IDK what I’m doing with my life

“’m sorreh for scarin’ ya. That’s- Tha’ were a real shit thing to do,” Jamie whispers back.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, even though it’s not. It’s only okay because Jamie is here now. If it had ended any other way, it wouldn’t be okay.

“’s not,” Jamie says what he couldn’t. “It’s not. You- I- This week’s been awful for you and I just keep makin’ it worse.”

His voice is filled with self loathing and Sam hates it. He hates it with a passion. He shakes Jamie, still not letting go of the hug as he replies: “You don’t make it worse. It’s better with you. You didn’t ask to feel this way. You didn’t even ask me to keep sticking around. I want to, Jamie. I’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe it.”

The words make Jamie cry more again and he buries his head in the juncture between Sam’s shoulder and neck, shoulders shaking, while the sobs remain quiet. As if he learned not to cry too loudly when he can. Learned his tears are too much.

“I want to be here. I want to be here with you,” Sam repeats, just because it seems like Jamie needs to hear it again. “I’ll always be here. I care about you. I love you.”

“Thank you,” Jamie wobbles with a tight voice.

“Of course,” Sam assures him, placing one of his hands on the back of Jamie’s head to cradle him close to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Still sorreh for saddling you wi’ all this,” Jamie confesses softly, shielded from Sam’s reaction by being hidden away in his arms. “I’m sorreh I stressed you out. I did- I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks too.

“I know you didn’t,” Sam soothes him. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”

“But you’re not,” Jamie wobbles. “You’re tired.”

“And that was my own choice,” Sam reminds him. Besides, with the adrenaline spike after that stunt Jamie just pulled, the exhaustion has faded a little.

“It’s still unfair,” Jamie says, still hiding, not meeting Sam’s eyes and not stepping back from the hug either. Sam’s not going to make him let go when he doesn’t want to. Jamie can use all the comfort Sam can provide. And if he’s honest, the hug is making him feel better as well.

“You just need a little more attention right now,” Sam says. “We’ll shift back some other way in the future. That’s how friendship works. I don’t mind. It’s not unfair.”

“No, it is, ‘cause you’ve been all stressed, while I- while I-” Jamie starts, then falters, before he confesses in a whisper: “While this is the best week I’ve had since I were nineteen.”

Nineteen. That’s four years ago. This week, Jamie has tried to kill himself, written suicide letters, got abusive voice mails and texts from his dad, and was listless for days. Yet it’s the best week he’s had in four years.

Subconsciously, Sam hugs him tighter again and his voice is filled with passion when he says: “I’m glad I made it better. It’s not unfair. That’s what I wanted.”

“You’re always so nice to me,” Jamie says wetly, more tears soaking into Sam’s shirt.

“You deserve kindness,” Sam replies softly, squeezing his own eyes close when Jamie’s shoulders hitch at that.

They stand there locked in a hug for a good few minutes, neither of them saying anything more, just soaking up the fact that the other is real, that they’re here. Still here.

Sam holds on until Jamie let’s go, watching him closely as he steps back and wipes his eyes. They’re downcast and it takes a moment for new tears to stop welling up. When that happens, Jamie clears his throat and sticks his hands under his shirt, gruffly saying: “Uhm, sorreh ‘bout that, mate.”

It’s so fucking ridiculous that he’s trying to save face now. Fucking toxic British lad’s culture, Sam thinks, rolling his eyes internally. He straightens out his own shirt, then wipes at the place where Jamie’s shirt holds Sam’s own tears, as if brushing off some dust. Imitating Jamie’s voice, he parrots back: “Sorry, ‘bout that.”

Jamie blinks at him for a moment – finally meeting his eyes again – before he huffs out an amused breath. It’s not quite a laugh or even a smile, but it’s a start. “Yeah, yeah, got me there.”

“A little,” Sam smiles. Then he offers: “Should we go back down and drink some tea?”

“Uhm, yeah, I’d like that. Ta.”

Neither of them speak much as Sam puts on the kettle and pours them both some tea. He still doesn’t entirely get the hype, but he does appreciate the soothing nature of a warm beverage. He can see how such a ritual would take hold in such a dreary and drab place as England.

After they’ve taken their first sip, Jamie breaks the peaceful silence. “I still don’t like you stayin’ up for me. We got a match comin’ up and you felt bad today. I don’t- I don’t want tha’. We can figure something else out. You can tie me to the bed?”

Sam had known this conversation was coming, but he still would have preferred to leave it behind them and never speak of it again. “I know you don’t like it. And I am still not tying you to the bed.”

“Would be easier, though,” Jamie says.

“You said you didn’t like it. I’m not doing it,” Sam refuses, putting his foot down.

Jamie bites his lip, then tries: “You can also believe me when I say I’m not gonna to owt if you’re ‘ere. That you being ‘ere already helps.”

