Chapter Text
It starts the night of Jamie’s dad paying a visit to the Wembley locker room. Well it doesn’t actually— maybe happens before when Jamie hints at his father and Colin makes this look of total understanding. It’s what mends them when Jamie returns, apologies and explanations made real by that prick showing up. Maybe the only good thing Jamie’s dad actually did. Either way his knuckles stung, and he still had the choked up feeling in his throat when he boarded the bus. Had barely croaked out any words. Hasn’t actually really punched anyone in the face before, just postured as tough.
He sits at the back of the bus, alone and up next to the window. It’s dark out now, even though they had an early kickoff. Time moves faster when you’re stressed, he guesses. He’s glad for it, wants today to be over and to go home and curl up and be a goldfish like Ted says and somehow feel impossibly fine tomorrow. Doesn’t want anyone to sit by him, wants today to be Just Over. But he lives in the real world and doesn’t get to be left alone. He feels someone slip into the seat next to him even though he knows there’s enough seats to not have this happen.
Jamie turns, ready to hiss venom at whoever the intruder is. He’s surprised to see Colin. Was expecting maybe Dani maybe Sam maybe even Jan, who would just make fun of him. Or even Ted, with some incomprehensible phrase of wisdom. No, just Colin, who doesn’t even look happy to see him. Colin has a distinctly negative look on his face. Jamie stares blankly for a moment, trying to decipher it before he remembers he wants solitude.
“Hey,” Colin says, and then looks around like it’s some kind of secret that they’re talking. “‘m sorry about today. The loss and the dad. I know how you feel.”
Jamie blinks twice, unimpressed. “Thanks.”
Colin rolls his eyes and then looks back at Jamie. “I’ve got a lot of liquor at home. Solidarity and all that. Think about it.”
With that Colin claps the seat of the bus next to Jamie and gets up, wanders back up the isle to sit next to Isaac. Jamie is left alone to think about the match, his father and the interaction. He rests his head against the window and closes his eyes. When he opens them again they’re making the last turn to pull back into the Richmond grounds. London is big but the drive is not long and his nap felt wholly unsatisfying. His neck hurts and his knuckles hurt and his heart hurts and his head hurts and he wishes that they had won or that his dad would just leave him the hell alone. He grumbles all these complaints while he clomps around the locker rooms of the club, hoping that maybe this next heavier exhale of breath will make him feel better in some kind of way.
He’s about to drive home to go flop face down in bed and hopefully think of none of this ever again, but the fear of being alone strikes him suddenly and strongly. He sees Colin’s idiotic car still parked in its space and stops in front his own, waits a beat. Colin had opted out of going to the pub with Ted and the rest of the lads. The offer of drinks at his place still stood. Decisions to make. Jamie had always been indecisive.
Moments later Colin and Isaac walk out into the parking lot. Jamie can see by body language alone that both are clearly fuming. A loss never did anyone well and it was hard to actually move on, no matter what Ted said. He knew he himself would feel like shit no matter what for the next few days at least. Colin looks up from his conversation to see Jamie. They exchange some look across the parking lot, one that Jamie can’t seem to interpret the meaning of. Maybe it’s the universal facial expression for “my dad is a flaming piece of shit.”
Colin and Isaac are now separating— in his peripheral Jamie can see Isaac waving goodbye as Colin began to approach Jamie’s car.
“Yeah I’m in,” he says to the Welshman before Colin can get anything out.
“You want a ride?”
“Absolutely not. Text me your address.” Jamie can see Isaac entering his car in the background. Colin nods, pulling out his phone. Jamie can feel the notification vibrate in the pocket of his sweats before he can even unlock his door.
The drive to Colin’s is markedly short, not enough to even think about whether this was a good idea or not. Dr Sharon had told him to be more open but doing so while in fight or flight felt like more of a punishment than a chance for self-improvement. He’s already second guessing himself when he pulls up to the flat that Colin lives at. He’s never been there before but is close enough with the lads to recognize it from words and the background of the occasional photo. It has a wooden exterior and is obscured by overgrowth in parts. Looks a good bit like a treehouse. No place for a professional footballer. Nice and quiet though. That adds up for Colin.
He knocks on the door. 304. Surely, given the way Colin drives, he was here before him. He’s correct. Colin opens the door, somehow having sped enough to have already changed into a faded band tee and flannel pajama bottoms. He ushers Jamie in. The whole place smells of whatever dish soap Colin uses. Jamie thinks rosemary. It’s smaller than expected and filled with houseplants and, of course, a massive welsh flag. Would be a great flat for a grad student, underwhelming for a pro footballer. Jamie had a high end bidet in each of his toilets. Colin had two restrooms in this place max. He forces down the sense of judgement that old-prick-Jamie would’ve used.
