Archive of Our Own

Beginning of a New Adventure

“Retirement is not the End of the Road.
It is the Beginning of a New Adventure.”
—Pelé 

12 May 2031

Jamie 

The thing was that, when it happened, it didn’t even hurt. 

The complete lack of pain took him by surprise more than anything else. The tackle had been a clean one, and there would be no yellow card, no foul cried—Jamie himself didn’t even realise something was wrong until Max, one of the newer kids, helped him up, he took a step, and immediately crumpled down into a heap again.

Max scrambled forward to catch him and Jamie panted, surprised, horrified, fascinated , looking down at his leg. 

He didn’t even realise the almost constant ache in his lower back that he had been living with for years had gone until much, much later. 

Other teammates crowded around him, helping him sit down again, helping him uncurl and stretch his leg, chattering worriedly and loudly, but Jamie was barely aware of any of it, barely aware of anyone else, staring down at his leg, his foot as if he’d never seen it before. 

He twitched his toe.  

His foot didn’t move. 

He tried again. And again. And again. And again. And—and—and—and—

Jamie was vaguely aware of the medics rushing out onto the pitch to help him, but the blood rushing in his ears was so loud he could barely hear anything else, could barely remember how to make his mouth work, how to focus on anything except his foot and his leg which were. not. moving. 

The medics were talking, were asking him where it hurt, but it didn’t . 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he managed hollowly, still staring at his leg. “It doesn’t—it doesn’t hurt. It’s just—” 

He tried to get them to let him walk off the pitch, tried to get them to let him get back up, but they insisted on the stretcher, saying a confused jumble of words that Jamie only half understood, only half heard, “—spinal—paralysis—no risk—” 

It wasn’t until Roy met them at the edge of the pitch, his dark eyes wide and wild with concern, that sound abruptly returned to him, the sound of thousands of football fans roaring and chanting hitting him all at once, so overwhelmingly that it took him a moment to realise Roy was talking, that Roy’s hands were touching him, one hand on Jamie’s leg, the other warm and heavy on his cheek. 

“Jamie,” Roy was saying, a frantic edge to his voice that Jamie didn’t think he’d ever heard before. “Jamie, fucking talk to me. Baby, what’s happening ?” 

“Roy,” Jamie managed, tears burning in his eyes, the reality of the situation hitting him hard and the desire to sink into Roy’s arms and hide away from everything multiplying by a thousand—he didn’t even care that Roy had called him baby in front of the medics and the ref and the other coaches, didn’t care that the cameras probably picked up on this moment and that it would be picked apart a million times over.  

He just wanted Roy. 

“Roy,” he choked again, reaching out to grab Roy’s hand on his leg to make sure it was actually there, “Roy, I can’t feel your hand.” Roy’s eyes widened further. “I can’t feel my leg at all.” 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Hours later, Jamie lay in the hospital bed with its scratchy sheets, staring up at the bright lines thrown on the ceiling by the fluorescent lights in the hallway, creeping in through the cracked door. The light did little to dispel the whirlwind of feelings swirling within him, his mind feeling simultaneously too full and completely empty. He felt like he should be on the edge of panic, like he should be hyperventilating and trying to reason with the universe to take it back, to offer anything and anyone in exchange for just one more game, one more try, one more season—

Instead he was calm. 

He felt so absurdly calm. 

Outside, London hummed with life, its vibrant pulsing noise a stark contrast to the stillness of his private hospital room. Jamie had never been very good at being still, had always been a child of motion, a man of action , of doing things first and asking himself whether it’d been the right thing much, much later and he was not doing well being so confined now. There was a different sort of helplessness to this—to be, essentially, imprisoned and immobilised by his own body, his dreams hanging by a fucking thread. 

The surgery he was facing tomorrow was a risky one, although his team of doctors had repeated many times over that his odds were extremely good. He was young, he was healthy, he was in great shape—but it was and remained a back surgery. It remained surgery on his fucking spinal cord—a fucking herniated disk that he’d probably had for years developing into a stress hernia induced by the tackle and twisting his fucking back just wrong. 

One wrong move, and now he couldn’t move or feel his leg. 

He couldn’t lift his own fucking foot. 

He’d been told that, based on the location and size of the herniated disk, he was lucky it was just the one leg.

He didn’t feel very lucky. 

Though no one had outright told him he wouldn’t be playing again, Jamie wasn’t an idiot. He was thirty-two years old, one of the older players in the league, and he had a plan , damn it. 

He exhaled roughly. 

He’d had a plan . 

He and Roy had talked about Jamie’s retirement extensively, had considered what it’d mean for their relationship and what it meant to go forward, and they’d agreed that Jamie should stop on his own terms, that dragging things out the way Roy had wouldn’t be a good idea for a multitude of reasons and Jamie knew . 

He knew. 

This had always been meant to be his last season, but—

but. 

Not like this. 

As much as he had thought he was prepared for it, the thought of never playing again was soul crushing . 

He had always poured his whole heart and soul into the game, had sacrificed a good portion of his childhood, his teenage years and most of his adult life to it and now—now he’d even given his body to it. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled again, rougher and thicker, tears burning in his eyes as he imagined never hearing the crowd chant his name again, never again having his teammates pile on top of him after a goal, never again being able to tease Roy while getting changed in the locker room anymore.

The night stretched on, the hours ticking by like slow, agonising heartbeats, and Jamie couldn’t do anything but lay there, stuck in his fucking hospital bed, his mind battling between fear and hope, despair and determination.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, pushing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes, trying to shut out the negative thoughts that swirled like vultures in his mind. But they were relentless, haunting him with visions of a future without football, a future he had tried so hard to prepare for, that he had been thinking about for literal years , but that he still couldn’t quite comprehend.

Despite all of his preparations, all of the whispered conversations with Roy, huddled together in the safety of their bed, their words heard only by each other and the pillows, he felt lost. 

He felt like a little boy again, wanting nothing more than his mum, so he could curl up in her arms and she could stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be alright. She and Simon weren’t in the UK though—Jamie was relatively sure they were floating somewhere between Norway and Denmark right now, halfway through the second honeymoon he and Roy had bought them for their fifteenth anniversary. 

He was sure Roy had called her to tell her everything, that Roy would’ve arranged for her to come back immediately, because mummy would , nothing would stop her from being with him as soon as she physically could, but it didn’t stop him from wanting her here now . 

Keeley had been there earlier, right up until the doctors had kicked her out, and she had done everything Jamie had needed her to do—she’d held his hand, stroked his hair, she’d talked to the doctors when they filed in and out of his room with big, complicated words that had made his head hurt, she’d even kissed his forehead and promised that he’d be alright, and he loved her. 

He loved her and he appreciated her, and he’d hated her because she wasn’t who he really wanted by his side. 

He hadn’t told her that. 

It weren’t Keeley’s fault Jamie wanted mummy more than anything else in the world—more, even, than he had wanted to see Roy. 

He suspected she might’ve known anyway. 

“Remember you’re a battler,” she’d whispered to him before she left, squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t you dare forget that, Jamie. You’re a fucking battler.” Jamie had nodded, because there had been nothing else he could do. 

He was a fighter, a survivor. 

He had faced adversity before, had emerged stronger and more resilient.

He could do it again.

He so desperately hoped he could.  

He opened his eyes, his gaze fixing on the window. The cityscape twinkled like a distant constellation, a reminder of the world beyond the confines of his hospital room. 

“Jamie?” 

He turned his head with a snap, eyes locking onto the figure that had appeared in his doorway—a silhouette so familiar and well-known to him he’d be able to recognise him in his sleep. 

Roy’s eyes were dark and clouded with worry, the lines around his eyes—which had deepened over the years, had etched the stories of their lives, of their wins and losses into Roy’s skin, that Jamie had kissed a hundred, a million times over—slightly more pronounced than usual. 

He looked tired and angry and determined. 

“Hi babe,” Jamie managed, his voice rough with disuse, reaching out the hand that wasn’t encumbered with a fucking million tubes and wires. Roy moved immediately, taking Jamie’s hand between both of his and pressing a rough, whiskered kiss to his palm. “Don’t look at me like that,” Jamie managed, feeling utterly fucking undone by the look of devastated understanding in Roy’s eyes. 

“Can’t fucking help it,” Roy muttered gruffly. “Been where you are.” He frowned. “Spent a lot of fucking time wishing you wouldn’t ever end up here.” He leaned over to press a kiss to the side of Jamie’s head and lingered for a moment, breathing deeply. Jamie breathed in shakily, and leaned into Roy’s touch, pulling his hand free from Roy’s so he could card his fingers through Roy’s hair instead. The weight of him against Jamie’s side was comforting and soothing, and something small and scared and angry inside Jamie unclenched. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, admitted . 

Roy made a small noise, before pulling back, rubbing his thumb over Jamie’s cheek. “I know, I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I had to—fucking press —I came as soon as I fucking could, as soon as I could get away—”

“I know,” Jamie breathed, turning into Roy’s hand. “I know. But I still missed you.” 

Roy nodded, his dark eyes full of unspoken emotions, and a distant corner of Jamie’s mind still marvelled that he was allowed to see Roy like this. Some days, when he felt small and sad and insecure, he still couldn’t believe the love in Roy’s expression when he looked at Jamie, couldn’t believe that it was all for him , even though Roy had shown him a hundred times over, even though it’d been his for so long that Jamie didn’t really care to remember the days that had preceded it.

Finally, Roy cleared his throat and spoke, his voice rough with emotion. “I know you’re fucking scared, baby,” he whispered, his eyes locked on Jamie’s, stroking his thumb over Jamie’s cheek soothingly. “I know you're angry and fucking fuming, and you’d really rather scream the whole fucking place down.” He smiled softly, tenderly, a smile that was just for Jamie, that Jamie had never seen him direct anywhere else. “It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re fucking prepared, aren’t we?” 

Jamie nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again. 

He didn’t know how to put words to the confused maelstrom of feelings that were threatening to consume him, didn’t have the vocabulary he would need to even begin to try to explain—but he knew he didn’t need to either. 

Roy understood him better than anyone else. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted in a small voice, tears burning in his eyes as he looked at Roy. The weight of the day hit him all at once, and his breath hitched. “We were supposed to have more time , Roy. It weren’t—it weren’t supposed to be like this .” He gestured towards his unmoving, unfeeling leg, covered by the sheet. “I wanted to fucking choose, I wanted—” His voice broke and tears ran down his cheeks. “Roy—what if they can’t fix it? What if I—” 

It weren’t just football, were it? 