“I do believe you.”

“You jus’ don’t trust meh,” Jamie sighs.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, because he also wants to trust Jamie to be able to keep his word. “I want to, truly. I just don’t know how I can.”

“Do you know why I drive like tha’?” Jamie asks suddenly, in lieu of responding directly to what Sam has just said.

Unsure but curious, Sam says: “Uhm, no?”

“Me granddad on me dad’s side killed ‘imself before I were born,” Jamie says, eyes glazed. “Drove his car right into the other lane. Killed this lady while he were at it. Me da were in the car wi’ ‘im. Lucky only his leg were crushed.”

“Oh my god, Jamie, that is awful,” Sam says, feeling out his depth at what else to say.

“I mean, yeah, I s’ppose,” Jamie shrugs, still staring off into the middle distance. “Fucked leg got me dad on disability, fucked hospital who thought he were drug seeking put ‘im on the booze.” He suddenly looks at Sam again: “I spend so many fucking nights as a teen, sitting wi’ the dick, while he were pissed out of his mind, hopin’ he wouldn’t stop breathing. I’m not doing that to some else. Neither of that shit.”

“Did he- Do you think he wanted to…” Sam can’t bring himself to finish the question, his mind painting a vivid memory of what Jamie’s childhood had been like.

“Maybe,” Jamie says, looking away again as his tone turns bitter and wry. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Got all me best parts from ‘im, didn’t I?”

“He didn’t make you,” Sam says fiercely. “He had nothing to do with who you are. You’re a great person and he can fuck off.”

Jamie blinks in surprise, then hunches in on himself.

“I’m not lying, Jamie. I mean it,” Sam repeats, moving so he can catch Jamie’s eyes as he does, so Jamie can see he is truthful.

“You’re nice, Sam,” Jamie says, not accepting it, but not refuting it either.

Sam decides to take the win and adds: “And I am sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Cheers,” Jamie sighs, looking as exhausted as Sam feels. “I didn’t say it so you’d pity me. I jus’- I mean it when I say I’m not. Swear down.”

Sam’s face softens, though he smile is sad. “I know you don’t want to. And I know you never will on purpose, but Jamie…” He puts his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, making Jamie glance up at him. “You can’t control how you feel. You didn’t want to back in the hotel either, but that didn’t stop you. You actively planned for it, you even attempted it. If I hadn’t been fast enough, you would have swallowed those pills right in front of me. You would have done it. No matter how badly you don’t want to, you will in the heat of the moment. You can’t help it, but you will. So, do you understand why I can’t?”

Jamie’s face fills with shame and it’s obvious he’s fighting down the urge to cry again. He rubs his eyes aggressively. “I hate this. I hate that me brain’s like this. That I can’t fucking- I don’t know? Turn it off or some shit.”

“I know you do,” Sam comforts him, rubbing a hand over his back like he’d done when Jamie had gone quiet.

He definitely counts it as a win, when Jamie sags against him, leaning into the comfort instead of pushing it away again. Jamie takes a few deep breaths, before he pulls back and stitches his cracks back up. With dry eyes, he levels Sam a look and says: “But you can’t stay up.”

“Jamie…” Sam starts.

“No, I know,” Jamie cuts him off before he can make his argument again. “You can’t let me sleep on me own, I get it. But this?” He tugs at the skin under Sam’s eyes, pointing out the bags, “Also can’t go on.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Sam says helplessly, because if he had answers then they wouldn’t be in this situation right now. “I can’t watch out for you and sleep at the same time. We already tried that.”

Jamie shutters as he looks up, something clicking in his eyes that Sam can’t place, but he can tell by the way Jamie locks his jaw, that he has decided something and won’t be swayed. Somewhat apprehensive, he waits until Jamie speaks. “I could tell.”

“What?” Sam is sure he didn’t hear that right. All this time, Jamie has been adamant no one else needs to know. That Sam can fuck off and let him kill himself in peace, rather than let anyone else in on what is going on with him. Too scared of what might happen with him if anyone other than Sam knows.

“I don’t fucking like it,” Jamie exclaims, throwing his hands up. “But you are Mr. Stubborn, like actually, I mean. And I don’t want you fucking yourself up ‘cause I ain’t right in the head.”

“And you’re sure?” Sam checks. He doesn’t know why, he should just be embracing it after all the times he pushed Jamie to do exactly this, not give him space to back out. However, he has to. Jamie is doing this for Sam, not himself. Sam doesn’t want Jamie to blame him for this one day.

“Scares the shit outta me, but yeah,” Jamie says after a beat, swallowing compulsively again.

“You told me, you can do it again,” Sam encourages him.

Jamie grimaces at him, not encourages in the slightest. “Tha’ were different.”

“How so?” Sam frowns, not sure how it would be different.

