s grip disappeared from around your waist as you rushed forward, not giving a shit about the audience, or about the guys, or about Nate. Nate, who was standing behind Ted and Beard, saying and doing nothing. 

Inside, you stopped caring. You didn’t give a fuck if he hated you being around, you didn’t give a fuck if you’d get in trouble from this outburst, but you had to do something– anything. Jamie Tartt was being publicly abused by his father in front of your eyes, and you couldn’t fucking stand it. 

Maybe this is what Roy meant. You were the glue. You kept everyone together, you brought Roy back to the team. Maybe this is what you’d always been meant to do– protect these boys from whatever you fucking could, when they weren’t able to for themselves. 

As Jamie recovered, ready to strike, you were already one step ahead. In a fraction of a second, you were already beside his father, fist raised. When your knuckles hit his skin, you finally came back into the room. There were two crashes; one from the impact of your fist on his father’s cheekbone; the second from him hitting the floor unceremoniously. 

Quickly, Beard approached you and hoisted Jamie’s dad up by his armpits. The two of them backed out of the door, clambering over stray shoes and shirts and whatever else that lay on the floor. Without any warning, two large arms wrapped around you from behind and pulled you off the ground. You knew it was Roy as soon as you smelled his cologne. You smiled inappropriately, and then you chuckled to yourself deviously. 

You’d just punched Jamie’s piece of shit dad in the fucking face. 

And it felt fantastic. 

Clatters sounded from the outside corridor. Beard breathed heavily as he made his way back into the locker room, and the door slammed loudly behind him. The air felt heavy as eyes darted around the room. The guys looked at each other, then to Beard, then to you. Roy still held you tightly, dangling you above the ground as you tried your damned hardest not to burst into laughter. 

You couldn’t feel your hand. Your knuckles were red when you dropped your gaze to look. Your hand shook, finger bones stuck in place as they contemplated what their owner had just done– thrown a punch for the first time in her fucking life, and very haphazardly at that. 

When Jamie looked over to you, Roy finally dropped you to the floor. He leaned in close to your face, surveying your eyes suddenly. This was a look you’d never seen from him; fear. Roy Kent wasn’t one to be afraid, but the way his eyes poured into your own had your chest crumpling beneath your skin. He was worried– he was frightened– for you. 

“You ok?” he whispered. 

You nodded quickly. “I’m not the one you need to be asking that to.” Your gaze moved over to Jamie in a heartbeat. 

Roy stood up straight once more, puffing out his chest as he inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. He started walking without warning, fists balled, towards the Richmond striker. Everyone held their breath, knowing that him and Jamie together were not a good combination. You, however, smiled to yourself without question. 

When Roy reached Jamie, he wrapped his arms around him immediately. Coach and player hugged in silence, as the gravity of what Jamie’s father had just done stuck to every wall in the room. He needed this– hands on help, a real show of love and affection.

You were happy that Roy was the one to breach contact. That’s exactly what Jamie had needed. 

“You ok?” Roy asked him, pulling away from the embrace. 

Jamie breathed out slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s not me you should be thanking,” Roy muttered. 

Both men turned back to face you. You held your wrist with care, not wanting to jolt your now fucked up hand. You smiled at the two of them knowingly, as everything settled back into place. 

Behind you, Nathan Shelley grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. On the way out of the locker room, he rushed past you harshly. You yelped to yourself as he pushed into you, jolting your wrist painfully. He stopped before you for just a second; he smiled. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Watch yourself there,” he said, in some kind of fake honey-toned pitch. Then, he turned on his heels and left the locker room as fast as he’d bumped into you. 

Another threat. What a fucking joke. 

Your face soured immediately, you couldn’t help it. Inside your head, you imagined a world where you’d told Roy all that Nate had put you through recently. You could see it clearly– his whole body would tense, his fists would ball, his nostrils would flare, and he’d yell I’ll show that little fucker! 

Deeper within the indulgent part of your mind, he kissed you passionately before he went to confront Nate on your behalf. You swallowed quickly, trying to pat away those thoughts from the unexplored crevices of your mind. It was futile. Besides, you knew you still couldn’t tell Roy about Nate’s behaviour, for the sake of the team. 

One day, rest assured, you would. When Nate left Richmond, or something else happened to change things around here, that’s when you’d lay it all out for him. 

You were counting down the days.

“Hey,” Roy said, alerting you back into the room once more. Stood before you, he looked down at your hand. His brows furrowed. “Hm,” he growled gently. 

“It’s fine,” you lied. 

Softly, Roy laid his fingers atop your red knuckles. A sharp pain bombarded through your flesh instantly, forcing you to suck in a gasp. The pain spread to the rest of your hand, down your fingers, and twinged into your wrist. You couldn’t help it– you had to scream. “Motherfucker!” 

“Just as I thought,” Roy said. “You’ve fractured the shit out of your hand.” 

You squirmed on the spot, trying desperately to alleviate the pain you felt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you rattled off, purely as a way to expel what you felt. 

