Work Text:
"But Dad."
Eric slides his sunglasses down his nose to eye the small child thrashing around in the backseat . "Yes, Theo?"
Theo sighs, slumping further down his booster seat. Eric can feel his little feet kicking against the back of his seat, each individual hit another niggle against his back. He can hear him sucking overzealously on his bottle of juice and a crunch as he chews on a carrot stick. Eric doesn't bother to ask how he found the snacks Eric packed for after training, because he's really rather proud that his 5 year old son has that level of initiative. Especially when they were supposed to be in the rucksack locked in the roof box.
"Everyone else's Dad is coming." Theo tells him finally, whining.
"I've got work, monkey, I'm sorry." Eric replies, fiddling with the radio as they're waiting at a red light, wincing at the static.
Eric doesn't have to look in the mirror to know Theo is pouting, lower lip hanging out and wobbling as he sulks. He needs to ask Theo if he's wearing long-sleeves today or does he need suncream instead, but he understands his sudden silence needs to be respected for the few minutes he can uphold it. Eric sighs, tapping a rhythm into the steering wheel and fiddling with his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. Do they look weird? He wonders, pursing his lips as he scrutinises himself in the mirror. Do they cover my eyebrows too much? Normally, he'd ask Theo, for his startlingly brutal honesty, but they are still locked in silence.
"Theo?" Eric sighs. He decides his sunglasses look better on the top of his head. Casual chic. Ralph Lauren logo glinting in the sunlight. "I'll come to the next game, I promise. Uncle Del will go to this one."
Theo wriggles around in his seat. His feet batter against the back of Eric's seat before he presses all his weight into his feet now flat against the back. Eric feels his seat move forward marginally and he sighs. He flicks the ignition and smiles as Theo bobs his head from side to side in time with the ticking; he can see from the corner of his eye.
"I like this song." Theo tells him simply, jiggling around. His feet are still kicking but its in rhythm with the song, so Eric decides to excuse it and turns up the volume. Theo grins and starts jerking around more aggressively, muttering something in some semblance of the lyrics, but endearingly incorrect.
"Do you need any suncream?" Eric asks as they swing into the car park, squinting up at the sun as though he can judge its temperature that way.
Theo shakes his head, unbuttoning his seatbelt and playing with the door handle so energetically Eric is momentarily worried he might snap it off. He flicks off the child lock and Theo bounces out, buzzing around in the tiny slot of concrete between cars, waiting impatiently for Eric to emerge. Eric smiles softly, double-checking the car's locked before he holds Theo's still-podgy hand in his own and leads them towards the football club. There's a gathering of anxious parents, the kind who organise coffee mornings Eric has to remove himself from, and set up Facebook groups to discuss how to improve the state of the primary school's art resources. He smiles at them tightly, ushering Theo through the door. He thinks he might hear a comment about his sunglasses, but the door swings closed before he can catch the brunt of it.
"Got everything?" Eric asks, ruffling Theo's hair. The curls stand up at the friction of his hand, Theo giggling and attempting to flatten them down again. "Hoodie?" Theo nods. "Football boots?" Nod again. "Water?" He rummages through his bag but emerges triumphant, nodding and grinning.
"I'll see you in an hour, then." Eric tells him, pecking the top of his head where his golden ringlets are still baby soft and smell of Johnsons. "Have fun, monkey."
Theo nods absentmindedly, racing off for the door onto the pitch before Eric's even turned his back. He hears the ringing of children's voices, Theo's excitable Louis! and a hyperactive cry of his own name in return, the o cut off with the slam of the thick glass door closing. Eric sighs, smoothing his white shirt down and flicking at a speck of dust on his chest. He swings his sunglasses between his fingers for a minute before deciding they maybe deserve to stay in his trouser pocket. At least until he makes it out of the pack of parents too-protective to leave the car park.
*
He's parked and jogged back down the hallway, flung open the heavy door and stumbled onto the sidelines, all just after expected pick-up time. He thanks God for small mercies; the gaggle of judgemental parents have cleared out, picking their children up at the allocated time, of course, and not present to laugh at Eric's ineptitude. They'd have a field day, he thinks, shivering, probably make a Facebook post about it to discuss.
"Theo!" He shouts when he finally jogs onto the pitch. "I'm so sorry, traffic was awful."
Theo is uninterested, however, laughing hysterically; doubled over, clutching his tummy. He's stood in front of the penalty spot, ball forgotten at his feet as he giggles himself silly and doesn't even notice Eric's presence. Eric's heart clenches, that tickle along the pump of it all love and affection, and decides to watch for a bit instead. He hasn't watched his son play football in weeks, and he hasn't seen anything make him laugh like that since Pingu when he was a year old. He crouches at the side of the pitch, grin never threatening to slacken.
"C'mon, then, Theo! Got a World Cup to win!"
The voice is roughly accented and chuckling, even though it's not actually laughing; warm and jovial and Eric's unsurprised when Theo reacts to it instantly. His shot is weak and he scuffs it just a little, but the man bouncing in goal leaps to the other side dramatically, allowing it to trickle into the other corner comically slowly. Theo howls, running to the flaking chalk paint signalling the corner flag, and celebrates to his imaginary adoring crowd.
"Oh-" He realises breathily. "Hi, Dad."
Eric laughs, bundling Theo up into a bear hug and flinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift that has Theo giggling helplessly and pounding his soft, fat little fists into Eric's shoulder blades, begging through ceaseless laughter to be put down. Eric relents, setting him back on his feet.
"You put Harry Kane to shame." Eric tells him solemnly and Theo beams.
"What did you think, Mr. Harry?" Theo asks excitedly, and in his blinding fondness for the giggling bubble of a boy Eric calls his, he didn't notice the man acting as goalie had strolled towards them, watching with a grin entirely more charming than necessary.
"Just Harry, Theo." The man - Harry - laughs, ruffling his hair roughly. "I'd say your Dad's right."
Harry looks up to nod at him, lips still parted in a smile. He's inches shorter than Eric, splatter of freckles all over his face and thick eyebrows grown in a line. He's tanned and rubbing a small hand along the stubble marring the perfect scatter of freckles, still smiling. Eric's breath catches in his throat as he extends a hand, watching theirs join. His palm looks massive around Harry's, but his grip is warm and firm and he shakes strongly.