“I mean, either you were gonna help or I were gonna kill meself,” Jamie shrugs, having the decency to look a bit uncomfortable at the admission. “Nowt much to lose, you get me?”

Sam is a little happy that Jamie thinks he has something to lose now, because if you have something to lose, you have something to stay alive for. But he doesn’t focus on that. “It will be different, yes. But it will be different, because I am right there. You’ll have back up. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Cheers,” Jamie gives him a weak smile, before he rubs his face: “Jus’ different when you’re not numb and floaty. I know it’s fucked, but it’s mad comforting to be on that edge. It don’t feel so big, y’know. Like you don’t ‘ave to deal wi’ it all for long anymore.”

The words choke Sam a little and it’s his turn to swallow, hoping to get the lump far down enough to speak. In a sense, he can understand. Without consequences, things are not as big anymore. He just doesn’t love that Jamie’s way out is turning to suicide. “We’ll make sure we get it right,” he finally manages to get out.

“Dunno how we’re gonna do tha’,” Jamie doomerizes. “Not like I made meself popular and not everyone’s as nice as you. They won’t care, Sam.”

“Yes, they will,” Sam insists, because he can’t have Jamie thinking that they won’t. Just because Jamie can’t see the seriousness of it all, doesn’t mean others won’t either. Football culture might not be very open to being touchy-feely, but Ted is influencing them all. Richmond won’t turn their backs on Jamie if he asks for help.

Jamie gives him a skeptical look, but doesn’t argue. Sam doesn’t think it’s because he’s conceding, it’s more that he doesn’t think it’s worth it to make Sam see that no one will care, because Sam will not believe him. Mr. Stubborn, indeed. Instead, Jamie says: “Dunno who to tell, though. Feels right awkward with all the lads.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Sam promises, nudging Jamie softly as he adds: “We have the whole night to figure it out. They cannot be mad at one of us, if it is both of us, right?”

Jamie finally smiles at that. “You’re a fucking menace, you know tha’, Obisanya?”

“I try,” Sam shrugs. “Now drink your tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie winks, taking another sip.

As they drink, Sam thinks. This is a delicate matter and they’ll have to pick wisely. From what Sam has gathered, Jamie has probably never told anyone when not in crisis. And he believes that no one will care, that Sam only does because he’s above averagely nice.

If whoever they tell reacts even slightly weird, Jamie will take it as evidence that he’s right. Maybe even argue Sam should drop the whole thing, since this other person doesn’t take it seriously, so Sam shouldn’t either.

That cannot happen. No, they’re going to pick very carefully.

So, Sam mulls over all their options. The obvious one is Ted. He’s their head coach, who has profiled himself as someone that is kind and open, as well as not allergic to emotions. If it were anyone other than Jamie, Sam wouldn’t hesitate.

However, Ted has been weird about Jamie from day one. Sam hadn’t realized it at the time, since Jamie was mean and stand off-ish about the whole thing, but there has always been this friction between them that he can’t place. This fundamental misunderstanding. And even without that, the past few check ins that the coach has had with Sam, haven’t given him much confidence in Ted’s ability to react well to Jamie telling him this.

Still, if Jamie wants to tell Ted, then Sam will support him… and stand right behind him, making threatening expressions, daring Ted to say anything that can even be slightly misconstrued as not entirely compassionate and kind.

Regardless, it does put Ted out of the running for now. Beard is also a coach and thus an authority figure, but he’s a bit of an enigma and too much of Ted’s shadow to risk it.

Jamie is friends with Isaac and Colin. They might be very much footballers, which makes guessing either of their reactions a fifty-fifty shot, but Sam doesn’t think they’d be assholes. And if it’s just so that there are more people to stay awake with Jamie, then they’re not the worst option. Sam can do most of sensitive stuff.

He’s about to suggest it to Jamie, see what he might think, when his phone beeps. On auto pilot, he picks it up and opens the message. It’s his father asking if he’s ready for their weekly call.

Sam had meant to send him a text earlier that something had come up and if they could reschedule, however, in the chaos of the evening and in his exhaustion, it had completely slipped his mind. He misses his father and is desperate to talk to him, to have his comfort and his wisdom. Sam always wants to talk to him.

However, he knows that his father will have questions about this sudden friendship he has struck up with Jamie and Sam cannot lie to him. He’s also worried that his father might say something about Jamie’s past behavior, which Jamie will spiral about.

And it’s not as if he can take the call in private and leave Jamie by himself. They’ve just had a whole big argument about it and if it’s up to Sam, Jamie will stay right there by his side. He’s scared out of his mind that Jamie will lock himself in like he had earlier. Sam can’t go through that again.

As much as it pains him, he begins to type out an excuse. But before he can send it, he’s startled by Jamie’s voice suddenly right there next to his ear. “Don’t do tha’, mate.”

