Chapter Text
It took absolutely everything in Roy’s body not to storm across the room and batter that piece-of-shit fuck into a bloody pulp. Luckily, Beard beats him to it and throws that dickhead out before he can move and by then all his attention is on Jamie.
Jamie who’s stood there frozen, surely in shock over what just happened and a look of despair and embarrassment slowly warping across his face.
Before Roy could register what he was doing, he was in front of Jamie and wrapping his arms around him in a firm embrace. Roy knows what it’s like to have an abusive, mostly apathetic father. He knows that it’s an unfortunate reality for a lot of people, especially from where he comes from. Seeing Jamie standing there with his fists still clenched was like looking in a mirror and despite all their combative history, a wave of protectiveness for the young man overcame him and all he wanted to do was comfort him. Let him know he’s not alone right now.
Roy feels it the second Jamie breaks, his arms coming up to cling desperately to Roy’s back while sobs wracked his body. Roy could feel Jamie press his face into his shirt like if he did it hard enough maybe he could disappear into it, hide, and not face what had just gone down- or his teammates who’d witnessed it. Roy didn’t care about them. All he cares about is keeping Jamie from falling apart so he stands there, solid and still.
He doesn’t know how long it takes, but Jamie’s sobs eventually taper off to slight body tremors, his face still buried in Roy’s tear-soaked neck. Roy manages to make eye contact with Sam over Jamie’s shoulder and give a slight nod in the direction of the door. Fortunately, Sam knows exactly what he was asking and starts to nudge everyone along to change and head out to the bus, they can shower at home.
Finally, they’re the only two left in the changing room. Once Roy hears Jamie’s breathing return to some semblance of normal, even though he keeps his voice barely a whisper, his next words make Jamie flinch like a gunshot.
“You’re okay,” Roy breathes into his ear. His right hand sliding up his neck to cradle the back of his head.
Jamie’s arms tighten around him, pressing in even harder. Roy figures he’s the last person Jamie wants seeing him like this but knowing how gutted he must feel, he stays rooted. Holding onto him, not letting go until Jamie does.
“You’re okay now Jamie, everything is going to be okay. It’s just me and you.”
Roy feeling him tense up as if to start crying again, shushes into his hair, strokes his other hand up and down his back while whispering reassurances into his ear, until gradually he feels Jamie’s arms weaken.
Roy pulls back just enough to hold Jamie’s face between his hands, sweeping his thumbs across damp cheeks, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes. It seems almost painful for Jamie to make eye contact, but when he finally does Roy says, “Right now, all you gotta do is pack your duffel and follow me to the bus. Nothing else, you understand?”
At first, Jamie looks a bit confused so Roy clarifies, “All I want you to do is pack your duffel, can you do that for me Jamie?”
***
Jamie’s mind has gone to mush at this point, everything’s blurred into a low hum and all he can do is numbly nod. Roy gives his arm a squeeze and gently nudges him back towards his locker while grabbing his own bag.
They begin to make their way back through the tunnel, walking shoulder to shoulder. Jamie’s brain starts replaying all his fuck ups from the match to his dad showing up and causing a scene. Just as his breathing starts to quicken, he finds himself pulled to a stop right when they hit the carpark and looks down to see Roy has circled his fingers around his wrist and brought him round to face him.
“All you need to do is focus on getting on the bus and finding seats for both of us to sit together.”
The look on Roy’s face, neutral and calm makes something twist in Jamie’s chest and the chaos in his head quiets a little, just enough to breathe. He nods again and starts making his way over to dump his duffel, pulling Roy in his wake since he hasn’t let go of his wrist.
Thankfully, the team was thoughtful enough to leave the first couple rows empty and Jamie wastes no time sliding across to the window seat furthest from anyone and sinking down as low as possible. Roy settles down next to him, and Jamie realizes he still has an iron grip on his wrist when Roy moves it to rest across his thigh, holding it there. Jamie doesn’t risk glancing at him and keeps his gaze fixed out the window, jaw tight. He doesn't try to pull his arm back and Roy doesn’t let go. As the bus starts to move, he feels a bubbling warmth begin to radiate up his arm as they make their way back to Nelson Road.
At some point, Jamie must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knows Roy is shaking him awake, gesturing for him to get off. The rest of the team and Coach Lasso have already gone.
Once he collects his bag, he feels fingers pressing into his shoulders, maneuvering him in the opposite direction of his car and Roy snatches his keys out of his hands.
Jamie has enough lucidity to muster quietly, “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Humor me,” Roy replies in that blunt, no-nonsense Roy Kent way, leaving no room for debate. Before Jamie can respond, Roy’s already opened his passenger door and ushered him into the G-Wagon.