If they couldn’t—what if he couldn’t—what if he’d really never walk again? 

Roy squeezed Jamie’s hand tightly. “We’ll still be okay,” he said firmly. “You’re Jamie fucking Tartt. The Prince Prick of all fucking Pricks.” He grabbed Jamie’s chin with his free hand and shook him lightly. “There’s fucking nothing that can keep you down, you hear me? Whatever happens after tomorrow—it’ll happen.” He gave Jamie a soft, fond look and said, insistently, “We are going to get through this.” 

Jamie nodded too, shakily, tears still rolling down his cheeks, but feeling oddly more sure of himself too, because—because Roy had told him he’d be okay and Jamie always managed to meet Roy’s expectations, didn’t he? Roy told him how to be better, how to be stronger, and Jamie did it because he wanted to make Roy proud, because he liked the way Roy’s eye sparkled with glee when Jamie did exactly what he wanted him to. 

“One step at a time?” He breathed, looking over to Roy, tears still burning in his eyes. 

Roy nodded. “One step at a time, baby.” 

He leaned over and kissed Jamie’s forehead, his lips warm and soft against Jamie’s skin. Jamie nodded, looking down to where his fingers were tangled with Roy’s for a moment before he tugged on Roy’s hand insistently. “Come up here,” he demanded, pouting when Roy hesitated, “Roy, I want cuddles.” 

“Fucking little brat prima donna,” Roy muttered, but he was already getting back to his feet, kicking off his shoes and helping Jamie move aside with gentle hands so he could slip in beside him. Jamie snuggled into Roy's arms, the warmth of Roy's body a comforting shield against the chill of his fears. He turned his head and nudged his nose against the side of Roy’s neck, breathing him in. 

Roy took his hand again, slotting their fingers together. Jamie rubbed his fingers against the skin-warmed metal of the ring that sat on Roy’s finger, exhaling in relief. For the first time since he had learned of the extent of his injury, Jamie felt a flicker of hope, a tiny spark that refused to be extinguished.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Roy whispered. “I’ve got you.” 

Jamie closed his eyes. 

Roy had him. 

He was alright. 

Roy had him. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

When Jamie woke up twenty-four hours later, blinking open eyes crusted together with artificially induced sleep to stare at the blue sky that was projected onto the ceiling, it took him a long, groggy moment to realise where he was, and a longer one to realise why he was there. 

The recovery room was quiet and empty but for the whirr of machines and the faint beep of a heart monitor. 

His limbs were heavy, much heavier than he ever remembered them being before, and it weren’t even just his leg. It took absurdly long for his arm to cooperate and even longer until he could shove the blanket down enough to expose his foot. His back ached and he knew—he knew —that it was too soon, that the swelling hadn’t gone down yet, he remembered his doctor’s words of warning, but—but—but—but—

He held his breath. 

Tried to twitch his toe. 

He choked on a frustrated exhale when nothing happened. “Fuck,” he breathed, choked. “ Fuck . Come on. Please .” 

He tried again—again—again—ag—

His foot. Twitched. 

Jamie burst into tears.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“I’m grateful for the Memories I’ve made and the Friendships I’ve forged.”
—Zinedine Zidane 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

18 June 2031

Jamie slowly shuffled across the room, leaning hard on every piece of furniture that he passed because leaning too much on his good leg made it cramp up, and that happened frequently because he weren’t supposed to use crutches unless he’d be walking a lot, and in that case, a wheelchair was preferable. The doctors had put him on his feet the day after surgery and had encouraged him to keep moving around his little room as much as possible. 

Once he’d gone home, five days after surgery, Roy had helped him up the stairs to their bedroom, but he’d not let Jamie wallow there. He encouraged Jamie to keep moving, helped him shower and bathe and wiped his fucking bum for the first few days—because Jamie couldn’t even fucking bend his spine that way, could he—and kept him fed and from slipping into a depressive funk and Jamie loved him. 

Jamie hated him a little too. 

When Roy had been forced into retirement, he and Jamie hadn’t been on speaking terms—Jamie had barely been on speaking terms with Keeley, back then—but Jamie had kept an eye out. He’d seen the depression beard Roy had grown, had counted the exact amount of days Roy had been reported to have stayed in hospital, the suspicious amount of time before he had been spotted outside again, before he had begun coaching Phoebe’s U9 team and he knew —he knew that Roy had taken the end of his career hard . 

Even if he hadn’t known Roy as well as he did, everyone remembered that retirement presser. 

Jamie was relatively sure he was taking the end of his own career better than Roy had, but it was a low fucking bar to clear. 

Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone expecting him to make any sort of statements or decisions yet. The club was handling all of his social media and they were probably putting out statements about his surgery and recovery already. Jamie hadn’t had the heart to check just yet. He trusted Keeley and KBPR to handle it the way he would want things to be handled. 

Besides, he hadn’t even started physical therapy yet. The most he’d done to date was ask Roy to help him stretch his sore and pretty much useless muscles every morning and every night. 

He had time to decide, to think, even if he knew, deep down in his bones, that he’d played his last match in the Prem. 

He paused in front of the full length mirror he’d convinced Roy they needed back when he’d moved in, staring at the pale, sad, hollow-eyed reflection of a man that looked back at him. He had lost quite a bit of muscle definition already, and because he’d had a bad reaction to the general anaesthesia and hadn’t been able to keep food down for longer than an hour for days , he’d lost rather a lot of weight too. 

He didn’t really recognise the person in the mirror—this pale, skinny man with a limp, his pants loose on his waist, sad, floppy hair and dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t look like himself, didn’t look anything like the Jamie he had been for the better part of his life, like the man that Roy had fallen in love with and had married and Jamie didn’t know how to find him again. 

The thought of sitting upright for the amount of time it usually took to do his hair made him want to cry. 

The thought of going into his wardrobe and trying to pick out an outfit, trying to go outside where he would have to see people other than Roy made him want to tear his own hair out. He didn’t want to go out, he didn’t want to be seen, not until he felt like himself again, until he found Jamie fucking Kent hidden somewhere behind the pale imitation of the man that looked back at him from the mirror. 

He swallowed thickly and looked down at his foot, flexing it lightly. It moved, but it still cost him considerably more effort than it should normally. Jamie grunted in frustration and moved his foot again, the muscles aching as he forced them to move, as he tried to wiggle his toes. 

The bedroom door opened behind him and Roy walked in, holding two mugs of tea, pausing when he saw Jamie standing by the mirror. “You’re up,” he said, sounding mildly surprised. “I was just coming to get you.” 

Jamie looked at him in the mirror, fidgeting with the waistband of his pants. “Get me for what?” 

Roy set down both mugs on the vanity that held Jamie’s various hair products and make up for red carpet or photoshoot days and stepped up behind him, sliding his hands around Jamie’s waist to tug him back against him. Jamie leaned on him gratefully, thankful beyond fucking words that Roy knew him well enough not to ask if he was alright, not to ask if he needed a hand staying upright, but just offered the support if he needed it. 

On the other hand, he was infuriated , fucking frustrated beyond words at his own inability, his weakness, the fucking failure of his body and he wanted to scream .

“I thought you might like to go for a walk,” Roy offered, swaying them on the spot. “You’re starting physio next week, we should get your blood pumping again. Can’t run, but it won’t hurt to get out of the fucking house, yeah?” 

Jamie held his breath. 

The last fucking thing he wanted was to go outside. 

Jamie looked up at Roy, his eyes filled with tears. “I can't,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don't want to go out, I don’t—I don’t want people to see me like this.” He gestured jerkily to his reflection, pressing back further into Roy’s arms at the same time, wishing he could just—just disappear in Roy’s embrace. “I look like a fucking ghost. An fucking ugly one.”

Roy jostled him. “That’s my fucking husband you’re talking about, you muppet,” he growled fondly. 

Jamie managed a wan little smile, and Roy pressed a kiss to the top of his head. They swayed together for a moment, and Jamie was almost hopeful, almost convinced that Roy would let it go, but Roy just narrowed his eyes at him, as if he could tell what Jamie was thinking, and nudged him gently. “You’re still going out, baby,” he whispered against the shell of Jamie’s ear, nipping at his earlobe playfully. 

Jamie moaned, arching back into Roy, even if he didn’t really want it to go anywhere. 

They hadn’t shagged since before his surgery and though Jamie was going a little mad for it, he also didn’t feel remotely attractive and the thought of having Roy’s hands on his soft, skinny body made him feel even more nauseated than the thought of going outside for people to see him did. 

Roy smiled against him, scraping his teeth across Jamie’s ear playfully one more time before he pushed him away. “Come on,” he told him firmly. “Pick one of those ugly fucking monstrosities you call trackies and get ready. You’ve got a walk to take.” He swatted Jamie’s bum with a smirk and Jamie yelped as he hobbled forward, turning to glare at his husband reproachfully. 

“They’re not ugly,” he replied petulantly, pouting at Roy as he selected the prettiest one—very dark blue with tropical flowers—and his husband just rolled his eyes. 

“Atrocious,” Roy mocked, but he still helped Jamie slip into a clean shirt, the trackies and socks, and helped him brush out his hair. Once he was finished and Jamie could start on his skincare, Roy leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You look fucking amazing, Jamie.” 

“Fuck off,” Jamie snorted, slathering his moisturiser over his face. “I do not. I lost a ton of muscle and weight and none of my clothes fit anymore and I was overdue for a haircut anyway so now I just look sloppy—”

Roy cut him off, clapping his hand over Jamie’s mouth and giving him a stern look. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not fucking sloppy , Jamie, you went through a major fucking trauma and emergency fucking surgery and a serious allergic reaction.” He pulled Jamie’s chair back from the vanity a little and slipped between it and Jamie, slowly going down to one knee before him. 

Jamie made a noise, annoyed and in love and worried, tugging on Roy’s hand. “Your knee—” he muttered against Roy’s fingers, but the older man hushed him with a stern look. 