"I'm the new coach." Harry explains, hand slipping from Eric's hold and sliding into the pocket of his trackies. Eric finds himself wishing, vaguely, he wasn't wearing his jacket, wondering why he is in the early summer sun. It's a background thought, however, swimming somewhere at the back of his brain aimlessly and not really meeting anything.
“Ahh.” Eric chokes out pointlessly. Theo is pulling tufts of grass out of the already patchy pitch in between them. “I’m so sorry I‘m late. Traffic was a nightmare.”
Harry smiles. It’s so earnest Eric’s skin prickles. “Not a problem.” He waves it away. “Theo was just winning England the World Cup.”
From the bottom of his eye, Eric can see Theo nod enthusiastically at his mountain of plucked grass. He smiles helplessly, leaning down just enough to grab a hold of Theo’s fist clutching his carefully acquired greenery and pulling him up.
“Thank you so much.” Eric says sheepishly. “Say thank you, Theo.”
Theo grins, waving a chubby hand goodbye. “Thank you, Harry.”
Harry beams, hands still tucked into his jogger pockets. “My pleasure. See ya next week!”
Theo is skipping as they walk away, clearly buoyed by his one-on-one training and Eric can’t say he blames him. If he’d had a coach like Theo’s maybe he’d have kept at football longer, and maybe he wouldn’t sit a desk with a line of coffee mugs starting to grow a ring of mould at the bottom, and maybe he wouldn’t be-
He shakes his head violently to dispel the maybes, clicking Theo’s seatbelt in and double-triple-checking he’s properly strapped in and the material isn’t digging into his neck. Theo whines that it is anyway, holding it away from his body and rubbing at his neck so roughly a red rash does appear, thanks to his own ministrations rather than the frayed edge.
“Mr. Harry’s great inne?” Theo gushes when they’ve made it onto the motorway. The windows are down, rush of warm English air brushing along the soft hair of Eric’s arms. “He come a few weeks ago. Dele likes him.”
Eric snorts, and then revises the conversation and contemplates scolding Theo for forgetting to pronounce his Ts but decides that would be hypocritical. He continues laughing, therefore, murmuring I bet he does just quiet enough that the pop song bleating from the radio swallows it up before Theo can question it.
“He seems like a lot of fun.” Eric agrees, eyes flickering up to the car mirror in time to see Theo nod his head in vigorous agreement.
*
“You kept the new coach to yourself.” Eric teases when he next sees Dele, on his lunch break the next Monday. They’re holed up in the corners of another nondescript Pret a Manger, Eric wiring through a kale macaroni cheese so he can make it back to the office on time.
Dele is sprawled across the seat opposite him, legs spread wide and showing what Eric suspects is a hole in the crotch of his jeans. He eyes it for a second, swallowing down his mouthful of cheesy kale, chasing it with his latte, considering the pros and cons of telling him. He decides not to in the end. Dele probably deserves that, somehow.
“It’s not like you take an interest in your son’s footballing anyway.” Dele retorts, gleaming white teeth covered in chocolate cake crumbs. Again, Eric deigns to reveal that.
He aims a foot at Dele’s ankle, connecting with his shin bone instead, but Dele still howls and eyes him, wounded, so the desired reaction is achieved regardless. “He’s a pretty boy, sure.” Dele concedes, massaging his leg as he glares at Eric contemptuously. “Not my type though. He’s too pretty boy. So earnest it makes your skin crawl.”
Eric laughs, downing the rest of his coffee, even the residue clogged at the bottom that makes him grimace, and shoves his chair back blindly, gathering his things for his two-minute jog back to work before his lunch break is up.
”That means you were interested enough to find out.” Eric points out, swinging his jacket over his shoulders even though it’s a lazy 19C and there’s sweat patches soaking into his shirt. “You’ve got chocolate cake in your teeth, by the way, and a hole in your jeans.”
*
"How was school?" Eric asks when he lets himself in, finding Theo spread-eagled on the lounge floor, pink little tip of tongue poking from his lips as he crushes an orange crayon into his masterpiece.
Theo wriggles a little, tongue disappearing back into his mouth as he draws a final orange streak with a flourish. "Okay." He shrugs. "The tadpoles are gonna be frogs soon."
Eric coos appropriately, reaching for the television remote and rolling his eyes because Dele's wandered out of the room and left Gavin and Stacey reruns on again. Eric wouldn't mind if Theo hadn't taken to intermittently asking what twat means. His tired reply that it's a bad word 5 year olds shouldn't say doesn't seem to have filtered in quite yet. He switches to Cbeebies, nodding his head pleased as the colour block houses of Balamory appear onscreen.
"D'you like my drawing?" Theo asks excitedly, waving the piece of paper as close to Eric's face as he can reach. Eric takes it and stares at it for a few seconds. It's a mess of orange crayon, layered over swamp green felt tip and purple colouring pencil, over a line drawing parenthood as told Eric to understand as a dragon, even if it looks more like a deformed pig.
"It's a work of art." Eric tells him. "We can stick it on the fridge."
Theo beams and bounces away, gushing a mile a minute to Dele who's leaning over the kitchen counter scrolling through his phone and waving his spoon around in a cup of tea Eric suspects has long gone cold. Dele smirks at him, flinging the tea bag at the open bin. Eric is more irritated than he should be when it lands perfectly in its desired target.
"What magnet?" Eric asks, shuffling around the mess of certificates and paintings and half-finished to-do lists to find a space.
Theo scours the fridge. "I think the lizard from I-b-i-z-a." He spells out, head tilted to the side.
Eric laughs before he can help himself, arranging it so it's somewhere close to pride of place. Theo nods his head contentedly, racing off back to the lounge just as Eric notices the purple pen stain marked along his cheek.
"Don't change the channel!" Eric shouts, and sighs as he hears the Jeremy Kyle theme tune begin.
"See you." Dele grins. "He got given a letter today. New fixtures. Get your arse to some of them."
Eric smiles sarcastically, sending Dele away with a middle finger and then a guilty thank you text, as always. He sets his phone aside, unbothered by the ping of successive messages that will only be Dele's virtual eye roll, and reads through Theo's upcoming matches carefully. He's sure Theo will be the over the moon to find his Dad suddenly coming to his next three games in a row. Eric feels momentarily guilty as he lines fish fingers up on an oven tray, but decides it's only Theo's whining at the weekend that's changed his feeling. Definitely just his son's charms.