Colin is true to his word. The bar is very much fully stocked. He has all the liquor anyone could want, and some that definitely absolutely no one wanted. Jamie eyes it cautiously as Colin offers various drinks. They settle on “surprise me,” which is just whiskey on the rocks. It’s strong and cold but feels warm, and Jamie downs the entire glass within three seconds and winces. Colin laughs, then does the same. They stare at the bar. Jamie thinks Colin will pour them another.
“I’m done pretending to be hard. Want a margarita?”
Jamie snorts. “When have you ever pretended to be hard?” Colin shoots him a look, already reaching for the tequila. “But yes, please.”
Colin works quickly but is quite frankly an awful bartender. The drinks are too strong and too sour and not sweet enough. But right now Jamie’s just thankful for the numbing effect of liquor. “To shit dads!” Jamie cheers half heartedly.
Colin offers him an equally unenthusiastic “aye.” He stares down at his drink as he moves towards the sofa. Follows it up with a “so if you wanna chat shit about your dad, now’s the time.”
Jamie sighs, following Colin. Vulnerability was probably his least favorite bit of the new Richmond with Lasso at the helm. But Dr Sharon’s advice and Ted’s words of wisdom had gotten him this far back into good graces with the team. “Tell me ‘bout yours and I’ll tell you bout mine.”
“Alright, failed catholic priest.” Colin doesn’t miss a beat. Jamie sucks in a deep punch of breath. “I’m the second of seven, if that makes it any clearer for you.”
Jamie didn’t even know there were Catholics in Cardiff, or wherever Colin was from in Wales. Realizes there’s a lot he doesn’t know about the man. Shifts uncomfortably in his seat, doesn’t look at Colin for too long. Colin has the same facial expression on that he does after he has to deal with Nate. “That’s rough. Me dad’s not religious but he’s still a twat. Always found a fault to pick with Mum and me. Put more into bothering us than trying to help.” He pauses. “Was a football hooligan. Banned from the Etihad for life.”
Colin actually laughs out loud at that. “Sounds like a nightmare. I think he’ll be banned from every stadium after this though.”
Jamie snorts. “Yeah I hope so. I think I’m done trying to talk to him. Felt good to hit him. After all the hell he put me and me mum through.” He looks up at Colin and takes in a shaky breath, feeling the emotions from the locker room flood back. “I just— I don’t know. Wish it was different. That there were something I could say or do to make him change.”
His voice had cracked at the end and he looks back up to see a look of pure sympathy on Colin’s face. Colin pats him on the shoulder and then pulls him in for a hug. Jamie realizes that he’s crying into Colin’s shirt and feels red hot shame flow through him. Half expects a disciplinary blow from his father. He pulls away and chugs the margarita and then winces because Jesus Christ Colin cannot mix a drink. “Sorry. It’s just— it’s all a lot. I feel a lot right now.”
Colin nods, he himself looking sad and maybe something else Jamie can’t yet read. “You alright though?
“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” Jamie tries to dry his face but his eyes insist on continuing to leak. Probably one of the most embarrassing moments for him all season, today was.
“Anything I can do?”
“Why are you being so nice?”
Colin shrugs. “Dunno, feels right to do. I’ve been where you’re at and it feels better to not be alone. Doctor Sharon’s been telling me to practice ‘healthy communication’ with others and this feels like that. Trying to be there for you. And myself too, I guess.”
Jamie nods. He can tell that his face is red and blotchy and very much not the Premier League Football Icon Jamie Tartt face that he likes to wear. “Thanks. You’re a good lad, Hughes.”
Colin smiles. “I was gonna offer you a smoke.” He reaches for the drawer of the coffee table, where there’s a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a dusty lighter. “Guess I’m a good lad though and I can’t.”
Jamie eyes the pack. “Since when did you smoke?” He’s already following Colin to the balcony. “Who are you even?”
Colin’s face is lit up by the lighter. “Picked it up when I went to Cardiff. Was living with my older sister and she’s a human chimney.”
Jamie nods, still eyeing the cigarette in Colin’s hand. Colin hands it to him and settles into the little wicker loveseat thing he has crammed into the balcony. Jamie settles next to him, takes a drag. If they weren’t drunk this would be uncomfortably close. “I thought you were from Cardiff.”