“I’m fine,” Roy told him, smiling that soft, warm smile he reserved for Jamie and Phoebe. “I’m fine, baby. And so are you. D’you know how proud I am of you?” Jamie blinked at him, surprised, and Roy shook his head. “Fucking muppet,” he chuckled fondly. “I’m in fucking awe of you,” he told Jamie. “None of this is perfect, but no one’s expecting it to be. A month ago, your leg stopped working altogether, and here you fucking are, Jamie.” He put his hand on Jamie’s bad leg and shook it. “A month ago, you couldn’t even move your toes, and today you’re fucking walking .” 

Jamie’s eyes were burning, and Roy’s looked a little glassy too. 

“Albeit slowly,” Roy added, a beat too late to technically be funny, but Jamie snorted a laugh despite himself, and Roy smirked at him, clearly pleased with himself. 

“I fucking love you,” Roy told him then, and even after all this time, even after eight years of dating and six years of marriage,  the words still made Jamie’s breath hitch in his lungs, still made his heart do a funny little flop in his chest, and he smiled against Roy’s fingertips despite his sour mood. “I love you,” Roy said again, frowning and smiling simultaneously like only he could, “and your brain’s a fucking prick, yeah? You should just ignore it and listen to me instead.” 

He leaned in, lowered his hand, pressed a firm kiss to Jamie’s lips and then promptly pressed his hand over Jamie’s mouth again. “I’m your fucking coach, Tartt. You gotta do what I tell you.” 

Jamie rolled his eyes and tugged on Roy’s wrist until he relented and lowered his hand. “Not me coach now,” he pointed out. “And it’s Kent, mate.” 

Roy grinned sharply, satisfied. “Fuck yeah, it is.” 

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Possessive bastard,” he admonished Roy, but it wasn’t a very effective admonishment. Roy knew perfectly well just how much Jamie loved that Roy was a little bit of a caveman sometimes. 

Jamie remembered with perfect clarity the shitstorm he’d unleashed when he’d stepped onto the pitch the first time after they got married, wearing a brand new kit to go with his brand new husband and his brand new name. He’d known very well that Roy would go absolutely feral , seeing his name scrawled across Jamie’s shoulders—he’d counted on it. The press had had a collective meltdown, and the absolutely filthy kiss Roy had given him pitchside after he’d scored the winning goal had actually broken the internet for a good six hours. 

Keeley had been both proud and incredibly exasperated. 

They’d also shagged in the boot room after the match, while the lads and the other coaches pretended they didn’t know what was happening in there. Sadly, it remained the only time Jamie had ever convinced Roy to break their self-imposed no-PDA-at-the-club rule so spectacularly. 

Roy grinned at him, probably remembering the same moment, and leaned in to kiss him firmly one more time before getting back to his feet, shaking out his own bad leg a little as he did. His knee was better after surgery a couple of years ago, but it still bothered him if he put too much pressure on it. 

Jamie leaned forward worriedly, rubbing at the side of Roy’s leg. 

Jamie might be the one with the really bad leg in the house these days, but that didn’t mean he didn’t remember the almost constant pain Roy had been in for years before Jamie and Roy’s sister had been able to convince him to have surgery. 

“I’m fine,” Roy told him again, stroking his fingers through Jamie’s hair sweetly—so fucking sweetly it messed him up a little, made him long for a Roy that would snap at him and tell him to stop laying about and get back to training. 

He knew Roy wouldn’t. 

But—but—but— 

“Finish up,” Roy said, snapping Jamie from his spiralling thoughts, reaching into the wardrobe and selecting a dark heather charcoal jumper for himself. “Do you need help getting down the stairs?” Jamie thought about it, thought about the mild ache in his leg and foot that just kind of lived there now, the unsteadiness in his leg and the ache in his lower back, and the effort required to make it down the stairs.

“I think I can do it,” he told Roy, determined. 

He wanted to be able to do it. 

Roy eyed him for a moment before clearly deciding that Jamie wasn’t bluffing, and nodding. “Alright. I’ll get your coat and your shoes.” He shot Jamie another affectionate look before he tapped the mug of tea he had left on the vanity. “Finish your tea and take your meds too.” 

“Yes Daddy,” Jamie replied, because he was, at heart, a little shit. 

Roy stopped dead, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, positively glaring at him before he stalked back over, bending down to catch Jamie’s lips in a filthy kiss. Jamie clutched at him, kissing back with the same fervour because why wouldn’t he want to be kissed like Roy wanted to devour him, like he wanted to climb inside Jamie and live there—

Roy pulled back and a breathless whine fell from Jamie’s lips before he could stop himself. 

Roy smirked, leaning in to peck Jamie’s lips one more time. “Fucking tease,” he growled. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.” 

Jamie pulled back, shoving at Roy lightly, a goofy grin on his face. "That's rich, coming from you," he teased, catching his breath. “You're the one who can’t keep his hands to himself, old man.” Roy chuckled, shaking his head, but still took Jamie’s hands and helped him to his feet when Jamie held out his hands and pouted. 

“Almost done,” Jamie told him, turning to grab his jumper, but Roy grabbed his arm, pulling him back for another kiss. This time, it was slower, more tender. 

Jamie melted against him, heart pounding hard against his ribs. 

“Love you, you little prick,” Roy whispered, pulling back.

“I love you too, you grumpy old fart,” Jamie replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He turned to walk away again, but this time, Roy let him go. Jamie made his way to the door, feeling Roy's gaze following him. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, eyeing the stairs contemplatively. It wasn’t the first time he’d walked downstairs by himself, but by and large, Roy tended to be there, right in front of him, ready to catch him if he fell.

Jamie hated him for it, but also it made him feel so loved he wanted to cry a little about it too. 

Roy had followed him and pressed in close behind him, hands on Jamie’s hips. “You got this,” he said, squeezing Jamie’s waist before stepping around him and heading down the stairs himself. He didn’t wait around, didn’t hover, though Jamie was sure he wanted to, because it was all he’d been doing for the past month, and Jamie loved him all the more for not doing it this time. He let out a breath and moved forward, grabbing onto the bannister tightly as he began making his way down the stairs. 

It wasn’t quite difficult, it was just weird. 

Jamie’s foot didn’t quite work the way he remembered, the muscles not obeying his commands the way they should’ve, and he had to actively think about the way he set it down so he would be stable when walking and it was odd . He constantly felt like he was leaning too hard on the outside of his foot and it made him feel off-kilter even if he wasn’t actually unsteady. 

He continued, taking one step after the next, setting his feet down a little sideways so they remained fully on the steps, clutching at the bannister hard. It was going well, and he was going to make it all the way down all on his own—and he felt absurdly pleased with himself for it. By the time he set his foot down on the final step and then onto the hallway floor, he was only a little winded and his leg was trembling just a little as he leaned against the wall. 

When he looked up, Roy was leaning in the doorway to the living area with a small smile on his lips. “Good job,” he told Jamie in a low rumble, and Jamie couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine. 

So he had a bit of a hair trigger when it came to Roy telling him he was good. 

Sue him. 

“Come on,” Roy held out a hand to him, and Jamie took it happily, sinking against Roy. “I’ve got a surprise,” Roy explained as he lead Jamie to the kitchen, where—

“Simon?” 

Simon turned around, a big smile on his lips as he spread his arms. “Jamie!” 

Jamie moved on autopilot to hug his stepdad, sinking into the older man’s warm, comforting embrace. “Hello, duck,” Simon said, much more quietly, rubbing his hand up and down Jamie’s back. “I missed you too.” 

Jamie pulled back, looking between Simon and Roy in bewilderment, even though he was long since used to how well his husband and his stepfather got along, and asked, “You’re my surprise?” Simon nodded and exchanged a sly grin with Roy before guiding Jamie to sit on one of the barstools by the kitchen island. 

“We figured you could use some cheering up, duck,” Simon said cheerfully. “Mummy will be here tonight, she had some things to take care of, but I came down early, took the day off.” 

Jamie blinked. “But—but the library—” 

Simon smiled gently and patted his hand. “They’ll survive without me for a day or two, duck.” 

Jamie wasn’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what to do, so he just nodded, watching Simon puttering around in their kitchen with an ease that spoke to his familiarity with their house. Something deep inside his chest went all warm and pleased, and he leaned against Roy happily as Simon made them all a brew to go with the scones—and the fresh vanilla bean muffin for Jamie—he’d brought.

It wasn’t until Simon poured tea into two of the takeaway mugs he and Roy had that Jamie remembered Roy’s insistence that he go for a walk today. He turned in Roy’s arms to glare at his husband. “I still don’t want to go for a walk,” he mumbled stubbornly, aiming his best puppy eyes at him. 

Roy stiffened for a split-second—he was going to crumble, Jamie knew it—but Simon jumped in, patting Jamie on the arm again with a genial smile. “Now, now, duck,” Simon said calmly, “Going for a walk was my idea. I thought you might take me to that bookshop. The one with the international books and the art exhibits, you know the one.” Jamie did know the one, as it was one he and Simon visited every time Simon was in Richmond. 

It was a relatively small shop, with an impressive range of books, a cute little café next door and staff that never fawned over Jamie. 

It was one of their favourite places. 

Jamie hadn’t been there in months. He hadn’t left the house since the day Roy had driven him home from the hospital and he still wasn’t exactly eager to, but—but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Simon right next to him. 

“Alright,” he nodded slowly. His right leg was still trembling a little, and he wasn’t sure how quickly he would be able to walk, or for how long, but Simon and Roy were right—maybe he would feel better after having gone outside for a little while. Simon had always been good at picking up on his moods and adjusting accordingly, and Jamie trusted him to let Jamie take the lead in whatever they were doing today. 

He’d keep him safe too, from the press and fans and anyone who’d bother him—he might not look it, but Simon was fucking hard . 

Still, going outside meant other people, and other people meant questions, and questions meant confronting things that Jamie was in no way ready to confront just yet. 

The surgery had saved his leg and his mobility, but it still meant that his footballing career was over, and for a man who had lived and breathed the sport since he was a boy, the loss was devastating. He didn’t have the heart to actually talk to anyone about it, not even Roy. 

“You’ll feel better after a walk,” Simon said reassuringly, drawing him from his thoughts, helping Jamie to his feet and fetching their coats and shoes while Jamie kissed Roy goodbye. He helped Jamie tie his shoes—it sucked , not being able to do simple shit like that himself—before guiding him outside, strolling at a leisurely pace, matching Jamie’s slower, careful steps. 