*
Theo's teeth are chattering when Eric sends him into the pep talk with a tap on the shoulder. Eric watches nervously, silently begging him to do up his hoodie, and hoping the surrounding parents aren't making a mental note of his apparent inability to keep his child warm. It shouldn't be this cold for June, he thinks desperately, he'll warm up when he starts playing.
The ground is soft and dewy, and the boys slip as they sprint into place. Eric can't help but chuckle as Theo slides forwards, skidding to a halt and righting himself carefully. He catches his eye and sends him a thumbs up and Theo beams, before setting his cleats further into the ground and narrowing his eyes at the opponent with far too much malice for an under 7s match.
Eric is pleased to note, 15 minutes in and starting to grow slightly bored by the shrill whistle and impatient parents screeching for fouls when anyone comes within five feet of their children, that Theo's teeth are no longer chattering, and he's slowly growing redder as he pushes himself to run harder. There's no real sense of positions, but Eric thinks Theo is a loose midfielder. He almost scores once, but scuffs his shot. Eric wants to shout about sticking his laces through it, but the words quickly die in his throat as he realises he's quickly becoming like the other parents he's so disgruntled by. He shuts his open mouth with a clack of teeth and sits on the edge of the stand, feeling the condensation seep into the material of his jeans.
"Doing alright, aren't they?" A voice says somewhere close to his right shoulder. "I know it's your first time watching. Since I've come, anyway."
Eric smiles and turns towards the voice, towards Harry. He's smiling faintly, not enough to bunch up his freckled cheeks but enough to show a glint of irritatingly straight teeth, and there's something reflecting in the surface of his eyes that Eric could maybe place as hopeful. He understands Dele's insistence of his earnestness.
"Yeah, they're alright." Eric replies jokily, shuffling down as though there isn't a pitch long length of barrier Harry could very easily sit on. Harry chooses to sit on the recently vacated edge anyway. "Theo's definitely the best."
Harry laughs, grinning. He's wearing only a t-shirt today, tight across his chest that's small but densely muscled, and around his arms that are much the same. Freckles are scattered along every inch of skin Eric can see. He wonders where they end.
"I can't show favouritism." Harry holds his hands up, and Eric laughs despite himself, even though it's really not funny.
"I understand." Eric replies solemnly, feeling something light bob in his chest as Harry beams.
Theo is ecstatic. They won, although Eric couldn't tell a soul how, too busy laughing at everything Harry said whether it was amusing or not, but he still offers a shaky post-match analysis as they drive home that Theo seems fairly pleased with, so he decides that's okay. Eric takes a different route home and ignores every one of Theo's pestering questions about where they're going. Theo bouncing in his booster seat with enough vigour to rock the whole car when Eric turns into the McDonald's Drive-Thru makes Eric laugh so much he has to reorder their food three times before the cashier understands.
*
"Dad?" Theo asks, having wriggled into Eric's bed at some point in the early morning when Eric evidently was too sleepy to notice.
"Mm." He hums, wondering if he's supposed to tell him off for this but he looks so sweet with his blonde curls fanned out on the pillow next to Eric's. The sheets on that side of the bed are clean and crisp always; not so much anymore.
"I'm gonna be a footballer." Theo tells him resolutely. Eric hums again. "Mr. Harry used to be one. I think. I can't remember."
Eric chuckles quietly into his pillow, making a mental note to question him at the next game. "Can't wait to see you win us the next World Cup."
Theo giggles delightedly, crawling back out from the covers and running full pelt out of his bedroom door. "Me neither!" He exclaims gleefully, and Eric hears the thud of his feet on the stairs too-fast.
"Don't take them two at a time!" He shouts, rounded off by the wallop of a body against carpet and the sound of gulping high-pitched sobs.
*
"He's a good lad." Harry insists. His hand is resting on Eric's shoulder blade over his t-shirt. He can feel the heat of it through the fabric, and his stomach wobbles funnily noticing how Harry has to lean up a little to touch him like that. His eyes focus on his little boy picking at the blood in his nose and remembers the more pressing matters at hand.
"I know." Eric sighs. He's vibrating faintly with anger, mouth sickly with nerves. "You need to apologise Theo."
Theo's eyes are circular and leaky when he stares up. He's forcing a pudgy fist into his mouth, a sure sign he's trying very very hard not to cry. His bottom lip is wobbling against his thumb hanging out of his mouth as his body shakes with a barely-repressed sob. Eric's heart strains, but he remains firm, arms folded primly over his chest even though everything running through his blood is begging him to swoop Theo up into his arms and kiss everything better.
"Fighting is never the answer, son." Harry tells him softly, crouching down to pull his fist out of his mouth. He bops him on the nose and Theo laughs shakily, the end catching on a wave of tears and Eric knows the dam has broken.
"Hey, now." He mumbles, lifting Theo up with firm hands under his arms, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. He smooths a hand along the back of Theo's tiny neck, skin soft and baby-thick enough that Eric can't even feel his vertebrae. He kisses a mess of blonde curls as Theo's entire body convulses and he starts wailing into Eric's shoulder. Harry stares, eyes sympathetic, mouth open around another consolation Eric supposes.
"C'mon, monkey." Eric whispers, tucking Theo's ringlets away from his face and behind his ear. "You need to say sorry and it'll be okay."
Theo only presses his face closer into Eric's shirt and howls, body limp in Eric's grip. Harry extends a hesitant hand and strokes Theo's back lightly; as he pulls away his palm drifts over Eric's forearm keeping him up. The two of them exhale in unison. Eric prays Harry can't feel the goosebumps that tingle along his skin at Harry's touch.
It takes 5 minutes and a carton of apple juice for Theo to calm down enough to detach himself from Eric. He scampers away towards the little boy clinging to his mother's leg, elbow poking out and freshly grazed thanks to Theo's shove. Eric thinks, secretly, that whilst Theo had maybe started it and, he must concede, deserves the match-long ban, the other culprit is more to blame. Theo has blood crusted along his upper lip.
"I'm so sorry." Eric mutters as he and Harry watch the boys shyly apologise. "He just lost his temper, I promise he's not like that." I've raised him better than that, please believe me.
Harry waves him away, smiling kindly and Eric sighs at the sight. "I know what boys are like."
Eric nods in agreement, and wonders what would happen if he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, felt the cut of bone and warmth of skin. He stares at the gulp of Harry's throat as he swallows, pale where most of him is tanned, and wonders. He wonders until he remembers that he is the fateful parent in charge of the boy who started an on-pitch fight at an under 7s match and scolds himself harshly, turning away. Just in time, too, because Harry turns back towards him.