Aside from the soft buzz of Top 40’s on the radio, the car ride is completely silent. Jamie can’t say for sure, but he can almost feel Roy glancing over at him every few minutes, yet he’s not brave enough to look over and check. Before he knows it, they’re slowing to a stop, and it takes him a minute to realize they’re at his home.
“Didn’t know ya knew where I lived.”
“I’m the Coach, gotta know where all my players live, don’t I?
“If ya say so,” Jamie mumbles, reaching for the keys in Roy’s outstretched hand and almost falling out the car in his haste to leave. As he’s walking towards the front door, he ignores the footsteps he can hear behind him. “Thanks for the ride,” Jamie throws out without turning around and when he tries to shove the door closed, he’s only half surprised when a foot blocks it.
“I’m coming in,” Roy grunts and pushes passed him before Jamie can react. Jamie sighs closing the door and flips the lock, knowing there’s no arguing with Roy fucking Kent and tonight he’s so exhausted mentally he doesn’t have the energy to fight with him about it.
“Whateva, suit yourself,” Jamie snaps, dumping his bag by the door and storming up the stairs, because he knows how to always default to being a prick with Roy, “Make sure ya take your dirty fuckin’ shoes off. I’m havin’ a shower.”
***
Roy hovers at the base of the stairs, silently watching Jamie’s back until it disappears and stays standing there until he eventually hears the shower come on. He takes a deep breath and does in fact remove his shoes before wandering into the main lounge, sinking onto the god-awful leopard print sofa, taking in his surroundings.
Though most people would think Roy wouldn’t give a shit, something in him can’t leave Jamie alone tonight after what he witnessed. He just wants to make sure he won’t do anything idiotic.
Roy knows that earlier he let that hidden side of himself slip out with Jamie and he’s not sure if he should rein it in or not. The part of him that just can’t help but take charge and take care of someone who clearly needs it. The part of him that growing up meant getting into fights with bullies who picked on helpless kids. That part had mostly been reserved for his sister and Phoebe and sometimes stray dogs, and more recently with Keeley, before they broke up.
Roy knows better than anyone the urge to punch Jamie’s shit grinning face in, though for all their scuffles they’d never actually traded blows, so much as shoved and yelled at each other.
Lately, what Roy also knows is that since Jamie came back, he has been actively trying to be better. That he’s been putting the team’s needs ahead of his own, to the point Roy had to remind him he can still be a little selfish and take the shots during that FA Cup match a couple weeks ago.
Roy can see how he’s slowly starting to rise to his potential on and off the pitch, how he’s been jiving with everyone, even Will the kitman.
Like when a few days ago, he overheard Jamie make a joke to Bumbercatch about his growing Lynx collection and had Roy smiling before he realized who he was smiling at. Or like when he let Dani borrow one of his headbands when Dani’s snapped on the field even though that left him fussing with his own hair the rest of the match.
And if he were being completely honest with himself, the reason they used to clash in the first place was only partly Jamie being a little prick. It was also partly because of Roy’s own issues with not being able to keep up with someone as talented, if not more, as he used to be.
Knowing what he knows about Jamie now, Roy tries not to overthink about the fact that he’s started looking forward to watching Jamie play. Or that he cheers the loudest when he nails a hat trick. He especially avoids thinking about when Jamie’s whole face brightens with that blinding smile whenever Roy gives him guidance during training or praises him on a well-executed play.
Roy genuinely had started to care for Jamie as a Coach, but he’s just now realizing he cares about his well-being as a person too. And he tries not to dwell on the fact that somewhere along the way, he stopped calling him ‘fucking Tartt’ in his head and started thinking of him simply as just…Jamie.
Speaking of, while lost in his thoughts Roy realizes it’s gone too quiet, and the sound of running water has stopped. There’s no other noise coming from anywhere else either.
He waits a beat, listens. Still nothing.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, and heads up the stairs. Telling himself it’s just to make sure the idiot hasn’t drowned himself or something.
***
Jamie can’t say for sure how long he stood unmoving under the spray of the showerhead, but when he felt the water start to cool, he quickly did just enough to get clean and hopped out. He doesn’t know if Roy is still in his house, which is fucking mental to think about, but he hopes he’s left so he can break down in solitude.
Jamie avoids looking at his reflection too closely, but as he goes to grab his toothbrush, he catches a glimpse of his hand in the mirror. He only now notices his knuckle split where it hit his dad’s cheekbone. Fuck, he didn’t think he hit him that hard, but it’s all a blur right now. The only thing with clarity that keeps flashing through his head is the look on his dad’s face when he crumbled to the ground. That look of pure fury, directed at him, like always.
Jamie hardly catalogs the throbbing pain shooting up his arm when he flexes his fingers. Staring at the bit of blood that trails down to his wrist from the wound re-opening, he flinches when another hand reaches out and grips his palm still.
“Stop that. Sit,” Roy says, gesturing towards the toilet seat.