They walked down the street, arm in arm, Jamie’s mind preoccupied with thoughts of his future. He hadn’t quite processed the end of his career yet. One day he’d been on top of the world, the next he was an invalid, his dreams shattered. He’d worked so hard, dedicated his life to the sport, and now it was all over.

It didn’t matter how well he’d thought he’d prepared for it, now that it was actually here, he was at a loss. 

As they approached the bookshop, Jamie felt a surge of nostalgia. He and Simon had spent many happy hours here, browsing the shelves, discussing books, and usually buying a few. The store was a haven of peace and tranquillity, a welcome escape from the chaos of his normal—old—life. They stepped inside, the familiar scent of old books and fresh coffee filling the air. The store was relatively empty, a few people browsing the shelves, others seated at tables reading.

Jamie and Simon made their way to the international section, their favourite spot.

“I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed,” Jamie admitted to Simon after a little while, his voice barely above a whisper.

Simon looked over, set down the book he’d been looking at, and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to feel that way,” he said gently. “It’s a big change, duck. No one is blaming you for needing some time to process.”

Jamie nodded. “I know,” he sighed, “I know, but—I just don’t know what to do with myself now.”

Simon nodded. “Listen,” he offered, “I have never been in your shoes. I cannot imagine what you’re going through. My career was never based on how long my body would hold out, but I know that you’re not limited by your body.” He reached up and ruffled Jamie’s hair. “You’ve got a keen mind in there, duck, you’ve got a lot of options, and you don’t need to decide on any of them just yet. You can focus on getting better first.” 

Jamie managed a tremulous smile, and Simon smiled back reassuringly before returning to the book he’d set down. 

They spent the next hour browsing the shelves, occasionally stopping to discuss a book or an author. Simon guided Jamie to sit on one of the poofs that were littered around the store when he noticed Jamie’s leg shaking, and Jamie felt a sense of calm wash over him. Being with Simon, in this familiar place, was just what he needed.

“I’m glad I came with you,” Jamie said, smiling up at Simon, the books Simon had selected piling up on his lap.

Simon grinned. “Me too.”

After, when Jamie had bought all of the books Simon wanted and a tote bag with the store’s logo on it to carry them, Simon bought them both awfully sweet coffees with whipped cream and more sugar than Jamie generally allowed himself in a year and they spent some time sitting on the little terrace in front of the café, chatting about everything and nothing, and Jamie almost felt normal again. 

It wasn’t until he overheard two girls whispering about him as he went to the bathroom—“yeah, Jamie Kent, yeah. The gay footballer who collapsed on the pitch a few weeks ago. Still limping. Guess it was real.”—that his peaceful little bubble burst and brought him back down to earth, hard. 

He didn’t say anything to Simon though, not when Simon grabbed their things, not when they went to pay, nor when they slowly began the walk back home, both of them quiet as they walked. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement, and Jamie was still lost in thought, his brow furrowed and his gaze fixed on the pavement, trying to get his head on straight before they made it home. 

He’d enjoyed his afternoon with Simon, and it’d done wonders to lift his mood, but—but—he weren’t blind. 

There’d been quite a few people who recognised him, other than the gossiping girls, others who’d been sneaking pictures of him and Simon and he knew that tomorrow, there’d be plenty of articles in the tabloids, speculating about his recovery and his return to football. It made him feel nauseated. 

Simon knocked their elbows together and drew him from his thoughts. “You alright, duck?” he asked. “You seem a bit lost in your head there.” 

Jamie sighed, threading his arm through Simon’s as they continued down the street slowly, at Jamie’s pace. “It’s just everything,” he offered, wrinkling his nose. “The surgery, my career, Roy... I feel like my whole life has been turned upside down and I—I don’t know how to get it back on track.” 

He took a deep breath and continued, whispered about his regrets and hurt to Simon, his regret over the way he'd treated Roy while he was in hospital after the surgery and in those helpless first few days at home, his anger at being forced to retire from football, and his uncertainty about what the future held. 

Simon didn’t say anything at first, letting Jamie get everything off his chest and it was a relief in a way—a relief because none of this were things he wanted to be saying to Roy, not when Roy had clearly been trying so hard to be supportive and helpful and strong. “I feel like I’ve let him down,” Jamie muttered, tears burning in his eyes. “I was such a mess when I got home from the hospital, and I—I’ve been doing better, I’ve been trying to let him in, but it’s like—” 

He gestured helplessly. “It’s like there’s this wall and I don’t know how to get rid of it. I love him and I know—I know I should be more grateful for him, but I just feel so angry and resentful all the time.” His eyes burned with tears and he looked down. “I don’t know how to make it go away.” 

Simon was quiet for another moment before he patted his hand on Jamie’s arm and said, “I understand, Jamie. It's a lot to process. Losing your career is a huge blow, and it's natural to feel angry and resentful, and to be sad.” He paused, and then added, “But you need to talk to Roy about how you're feeling. All of it, Jamie. He loves you, and he wants to help you through this.” 

Jamie hung his head. “I know. I just don't know how—how to say any of it.” 

Simon was quiet for a moment before he said, “Do you know, there was a time your mother and I didn’t know if we were going to make it?” Jamie blinked hard , and turned to look at Simon, who was smiling gently at him. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, I didn’t know that.” 

Simon nodded solemnly. “We did try to keep it from you as much as possible. Our issues were ours, not yours.” Jamie was still reeling from that , from the idea that he could’ve lost Simon before he’d even come to realise how much the other man could mean to him, when Simon continued. 

“It was right after your father came back into your life,” Simon confided, keeping his voice low and steady, “and your mother and I disagreed a lot on how to handle it. It took me a long time to be able to understand why your father being back in your life made me feel so uncomfortable, why seeing him talk to your mother made me so angry, but I did learn. It was very difficult, and I had to work very hard to find the words to explain to your mother what my issue with him was, but I did it.” He gave Jamie a watery smile. “Some things are worth putting in a lot of effort for, I know you know that.” 

Jamie nodded mutely. 

Simon nodded too, before continuing, “I know you love Roy. And I know you love football. The rest of your journey is going to be very difficult, duck, but I know you can put in the effort. For Roy, for me and mummy, for yourself . You can't keep bottling up your emotions, duck. It's not healthy for you or for Roy.”

Jamie nodded, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I just miss my old life, Simon,” he admitted in a tiny voice, feeling about three feet tall. “I miss the lads, I miss playing football, I miss Keeley, I miss feeling like I have a purpose.” He snorted and added, “I even fucking miss the boot room.” 

Simon let out a bark of laughter too, shaking his head in amusement. “I know you do, Jamie. But you can find a new purpose. Football may be over, but there are other things out there for you. You just need to be open to new possibilities. Maybe you’ll take to coaching, like Roy did. Or you’ll go to uni, like your mummy thinks you should. There’s no limit to what you can do, duck.” 

“It’s harder to let go than I thought it’d be,” he whispered, clutching at Simon’s arm. 

“I know it is,” Simon nodded. “But remember, you’re not alone in this, Jamie,” he added, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get through this together. As a family.” Jamie’s heart swelled with gratitude. Simon had always been there for him, a constant source of support and guidance. 

“Thank you,” he breathed. Simon just nodded and smiled at him. 

They continued their walk in silence, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the city. Jamie felt a sense of peace wash over him. He knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult, but with Simon, mummy, Roy and the rest of their ragtag band of friends by his side, he felt a little more confident that he could face the uncertainty of what came next.

As they arrived at the house, Jamie turned to Simon and smiled. “Thank you for today, Simon. I needed this.”

Simon smiled back. “You’re welcome, Jamie. I’m always here for you.”

Jamie gave Simon a hug, feeling a warmth spread through his body. “Come on,” Simon told him gently, “I’m sure mummy’s here already, terrorising your husband while he’s trying to cook us a nice dinner.” 

Jamie laughed, because that was undoubtedly true, and followed Simon inside. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

26 June 2031

Jamie flinched a little as he slipped into his trackies and pulled on his socks. The normally effortless act had become an agonising process, and frustration simmered beneath his skin. He’d learned how to do it by himself by now, didn’t need Roy to do it for him anymore, but it remained difficult. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and the creaking of the bed as he shifted.

Roy, ever present, hovered nearby like a concerned, hairy, grumpy guardian angel. His eyes were dark with worry, and every move Jamie made seemed to intensify the furrow in Roy's brows. 

It was both comforting and suffocating.

Jamie huffed in frustration when he had to give up on pulling on his right sock, leaning back on his hands to stretch out his back and the sore muscles there. Roy immediately leaned in, hands reaching to help, and Jamie's patience, already worn thin, snapped. He batted Roy's hands away, the tone in his voice sharper than he intended.

"Roy, fucking hell, I can do it,” he snapped. “I appreciate it, I appreciate you, but you're making it worse. I can dress myself.” 

Roy reared back, expression wounded, and Jamie wanted to take it back immediately, wanted to apologise but also he didn’t want to do that at all . He’d promised himself and Simon that he wasn’t going to bottle everything up anymore, and he’d been trying to tell Roy that with little things already, but they’d never been good at personal space and Jamie had never wanted space from Roy before either.

It was new for both of them. 

The morning light streaming through the window painted Roy's face with soft shadows, emphasising the lines etched on his face, the confused anger in his eyes, the helpless downward tilt of his lips. 

“I'm just trying to fucking help you,” Roy said, his voice a mixture of hurt and—worse—understanding.

“I know, I know,” Jamie sighed, the weight of the situation settling in, leaning back onto his hands again, looking up at his husband through his eyelashes. “And I love you, Roy, fuck, you know that I love you, but you're making me feel like a bloody invalid. I need to do this on my own.” 

Roy grunted, but Jamie could tell that there was something he wanted to say, that he was fucking holding back and it was infuriating . There was a tension, a crackle in the air, and it was suffocating. 

Jamie knew Roy was just trying to be supportive, but the constant, unwavering support was overwhelming.

He had never before understood Keeley when she said Roy could be overwhelming, had always loved spending every single fucking minute of every fucking day with Roy, next to Roy, on Roy, would’ve fucking crawled inside him and lived there if he could’ve, but now… now there was so fucking much going on in his head and Roy—wouldn’t—fucking—let—him— breathe . 

He hated it. 

He hated feeling like this. 