“Come on.” Roy bent down to the floor and picked up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go to the physio.” You hardly heard him, too focused on your hand. Roy gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the room. “See you in a bit, lads!” he exclaimed to the room. 

The two of you turned into the empty corridor ay Wembley, walking slowly as you tried to hold onto the last of your composure. 

“God,” you hissed. “Why the fuck did I punch Jamie’s dad?”

“Because someone had to,” Roy replied. “And besides.” He glanced at you unknowingly, as you remained preoccupied on your self-inflicted injury. “It was fucking hot.”

You groaned immensely, dropping your head onto Roy’s shoulder. “It doesn’t fucking feel like it,” you whined. Roy couldn’t help but smile. 

“Oh, believe me,” he said lowly, indulging in you being this close to him. “It was.” 

Roy held you all the way to the physio. Secretly, he’d never been happier that you’d decided to be so reckless. Perhaps, he thought, he was rubbing off on you just as much as you’d changed him for the better.

“Well, as the guys say it.”Roy stood slowly, and made his way to the sofa. Dropping himself next to you, he took another sip of coffee. “You got Danied.” 

Your groans could have been heard all the way over at Nelson Road. The guys would already be there, prepping for a game later that afternoon. You wondered how badly some of them were suffering, or if their bodies were already used to dealing with Dani related hangovers. Yours, however, was not. 

“I guess I went a bit overboard,” you croaked. “We were just having fun, and being festive, and possibly decking the halls far too much for my body to handle.”

Roy smiled. “Yeah, well it’s lucky you didn’t deck the halls with your fucking vomit last night, either.”

You scrunched yourself into a ball immediately, armadillo style, and grumpily shrugged the blanket you’d slept with over your head. You didn’t want the world to see you today, didn’t want to be exposed to the stares of your friends or neighbours, yet– here you were. In front of the one man you’d promised not to see over this holiday period. Drunk you hadn’t read the fucking rule book. 

Gently, Roy placed a hand on your ankle. Your entire body buzzed, as a shudder ripped its way up your body from his point of touch. “It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t worry about it.”

You swallowed away the urge to be sick, but not from your hangover. Roy squeezed your ankle ever so slightly. “Where’s Phoebe?” you asked, trying desperately to change the subject and revert his attention onto something– someone– else, other than groggy you. 

“My sister came by about an hour ago to pick her up.”

“And I didn’t hear them?” you exclaimed, muffled beneath the blanket. 

Roy shrugged. “You were out cold.”

“Fuck my life,” you muttered, before you realised something. Quickly, you revealed yourself from beneath the blanket and smacked your hands into your lap. Your hair was everywhere, an utter mess, but nevertheless you looked towards Roy. “What time is it?”

Roy glanced at his phone. “Just after midday–”

“Fuck!” You practically jumped out of your skin. Scrambling up from your section of the sofa, and struggling to fling the blanket off yourself, you finally stood up. “The pre-game is at quarter past two, which means I’m already fucking late!”

Roy watched as you panicked, but nothing could be done to slap away the affectionate smile he held on his face. You busied yourself by pacing the living room and checking your various messages, a few of which were obviously from the guys themselves, and you cringed incessantly when you read them. When you started counting on your fingers, Roy hoisted himself from the sofa with a subtle growl. 

“Will you calm the fuck down? You’re giving me hives.”

You shot a death stare at him. “I said I’d grab coffee with Rebecca at one o’clock, which I’m now probably not going to make. And I still need to shower, and get the stench of tequila off my body, and–” You stopped talking at the thought of alcohol, and had to place a hand on your chest to stop yourself from gagging. 

Roy abruptly reached out and grabbed your bicep softly. “Stop fucking thinking about tequila.”

You swallowed painfully. “Sorry.”

Roy’s fingers squeezed you softly, and the sensation alone was enough to ground you. You inhaled deeply, and got the thought of booze and lateness and stress out of your mind as much as you could. All the while, as your eyes were stamped shut and your chest shuddered through struggling breaths, Roy was there. He held onto you thoughtfully and with patience; two qualities that Roy definitely wasn’t known for. 

When you opened your eyes, you found Roy’s steady gaze on yours already. “Sorry,” you repeated. “I’m good, I’m fine.”

“And I’m Shania fucking Twain,” he said sarcastically. You let out an amused huff, and his face softened. 

The mere seconds you had looking at each other in this way was enough to make your heart hurt beneath your ribs. Just a little bit, just a tinge, but it only acted as a reminder of how this– you and him– wouldn’t ever work. You saw it in Roy’s gaze, too, and when he swallowed the words that rested on his tongue, just waiting to be said out loud. Maybe they never would. 

Roy gently removed his grip from you, but the softness didn’t leave his face for a second. “Can I get you a coffee?” 

You relaxed instantly, hardly registering your problems in that moment after his offer. You didn’t care about time anymore, or the fact that you had plans; you only cared about him. All you could do was nod, hit with the sudden urge that you didn’t want to leave so suddenly. It was you that had instigated this Christmas meeting, you who had shown up at his house– drunk– with no other intentions, other than wishing him a Merry Christmas. The word ‘wholesome’ had never come to mind alongside your actions, but you were struggling with what to describe the situation now. 