Apparently, he’s been hovering, reading along over his shoulder. With what Sam knows of Jamie’s own dad, he feels a bit self conscious about how much his father loves him. How obvious it is in the texts Jamie has just read. It’s not Sam’s fault that his father is not a piece of shit, but it feels like he’s rubbing it in anyway.

“No, it’s okay. I can talk to him some other time,” he assures Jamie, not meeting his eyes.

“Sam,” Jamie says sternly, stopping Sam in his tracks. “I know you talk to your dad loads, everyone who’s ever shared the gym wi’ you, knows tha’. You call him like twice a week, at least. And you ‘aven’t all week, ‘cause of me. You should call him.”

“I don’t know if that is a good idea,” Sam says, unsure of how he should break the news as of why that might be.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – he doesn’t have to, because Jamie fills in: “’Cause I can’t leave ‘cause you’re a worry-wart freak and your dad will hate me on sight?”

“What! He will not hate you,” Sam frowns.

Again, Jamie sends him an unimpressed look. “Sam, bruv, I appreciate you, but I bullied the shit out of you and you share everything wi’ your dad. Course he fucking knows tha’, course he’s gonna hate me for it. He’s like a good dad and shit.”

This is all really not making Sam feel better, in part, because he knows Jamie isn’t entirely wrong. “He won’t hate you,” he insists anyway, because he knows that part is false. “He just might have… questions?”

There will definitely be questions. Many questions. Jamie is right that Ola is a good father and he will be concerned and want to make sure Sam isn’t being forced to do something… just like Roy and Ted had wanted to check with him. But maybe it is a bit more understandable with him, since this will be Sam’s dad, who hasn’t ever met Jamie and only knows him for the TV screen and Sam’s stories. Who isn’t paid to care about Jamie too, nor to observe him.

However, even if it will be slightly less bad, Sam also knows he can’t lie to his father and he refuses to spill Jamie’s secrets, even if Jamie has just agreed to tell. It’s not as if he’s going to shout it from the roof tops, he’s just going to try to make Sam’s load a little lighter.

“Maybe…” Jamie starts, his voice tentative and unsure. “Maybe we can… tell him?” he suggests.

Sam whips around, searching Jamie’s face for any sign he might not want to. He looks uncomfortable, sure, but determined also. Still, Sam can’t help but ask: “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

It takes him a moment, but in the end, Jamie forces out: “I want to. He’s your dad. You’re supposed to be able to talk to your dad. I’m sorreh for taking tha’.”

“You didn’t take anything,” Sam says, because it’s Jamie’s business and Sam is big on the right to privacy. “And you don’t have to do this for me. You don’t have to do anything, unless you want to.” After everything Jamie told him about his psychiatric care, where so much had been forced on him, Sam never wants to put him through something similar.

Jamie’s quiet for a moment, biting his lip and playing with the hem of his shirt. He’s hesitating, mulling it all over. Sam just gives him space to get his thoughts in order. This is a big step and he wants to be sure that Jamie wants this. That he’s not doing it because he feels like he owes Sam.

“Yes. Yeah, I want to,” Jamie says, nodding a few times to himself, before looking to Sam. He gives a lopsided smile and says: “Might be nice to do a trial run with someone who’s thousands of miles away, right?”

Despite the blasé attitude he puts on, the nerves roll of him in waves. Sam takes his hand and squeezes it, trying to put everything he can’t say into words. Jamie is being very brave, facing something he doesn’t want to for Sam. Trying to be a good friend for Sam too. Jamie squeezes back.

In a way, Jamie is right about this being a good test run. Not because his father is thousands of miles away, but because Sam knows for certain that he can trust him to lock in when it becomes clear that Jamie needs someone. Sam has been raised by him to be the exact person he stepped up to be for Jamie this week.

“You are being very brave,” he says. He needs Jamie to know he is, that Sam knows this is difficult for him and he’s doing it anyway. That he’s making steps to get help even if it scares him and he doesn’t want to. That Sam is proud of him for it.

“Ta,” Jamie replies, expression wobbling as he blinks away tears.

“Do you want to tell him or do you want me to do the talking?” Sam offers. Next time, Jamie should probably do the talking, so it doesn’t come across as Sam sharing something illicit instead of Jamie asking for help, but his father won’t think that. And it might be nice for Jamie to see that someone else knows and reacts well to the news without having the pressure of needing to explain it right.

“Uhm, I- I want to try, but if I- if I fuck up, yeah? Then, uhm, yes, that’d be mint,” Jamie nods.

“I can do that,” Sam assures him. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jamie replies, letting out a nervous breath.

Sam doesn’t bother texting back, since it’s more a courtesy from his father anyway, so he just clicks dial, smiling automatically as his father’s face fills the screen. “Daddy.”

~~

A/N:

We’re getting somewhere with that support system, whoooo