"Think you might need to build bridges after that." Harry teases, brown eyes syrupy as he grins up at Eric. Cheeky shit, Eric thinks. "Willing to come to the fundraiser barbecue? Bet you're good with a pair of tongs."
There's a funny lilt to his voice that has Eric wondering if an innuendo was intended, but he's too busy nodding his head enthusiastically without really considering it, only knowing he might adore the way Harry's entire face brightens, all freckles and bright eyes and pink lips.
Oh God, Eric thinks. I fancy my son's football coach.
"Okay, well." Eric stutters out awkwardly, barrelling towards Theo who is now playing imaginary games with his previous battle enemy. "C'mon, Theo, time to go!"
Eric doesn't even really hear Theo's whinging over the ringing in his ears that sounds faintly like shit fuck oh no.
*
"I mean, you haven't seen action since 2015."
Dele positively howls with laughter, smacking Trippier on the back in appreciation so hard Kieran chokes on his mouthful of beer and dribbles of it escape down his chin. Eric sighs tersely, anxiously checking that Theo is still engrossed in the football, relieved within reason when he's still as he was left, watching the game without blinking.
"2017, actually, and what's your point?"
Dele and Kieran roll their eyes at each other and Eric wonders when Trippier suddenly became an agony aunt.
"Of course you're gonna fancy the kid!" Dele barks, gesticulating wildly. Eric watches the beer slosh in his bottle and performs a silent prayer that he will not spill it on his relatively new settee. "He's probably the first person who's flirted with you in months that isn't a divorced mother."
Eric rolls his eyes and lets Dele, 26 years old on a diet of Super Noodles, and Kieran, 32 years old and breaking people's toilets in the name of plumbing since Eric's known him, bicker over the state of his love life and the loneliness of single parenthood and the apparent patheticness of Eric's really very miniscule infatuation with his son's football coach. He ignores it largely, butting in when they edge too close to unfair, but mostly he watches Theo absolutely entranced by the game on telly. He can see every movement reflected on those blues and see how much it all means to him in the awed O of his open mouth, the excitable jiggle when England score, the desperate Dad, Dad, did you see that trick?
"I'm not lonely, I've got him." Eric tells them absentmindedly, gesturing towards Theo who's now lying on his stomach, face propped up on his folded hands.
"Oh, bless him." Dele coos sarcastically, stroking his cheek with a skinny finger. "He's so lonely he doesn't even realise it."
Eric scoffs, shoving Dele hard enough that his drink splashes onto his lap, cackling as he groans and pats at it with his disgustingly multi-coloured jumper Theo had been absolutely fascinated by. It belts them both up for long enough that Eric gets just a little peace of mind from the taunts of loneliness and romance Eric's long since learnt to push out of his head.
*
"Theo - bloody hell, you've got - hang on. No, Theo! C'me-"
Eric just manages to catch hold of his hip but Theo just laughs and twists away, convinced this is a game and he's winning, when Eric is actually close to tears and desperately trying to lather his son in enough suncream he'll be protected for years.
"Come back here now!" Eric shouts, blood simmering with frustration as he hears the scamper of feet and delighted laughter on the landing above. "Come back here or we don't go at all and you won't see Louis or Harry!"
Eric is never above casual threats, and he's reminded why when Theo slides down the stairs on his bum, racing to stand in front of him, hands behind his back and lips pressed tightly closed. Eric chuckles softly, breathing through his nose until the irritation prickling under his skin dissipates.
"Good boy." He mutters, wiping the white smudges of half-rubbed-in cream into Theo's arms. "You sure you wanna wear the Spurs kit?"
Theo's eyebrows knit together, a harsh line of thick blonde hair hanging over his eyes narrowed on Eric, all framed by his pursed lips.
"Yes, Dad." He grits out, anger so concentrated Eric has to work extremely hard to contain the bubble of laughter in his throat. A tantrum would worsen their current hour-long lateness by more than double.
"Theo was not having the suncream." Eric offers by way of explanation when they finally make it onto the allotted field, filled with a surprising number of children and a few over-large smoking barbecues blowing streams of grey into the face-painting stall with the lady growing more and more irate.
Harry shrugs, laughing, clapping Eric on the back which sends a ridiculous tingle through him. Am I that touch-deprived? Eric wonders, taking in the tight fit of Winks' t-shirt and the way his smart trousers sit on his hips. Eric could fit him in one hand, arm around the waist and it would go all the way. His mouth dries out a little and he coughs croakily, imagining sliding a hand up the back of Harry's shirt to sit on the small of his back. The skin would be so warm. Eric coughs again.
"Dad?" Theo mutters shyly, pulling down on his hand. "I want face paint."
Eric nods his head disjointedly, watching Theo skip off to join the back of the queue, immediately striking up a conversation with the boy in front that he catches a wisp of - Spurs, wicked! - and turns back to Harry. His cheeks are flushed, baby pink underneath the constellation of freckles. Where do they end? He wonders again, thinking faintly that he already has done before.
"Are you freckled all over?" Eric asks gruffly, mouth working before his brain does, eyes widening as he realises what just tripped out of his mouth but oh-
Harry's cheeks darken, blush travelling down his neck, and his mouth parts. His eyes are slightly hazy, brown lazy and even softer than usual, and Eric notices belatedly the can of beer grasped in his hand. Explains the blush, Eric thinks vaguely, explains the eyes.
"I-" Harry begins, words a little strangled and Eric feels the strange urge to giggle. "Kind of?"
Eric breathes in slowly and then out slowly, in out in out in out in - until the image of Harry on crumbled white sheets, spreading soft tanned thighs speckled with light brown filters somewhere that isn't quite so arresting; still there. Just easier to deal with.
"Fancy a beer?" Harry asks, voice roughened back up again, eyes losing some of their liquidity.
Eric shakes his head, waving his car keys around and Harry nods. He leads him towards one of the barbecues, crowded around by men in varying degrees of baldness. Eric runs a vacant hand over the stubble lining his own head and smirks.
"Dad!" Theo cries, racing towards Harry and Eric sometime later as Eric remembers every now and again to flip a burger, Harry growing softer and softer the more he drinks. "D'you like my face paint?"