It was wholesome, and it was all you. 

Until it wasn’t wholesome anymore, and certainly not all you. 

“Last night,” you started, swallowing back some nerves that fluttered up from the pit of your stomach. “Before I fell asleep.” Roy took a small step back. “What were you saying?” 

You looked at him as innocently as possible, despite the increase in your pulse. Roy’s demeanour changed instantly, as he quickly raced his eyes up and down your hungover form. Quickly, he swivelled around and headed for the dining table. He picked up a small package that lay in the centre, next to other Christmas cards and scraps of old wrapping paper, before he turned back to you. 

Roy stopped a metre from where you stood and stuck his hand out slowly. “I got you a present,” he said softly. 

As you took in the image of him, your make-up stained eyes almost started to well. You could feel the tears ready to form, and begged to whatever fucking god was out there not to burst into tears. You sucked in a breath, but scoffed it back out as an inappropriate giggle erupted from within you. 

“Jeez, Roy,” you said, smiling. You stepped closer before taking the gift from him, and shot him a golden stare when you held it in your hands. 

Roy smiled. “Sorry it’s late.”

You scoffed again. “That was definitely my fault for falling asleep with a beer in my hand.”

Roy chuckled lightly, and innately you knew you’d never forget the sound of it. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back. 

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. Roy caught on immediately and stepped forward quickly, going to comfort you in whatever capacity he could– but you stopped him. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said, waving him off as if everything was fine. “I’m just hungover, and tired, and late– fucking late!” You remembered the entire situation so fast that you almost dropped your gift. “Coffee will have to wait. I need to run home.”

“I can drive you.” Roy offered, almost desperately, but you waved him off again. 

“No point. You have a studio to get to, and I have a very tall blonde woman to try and meet before the Richmond game.” Quickly, you shuffled out of the living room and towards the front door. You clutched your belongings in your arms– your jumper, your scarf, your jacket, Roy’s gift– and attempted to slip on your boots as fast as humanly possible. 

Roy appeared at the end of the hallway. He no longer looked soft, as he started stomping closer to you. “I’m not due at the studio till two o’clock. Let me drive you to Nelson Road, or fucking something–”

“Really, you don’t need to.” You tied your laces messily, knowing that you only had to survive getting out of his door and off his drive before you could finally burst. 

This was just it, wasn’t it? This– him and you, the gift giving, the coffee, the softness– was all too fucking much. You regretted going to see him last night, you regretted infringing on his Christmas like this, and now he desperately wanted you to stay. 

It was all a recipe for disaster. 

You whipped yourself up to standing and dared to look at him. “Besides, I’ve already overstayed my impromptu visit.”

Roy furrowed his brows angrily, getting worked up. “You haven’t been here in a fucking month, fell asleep after two bloody minutes, and you think you’ve overstayed your welcome? Just– fucking stop, and I can drive you, and we can–”

“Roy.” 

With the tone shift of your voice, Roy stopped. His chest rose and fell quickly; an attempt to calm down the erratic beat of his heart. You looked into his eyes deeply, and everything translated as clear as if you’d spoken the words. 

We’re not supposed to do this, remember? This is what you wanted, and I can’t be here anymore without it being painful. Let me go. 

He stepped back a little and un-balled his fists. He nodded, and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from choking, or saying something he’d definitely regret. 

You nodded back. It was all that needed to be exchanged for you both to understand. Grabbing the handle, you opened his hulking, oak front door and stepped into the cold Richmond air. Before you closed it behind you, you turned back to him.

Roy looked defeated, tired, slumped. His arms dangled by his sides without strength, and the look on his face had you rethinking your entire decision to leave; love-sick, or swarmed with thoughts of what could have been, if only he hadn’t put a boundary on how far this thing between you could go. His jaw was the only thing that stayed rigid, stuck, like he was clenching every single muscle to stop himself from spilling words onto his porch. 

You smiled sadly. “I’ll see you on the telly.” The front door slammed shut. 

You grappled for air as you ran up the steps to the Dogtrack. Coffee with Rebecca had been postponed, and you’d savoured the time you had to recover and get ready before you had to shoot out the door again. You navigated the inside of the stadium like the back of your hand, until you emerged outside into Richmond’s box. Rebecca sat in her usual spot. You dropped yourself down next to her and sighed deeply, finally letting yourself relax after an eventful early afternoon. 

“Hm.” Rebecca huffed in amusement. “Hello, darling,” she said with an air of knowing. 

“Don’t.” You dropped your bag to the floor and crossed your legs sturdily, wrapping yourself up comfortably and warmly within your puffer coat. 

“Good Christmas?” she still asked. You refrained from rolling your eyes, but knew you owed her an explanation.

“I got Danied.” 

“Oh, how those boys love you,” she said, laughing to herself. “They were quite jovial in the locker room this morning. There was something circulating about you performing Elton John’s Benny and the Jets after dinner.”

You shut your eyes and tried not to cringe at yourself. “Was that all?” you said, opening your eyes slowly. 