“No, I’m from Gwynedd. Moved to Cardiff when I went pro. My sister had moved there after our parents kicked her out. Was happy to be with her, or out of Gwynedd at least. She’s my best friend.”
Jamie passes the cigarette back to Colin and finishes whatever’s left in his cup. There’s an old and half empty bottle of some clear liquor lingering on the edge of Colin’s balcony and it is screaming his name. He grabs it and looks back at Colin, who looks now absolutely miserable. Perhaps they’re both flirting with total annihilation tonight. “Yer whole backstory. You wanna talk about it?”
“I’m supposed to just give you free exposition?”
“Yeah, you tell me about your shite parents and I’ll tell you about mine and we’ll finish this bottle of liquor.”
Colin laughs weakly but obliges Jamie. They are behaving distinctly not like premier league aspiring footballers tonight. More cigs and more booze. The Man City loss fades away in the wayside. Colin tells Jamie about his childhood in Wales. Father was a labour organizer, Mum was a nurse. Both were drunks and very very catholic. Jamie’s dad couldn’t hold down a job for longer than a handful of months and his mum ran a pub that consumed all her waking hours. He supposes that this is what Sam had called “trauma-bonding.” At some point he realizes that he’s leaned into Colin’s shoulder, the Welshman’s arm wrapped around him.
“You feeling any better?” Colin asks. His face is close to Jamie’s and he smells like vodka and cigarettes. Jamie wrinkles his nose while he gives it a thought.
“Yeah, actually. You?”
Colin nods. They sit there like that for a while, staring out into the courtyard of the tiny apartment complex. There are some cicadas chirping, but the silence begins to feel very awkward, at least for Jamie. Colin’s hand brushes against his sleeve absentmindedly. It feels really nice actually, but the quiet is really getting to him and Jamie just has to say something, diffuse the situation.
“Bit queer this, innit?” He tries to crack. Colin pulls away immediately and looks at him.
“Really?”
“Um”
Colin’s frown is distinct. “If you’re gonna be a bigot you can get out. Im not opening myself up to someone like that.”
Jamie’s heart drops to his stomach. Needs to diffuse the situation. He goes through the rolodex of responses he has in his head. ‘Just a joke’ wouldn’t cut it. ‘Oi sorry, I’ve actually slept with blokes before’ was too personal. He had to think…
Unfortunately Jamie is very drunk and settles for using both at the same time. “Sorry Colin. Just a joke. I’ve actually slept with blokes before. You know I’m not like that. No hate in me heart, not even towards me dad.”
There’s more than a beat of silence. Colin stares at him blankly, face unreadable, and each second feels like a year. “That’s one way to come out.”
“Shit.” Jamie says. Needs to deflect. Doesn’t have enough brain power to. “What’s it matter to you?”
“Oh, nothing.” Colin says, face turning red. He looks away and lights another cigarette. Jamie takes the time to steal the pack from his lap and light another. He’s too drunk to move and so settles into boring his head into Colin’s ribs. God he is going to regret all of this in the morning. He tries to get more comfortable but ends up needling Colin further. “Fine, ouch! Stop trying to wrestle a confession out of me.”
Jamie lurches back into a sitting position so Colin can get comfortable. “Hm?”
“Yeah, me too. Shagged guys. Am bi.”
They both nod and look at each other, crammed together on Colin’s stupid uncomfortable wicker loveseat. Colin sees something in Jamie’s eyes and blanches. The energy in the balcony shifts and the Welshman stands up, shifting weight from foot to foot. “I’m gonna go to bed. You wanna crash on my couch? It’s a futon. Very comfortable actually.”
Jamie agrees, too pissed to drive home. It’s the end of the conversation. He wakes up on the futon the next day close to noon, with an awful awful hangover but a surprisingly good feeling in his back. Colin is right, the futon is very comfortable. Not too firm, not too soft. He buries his head into the arm of it, trying to will down twin waves of embarrassment and nausea. All of yesterday floods right back to him at once. The loss. Out of the FA Cup. His dad. Oh god why did he drink that much? What he had told Colin last night. His throat closes in on itself, though that might be the cigarettes more than the rising panic.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a clatter in the kitchen. He lurches up on the futon (immediately regretting it with the swell of nausea) to see Colin grabbing a mug out of the dishwasher. Colin looks back at him wide eyed, and by appearances he probably feels as shit as Jamie does. He sets the mug down on the counter and then wordlessly grabs a second and shuts the dishwasher. It turns itself on, much to Colin’s frustration. Jamie snorts at that.