Eric tears his gaze away from the way Harry's lips glitter in their wetness, so pink and plush, towards Theo who's facing up at him with his eyes closed for the full effect. He went for a unicorn, cheeks coated in glitter paint Eric knows is going to be a bugger to wash off. He resigns himself to a glitter coated bath for a good few weeks, and smiles.
"It's amazing." Eric tells him, Theo rocking from side to side happily and turning towards Harry for similar treatment.
Harry laughs kindly and taps his nose with a fingertip. "Coolest unicorn around, kid."
"You remember how you said you can't show favouritism..." Eric jokes when Theo's raced back away, tripping over some shoes in front of the bouncy castle and launching himself in face first. Eric winces, but he bounces back up unscathed. Panic averted.
"Gotta have a soft spot for the Spurs boys." Harry teases back, voice fluid in his slow drunkenness. Eric grins.
"Theo said you played football?" Eric mentally pats himself on the back, flipping a burger so violently it lands on the grass by their feet. A Labrador Eric hadn't even noticed hoovers it up.
Harry nods enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah, I did, I thought I was gonna make it, y'know? Make it big, I was at Fulham's training academy when I was a teenager and I played League One for a bit, almost got a move to Championship." He pauses for a glug of his beer, Eric's eyes wide at the speed of his rambling. "But bloody groin issue when I was 19 fucked it all - excuse my French - and I just decided, it's probably not for me, y'know? In that case." Before Eric even has a chance to offer any well-meaning questions, Harry continues. "So I done a degree in Sports Science at Reading, figured I may as well, and then there's not much you can really do with that, so coaching it was! I'll try and move higher up at some point, but I love these kids, I love doing this, so I don't really mind." He's breathless when he finishes. Eric's hardly surprised.
"Well, Theo adores you." Eric shrugs, smiling when Harry blushes all pleased and coy. "I can see why."
They stand in silence for a little after that. Eric takes in the curve of Harry's nose and the flutter of his eyelashes and the muscle shifting under the skin of his biceps and he feels Harry's eyes on him doing all the same thing.
"You're a really good dad." Harry says earnestly, breaking the quiet. They're standing away from the barbecues now, just the two of them, vaguely watching Theo perform various tricks on the bouncy castle. Eric wonders why on earth Harry always gravitates towards him and what there is for him to see in a 28 year old single dad with premature crows feet and he wonders if it would be a very bad idea for everyone involved to ask him for dinner.
"Cheers, mate." Eric mutters genuinely, taken by the naïve honesty Harry seems to always harness.
"Daaaad."
Harry giggles. Eric rolls his eyes. "Everything alright?"
Theo shakes his head dejectedly and Eric watches with a heavy sense of resignation as Theo rubs an impatient fist into his face-painted eye. It comes back streaked with white and purple and covered in glitter and Theo whines.
"Dad." His voice is wobbling. "My unicorn."
He sounds so very sad Eric's heart breaks a little despite himself. He hauls Theo up, who tucks his head immediately under Eric's chin, eyes sliding closed near-instantly. His breathing is already slowing, little pink mouth open as he fights sleep uselessly. Eric smiles and kisses the top of his head.
"We need to go." Eric tells Harry apologetically. "I'll see you soon, I - d'you want a lift?"
Harry laughs, a little startled, but nods enthusiastically and mutters his thanks. He offers to take Theo's dead weight when Eric is struggling to find his car keys swimming around in the bottom of his pocket, but Eric knows Theo's heavier than he looks and would surely swamp Harry who's little taller than he is. His heart stutters, just a little, imagining it anyway.
"He's really sweet." Harry whispers when Theo is safely snoring into the car window as they cruise down the road.
Eric smiles proudly. "Thank you." He whispers back and Harry's eyes crinkle.
They sit in relative silence as Eric navigates the route to Harry's house. He spends most of the journey wondering what would happen if he placed a palm on Harry's thigh, squeezed it a little. He knows they're thick and soft, he can see from the way his trousers stretch across them where his legs are spread in the passenger seat. They'd feel so lovely in his grip, even better skin-to-skin, where Eric could count each individual freckle and kiss them as he goes. He decides better of it, and sits in his own seat with his legs tightly pressed together.
"Thank you." Harry smiles when Eric pulls up on the curb outside his house, a modest terraced house with a neatly painted navy door.
"Anytime." Eric whispers back, punctuated by Theo's snuffles, and he wonders if Harry is going to press his lips to Eric's cheek, or forehead, or lips because he's leaning forwards - but then he flashes a bright grin and climbs out neatly, waving goodbye from his doorstep.
*
Eric carries Theo to bed carefully, his body limp and feverish in his sleep. He attempts to dress him in his pyjamas but he whines too loudly every time Eric pushes him towards awakening with a clumsy movement, so Eric decided the Tottenham kit can stay on for now. He places a dry peck on Theo’s forehead, draws the curtains and turns on his nightlight. When he leaves the room, he smiles as the glow-in-the-dark stars on Theo’s ceiling brighten.
He’s not sure what to do with himself. He pours a glass of wine and drinks it far too quickly, especially for the price tag of the bottle. He tries to watch telly but there’s something incredibly grating about Graham Norton’s voice. He stares at the red sofa and thinks.
Logically, Harry isn’t even interested; probably doesn’t even like Eric. Why should he? Eric is a single dad, with all that baggage in tow, and even for a one night stand, there would be repercussions. Harry would fall into his bed knowing Theo had sat there another time, knowing the man he was sleeping with fathered his favourite kid on the football pitch and yeah - a bit weird.
Eric wonders lazily if he should download another dating app, even just for more interesting wanking material. He’s still trim under his work shirts, and he knows he’s big enough that people online fall over themselves for his nudes during 10 minute trysts. They never know about Theo, but then, Eric supposes, he never knows about them. They could all be single dads. Probably are, for that matter.
Eric groans, palming himself through his trousers, brushing along his flies half-heartedly until he begins to harden. He downs another glass of wine, in the fishbowl glass Dele always makes fun of, and tidies up the kitchen, turning the dishwasher on, collecting up Theo’s crayons. He sighs, gentle thrum of arousal making him feel guilty.
Eric’s typed in his username and password, is watching the loading screen, biting his lip, teeth right under the chapped skin. I need to buy more lip balm, Eric reminds himself, Theo’s lips are sore too.
His previous messages flood onto screen and Eric scolds himself, attempting to purge his head of any thoughts of his son and concentrate. He has to shut his eyes as he scrolls, messages from desperate 5 minute wanks in the past making his skin crawl.