Rebecca shrugged. “Other than the abrupt departure and denial of needing a lift home while pissed beyond belief– no.” She smiled at you so widely that you couldn’t help but copy her. You sighed again and faced the pitch, praying innately that she couldn’t divulge you from a single stare. 

“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” you asked.

“I can drop it altogether,” she stated. “If– you tell me where you raced off to so suddenly afterwards.” You turned to her, your smile all but gone. You swallowed painfully, traipsing through a maze in your head at how you were about to go about this conversation. 

You hadn’t told Rebecca about what had happened between you and Roy after the double date. You hadn’t told Keeley, either. It was a secret that you hadn’t intended to keep, but it had all seemed like the easiest option. To let things dissolve until the prying questions from your friends about yourself and Roy came to a close. That– and the fact that talking about it out loud made it all the more real. 

Sure, it’d been a month since the talk, the deal, the confession– whatever you could call it without it being too sad. And sure, you’d told yourself everyday that it was the easiest option to take. Less complicated, no strings attached, all that jazz. 

But– and it was a massive but– it didn’t mean you and Roy could immediately switch everything off when you were around one another. It didn’t stop those tired stares from earlier that afternoon, or the soft way Roy handed you your Christmas present (and the fact it was burning a hole through the lining of your bag, unopened). 

You smiled sadly at Rebecca. “I have something to tell you.” 

Rebecca shuffled in her chair, her expression dropping into one of concern. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed your hands with her own. “What’s going on?” 

You sucked in, ready to speak, but were cut-off by the whirlwind that Keeley Jones took with her everywhere. She dropped herself into the seat next to you, making you and Rebecca flinch. “Fucking hell– I almost got stuck in the mob outside!” Keeley exclaimed. She turned to you both, and her face dropped instantly. “Oh god, I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

You smiled at her softly and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you said gently, meaning every word. She embraced you without question– firmly, warmly, as if she was attempting to make you feel better without even knowing what was wrong.

“Right on time, Keeley,” Rebecca said. Keeley reached over you to grip Rebecca’s hand in her own. She took one of yours in her other, and the three of you held each other’s hands lovingly. 

“What did I miss?” Keeley asked. 

“Well–” You sighed. “Where to start?” 

You told them everything, your girls. They listened, and squeezed your hands in their own at the right moments. They smiled sadly when you spoke, and looked at you like you were gold, and never interrupted. At the end, they hugged you from both sides. 

The boys ran out onto the pitch, with Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The whistle blew, and the match started. 

You tried not to think of him, but it was impossible. You thought of Roy as the ball was kicked into play in the centre; cameras on him, suit donned, hair slicked back and beard shaved to perfection.

You thought of him because you’d finally said it out loud– he’d turned you down, stopped this thing between you before it’d even had the chance to start, and it would be okay. In time, sure, but it would be okay. 

When you got home that night, you remembered the present in your bag. It was wrapped neatly, too neatly for what you’d assumed Roy was capable of, and topped off with a small card. You opened it in the darkness of your bedroom and read the words slowly. 

Just another thing to remind you of home. Roy.

You swallowed away the want to cry and opened the gift. Inside a small box was a strip of four photos, the kind you get from a photobooth. You stared at them in awe, flashing back to the night in which they’d been taken– a month before your departure from the club. 

Yourself, Ted, Roy and Sam were shoved uncomfortably into a photobooth in a local Richmond night-club. The four of you were squished beyond belief, but that didn’t stop you from thinking of it fondly. A drunk and impromptu night, right before the beginning of Roy’s troubles with playing the game. It had been your idea to get everyone into the booth, and you’d practically dragged Roy in against his will. You and he were shoved into one corner so badly that you’d practically had to sit on his lap. Sam sat on Ted’s lap beside you, and they smiled together into the camera. Each photo showcased a different laugh, a different smile, but not from Roy– until the last picture.

That’s when you’d draped your arm around his shoulder and looked at him face on. He’d looked back, and, in that millisecond of softness behind his eyes, the photo had been snapped.

You’d totally forgotten about that moment, had never actually seen the photos until now. Roy had picked them up. He’d kept them all to himself for this long. Even after the end of his career, his time at Richmond, all of it. He’d kept them. 

It had been there once, the possibility of something. It had been there more than once. You and Roy, Roy and you. It was snapped up in moments like then that you hadn’t realised until the end of his career. He may not have realised it either, until that time in his Jeep where feelings had seeped into the leather of those fancy car seats.

There was only so much you could think of the what could have been before it all became too much. The one that got away, the right person, wrong time, whatever it was. You’d been thinking about all of that since after the double date, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

There was nothing you could do about it but move on. You couldn’t ponder or think in hindsight or imagine a different possibility. You had to move forward, and that’s what you were taking his gift as. Recognition that it was there, but now it was gone. 

You clutched the photo strip to your heart, just for a moment, and then you let it go. Perhaps this was exactly what you’d needed. Perhaps it was what Roy had needed, too. In some backwards way, it made everything clearer. There was no bad blood and there never would be. Your feelings were free, and a weight had lifted from your shoulders. 