He hated that he hadn’t felt like himself since the surgery, that he didn’t really recognise the man in the mirror anymore, that he didn’t feel like the man Roy had married—and he didn’t—he didn’t know how to fix it. 

“Then fucking tell me what you want ,” Roy insisted, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I’m fucking trying , Jamie, but I don’t fucking know what you want from me!” He fell silent abruptly, staring—glaring—at him, working his jaw, so very clearly still holding back and the tension that had been building between them, that had been clouding the air between them, broke . 

“I need you to treat me like a normal fucking person!” Jamie exclaimed, shoving at Roy’s shoulder hard. “You’ve—since the surgery it’s like you’ve been fucking treating me with fucking silk gloves and it’s messing with me fucking head.” His eyes were burning and he felt like every little emotion he’d had over the past month was coming up all at once, trying to choke him with it, “ I already don’t feel like me, I don’t—the last thing I need is for your dusty old arse to suddenly go all fucking soft on me!” 

Roy's eyes widened, hurt flashing across his face. He took a step back, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I’m not fucking—” he began, voice strained, before breaking off and taking a deep breath, and it infuriated Jamie. 

“Like that!” he bellowed, gesturing roughly at Roy, “Since when do you fucking take deep breaths to calm yourself down? Since when don’t you just fucking yell back at me when I’m being a prick?” He stomped forward clumsily, setting both hands to Roy’s shoulders and shoving him again. “Stop treating me like I’m fucking fragile , like I’m going to fucking break —I’m not—I’m not —” 

He struggled when Roy folded his arms around him, tears running down his cheeks, hiccuping as he choked, “I’m not fucking fragile , I don’t want you to treat me like this, I just want to go back to normal—Roy, I miss normal .” 

Roy was quiet for a while, but his arms were strong and unwavering around him long after Jamie stopped struggling, stopped resisting, and his voice was firm when he said, “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying—I’m fucking trying to help you get through this, baby, but there’s no fucking manual . I don’t—I don’t want you to fucking do what I did, but I don’t—I don’t know how else to do this.” 

Jamie shook his head against Roy’s chest, smearing his tears all over the black t-shirt. “You’re not helping, you’re fucking coddling. I don’t need coddling, Roy, I need you .” He tilted his head back and looked Roy in the eye, only mildly surprised to find that Roy had been crying too. “I need my husband, not a fucking nursemaid. I want me coach, telling me to get up off my lazy fucking arse, I want—I want us , Roy.” 

Roy was quiet for another minute before he nodded curtly, his jaw set firmly. “What if I push too hard?” he asked, voice thick with unspoken terror, with fear that Jamie hadn’t heard in Roy’s voice very often before. “I’m always pushing you to be better, to push past your boundaries, but this isn’t the kind of thing I can do that with.” He shook his head. “Baby, I don’t want to make this worse.” 

“I’ll tell you,” Jamie promised, worming an arm out from between their bodies so he could touch his fingers to Roy’s cheek. “But you know me. You know my body better than anyone. You’ll know when to stop.” Roy didn’t look convinced but Jamie knew . He trusted Roy more than anyone else in the whole fucking world, even when he wanted to rip his head off and use it as a fucking football. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “This—this weird inbetween where you’re too nice and too fucking sweet and not you . I’m already not me, Roy—I don’t know how to get me back, I don’t know if I ever can and that—” he broke off and looked down, tears burning in his eyes again. “I’m so fucking scared,” he confessed, looking up again. “I’m so fucking scared that I won’t be able to be me ever again, Roy, so I need you to be you, okay? I need you .” 

Roy looked down at him with dark, slightly red-rimmed eyes, and the expression on his face was so full of fucking love it took Jamie’s breath away even before Roy leaned in to take his lips in a soft, gentle kiss that made him ache . “I’m scared too,” he breathed, a plea, a confession, a sacred oath. “But I’ve fucking got you, yeah? You’re still you, Jamie. I fucking know it.” 

Jamie wished he could just believe . 

Lord, he wanted to just believe . 

He leaned into Roy’s touch, relishing in the comforting warmth, the clean, soft smell of him and took a deep breath, nudging forward until he could bury his nose in the crook of Roy’s neck. “Okay,” Roy said finally, his voice gruff but filled with determination. “I’m going to be better. I’ll stop fucking coddling you, I’ll fucking push you if that’s what you want. But I need you to tell me when I’m going too far, okay?” He looked down at him seriously. “I know your body, but I know it when it’s fucking healthy , Jamie. I don’t—I can’t risk being wrong now.” 

Jamie’s lower lip wobbled again, but he nodded. “I promise,” he said solemnly. “Swear down, Roy. I love you.” 

Roy smiled back, his eyes filled with love and relief. “I love you too, you fucking diva,” he replied, pulling Jamie into a tight hug. For a moment, they stood there in silence, holding each other close, swaying in place. The tension that had been hanging between them had evaporated, and Jamie felt more relaxed in Roy’s arms than he had in weeks . 

“Come on,” Roy said quietly after a moment, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down Jamie’s back. “You need to finish getting ready, your appointment is in an hour.” 

Jamie nodded against Roy’s shoulder, but he needed another few minutes to just breathe before he managed to pull himself away and back to the bed, where his lone sock was waiting for him. He did succeed in putting it on this time—only mildly frustrated and sore by the end of it—and conceded to letting Roy tie his shoelaces for him. 

He followed Roy down the stairs and into the car, fiddling nervously with the radio as Roy drove them to the club. Jamie stared out of the window, watching the familiar streets pass by, wondering if he was really nauseated or just very nervous. Roy, sitting in the driver's seat, stole glances at him from time to time, concern etched on his face, but he didn’t say anything, just put his hand high on Jamie’s thigh and squeezed. 

Jamie exhaled shakily at the touch, but some of the tension melted from his body and he gave Roy a grateful smile. 

As they arrived at the dog track, Roy parked the car and turned off the engine. He turned to Jamie, turning his hand so he could lace their fingers together. “You ready for this, baby?” Jamie exhaled slowly, squeezing his fingers around Roy’s as he looked at the door. The car park was relatively empty, but Jamie spotted Higgins’ car in the corner and Beard’s blue bicycle leaning against the wall, and the thought of seeing them made him feel a little sick.

He knew the club had been in constant contact with his doctors and that they were probably coordinating with his physical therapist too, and that there were a dozen little updates on his recovery interspersed on the club’s various social media accounts. He still hadn’t had the courage to check for himself —it would be too much, too real, too soon—but he knew Keeley and Roy were on top of things. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, turning to aim a smile at his husband. “You’re gonna be there, right?” 

“Of course,” Roy nodded, understanding etched on his face. “I’m not fucking leaving you until you fucking tell me to.” 

Jamie managed a wobbly smile. “Never, then,” he offered, because it was true . He never wanted Roy to leave him at all, never wanted space from him—not from the real Roy, from the man he had been obsessed with since he’d been a child, the man he had fallen in love with and that had fallen right back long before either of them had realised what those feelings were, the man he had married. He wanted his Roy, who was gruff and a little rough around the edges and swore like a fucking sailor and who loved him so fucking much he’d stood up and told the entire world when Jamie asked him to and fuck the consequences. 

Roy smiled at him, and that was enough. 

He got out of the car and then helped Jamie out, supporting him as he climbed out, but releasing him as soon as Jamie found his footing. He’d been afraid, honestly, of the way he’d react when walking back into the building, but the familiar scent in the air made Jamie's nerves settle in a way he hadn’t expected. 

The hallways were, thankfully, empty, and he was able to lean on Roy for the walk to the physical therapist’s facilities. Inside, they were greeted by a young man with a sharp grin, who introduced himself as Nick—Jamie hadn’t met him before, but he quickly explained he had been brought in by Rebecca because he was specialised in dealing with spinal injuries. He led them to a small, well-equipped room and explained the exercises Jamie would be doing that day, mostly simple stretches and movements to start building strength and mobility in his right leg and foot. 

Roy helped him sit up on the therapy bed before he retreated to a chair in the corner and watched as Jamie told Nick everything he could remember about the injury, the surgery and how he’d been recovering so far. 

Nick guided him through a few basic stretches, helping him warm up the muscles before they’d move onto other, slightly more difficult exercises. The exercises were deceptively simple, but for Jamie, they felt like climbing a fucking mountain. His right leg resisted the simplest of movements, weak and uncooperative. Jamie's frustration grew and he wanted to scream , wanted to rage because this was so fucking simple —he should be able to do this. 

“Fuck!” he shouted when he fumbled again, losing his balance and kicking the little spiked ball away in frustration. 

Nick snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Listen, mate,” he chuckled as he retrieved the ball, “I know this shit seems easy, but if you could do it, I wouldn’t be giving you the exercise, would I?” He patted Jamie’s shoulder and handed him the ball back. “It’s really normal to be struggling with this stuff in the beginning. Take your time, and we’ll get there, yeah?” 

It was, oddly enough, exactly what Jamie needed to hear. 

The therapy session continued slowly, Nick guiding Jamie through gentle exercises, unperturbed by Jamie’s foul language and fouler mood. The exercises, though seemingly basic, remained challenging for Jamie. His right leg, once a powerhouse on the pitch, now felt like a foreign entity. 

Roy watched, his expression a mix of pride and concern, as Jamie gritted his teeth through the discomfort.

After what felt like an eternity, the session concluded.

Jamie, exhausted and slightly defeated, sank onto the bench in the therapy room. Roy, as if sensing Jamie's frustration, knelt in front of him to help him put his socks and shoes back on as Nick bid them goodbye for the day.  “That was fucking tough, I know,” Roy rumbled softly, ignoring Jamie’s concerned little noises about his knee. “But you're pushing through, and that's what matters. Rome wasn't built in a fucking day either, remember?”

Jamie managed a small smile. They’d watched a documentary about the origins of Rome while Jamie was still in hospital and now Roy loved to reference it all the time . “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Roy helped him stand and pulled him in for a soft, warm kiss. “Good lad,” he said when he pulled away, patting Jamie’s side affectionately. “Let’s go home.” 

Jamie nodded and sank into Roy’s side when the other man slung an arm around his shoulders, slipping his own arm around Roy’s waist as they walked. The session had been fucking hard , even though it’d been simple, but Jamie felt more settled in his skin than he had in weeks . 