Jamie shuffles over, head down, while Roy crouches to rummage under the sink. A heavy wave of exhaustion crashes over him, settling in his limbs, in the way he slumps his shoulders, but doesn’t say a word. He feels Roy lift his hand and a sharp hiss slips through his teeth as the burn from the peroxide flares across his knuckles like a live wire, jerking him slightly back into awareness.
“Sorry,” Roy murmurs, voice low and rough. When Jamie looks down, all he can see is the crown of Roy’s head, bent over his hand.
Then—warmth. Gentle, unexpected, and right where it hurts.
It takes Jamie a moment to register what’s happening. Roy Kent in his bathroom, blowing softly on his bruised, bloodied knuckles. It reminds him of when his mummy used to do it, when Jamie was just a little kid crying over a scraped knee.
The heat of it, the tenderness, creeps under his skin, and Jamie’s eyes flutter shut. It’s too much. Too gentle, too soft, too kind and it nearly draws fresh tears. God, his emotions feel like they’re on a hair trigger tonight.
Roy finishes cleaning the wound and wraps it with a plaster as best he can before finally letting him go. Jamie stays quiet, head lowered, eyes still closed. Then he feels fingers cupping his jaw, firm but gentle, tilting his face up.
“Look at me.”
“I can’t,” Jamie whisper replies.
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Liar. You do. And you can. Just open your eyes, Jamie. For me, please.”
Roy’s other hand slips into his hair, fingers threading slowly through the damp strands, rubbing along his scalp in a way that sends a shiver down Jamie’s spine. Still, it’s calming.
After a few seconds of being a chicken, Jamie finally lifts his gaze and instantly regrets it, because now he can’t look away. Roy’s eyes are dark and unreadable, like black holes pulling him in. Jamie can’t tell what he’s thinking, which is frustrating, because Mr. I’ve-only-got-one-feeling is normally only this close to Jamie when he’s angry about something.
But he’s not angry now.
Staring at him like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Still carding his fingers through his hair. Still holding his jaw like it’s precious. And the look on his face, Jamie’s never seen anything like it. Not from him.
“Good boy,” Roy murmurs.
Jamie blinks, suddenly hyper-aware that he’s sitting here wearing nothing but a towel, water still dripping down his back. It’s not like Roy hasn’t seen him naked before right. Training, ice baths, communal showers. Jamie’s never been shy about his body. Never had a reason to be.
But this is different.
There’s no locker room noise, no casual banter to drown it out. Just silence you could hear a pin drop, and Roy’s hands. That look holding him hostage. And Jamie feels something different now, feels exposed in a way that has nothing to do with skin.
Roy’s thumb shifts just slightly, brushing the corner of Jamie’s mouth, and something flickers between them. Something charged and indescribable. Jamie’s lips part instinctively, barely, and if possible, Roy’s gaze darkens even more. He leans down the tiniest bit, just enough to make Jamie forget to breathe—
And then just like that, his hands drop away completely and Roy steps back. The warmth disappears.
Jamie blinks again, dazed, as Roy gestures toward the ensuite door. His voice is calm and back to its usual gruff, controlled steadiness.
“I think it’s best you get some sleep now. I laid out whatever looked the most comfortable from your wardrobe. Do you need help with anything else?”
Jamie just shakes his head, too stunned to speak. Roy turns and walks off like nothing happened. Jamie hesitates, then follows, just in time to see him pause at the bedroom door. Roy stands there, hand on the doorknob, head slightly bowed like he’s thinking something over.
Then, without fully turning, he angles his head towards him and says, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. I’m not leaving. Just shout, yeah?” He waits for Jamie’s small nod, and then he’s gone.
Jamie waits until Roy’s footsteps fade completely down the hallway before moving. He looks around his bedroom, but it’s almost like he doesn’t recognize it because this is too surreal.
What the fuck just happened?
He must be dreaming because no way is Roy fucking Kent in his house. Touching him like that. Running his fingers through his hair like it meant something. In what world would Roy Kent be the one doing that to Jamie of all people.
It makes his head throb if he thinks too hard about it, so he tosses the towel aside, and ignoring the clothes Roy laid out, climbs into bed. He wraps himself in the duvet like a burrito and lets his heavy body sink into the mattress.
Right before sleep takes him, something clicks in his tired brain. That look Roy gave him in the bathroom...Jamie has in fact seen it before. He’s even seen it on Roy’s face before, just not directed at him.
It’s the same look Roy has had on this last year anytime Roy and Keeley were together. The one Jamie’s worn himself a dozen times when watching someone he wanted.
It’s a fondness…longing. Roy Kent was looking at him like that.
Before he can think on it any longer, Jamie goes under. Out cold. Dreaming of bourbon-colored eyes and soft, steady hands.