At the end of the day, you’d run after Roy Kent once, and it had still resulted in this outcome. At the end of the day, you’d both confronted what you felt and still picked the option that was best. 

For the first time in a month you slept soundly, without thoughts that rattled around your head. Your mind was clear, so was your heart. Christmas in Richmond had finally come to a fucking close. 

A few weeks into the new year, Roy Kent was restless. His routine was static now. The constant grind of getting up, of filming, of dealing with the press. He was still a favourite on the telly, and you still watched him religiously. Alongside your own sluggish work, getting home to a new episode of Soccer Saturday spurred you forward. It kept you in the loop, in the know, and despite Roy being on the other end of the television screen, it kept you in his life. 

Pluto Press had become worse. There was no reason for you to deny it, and no way you even could. You’d been there for eight months now, and were very much out of the honeymoon phase. You hadn’t touched your novel since before Christmas, and you were feeling the repercussions of it. 

On the other side, Roy was feeling that same shift. The disconnect from the football world was grating on him more and more, and with every match missed or only seen from the insides of a studio, parts of him were disintegrating alongside. 

He texted you a lot. 

Jeff won’t stop talking about his wife. I can’t fucking stand it. 

Did you watch last week's game? I can’t believe Bumbercatch scored that shoddy fucking goal.

Isaac is really struggling right now, isn’t he? 

You replied to them all, because Roy was always right about football to an extent. You’d noticed it, too. Isaac McAdoo’s sudden struggle with being captain. The pressure that was placed upon his shoulders last season suddenly came to light. 

At every game you saw live, you noticed it even more. Perhaps that was a knowledge that Roy wouldn’t ever have now, but only saw over VTs. 

During the final week of January, you grabbed lunch with Sam. Sat opposite him in a small Richmond cafe, something lurked in the air. He scanned his menu a dozen times before he picked something, and smiled whenever he caught your eye, but you knew something was up. 

“Hey.” You reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “What’s up?” you asked sincerely. 

Sam let out a long sigh, and his shoulders collapsed. “Truthfully, I cannot pinpoint it. We are doing well in the FA Cup, the days are starting to get longer, yet I feel this immense pressure that I cannot explain.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. “Richmond are under a lot of pressure. I’m not surprised that you’re feeling it as a player.”

“It’s Isaac, too,” Sam said smally. “He has not been himself for a month now. We’ve tried to help him, to reassure him and show him how hard we’re working, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in.” 

You retracted your hand and went for your glass of wine instead. “Hm,” you hummed. 

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “He’s overthinking it all. I can see it as clear as fucking day.”

“I know. I just wish he could see it, too, so he could start easing the reins. He has been tough to be around, you know.”

“How so?”

“During debriefs, he yells at us. On the pitch it’s even worse. You saw him during our last game.”

You thought back to Richmond’s match from the week prior, where Isaac had started on Colin after a missed assist. He wasn’t himself in the slightest, and his team were trying and failing to deal with the repercussions. 

“What’s Ted doing about it?”

Sam shook his head. “I do not know, but I hope he does something soon. We are up against Leicester City next week, and we need to be ready for it.” 

You smiled at him apologetically, trying to offer hands on support. There was nothing you could do to fix this for the guys, which was always a hard pill to swallow. You missed them so vibrantly. Half of your days at work were spent thinking about the next time you’d get to watch them all play, or drop by during training, or see them like this with Sam; outside of the office or the stadium. 

“Anyway– enough about football. How are you doing? How’s work?” 

You grimaced immediately, but tried to hide it by taking a large gulp of your wine. 

Sam saw through your facade, and frowned immediately. “Is it that bad?” 

You slammed your glass on the table. “Define bad?” 

Sam copied your grimace, but sat higher in his chair. “Come on, lay it on me.”

You sighed deeply, and readied yourself to word vomit all over the table. “It’s not even the hours, or the commute, it’s everything else. They delegate work to me like I’m two levels higher than my current position, and sure, it’s nice that they trust me for that, but what I’m paid hardly covers my job description, let alone the extra work. I have no time to write anymore, my boss is a creep, my colleagues never want to grab a drink after work anymore, the centre of London fucking sucks, and– well–”

You inhaled, paused, and exhaled again.

“It’s not AFC Richmond. It’s not you guys.” 

Sam’s smile filled you with warmth, and it was his turn to reach across the table for your hand. He squeezed your fingers affectionately, and you thought about whether or not to tell him about Roy. It was probably best not to divulge everything to him, not because you thought he’d spill to the team, but because you were trying to move on still. 

Still.

“You know you are always welcome at Nelson Road. We miss you too.”

“God, that just makes it worse.” You dropped your head into your free hand. “I know Rebecca would find a job at the club for me in a heartbeat, but Keeley has taken over my role and is so much better at it. She deserves the spot more than I do, and I just– I can’t fathom asking for favours.”

“What about Roy?” Sam asked, and your body stalled. You sat up straight, and slid your fingers away from him quickly. 

