Work Text:
Jamie’s sitting on the couch, icing his ankle, when Roy brings the mail over. Most of it's junk, but there’s one letter with Jamie’s handwritten address on it. He doesn’t recognise the return address, but the handwriting is all too familiar.
With a sharp exhale of discomfort, Roy sits down next to him. Jamie doesn’t think he’d visibly twitched, but Roy’s always been hyper aware of his body, and it’s been even worse since he got injured at the Man City match the other day.
“What the fuck’s got you so tense all of a sudden?” Roy leans closer to look at the envelope, pressing his knee against Jamie’s thigh in a way that Jamie doesn’t want to admit feels comforting.
“Nothing. Well I mean it’s something, but not anything you need to think about.” He tosses the letter back into the pile of mail. “I’ll deal with it later.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Jamie knows Roy doesn’t believe him, but it’s a relief when he doesn’t push further. “Want to go for a run?”
“Three days ago you couldn’t walk, and you’re not supposed to do anything for at least another two days.” There’s the Coach Kent voice. “No running until the physio clears you. We need you 100% for the West Ham match.”
Jamie sighs, leans back, and puts his uninjured ankle on Roy’s lap. “You owe me a foot massage then. For medicine.”
“Yeah alright then. Give it here.” Roy tries not to smile and Jamie pretends not to see.
He doesn’t get to open the letter until that evening, after Roy’s made dinner and left for yoga. It’s been on his mind all day, even though Jamie thinks he’s convinced Roy that it really isn’t important.
The handwriting taunts him.
It’s been over a year since Jamie’s had any contact with his father, longer since he’s gotten mail from him, but some things are hard to forget. He’d gotten a card when he was 14, before the trip to Amsterdam that he doesn’t want to think about anymore. All it said was “Happy birthday Jamie, me and the lads are gonna need tickets to your next big match.” His father’s writing made it look like his name was spelled wrong.
It still looks like that.
Jamie pokes the envelope, still not sure if he wants to open it. Maybe he should have told Roy, asked him to stay, forced him to rip the corner. Too late for that now though.
Suddenly he realises ten minutes have passed, his fingers are cramping and his mouth is dry and he knows what’s happening but Jamie has no fucking idea how to stop it.
He reaches for his phone, knocks it off the table, then can’t figure out how to unlock it when he does eventually manage to pick it up. Everything feels fuzzy and echoey and he wants Roy but Roy is doing something that probably involves him being upside down doing some weird yoga pose and he won’t be home for at least another few hours.
Curling up in a ball sounds like the next best idea. His chest is still tight and it feels like he’s been running for hours and everything’s kind of gray, but he’s not about to fall over anymore and he just wants Roy. He must mumble something loud enough for Siri to pick up on because suddenly Roy’s saying he’ll be home as soon as he can and Jamie’s repeating “I can’t do this” over and over and he knows he’s making Roy panic but he can’t breathe deep enough to explain and then Roy’s there and Jamie is gasping and sobbing into his lap and he can feel Roy talking but he doesn’t know what the words are.
Eventually he hears “…the fuck happened?” and a grunt of pain and it’s the pain that jolts Jamie into the present.
“You okay?” Jamie isn’t sure he says it aloud, but he must say something because the hand he hadn’t felt on the back of his head moves to his face and tilts his head up.
Roy’s staring at him, an expression Jamie hasn’t seen before and he hates that he can’t figure it out. He thinks it might be fear, but that doesn’t make any sense because Roy’s not afraid of anything. Except maybe Coach Beard and he’s nowhere nearby. Jamie glances around anyway, just in case.
“Jamie. JAMIE.” Jamie finally meets Roy’s eyes. “You in there now?”
“What the fuck happened?”
“Was going to ask you the same thing. I was halfway into downward dog when you called panicking about something and…” Roy stops when Jamie shoves the now crumpled envelope at him.
The sound of the envelope ripping almost makes Jamie start hyperventilating again.
“It’s from your dad.” The disgust in Roy’s voice is obvious. “He’s at a rehabilitation center.”
“The fuck does he want?” Jamie isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.