He felt hopeful. 

He liked it. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“I’m not Ready to hang up my Boots yet, but [...] I know when the Time is Right.”
—Lionel Messi

——————————————————————————————————————————————

19 August 2031 

Keeley hugged him when he arrived, cupping his face in both hands to have a good look at him before she tugged him inside, waving Roy off impatiently before shutting the door and ushering Jamie into her living room. He sank into the sofa and laid his head back onto the cushions, relishing in the comforting scent of her perfume and the vanilla candles she had stashed in every nook and cranny. 

She made them each a brew and handed him his favourite mug—a big, yellow monstrosity of a mug with a large smiley face—before settling beside him on the sofa, pulling a large, pink hairy pillow onto her lap. Jamie knew he were too fucking tense for what was supposed to be a catch-up with his best friend, but he couldn’t help it. 

He had so many things to say, and no words to say them. 

Keeley waited patiently, though, knowing him well enough to know that the words would come, knowing he just needed a safe space to discuss whatever was on his mind.

“Alright, Jamie, sweetheart, talk to me,” Keeley eventually said when Jamie had opened and closed his mouth half a dozen times, her eyes filled with concern. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Jamie sighed, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't quite shaken off, before reaching over to fiddle with her pink pillow. “I’ve been thinking a lot, Keels. About the future, about what comes next. I think I—I think I can't play anymore, and I need to figure out where to go from here.”

Keeley stared at him with wide eyes, reaching out to take both his hands in hers. “Oh, sweetheart, are you sure ? You’ve—you’ve got options, you’ve got time. You don’t have to rush into anything. You can take your time to heal.”

Jamie shook his head, fidgeting with the pillow, twisting the strands into a tiny braid as he said, “I have thought about it. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. I’ve talked to the doctors, I’ve talked to Roy. It’s not just about the injury—it’s about moving forward. Roy and I had this massive row about it too, but I—” he shrugged. “I think I need to let go now. I’ve made up my mind. I need to move forward, find something else or I don’t think I’ll ever have the strength to do it.” 

Keeley leaned forward, her expression softening. “Alright, if that’s what you want. Let’s explore some options together, yeah? You've got a world of possibilities ahead of you.” Jamie nodded, because he knew about the secret folders Keeley had stashed in the pink filing cabinet in the corner of her office, the one where she hid the files labeled “After” for every footballer on the teams she represented these days. 

He knew his own file was much thicker than the rest of them. 

Keeley took a sip of her tea and offered, “There’s modelling. You’ve got the looks, and the charm, and you’re great in front of a camera. People love a good comeback story, love to see people reinvent themselves—we could give it a positive spin, show the world Jamie Kent, the person, not just the footballer.” 

Jamie raised an eyebrow, considering the idea. “Hadn’t really thought about modelling,” he admitted, because he hadn’t, not in years. Back when he were a cocky young lad, he’d certainly been convinced of his own good looks, but as he’d grown older, he’d stopped considering it beyond a means of gaining sponsorships. “D’you think I’d be good at it?” 

“Of course, babe,” Keeley grinned, “You’ve always been proper fit, but you’re just becoming more of a stunner the older you get.” Jamie’s cheeks flushed, mostly because he weren’t feeling like he was sexy anymore, not since the surgery, not since he’d lost muscle mass and weight, but Keeley was looking at him the same way she always had. She winked, “I’d still shag you.”

“Keels,” he whined, and she laughed, taking pity on him and moving on. “You could channel your energy into charities, if you prefer? Start a foundation, or throw your lot in with an existing one, one that means a lot to you.” She hesitated, curling her slim fingers around his, and offered, “There’s a charity for children in … in poor family situations. You could—you could use your story to inspire and make a difference. You've got a platform, Jamie, and you can use it for good.”

He nodded slowly, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I—yes, I think I like that. Giving back, or—or making a difference. Maybe keep a sexy little lad from having to—” 

He broke off and shook his head. 

Keeley seemed to understand anyway, because she squeezed his hand again and said, “You could go into coaching. Keep your head in the game, just from a different angle. You’ve done well in every team you’ve played with, and I know for a fact your coaches all agree that you’ve got a real eye for the tactics of it.” Jamie smiled a little, and Keeley continued, “Roy told me you got your coaching licence in Rome. You’ve got the experience, the knowledge. Maybe it's time to pass on what you've learned, to carve yourself a little slot in the line up of legends of the game.”

Jamie smiled at the thought and as her words sank in, a spark of excitement ignited within him. The future, a daunting expanse of uncertainty not so long ago, was starting to take shape, filled with a myriad of possibilities. 

The idea of modelling intrigued him, the opportunity to showcase a different side of himself, to challenge perceptions and redefine his image. The prospect of charity work resonated deeply, the desire to give back, to use his platform to make a positive impact on the world. And coaching, the thought of nurturing and guiding young talent, of sharing his knowledge and experience, filled him with a sense of purpose. He weren’t sure which one appealed to him more, didn’t know if maybe he’d like to go back to uni, like Simon and mummy had suggested when he had last visited, or if he’d just like to lay about for a few years, like Roy had proposed.

“Thanks, Keels,” he said softly. “I’ll—I’ll think about it, yeah?” 

Keeley nodded. “Yes, of course. And you’ll let me and Rebecca know when you’re ready to make the announcement, yes?” 

Jamie nodded, and Keeley beamed at him with pride. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the various options in detail, weighing the pros and cons, brainstorming ideas. Keeley filled him in on all the gossip he had missed in the past three months, and Jamie felt energised and inspired in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. 

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the living room, Keeley and Jamie stood up, clearing up the debris of an afternoon spent together—bottles of nail polish and cotton pads, an empty packet of crisps and two bottles of rosé—before tumbling outside together and into the Uber Keeley had ordered for him. 

“Thank you, Keels,” he told her when they were safely on the way to the club, where he was supposed to be meeting Roy and the lads before going over to Ola’s for a team dinner. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Keeley pulled him into a tight hug, her warmth radiating through him. “You’ll never have to find out,” she insisted. 

The Uber pulled up outside the dogtrack, and Jamie and Keeley stumbled out, a mixture of laughter and excitement lingering in the air. The stadium loomed before them, floodlights casting a glow on the iconic structure. 

As they made their way towards the entrance, the buzz of anticipation grew. Jamie hadn’t seen the lads all together since his last game and he was a little nervous about it. He were walking better now, more steadily, and if people didn’t know , Jamie suspected they wouldn’t guess it either. 

He still couldn’t stand upright for very long though, and long walks were mostly out of the question. 

Keeley linked arms with Jamie, offering him a supportive squeeze. “Ready for this, babe?”

Jamie chuckled, a nervous energy bubbling in his stomach. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

The moment they stepped onto the pitch, where training was just about wrapping up, the familiar sights and sounds enveloped him, and he froze for a moment. The echoes of cheers from past victories, the scent of the freshly cut grass, it was a sensory overload of memories and it took him a moment to blink past them. The team was gathered on the pitch, congregated around Roy, and Jamie could see the excitement on their faces as Roy spoke to them. 

Dani, who was there for the season, spotted him first. 

“Jamie Tartt, amigo!” he cried, throwing his hands up with a massive grin that made Jamie grin back almost automatically. The other lads all shouted out various greetings and excited noises, and descended on him like a swarm, catching him in a messy hug, the clamour so loud that Jamie almost didn’t hear Roy’s exasperated, “His name’s been Kent for almost a fucking decade, Rojas!”

From the middle of his group hug with half the team, Jamie could see his husband loping towards them grumpily, but there was a hidden smile in the crinkled corners of his eyes. The atmosphere was electric, the camaraderie palpable. Jamie felt a surge of warmth, a sense of belonging he'd missed during his time away.

“Careful with him,” Roy barked, frowning until Jamie was released from the throng into his own arms. 

Jamie fell into his husband’s embrace gladly, still feeling a little bubbly from the rosé he had shared with Keeley, a little high on the enthusiasm of seeing his teammates again and tilted his head up, pouting until Roy gave in and pressed a kiss to his lips. The lads cheered around them and Roy rolled his eyes, but Jamie could tell he was so very fond . 

“You look so good, Jamie, amigo,” Dani told him enthusiastically, curling his fingers into Jamie’s sleeve and tugging. “Much better than I feared when they told me you had been injured.” 

“Thanks, Dani. Been working on my runway walk,” Jamie quipped as he struck a pose, earning a round of laughter from the team.

As the group trooped inside to change and prepare to head to Ola’s, Jamie's nerves intensified. He hadn't yet broached the topic of his retirement with the team, and the weight of the impending announcement pressed on him. Keeley shot him a reassuring glance, sensing his internal struggle, and Roy pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “You’ve got this, Jamie. They're your team, and they'll understand.”

Roy grunted. “They’re good lads. It’ll be alright.” 

Ola’s was a lively hub of activity when they arrived, Sam having invited everyone close to the team, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The team settled into the familiar booths and tables, laughter and conversation flowing freely. Jamie soaked in the camaraderie, savouring the moments with his teammates.

Yet, the weight of the unspoken announcement lingered, casting a shadow over the joyous atmosphere. Eventually, as the laughter subsided and a lull fell over the various tables, Jamie took a deep breath and got to his feet.

“Lads,” he began, his gaze meeting each teammate's eyes. “I, uh—there's something I wanted to share with you tonight.” The room fell silent, anticipation hanging in the air, the younger members looking eager and excited—but Jamie saw the recognition in Sam and Dani’s eyes. 

He knew they knew. 

Suddenly, he weren’t so afraid anymore. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Football Icon Jamie Kent Announces Retirement at 32: A Glittering Career Cut Short

London, 6/9/2031

In a turn of events that may not have been entirely shocking, football icon Jamie Kent, who began his career in the Premier League as Jamie Tartt, has officially announced his retirement from professional football at the age of 32. The decision comes on the heels of a career-threatening back injury suffered late in the 2030-2031 season that has left the once-invincible athlete facing a new chapter in his life.

Kent, who captained the England national team for an impressive four years and has served as the captain for AFC Richmond during the last three years of his career, leaves behind a legacy that spans some of the most prestigious football clubs in the world. The striker's journey took him through the ranks of Manchester City, AFC Richmond, Chelsea, and AS Roma, earning him a reputation as one of the most prolific scorers of his generation.