“What about Roy?” you repeated. 

“Is there nothing you could do for him? You know, a personal assistant, or his agent, or something like that.”

You snorted immediately. “Are you joking?”

Sam smiled in amusement. “I’m just saying it could be a good opportunity,” he joked.

“Oh, fuck off,” you huffed. 

“You have always been an unlikely pair, you and Roy,” he said. “You make a good team. Plus, I have never seen someone put him in his place like you have. It takes a strong person to do that.”

“Enough,” you said, smiling. You finished off your wine and looked sadly at your empty glass. “I need another fucking drink.”

“Get a bottle,” Sam said. You perked your brows at him excitedly. “I have– what is it called?- gossip.”

“Sam Obisanya has gossip. What the hell has been going on?”

Sam shuffled on his chair in excitement, and your heart melted. You loved him so. “Keeley encouraged all of the players to get this dating app–”

“Bantr,” you said the name before Sam even could. 

“Ah, she has got to you, too.”

“Long ago. But go on.” You rested your elbows on the table and dropped your chin into your hands, ready to hear everything. 

“Well, I have been talking to someone.”

“Someone,” you repeated, widening your eyes. 

“Yes. And, well, she is intelligent and smart and loves literature.”

“Awh, Sam!” You almost exploded out of your seat, too full of excited energy to care about others sitting around you in the cafe. “Have you met up yet?”

“No, not yet. But I hope to ask her soon. The guys are being very supportive.” 

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all the gory details when you finally meet up.” You grinned at him mischievously, and he slapped your arm playfully. 

“I don’t kiss and tell!”

“For me, Sam Obisanya, you will kiss and tell.” 

For the remainder of lunch, you and Sam gabbed like you’d known each other since you were children. It always felt foreign whenever you were reminded of just how little time had passed. You’d only known the guys for less than two years, yet Richmond and the team had become your home. You’d only known Roy for that same amount of time, and… well. Look what happened there.

In fact, not to your knowledge, these same thoughts littered the minds of every member of AFC Richmond alike, every once in a while. For Rebecca, she thought of her departure from Rupert, and how much she’d grown in that time without him. For Keeley, she thought of her career, and what else she could do to open doors for herself as a businesswoman. For Isaac, he thought of his leadership, and how he’d never be able to replace the likes of Roy Kent. 

And for Roy– he thought of you, and what he’d halted before it’d even started. He thought of Richmond, his old team, and what he’d left behind after he’d all but abandoned them. 

Secretly, Ted thought of Roy, too. He thought of picking up his phone and texting him, he thought of asking for his help while Isaac struggled to see the bigger picture of the game. Ted’s thoughts soon became reality, and then it was too late to take back the text that he chose to send to the ex-Richmond captain. 

A few weeks later on your way back from work one Friday, battered and bruised both physically and metaphorically, you caved. You got out your phone and clicked the call button next to Roy’s name, not even thinking twice about it. 

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said softly, as soft as Roy Kent could possibly say anything. 

“Hey,” you spluttered, smiling to yourself. 

“Hey,” he repeated, both of you at a loss for words just a tad. You hadn’t called each other many times, and never without a warning text beforehand. 

“We should probably stop saying ‘hey’ before it becomes an endless cycle.”

“Hey,” Roy said again, and you giggled down the phone. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. 

“Long day– week– at work, and I’m in desperate need of a drink with someone that doesn’t care about useless things like gossip, or shit reality telly, or… or…” Your mind went blank. 

“Two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.” Roy finished your sentence.

“Exactly! Useless!” you exclaimed. 

“A drink sounds lovely,” Roy began. “But, I can’t tonight.” 

You stopped walking suddenly, overcome by disappointment. You swallowed back the urge to cry just a little, but crying about Roy being too busy this evening to go for a pint was fucking crazy. You weren’t crazy, and you blamed it all on the general lack of sleep and emotional trauma from your fucking day job. 

Instead, you opted for a joke. “Got a hot date?” you asked, panicking slightly. Roy growled lowly. Evidently, it had not been funny. “Okay, so no date, then.” You attempted to save yourself. 

Roy thought to himself, sat on his sofa in his gym gear about to leave his house– what could he actually tell you? This evening, he’d agreed to meet Ted and Isaac to impart some wisdom onto them in an attempt to help Richmond at their next game. This was the closest Roy had come to being around AFC Richmond since he’d retired, and he knew you’d latch onto that idea immediately. 

Perhaps, a lie was best. Perhaps, it was easier this way. 

“No, you’re right,” he said convincingly. “I am going on a hot date.”

“Oh,” you let out. You didn’t mean for it to sound so sad, or for your voice to be so coarse. It just slipped out like that. You coughed dryly. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, trying to save this trainwreck of a conversation, and a poorly made joke that you couldn’t actually believe was real. 

Roy was dating. Four months since he’d shut you and he down, and he was back to dating. 

“I need to go soon, actually.” Roy knew he’d fucked up. “But– how about next Friday?”