There’s streams of new messages waiting for replies, however. He thumbs through, scrutinising the profile pictures of each, evaluating their opening messages. His thumb is starting to ache from drifting up and down his phone nonsensically, arousal starting to fade as sleep pulls at his eyes until - perfect.
The profile picture is merely the boy’s bare chest, toned without being too muscly, nipples dark and dotted with freckles across his pecs. There’s the faintest line of dusky hair below his navel, boxers low on his hips, but the rest is left to the imagination. Eric is quite happy with that.
He wonders if he even wants to message them. He’s not sure if it becomes too weird touching himself to a stranger’s bare chest, and then decides that, yes, that is extremely odd, and groans, thudding his head against the pillow. He opens his keyboard, wondering what to say to get the ball rolling, eyes reading over what the boy said first and - Eric feels faintly sick - hiya daddy x is highlighted in a bright blue text box. Typical.
Eric snorts, scrubbing a hand across his face, rough enough that he feels his own beard scratch a rash into his palm. He deletes the app, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and slips a hand under his waistband. His breath quickens as he wraps a hand around himself, flagging a little, but with a few sure strokes he’s fattening up and groaning breathlessly, bucking a little into the friction from his boxers.
He wriggles his hips until his boxers sit on his thighs, casting one last anxious check on the door that remains firmly shut. His breathing is quiet but harried, pants starting to filter in as he grips himself tighter, circling the head with his thumb, nail barely drifting along the slit starting to drip precome.
“Don’t you dare.” Eric gasps at himself, arching up into the pressure of his fist. “Stop.”
And then he giggles, because it’s close to impossible to stop your imagination, especially when all your blood flow is somewhere else, and brain cells become a little sloppy. So he sighs, strokes his finger down his cock from head to base, and imagines.
He thinks Harry would flush and wriggle, skin all pink and freckled, warm and soft and thick under Eric’s hands. He could kiss along the dots, work his way across his body, suck into the skin until it bloomed purple, soothe it with his tongue, and he’s sure Harry would beg breathily for more.
He’d beg so, so prettily, Eric’s certain. Voice liquid, melting together, whole letters never pronounced and forgotten all together. He’d writhe on Eric’s fingers, fuck himself on them harder, plead with him, but Eric would just keep at it, keep rubbing just too-hard against his spot until his legs were shaking, those pretty thighs Eric can imagine too well, and Eric would only take pity when he sounded close to sobbing.
You’d never have this much self-control, the part of his brain not soaked in wine and arousal reminds him, you haven’t shagged in years. You’d come in two seconds flat.
Eric bats those thoughts away, scrambling for breath as he strokes himself harder, palm still dry although starting to slick with precome and sweat. The friction is just this side of too rough, but it all helps, just like the image of Harry fucking back onto him because he’s too needy and turned on for patience does. Eric moans through his teeth, thinking about how tight he’d be, smooth and pink, those pale freckled cheeks pressed against Eric’s lower tummy, talking breathlessly, always talking, begging, pleading, please, Eric, let me come, please - and Eric comes himself, all over his stomach and a little near his left nipple because he hasn’t found the time for something like this in forever.
Eric feels like crying, or maybe ripping his skin off, but he merely cleans himself up and puts on some ratty old pyjama bottoms, just in time for Theo to start whimpering from his room. Eric sighs, breathing in and feeling faintly disgusted and very sheepish when his room smells of come and sweat, and trundles down the stairs to get Theo some warm milk, and pick up the room spray from the bathroom.
*
Eric begins a self-imposed looking-at-Harry ban at the next of Theo's matches. He considered palming off the responsibility to Dele, but his conscience wouldn't let him, or his heart after the very prospect made Theo's eyes water with tears that threatened to cascade over his bowl of warm sugary Weetabix. Theo's become attached to him coming to games, bounding into his bedroom every Saturday morning with a beam far too energetic for the hour.
So, he sets his personal crisis aside, and cheers Theo on from the sidelines, attempting with every fibre of his self-control to ignore the object of his slowly-sweetening desires who happens to be barking instructions at a load of 5 year olds. That, in itself, is the problem. Eric could quite easily handle a desire to feel Harry hot and hard underneath him, could burn the desire away with a night out and one-night-stand when Theo stays with his Mum, but Eric's starting to imagine all the other possibilities; kissing Harry's forehead goodnight, kissing the tip of his nose good morning, buying them all ice-creams with flakes and sprinkles as Harry holds Theo's hand in his own and they all laugh and smile, swing Theo in the air holding his hand on either side.
It's disgusting how touch-starved you are, Eric thinks murderously as he watches Theo execute a fairly successful slide tackle that Harry rewards with a loud clap, an attractive man has been in mere touching distance of you and you're planning the wedding.
The ban means little to anyone, including Eric. It gives him peace of mind for all of 10 minutes, makes him feel vaguely like he's addressing the issue, because out of sight, out of mind, right? But he can still hear Harry's pub-warm voice, all jagged edges that makes the corner of your lips turn up, and see the ridiculous amount of gel in his hair and his freckles and the delightful curve of his arse from the corner of his eye, and Eric is only human, and has unfortunately good eyesight. He turns more firmly away, even though it reduces his visibility of the pitch, and therefore his son, by 60%. He mutters a few curses under his breath.
Eric blames years chasing nothing but a young child refusing to go to bed, years of an empty bed and a lonely heart, for his complete childishness. Nothing's even happened, Eric thinks bitterly, you're barely even friends.
Eric begins to reconsider that when he's ushering Theo away, hands firm on his shoulders and directing him towards the door before Harry can jog over, because he sees the strange, sad tilt to Harry's mouth and the way his legs stutter and stop as he realises Eric's gone. Eric bites his tongue, considers smacking his head against the wall for being so utterly ridiculous and tells Theo in his best Dad voice that no, we can't talk to Harry, we are in a rush.
*
"Hello? Is this Eric? Theo's Dad?"
Eric is hunched over in a toilet cubicle, phone pressed to his ear. All his internal organs have settled somewhere around his kneecaps. There's indents in the skin of his palm where his nails are digging into it.
"Yeah? Harry?" Eric offers weakly, knowing a phone call can never be good. Please be another fight, please be another fight, please be another fight.
"Yeah, hi." Harry mutters breathlessly and Eric wants to throttle him until the information is forced out. Please can he just have called someone a twat.