The announcement was made through a heartfelt statement released by AFC Richmond’s management team:

"It is with a heavy heart and a deep sense of gratitude that Jamie Kent officially announces his retirement from professional football. Jamie has decided to hang up his boots following a recent back injury that has unfortunately proven to be severe enough to keep the footballer from returning to professional football. 

Jamie has given his all to the beautiful game, showcasing incredible skill, leadership, and an indomitable spirit on the pitch. As a former captain of the England national team and AFC Richmond, Jamie leaves behind a legacy that will be remembered for generations to come. The decision to retire was not taken lightly, and Jamie has expressed his immense gratitude to the fans, teammates, coaches, and staff who have been a part of his incredible journey. 

He will now focus on his recovery and explore new opportunities off the pitch.

Jamie Kent, the football world salutes you, and we wish you all the best in your future endeavours."

The news has sent shockwaves through the football community, with fans expressing their gratitude for the memories Kent created throughout his career. Messages of support have flooded social media platforms, as fellow players, coaches, and fans alike acknowledge the impact Jamie Kent has had on the sport.

Shortly following AFC Richmond’s press release, Kent released his own emotional statement through his social media channels. The statement is accompanied by a set of photos of several influential moments in Kent’s illustrious career: the first time he stepped onto the pitch with Manchester City at age thirteen, his debut in the Premier League with AFC Richmond at twenty-two, his shocking reveal of his relationship and marriage to Roy Kent at twenty-five and the first time he stepped onto the pitch for England as the team’s Captain. 

“Dear Fans, Teammates, and Supporters,

It is with a mix of emotions that I announce my retirement from professional football. This decision comes after careful consideration and discussions with my loved ones, medical professionals, and coaching staff.

Football has always been more than a career for me; it's been a lifelong passion, a journey filled with triumphs, challenges, and unforgettable moments. It’s led me to friends that have become family, to teammates that have become brothers and, most importantly, to the man that became the love of my life. From my early days with Manchester City to my captaincy at AFC Richmond and the honour of leading the England team for four incredible years, every step of this journey has shaped me.

Unfortunately, the beautiful game has a way of teaching us resilience in the face of adversity. After sustaining a back injury that has proven more formidable than any opponent I've faced on the pitch, it has become clear that the time has come for me to hang up my boots.

I want to express my deepest gratitude to the fans who have supported me through thick and thin, the teammates who did much more than their part in making me look good, and the coaches who believed in me. It's been an absolute privilege to represent AFC Richmond, Chelsea, AS Roma, and to don the England jersey.

I also owe immeasurable thanks to my family, especially my husband and head coach, Roy Kent, who has been my unwavering support both on and off the field. To my best friend and confidante, Keeley Jones, thank you for guiding me through this challenging transition.

While the pitch may no longer be my stage, I am excited about the new chapters awaiting me. I don’t know where the road will take me next, but I am eager to continue to contribute to the sport that has given me so much.

To all the fans who have cheered for me, sang my name, and made this journey unforgettable, I say thank you from the bottom of my heart. This may be the end of one chapter, but the story continues, and I'm grateful for the memories we've created together.

With immense gratitude,

Jamie Kent”

As the football world bids farewell to a true icon, Jamie Kent's retirement marks the end of an era. Though the pitch may no longer bear witness to his dazzling footwork and goal-scoring prowess, his legacy will certainly endure as an inspiration to aspiring footballers worldwide.

—Trent Crimm, Independent 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

6 September 2031 

By the time Jamie made it back home, the lights in the house were dimmed and Roy had set everything up so that Jamie only needed to press the button to arm the alarm before coming to bed. He kicked off his trainers and pressed the button on the alarm before trudging upstairs, following the light that was spilling through the cracked bedroom door. 

The day had taken much more out of him than he had expected, and though it’d been Trent Crimm who helped him and Keeley craft a statement—one for the club and one for Jamie personally—and who would be publishing an article about Jamie’s retirement announcement, it’d still been rough. 

Jamie felt a little like one of those lengths of bubble wrap that had had every single bubble popped. 

All he wanted right now was to find Roy and crawl in his arms until he felt a little less shook up. He pushed the door open slowly, a smile finding its way onto Jamie’s lips when he found Roy clearly waiting up for him. It’d been a fucking battle in and of itself to convince Roy to stay behind while Jamie and Keeley went to hammer out the details of Jamie’s press announcement—he’d wanted to support Jamie, wanted to be there for the breakdown that inevitably would come, but Jamie knew, he knew that if Roy was there, that breakdown might happen immediately and Jamie didn’t want that. 

He were sad, he were angry, he were all kinds of things, but—but he were also resigned. 

It wasn’t like he weren’t going to have anything to do now. He and Keeley had spent quite a few evenings plotting and planning, and he were genuinely excited about some of the opportunities that were coming up. 

He weren’t Roy , who’d felt like his fucking life had ended the moment his career did. 

He probably could and would have a minor breakdown about leaving the game, about not being able to return, about the opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory having been ripped away from him, but he weren’t so broken up about it that the breakdown needed to happen the moment he said the words out loud. 

“Hey,” Roy said from where he was sitting on their bed, leaning back against the headboard. He had a book on his lap and his reading glasses on and he looked so fucking fit that Jamie might die . The telly was on too on Sky Sports, the sound muted, and Jamie winced when he realised his own face was looking back at him from there. He hadn’t, for some reason, expected his announcement to make the news this fast. 

Roy noticed—of course he noticed—and turned off the telly before he set down his book and glasses on the nightstand. “How’d it go?” he asked, moving to get up and meet Jamie halfway, his brow furrowed in concern. 

Jamie shrugged, not sure what to say, and fell into him without another word, pressing his nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of him. “You did so good,” Roy told him, arms strong and steady as they held him. “I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” he continued, his voice a soothing balm against the ache in Jamie's heart. “You did such a good job, your statement was fucking amazing.” 

He pressed his lips to the top of Jamie’s head and added, “And you didn’t even fucking weep on national television.” 

Jamie snorted a laugh and nodded, his cheek pressed against Roy's chest. 

The familiar scent of Roy, a blend of his cologne and warm, clean linen and something just Roy , soothed something tense inside of him, and Jamie revelled in it. They held each other for a moment longer, Roy running his hands up and down Jamie’s back. Eventually, they eased apart, and Jamie's tired eyes met Roy's. 

There was a vulnerability there, a rawness that came with laying bare the deepest corners of his soul. Roy's fingers traced a gentle path along Jamie's jaw, and without a word, he leaned in, capturing Jamie's lips in a soft, tender kiss.

Jamie sighed into it, swaying further into Roy’s embrace, draping his arms around his husband’s shoulders. 

It was a good kiss, a deep, intimate kiss that spoke to just how well they knew each other, just how deeply they loved each other. When Jamie pulled back, he didn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Roy’s. “Thanks for—” he hesitated. How was he supposed to say this? Thanks for staying home? Thanks for not pushing this? Thanks for always being there even when Jamie hadn’t been sure he wanted him there? 

“—just,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper, “Just for everything. I don’t—I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” 

Roy's thumb brushed away a stray tear that rolled down Jamie’s cheek. “Course you would’ve,” he told Jamie sternly. “But you don’t have to. I’m never leaving your fucking side.” 

Jamie grinned, relieved, and leaned in to kiss him again, deeper this time, and the weight of the past day—of the past fucking four months —began to lift, replaced by nothing but warmth. He let Roy guide him to the bed, sinking onto it when Roy pushed him back, laying back as his husband remained on his feet, towering over him. 

“What am I going to fucking do with you?” Roy said, shaking his head with a fond little grin. 

Jamie stretched his arms over his head, tilting his head coyly. He felt more like himself than he had in months, and whereas the idea of being touched had been revolting before, he couldn't stand the idea of Roy not touching him right now. “I can think of a few things,” he smirked. “Right now, I think you should come over here and kiss me again.” 

“Oh, I should, should I?” Roy chuckled, raising both bushy eyebrows at him. 

Jamie hummed, and Roy smirked, leaning over him, one knee on the bed and one foot firmly on the floor, swallowing Jamie’s slightly surprised gasp as he slotted their lips together, and though Jamie had asked for the kiss, it took him a second to catch up, took him a moment to remember how to work his body and to kiss Roy back hungrily, deeply, their lips sliding together wetly before Roy took back control of the kiss, licking his way into Jamie’s mouth.

Jamie moaned, moving to slip one arm around Roy’s shoulders to pull him closer while curling his fingers in the soft fabric of Roy’s shirt at his waist, brushing his fingers over the warm, soft skin. Roy grunted against his lips and tangled his fingers in Jamie’s hair, forcing Jamie’s head back so he could deepen the kiss, turning it from romantic and warm to fucking filthy in a heartbeat. 

Kissing Roy always kind of felt like an electric shock, like trying to contain a live wire, Jamie’s skin burning and tingling where Roy touched him, and he couldn’t get enough of it, not even after almost a decade together. Roy always kissed him like he wanted to fucking devour him and Jamie was all to eager to be Roy’s favourite fucking meal. 

Roy gave a sharp, sudden tug on his hair, startling a groan from Jamie—the deep, wanton sound that had always driven Roy fucking mad before—and bucked his hips up, desperate for something, for pressure or friction or any sort of contact, but Roy was being a fucking tease, holding himself up just a hair too high for Jamie to reach. “Roy,” he whined against his husband’s lips, but the bastard just fucking laughed , pulling out of the kiss. 

“No,” Jamie whined, “Come back.” Roy ignored him and sat up, pulling his shirt up and over his head, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. Jamie blinked, entranced, the light coming in through the window glinting on the gold chain and ring around his neck. He reached up, stretching as far as he could, and Roy bent down again, meeting him halfway, allowing Jamie to curl his fingers in the chain. 

“Don’t leave,” Jamie whispered petulantly, tugging on the chain with his engagement ring. 

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it,” Roy quipped cheekily, but before Jamie could say anything snarky in return, Roy was on him again, leaning all of his not-inconsiderable weight on Jamie to press him into the mattress, and Jamie would say something, but Roy’s tongue was in his mouth and he was pretty sure that was what he’d wanted to achieve anyway. 