“Coffee?”
“Please,” Jamie says, wincing to get up off the couch and toward the little kitchen table Colin has only a few meters away. He may have played like shite against City, but his body still hurt all the same. Last night’s festivities, or lack there of, didn’t help either. “Yes to both milk and sugar.”
Colin has one of those fancy little stovetop espresso makers and Jamie watches him work his magic on it. He’s always preferred cold coffee, but he’s not about to be an ungracious houseguest or turn down anything that would ease the splitting headache he had. Colin doesn’t look at him while he fusses about the kitchen but for a moment it all reminds Jamie of hookups he’s had, the ones where it ends well enough for him to spend the night. Colin’s hair is way messier than he’d seen even on bad training days, and he needed a shave and probably also a shower. He sets one of the mugs down in front of Jamie and finally meets his gaze. They stare at each other for a moment before Colin sits down across from him.
Colin sips from his mug and Jamie pulls his gaze away. He blows on his coffee, and tentatively tries it. Surprisingly good, for hot coffee at least, he silently concedes. He scans the kitchen table for distractions. Backgammon board, some clearly never touched National Geographics, some crumpled concert tickets. Looks back up at Colin and is surprised to see him looking back at him.
“So last night,” Colin pauses, scratching the back of his head “uh, good chat yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jamie thinks he knows what Colin is getting at.
“But uh, I’d rather you not share that bit. About me. To anyone.” Colin says, gaze surprisingly steely.
Jamie nods and mimes zipping up his face. “Mum’s the word. Same goes to you for me. Guess we got mutual dirt on each other now.”
Colin cracks a small smile. Jamie returns it. “Alright then. We’re on the same team now, I guess,” he pauses and looks away from Jamie for a moment. “It’s kinda nice actually. You’re like the second person I’ve told it to.”
“Oh,” Jamie says. Thinks back to Colin’s Grindr comment. No one on the team had thought anything of it, he doesn’t think, but he wouldn’t ever forget it. Strange, knowing things about Colin that not even Isaac knew. “Yeah, same. Just you and me mum.”
“Your mum?! I think my parents would drive up here and kill me if they ever found out.”
Jamie shrugs. “Mum was cool about it. Easier ‘cos I’m not all gay. Who’d you tell?”
“Sister. No brainer with her really.” Colin down looks at the crumpled concert tickets on the table. “Was actually supposed to have her come over here next Sunday for this show, but things came up.”
Jamie looks at the tickets. He does not recognize a single artist on the line up, nor does he recognize the venue. “Want someone to come with you?”
“You won’t like it.”
“As a matter of fact I do like rap, thank you very much.”
Colin actually laughs. “I know that! It’s not rap. They’re just some shitty punk bands my sister got me into. Don’t know if that’ll be your speed.”
Jamie shrugs. “I’ll try anything once. Besides, think this earns me brownie points for team bonding in the Lasso book.”
Colin snorts at that too, looking decidedly less miserable than before they started chatting. Jamie feels warm, knowing that maybe he helped. That’s a new sensation, feeling good about his impact on others. There was some bullshit psychology term like ‘empathy’ for it that Doctor Sharon had preached to him but he had already forgotten it. He’s more focused on the conversation he’s having with Colin. He asks about the venue and the bands and Colin is more than happy to oblige. Before he knows it Colin is showing him the tunes and he’s helping him cook breakfast.
They chat for at least two more hours. Jamie does the dishes and Colin makes them more coffee. This is probably the most he’s ever heard the Welshman talk, and at this point they’ve known each other for the better part of three years. As it turns out, Colin has a lot of things to say, a lot of opinions to share and for once Jamie is happy to listen to someone. It also helps that Colin wants to chat because he decidedly dislikes all of the music he’s shown him, though he doesn’t have the heart to tell him. It’s too endearing to hear him talk about what he’s passionate about to tell him to stop. He tells him that he’s looking forward to the show and Colin beams.
Jamie leaves the flat feeling caffeinated, alive and markedly less shit about his dad. He sits in his car for a minute, feeling a crinkle in the pocket of his track pants. He pulls out one of the tickets and wonders how Colin got it in there without him noticing. He stares at the piece of paper in his hand, turning it over and over. The look on Colin’s face while they were talking replays in his mind. He looked— Jamie shakes his head and wills the thoughts to disappear. Tells himself he’s excited to have forged a new friendship.