"Theo took a knock. He's definitely okay but we are at the hospital - Hemel General - he is okay, though, I promise and-"
Eric thinks he shushes Harry. His anxious rambling ceases and Eric is definitely making a shushing noise but his ears are also ringing and peels of pure white skin are flaking from his palms. It's okay, he tells himself, this is normal. Every kid has to go to hospital at some point. You're lucky you got this far without it.
And he is. Theo's been bruised and vomiting and bleeding but he's always okay; regardless of if he falls from a flight of stairs top to bottom or runs in front of the swings and takes a kids size 13 trainer to the nose with obscene force, he is okay. Eric is always there, so even if it wasn't okay, Eric would be there to make it better. Eric flushes the toilet to disguise the panicked sob that strangles out of his throat.
"My car's in for a bloody MOT." He shouts, voice growing slightly hysterical. He chokes out a strange, somewhat demonic laugh. "Of course it would be, of course, I'll be as quick as I can, I'll get a taxi, I'm on my way."
Harry's already started to butt in with more earnestly apologetic monologuing so he jabs at the hang up button with a shuddering thumb and thunders out of the bathroom, figuring his boss can deal without an explanation for his sudden absence, bolting down the stairs and out the revolving entrance that only serves to frustrate him. He bites his thumb nail down so close to the nail bed, beads of blood are balling on the surface when the cabbie lazily asks for his £20 for the journey and Eric is close to screeching, chucking a £20 note through the glass without even looking.
"Theo? Monkey, are you okay?" Eric's voice is high-pitched and reedy with nerves, words already out before he's even opened the door the receptionist directed him towards.
"Daddy." Theo mumbles tearily when he makes it over the threshold finally, bloody thumb and panicked eyes and rapid heartbeat overcompensating. Daddy always makes Eric's heart break. Theo only uses it when he can't say anything else, too tired or upset or angry to think of something better.
"Are you okay?" Eric asks again, working determinedly to steady his voice. His job is to look after Theo, not burst into tears himself.
Theo nods jerkily. "Look at my arm." He whispers tiredly, but there's an underlying giggle that makes all Eric's internal organs return to place.
Theo's right arm is encased in plaster, held in a sling. Eric smiles, kissing Theo's sweaty curls and then forehead and then cheeks, hugging him so tightly Theo whinges in protest.
"It's cool, innit." Theo mumbles into his shirt. Eric can hear the sleep he's dying for in his voice and his heart does that funny skip when he's reminded just how much he loves the little boy he's clutching against him.
Eric chuckles weakly, stroking through his hair. "Yeah, kid, it's cool."
Theo quietens again, resting his head against Eric's chest and Eric can feel his eyelids flickering against the material until they droop for the final time and his breathing slows.
"Brutal slide tackle." Harry tells him, Eric whipping around to stare at him mere feet away from them, there the whole time, Eric never noticing. "He's broken his arm but he's all okay. I'm really sorry."
I had a looking ban, Eric thinks somewhere at the back of his mind, wryly, nothing like a near-death experience, eh?
Harry sounds vaguely teary himself, voice wobbling a little as he apologises and Eric feels his heart do a funny skip for a different reason. For an unchecked second he almost lies Theo back into the chair so he can hug Harry until his tears dissipate, hold him close into him and stroke his hair and kiss his temple. Eric wants to look after him, always, even when everything's alright. His sigh catches in the back of his throat. He hates when Dele's right.
"We're all being ridiculous." Eric tells him, hoping his voice is kind. "You must have got injured so many times. It's what happens. Nobody's fault. All okay."
Harry looks like he wants to protest, probably apologise some more, but Eric shushes him, and he nods his head shakily instead. His smile is small, but grateful, and it still shines in his eyes and crinkles his freckles, and that's all Eric ever wants.
"My car's here. Please let me drive you two home."
Eric stares down at Theo as he sleeps, eyelids fluttering through his dreams, cheeks flushing, and feels each individual pull on his heart like the love it is. He looks up, and smiles at Harry who's shuffling on his feet nervously, and nods.
*
Harry is a surprisingly reckless driver. Eric can see every time he goes to press down harder on the pedals but holds himself back, veins in his arms prominent with the attempt at self-control. It makes him snort lightly into the collar of his jacket. Harry hears and smirks, and they giggle together softly for a minute, quiet enough that Theo's gentle snoring goes uninterrupted.
"Oh, I love this song." Harry mutters enthusiastically, twizzling with the knob on his car stereo until its loud enough to disguise just how out-of-tune his singing is, but not enough to stir Theo.
Eric's eyebrows raise. "Is this. Together In Electric Dreams?"
Harry blushes, all pretty and sheepish under the scatter of freckles and Eric's stomach flip-flops.
"You know all the words. Don't pretend otherwise."
Eric doesn't. He sings along too, just because he knows it will make Harry beam and giggle and turn the blush across his cheeks pleased rather than embarrassed. He thinks again about kissing up his cheekbones, and then kissing along his thighs, and then - Eric wants so bad. He sighs and resumes singing with renewed vigour.
"Wanna come in for a cup of tea?" Eric asks, voice as neutral as his frayed nerves can possibly manage. So much for self-control.
They look at each other for a second. Brown to blue, so open and earnest and honest. Nothing but silence and Eric thinks this is maybe the moment, the perfect time, when everything is cool and calm and they're just looking and waiting but Eric's son is cradling his newly broken arm in the back seat and life isn't quite as simple as some shared eye contact and the Human League and sweet first kisses.
"Please." Harry says, and it's soft and breathy. Eric just nods his head.
He can feel Harry watching from the doorway as he lays Theo into bed carefully, leaving the curtains open because it's only late afternoon, and he's still dressed in his mud-strewn kit. He eases off his football boots at least, carrying them out of the room and clucking his tongue as they scatter clumps of dried mud onto the carpet. Harry smiles, hand brushing against the small of his back as he walks back across the threshold, touch so simple and easy Eric has to stop and remember this isn't his life, this isn't theirs. Harry doesn't help him put Theo to bed and he doesn't stroke his spine and he doesn't smile like that in his kitchen because he's not his. He sets the mugs down a little too forcefully. A chip cracks along the bottom of Harry's.
"I was worried you ignored me last week." Harry mutters in a blatant attempt at nonchalant but it just sounds needy. "Was a bit worried."
Eric sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure against his tender thumb stings and he sighs loudly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." He lies easily, because he didn't. Not really. "We were in a rush." Harry nods his head noncommittally.