Truth be told, you’d love to say yes to his offer. Inside, however, you were deeply raging. It wasn’t the fact that you hadn’t had sex in borderline two years, or that Roy had moved on far quicker than you had since before Christmas, it was because he actually had a fucking date. And you didn’t. 

Or, perhaps, you did. 

“I can’t,” you blurted. “I actually have a date, too.” Jesus, you should have gone to school for Drama. You started walking again as you felt something that resembled confidence surge through you. You wouldn’t let Roy win, not this time around. Sure, there was nothing there anymore in ways of romance or more, but there was still competition. 

“Oh, right.” Without meaning to, Roy said exactly the same as you had. 

“He’s not much of a football fan, either. It’s quite refreshing.” You lied.

Roy stood up from his sofa as fast as humanly possible. “What?” he almost bellowed it. “Well, he sounds boring as fuck. Great job.” 

“Well, my previous experiences with footballers haven’t exactly gone perfectly, have they?” you said smugly. 

Roy short-circuited in his living room. To anyone that saw him from outside, he’d look like a statue about to fall off its perch. “I– well. You–”

“Am I wrong?” You knew you’d got to him. 

Roy breathed in deeply through his nose. “No. Now fuck off,” he said sternly. “Have a good evening.”

“Have a good date!” you yelled in amusement, before Roy hung up the phone immediately after.

You strolled back from Richmond underground station with a smile on your face. With each passing day, things between you had got easier. In some weird way, talking about dating other people had allowed a barrier to descend. Friends. Good friends. You were content with that.

The Saturday after, you entered the Dogtrack on a particularly cold afternoon in February. The air cut you deep to your core, but the buzz of electricity from the approaching match was enough to warm you. AFC Richmond were still very much contenders in the FA cup, but McAdoo’s captain tactics had still been subpar at their last game. 

As you made your way to the home box, you prayed that he’d eased the reins. Football was a game after all, and you missed seeing that spark in Isaac’s eyes whenever the ball came into his corner. Rebecca and Keeley were talking away as you sat in your seat, too engrossed in conversation to notice your arrival. 

“Ted said it was a success, so I guess we just have to believe him,” Rebecca said. 

“Good on Roy, though! It’s been fucking months since he’d even stepped foot on a proper football pitch,” Keeley said jovially. 

“What’s this about Roy on a football pitch?” you questioned, crossing your legs to get comfortable. Keeley twisted herself to face you happily, wrapping her arms around your neck in greeting. “Hi, babes,” you whispered to her fondly. 

“Roy didn’t tell you?” Rebecca replied. “Last Friday, he helped Ted with the Isaac problem.”

Keeley sat back in her seat once more, tightening the Richmond scarf around her neck warmly. “We’ve nicknamed it the Isaac problem. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Last Friday. Last Friday night. You sighed heavily and raised your shoulders to your ears from a lack of what else to do. “Well, I’m sure Ted was a very hot date,” you muttered.

Rebecca and Keeley caught eyes confusedly. “What?” they said simultaneously. 

You waved your hand at them. “Nothing. I’m just an idiot. Nothing new.”

Keeley found your hand quickly. “Everything alright, babes?”

You nodded at her, softening your expression. “Yeah, yeah. Just been a long few weeks at the office.”

“God, you need to get the fuck out of there.” Rebecca crossed her legs strongly, raising her chin. “You know, I could speak to admin and see if there’s space–”

“Rebecca,” you interrupted her. 

She waved her hand this time, brushing off your sternness. “I know. It’s fine.” 

“Let’s just watch the match, okay?” you leant over Keeley to grab Rebecca’s hand. “It’s positive that Roy helped Isaac out, he’s got heaps of experience being captain here to have done something. And it’s… well.” You smiled to yourself. “It’s good that he’s back around the game a bit more, isn’t it?”

Rebecca patted your palm. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The three of you settled into your seats in comfortable silence, feeling the growing roar of fans as the time until kick-off loomed ever closer. You surveyed the pitch before you, noticing the thin layer of frost on the green grass, the white breath of ten-thousand fans, the blue tint of the sky as if colour graded by an expert film editor. 

You always associated the Richmond team colours with one person, not the entire team as a unit: Roy. It was Roy you’d first met almost two years ago in that car park out the front of the training facility. Sure, he was wearing black as is his custom, but when you’d spotted him in his football kit on the field, the colours were forever imprinted behind your eyelids. The reds and blues all over the Dogtrack, the blue letters on Ted’s believe poster, the number six above Roy’s all cubby. He was everywhere. He was everywhere around you. 

But, he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been to an actual Greyhounds’ game since his retirement. He hadn’t stepped foot on the grounds, or spoken more than a few chaste words to Ted and Beard in the city– he’d only really spoken to you. And you weren’t a part of Richmond anymore, not really. You didn’t have an office a few doors down from the locker room anymore, you didn’t have lunch with Rebecca with too much wine involved for a working day, you didn’t have Roy. 