“Would you believe me if I say he doesn’t want anything?” Roy sounds as suspicious as Jamie feels. “He saw the Man City match. Says he’s ’proud of you.’”
“Fuck that.” Jamie can’t tell which one of them growls. “He always wants something.” He pauses. “What aren’t you telling me?”
This time Roy looks away before meeting Jamie’s eyes. “He wants to see you.”
Jamie takes a deep breath, his first one since before he tried to open the letter. “Maybe I should-“
“Fuck no. That’s a fucking terrible idea.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jamie says. “But if he’s trying, I should-“
“Jamie. You didn’t see yourself after Wembley. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. Fuck him and fuck doing the ‘right thing’ and fuck all of it. Let’s burn the letter and move on instead of back.”
Jamie nods. “Yeah alright.”
They don’t actually burn the message, but Jamie dreams about smoke, even as he curls deeper into Roy’s arms that night.
He wakes up early, earlier than he wants to, and earlier than he should considering how much the fucking panic attack wore him out. Roy’s still sleeping like the dead as Jamie carefully crawls out from underneath the comforting weight.
Running is still a forbidden activity, so Jamie slips on a pair of Roy’s yoga pants and a t-shirt but no trainers, and goes outside to stretch.
The sun is just peaking over the horizon, and the chilly morning air helps clear the lingering fog from his head.
He hadn’t fully understood Ted’s speech at the Man City match, when he was sitting on the ground, in pain and stressing about his dad. Now Jamie has time to consider what Ted said, about forgiveness and hate and something about knife hands that he still doesn’t entirely get. He doesn’t want to forgive, he’s not ready for it yet, but he can sort of see what Ted meant about it being a thing he gives to himself.
Roy sneaks up behind him, gently correcting his position, warm hands helping stretch out the last of the tightness in his hamstrings. “I could hear you thinking all the way out here. Don’t strain your brain too hard, your ankle’s bad enough.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Ted, if you can say that with a straight face.” Jamie pokes Roy in the chest. “Might want to cut back a little.”
“Fuck you too.”
Jamie’s back cracks as he sits up. “Couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about what Ted told me about finding something other than hating my dad to motivate me.”
Roy sighs. “Ted’s an idiot who’s fucking great at teams and shit but he has no fucking idea what footballers actually need.” He hesitates, in the way Jamie recognises as nervous mixed with anger. “He’s fucking lucky you were too out of it to process most of that.”
Jamie knows that Roy’s right, but he also knows that Roy is missing information that Jamie may never be able to explain.
“I want to see him.” The words come out of Jamie’s mouth before he realises he’s saying them.
Roy’s face flashes with fury, just for a second, but he’s calm when he says, “If you really want, and I mean really want to, I’m going with.”
“Don’t murder him before I get to say anything.”
“No promises. If he starts doing anything that hurts you, we’re leaving, fuck yours or Ted’s or whoever’s forgiveness bullshit.” Roy’s voice leaves no room for debate.
“I don’t want to forgive him. I’m not ready to. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to.” Jamie’s fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves. “But I want that to be my decision.”
He doesn’t think Roy understands, but it doesn’t matter. When Roy had held him, after the disastrous match at Wembley, after he’d stood up to his dad for the first time in his life, Jamie had felt safe.
Now he gets it. That’s what he wants to thank his dad for. He’d said it, during the match, when Ted had asked what he’d say if he could talk to his dad right then, but he’d been too panicked and injured and anxious to think clearly. Hating his dad had been his motivation for so long, but that hate had eventually given him Roy and Jamie wouldn’t give that up for anything.
Roy’s still looking at him, and Jamie can’t remember what he was saying to put that particular expression on Roy’s face. He leans in to press his lips to Roy’s.
“Love you.”
The confusion gives way to love and pride and Roy’s version of happiness.
“Love you too, you muppet.”
“Want to go fuck somewhere?” Jamie stands up and pulls Roy to his feet.
Without asking, Roy pulls him into a hug.
Whatever happens after the season, whether Jamie decides to see his dad or not, he has Roy with him, and that’s more than enough.