"I know this isn't the most appropriate of times." Harry gushes out. Eric turns his head, startled, but Harry's already setting off at ridiculous speed. "But Dele told me you fancy me but you're always gonna be too wussy to do anything about it, and that you dunno if I like you back, but I do like you back. I like you back a lot, and I know that's weird because we barely know each other but you're such a lovely Dad and person and you smile really nice. And that's why I was worried you were ignoring me. I thought Dele lied."
Eric fingers are gripping onto the kitchen counter. He turns his head from side to side, rattling around what he's just heard in an attempt to slot it into an order he might understand, but it's still just rattling. Harry is gulping at his freshly made tea so quickly Eric knows the heat of it is peeling the insides of his mouth into blisters, his eyes wide and panicked above the rim and it's all faintly comical and bewildering and Eric just doesn't get it.
"Wait." He manages, the only thing that seems to filter through. "You speak to Dele?!"
Harry gasps as he swallows his final drops of tea. "Yeah, we went to school together."
Eric laughs, and laughs, and laughs. He laughs so hard he can't spare thought for everything else that Harry's said, can't feel the sparks of hope in his stomach or the nerves curling in his gut. Harry is watching him, looking faintly hurt and more than a little disgruntled, so Eric stops again. The silence that falls is awkward and too abrupt.
Eric thinks about it all. He thinks about the things he wants; the goodnight pecks and the toothpaste kisses, the ice-creams in the park and the cups of tea when it's raining, the bedtime stories in that warmth heard from the bathroom as he sits in the bath waiting for him. The today, and tomorrow, and however long forever is, as a family. Someone to help push Theo on the swings and choose which football boots he wants and do his literacy homework with. Someone else. Something more.
"Dele didn't lie." Eric offers, unsure of how to continue. "Isn't that against some kind of rule? Will you get sacked?" Very romantic, Eric thinks to himself.
Harry rolls his eyes. "No, you daft git. Just don't grope me at under 7s games and I think it'll be fine."
Eric laughs, shocked by it, and Harry giggles just a little too. They look at each other again, eye to eye. Quiet.
"When would you like to go for dinner?" Eric smiles.
*
"Nice of you to mention you're mates with Harry."
"Didn't seem pertinent at the time."
"Nothing ever does with you. Why did you pretend you didn't know him when I first brought him up?"
"Belt up. Who cured your case of blue balls? Thank me and stop asking questions."
"In your wet dreams, Delboy. You're looking after Theo."
*
Eric's entire being is short-circuiting. Every nerve-ending is frazzled, fraying, sparking against each other, and he's being so loud, he wishes he'd just shut his mouth, bite his lip to swallow down the desperate, breathless moans forced out of him every time Harry moves. I wanted to take him apart, Eric thinks sluggishly, body liquid with the pleasure and the wine and good food and something terrifyingly close to true affection.
"It's okay." Harry mutters, eyes closed as he works himself up and down, body moving in one tight curl, taking Eric in again and again, tightness dragging up and down his cock over and over. Eric groans. "You're out of practice." He giggles.
Eric twists his nipple for that and Harry yelps, giggling, rhythm stuttering. Eric thrusts up, and Harry gasps, body pink with arousal, thighs as soft and sweet as Eric imagined spread across his torso. His own cock bounces against the smooth faint lines toned into his stomach, leaking and smearing across the dusky hairs, and Eric wants, and cannot believe that he's allowed.
"Harry, baby." Eric huffs out, body trembling, pleasure a knife-fine point he's starting to tip off. "I'm gonna come."
Harry lets out a little whine at the pet name, grinding down rougher, working harder. "It's okay." He mumbles, hand fumbling around his own cock. "I want you to."
Eric goes dumb with it, and only really collects his brain cells into coherence when Harry is kissing his shoulder sweetly, cuddling into his front. They're under the covers, Harry must have slipped them over them, and Eric's chest aches.
"It'll be alright." Harry whispers sleepily into his shoulder. "Stop worrying. You're allowed to have things. It doesn't make you a bad dad."
Eric feels a strange tightness grip the back of his throat at that, tears prickling along his eyes. He nods dazedly and sets his chin on the top of Harry's head, hair all loose and messy.
*
"Can we get a dog?"
Eric sighs. "No, Theo, I've already told you. Who's gonna look after it?"
Theo shrugs indignantly. "Harry! He looks after me!"
Harry laughs, ruffling Theo's hair. "You're pretty different from a dog, Theo."
Theo glares at the two of them, pouting. His arms are crossed over his chest petulantly, feet scuffing dejectedly at the grass.
Eric rolls his eyes. "Look, maybe we can get a rabbit or something. You're back on, c'mon." He prods Theo in the back and with one last black glare, Theo sprints back onto the pitch, punching Louis in the arm playfully as he goes. Eric narrows his eyes warningly.
"You're such a pushover." Harry laughs, shoving him hard enough he stumbles a bit.
"You try say no to that!" Eric retaliates, rubbing his arm with a frown.
*
Harry smiles at him in the mirror, mouth foamy with toothpaste and starting to drip a faint blue stream down his chin. Eric laughs around his own mouthful of toothpaste, spluttering on it a little and he groans as it splashes down his work shirt. Harry laughs, eyes dancing and Eric rolls his eyes, boxing him into the sink and kissing his spearmint flavoured lips one-two-three times. Harry's lips are curved in a smile every kiss.
"Oh, hi, Theo." Harry says when Theo's head of blonde curls appears around the bathroom door. His mouth is twisted in a disgusted squiggle, nose scrunched up. Eric thinks he hears an ew. He chuckles.
"Ready to drop Dad off?" Harry asks, leading Theo out of the bathroom and through to the hallway, helping him tie his shoelaces (two bunny ears, cross, and slip through). "The sooner we get him to work, the sooner he can leave, and then he can come to the game!"
Eric rolls his eyes good-naturedly, watching as Theo nods his head earnestly at Harry's declaration, watching him with wide eyes full of trust and love, the simple way children give it, with no holdbacks and no expectations except love in return. Eric watches his son and the man he hopes he could call a boyfriend laugh and chat, two sets of eyes gleaming with that quiet fondness, safe and comfortable, and feels everything slot into place, not that it was ever out of it. Things have just seemed to settle, in some vague semblance of a happy family Eric's proud to call his own. He's got enough love to give to the both of them to last a lifetime, and then a few more after that.