All of a sudden, your chest compressed painfully. Your heart rate accelerated, your breathing spiked. You felt sick, ill, like you could easily sit on the cold concrete of the stands and never stand up again. You didn’t know why it’d taken you so long to realise that everything had changed, and you could have sworn you’d felt the shifts from last year when they’d all happened. If that was the case, then why now, why here, did you feel so utterly alone that you could hardly stand it?

You’d moved past this! You’d settled somewhere new, with new people, in a different, grey part of the city. You’d adapted to the ways you’d still fit in– lunches, quick drinks, impromptu visits to Roy’s or Mae’s or Keeley’s or whatever. That’s how it all worked for you, and it had been doing so since last year. So, why now?

“Babes.” Keeley grabbed your hand swiftly. “Are you okay?” she questioned, but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to look her or Rebecca in the eyes. You knew you’d burst if you did. 

“Darling.” Rebecca leant closer to you. “Breathe. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

They watched as you broke down in the stands again, not four months after Roy had broken things the first time. Now, this was a different ball game. Complete and utter rejection of the life you thought you’d finally made for yourself, by yourself. A life that wasn’t actually what you fucking wanted anymore. It was all shit. This was all shit.

You sucked in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I can be here right now,” you said coarsely. 

Rebecca and Keeley nodded quickly. “Okay, what do you need? To go inside? To wait for the game to be over?” Rebecca said.

“To go.” You gulped down a large breath. “To go now.”

“Okay,” Keeley said strongly. “Go, babes. Do what you need to do.”

You got up as quickly as you’d sat down, and started towards the inside of the stadium. You moved slowly, needing to clutch your hand to your heart at the halfway mark just to make sure it was still beating. Anyone could see this was a panic attack, but you didn’t want to admit that things had gotten this bad. The culmination of everything finally hit you in the face. Innately, you’d known this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d happen here. Your home. 

The crowd growing louder didn’t exactly help, but when they cheered suddenly at the teams arriving on the field, you could feel the vibrations within you. You could feel your blood, your flesh, your heart beating. You shut your eyes and breathed it all in, not daring to turn around and look at the pitch. 

Then, the cheering increased. They were screaming, yelling, exclaiming, doing whatever football fans did when something big happened. Had someone scored already? That wasn’t possible– kick-off was another thirty seconds away. 

“Oh my fucking God!” Keeley jumped up from her seat immediately and bound towards you. “Babes.” She gripped your shoulders gently. “You might want to turn around.”

“I just need a minute,” you said, calming down slightly. 

“No, I think you’re really gonna want to see this,” she tried again. “Come on, just one small look, and then you can go wherever you need to go for some peace.”

Reluctantly, you followed her instructions. You turned back towards the pitch, overseeing the players in their starting positions, the ball not yet in play. The fans weren’t yelling at the team, they were screaming at something– someone– else. 

As your eyes focused, you realised what you were seeing. 

Adrenaline spiked through your blood, as invigorating as an ice pick to a frozen heart. You lunged towards the home box wall, gripping your fingers over the edge as you looked down at him. As if on cue, Roy Kent tilted his head to the stands in search of you. When he found you, he stopped. He smiled. Your frozen heart shattered instantly. 

“I’ll be right back,” you told Rebecca and Keeley. Then, quite stupidly, you jumped the wall of the home box and into the stands. 

“Hey!” Keeley.

“Be fucking careful!” Rebecca.

As soon as your feet hit solid concrete, you ran down the steps of the stands without a second thought. That’s when you heard it all– his chant. 

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where, Roy Kent! Roy Kent!

It echoed throughout the pitch like a homecoming song. It hadn’t been heard here since last May, when Roy hobbled off the pitch during his last game of football ever. 

“Roy!” you yelled. You didn’t think he’d hear over the immense noise, but he turned back to you immediately. Almost like he’d been listening out for you this entire time. 

Roy paced it to your side of the stands, past Ted and Beard, past the guys on the pitch, past the incessant roar around him. You did the same, descending more stairs each time you stepped forward. When you reached the last few, you jumped them, bombarding into the locked gate at the bottom barrier. 

Roy caught you by the shoulders before you folded in half like a lawn chair. His grip sprouted those same colours in your mind– blue, red, blue, red, blue, red. 

“Thanks for dropping by,” Roy said, smiling so excitedly that you could hardly believe what was happening. 

“I could say the same for you, you know,” you replied, utterly overcome. 

“Turns out I missed it here. Just like you, I missed it here.” His thumbs gently rubbed your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine. 

“We missed you, too.” You wrapped your fingers around his forearms, just as an excuse to hold him a bit longer. 

“Coach!” Ted yelled from twenty metres away. You caught his eye quickly, and you knew the game was about the start. Roy heard him, too, but didn’t move a muscle. 

“Go. You have a team to coach.” You pushed Roy ever so slightly, just a small nudge to remind him of where and what he was. A coach at AFC Richmond. “Go!” you chuckled, pushing him gently in his chest this time. 

Roy sent you one last colossal smile, then dipped forward to place a warm kiss on your cheek. He bound away as soon as he had, and jogged back to Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The stadium erupted as the whistle blew, signifying the start of a new era for the Greyhounds, and perhaps– for you, too.