Roy’s chest rumbled with a moan against his fingers, his tongue sweeping against the back of Jamie’s teeth, the kiss turning filthy again immediately , teeth and lips and fucking drool and he couldn’t get enough—how had he gone months without this? He keened when Roy’s fingers tugged on his hair again, shooting sparks of pleasure down his spine, dragging his head to the side and breaking their kiss to mouth his way down Jamie’s jaw and neck.

He paid particular attention to the little spot just beneath Jamie’s jaw that had him practically melting into a puddle beneath him, the sensation of Roy’s lips against his feverishly hot skin and the solidness of Roy’s body pressing into him almost too much to deal with all at once.

“You’re being—” He gasped as Roy scraped his teeth across his earlobe, fingers digging into Roy’s biceps. “—you’re being really unfair.”

Roy laughed huskily against him, and Jamie shivered but pressed back into the touch when Roy’s hand slipped down from where his fingers were tangled in his hair to cradle the back of Jamie’s head. “It’s not fucking unfair unless I don’t finish what I started. Don’t worry.” He shifted, pushing one leg between Jamie’s and up , dragging his teeth across Jamie’s bottom lip teasingly. “I haven’t touched you in months . I fucking plan on following through.”  

He leaned in to kiss Jamie again, hands insistently pushing Jamie’s legs open so he could settle himself between them. Jamie’s head was spinning and he tried to kiss back, but he were so fucking overwhelmed, so desperate for Roy to keep touching him that he could barely remember how to fucking breathe .

God, Jamie adored him.

Roy pulled back again, this time to remove Jamie’s shirt. Jamie hummed contentedly, falling back onto the bed and tilting his head up, pushing his lower lip out into a pout until Roy relented and leaned down to kiss him again. Jamie grinned against his lips and dug his fingers into Roy’s gloriously curly hair—he was probably going to get it cut soon, it was longer than Jamie had ever seen him wear it before, but Jamie was going to take advantage of the longer style for as long as he damn well could—to drag him closer, licking up into Roy’s mouth as his husband moaned against his lips. 

“Roy,” he whined when the kiss broke, both of them gasping for air, Jamie’s fingers—the ones that weren’t locked in Roy’s hair—tugging uselessly at the pants that Roy was still wearing.

Fucking rude . 

“Yeah, baby,” Roy breathed harshly, grinding down and sending red-hot arousal rushing through Jamie’s veins. “I know,” he whispered against Jamie’s lips, and Jamie’s brain—kind of—shorted out—

“Oh,” Jamie choked, slipping his hand down to dig his fingers into the meat of Roy’s ass. “Fucking hell, Roy.” 

“Oh, like that, huh?” Roy grinned, sharp and delighted. “That what you want?” He leaned down to kiss Jamie, deep and fucking filthy . “You look flushed, baby. Maybe it’s too much, Jamie, too much at once, maybe I should stop —”

“No!” Jamie exclaimed, curling his legs around Roy, tugging him closer, dragging his fingers through Roy’s chest hair, grabbing at every part of him he could reach. “Don’t you dare stop, you mean fucking bastard.” 

Roy smirked down at him, all mean and sparkly-eyed and Jamie fucking adored him—it was disgusting, really—but he came readily when Jamie tugged on his hair to pull him down, kissing him deeply as Roy rolled his hips down. He groaned, slipping one leg back up around Roy’s waist—marvelling, for a second, that he was able to at all before he got distracted again by Roy’s everything —and slid his hands down to the edge of Roy’s waistband and then back up, marvelling at the feel of Roy’s warm skin beneath his palms, the twitch of his muscles as Jamie dragged his blunt nails across Roy’s back. 

He dug in his nails just so , because Roy was a kinky fucker too, because he liked the little edge of pain just as much as Jamie did, even if he’d never actually say it out loud. “Fucking hell, Jamie,” Roy panted when the kiss broke, teeth scraping across Jamie’s collar bone before he soothed over the abused skin with his tongue. “I’ve fucking missed this.” 

Jamie swallowed, though he knew it wasn’t a rebuke. 

“Me too,” he croaked, feeling unexpectedly overwhelmed by emotions, a little overwhelmed by the knowledge that he weren’t fucking alone in this, even though he’d known that, even though he knew that Roy loved him too, that Roy’s feelings for him were just as overwhelming as Jamie’s feelings for Roy were sometimes. 

“Me too,” he repeated, before pulling Roy down to kiss him again, grinding up against him.

“I really,” Roy muttered, fingers fumbling at Jamie’s waistband, “really want to take off your fucking jeans.” 

“Yes,” Jamie babbled, feeling a little lightheaded and a lot turned on, “Good, yes, carry on.” 

Roy did, very nearly tearing the button off Jamie’s jeans when it didn’t cooperate on the first try, and Jamie giggled, exhilarated and excited and not so very nervous anymore, because this was Roy . He didn’t need to be nervous around Roy. Roy had seen him at his best and at his very worst and had seen all the broken, jagged parts of him and still loved him. “Need some help?” Jamie chuckled as Roy yanked ineffectually at Jamie’s jeans, getting it bunched up and stuck near his thighs. “Have you forgotten how to undress me already?” 

“Fuck off,” Roy huffed before pushing up and off the bed, shoving his own trousers and pants down, leaving Jamie gaping at him for a split-second before he burst into action too, awkwardly wiggling his way out of his own trousers, kicking them off the bed. “Fucking hell, Jamie,” Roy groaned, helping him tug the jeans off his foot before falling back on him, licking back into his mouth with a desperation Jamie could only hope to match. 

He kissed Jamie aggressively, hungrily, and Jamie was overwhelmed by how good he felt, how willing he was to let Roy do whatever the hell he wanted—although that wasn’t new , exactly, he’d always enjoyed doing what Roy told him to do. Roy grinded down against him, and Jamie couldn’t quite contain the whimper that fell from his lips, could feel Roy smile into the kiss, squeezing his hands on Jamie’s hips.

“Someone’s excited,” he muttered as he leaned back to press openmouthed kisses down Jamie’s jaw and neck, and Jamie kind of wanted to smack that mischievous grin from his lips. He didn’t, instead pulling Roy down to kiss him again, slower and sweeter this time, slipping his hand down to Roy’s waist to pull his hips down against Jamie’s.

He rocked his hips up against Roy, and he couldn’t suppress the whine that fell from his lips at the feel of Roy’s heated skin on his—it felt incredible and so overwhelming he felt like he was burning from the inside out in the absolute best kind of way. He thought he might cry if Roy stopped now. 

He gasped breathlessly when Roy worked his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around them both. 

“Fucking hell, Roy,” he groaned, hips bucking upwards as he fucked up into the tight ring of Roy’s fingers, his hands grasping at Roy’s shoulders, skin slipping against sweaty skin. “ Fuck .” 

“That’s the idea,” Roy rasped, panting against Jamie, his breath warm and moist on his cheek, their hips moving together almost simultaneously. “Now shut up and kiss me.” Jamie laughed, breathless and excited and happy , and complied, moving one hand from Roy’s waist to his hair, dragging his head down to press their lips together again. Roy’s hand kept moving, stroking them both in smooth, long strokes. 

Jamie felt coiled tightly, muscles tensing as Roy broke the kiss again, his forehead tipping forward to rest against Jamie’s, so close they were panting against each other’s mouths.

“Come on, baby,” Roy panted, “come for me.”

The gentle order tipped him over the edge, and Jamie came in a rush of pleasure that made his head spin, toes curling against Roy’s legs as he vaguely listened to Roy’s ragged breathing, as Roy kept moving his hand over them both until Jamie’s skin felt raw and tender and he was shaking, watching with rapt attention as Roy kept stroking himself, eyes screwed shut and lips parted and—

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, and Roy whined, high and startled and so fucking pretty , coming all over himself and all over Jamie, whimpering Jamie’s name before collapsing on top of him, completely disregarding the mess on their stomachs. Jamie exhaled a laugh, feeling a little fuzzy, a little like he were high, trying to remember how to breathe, how to function . He blinked up at the ceiling in a daze, curled around Roy as the sweat cooled on their skins, dragging his fingers through Roy’s sweaty curls. 

“Babe,” he whispered softly, still looking up at the ceiling, still a little cum drunk, curling his fingers through Roy’s dark, curly hair as if in a trance. “Babe, can we do that again?” 

He felt, rather than heard, the soft sigh that fell from Roy’s lips, before he pushed himself up onto his elbows, hovering only inches above Jamie, hair a mess and lips kiss-swollen. “You horny little fucker,” he grinned, his voice equally quiet as he looked down at Jamie. “Nothing for months and now suddenly you can’t get enough?” He leaned down to kiss Jamie firmly, and Jamie melted into it, pulling him closer. 

“I always want you,” Jamie pouted. “All the time.” 

Roy growled. “I’m not fucking twenty anymore, Jamie. Give me a fucking minute.” 

Jamie pouted. “One minute,” he conceded, squirming underneath Roy’s weight, under the heated look in Roy’s eyes.“I’ll have to start on my own if you make me wait longer thought,” he teased, then squeaked, and then promptly forgot how to breathe when Roy leaned down to kiss him again.

Yes. 

He felt quite alright about where he was in life right now. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

18 May 2032

The air was electric , the anticipation palpable as Jamie snuck into the stands of the dog track. He hadn’t been back in a long while, having chosen to focus mostly on his recovery, on regaining autonomy and physical strength. He was a year out from surgery and, while he was cleared for most kinds of exercise, while he could walk and stand and even run for very short bursts of time, he was still far from where he used to be. 

He couldn’t stand upright for extended periods of time without his back aching and though he and Roy had begun training together again, his leg still trembled and cramped up easily. 

Today though, he felt good, and he was happy . He had chosen to sneak in halfway through the final match of the season on purpose, had hoped that he wouldn’t be noticed quite so quickly, hoped it’d be easier too. He hadn’t told anyone he were planning to attend, not even Roy, in case being there would prove to be too much after all. 

It wasn’t, though. 

The familiar sights and sounds of the football pitch stirred a mix of nostalgia and excitement within him rather than the dread he’d expected. He’d dressed as inconspicuously as he could manage, had worn one of Roy’s hoodies with the hood up and even sunglasses, because he mostly just wanted to be there to support his lads, his former team, his husband—and wanted to be there to celebrate with them after they won. 

And they would . 

They would win, Jamie were sure of it. 

They’d been playing fucking amazing all season long. 

His low profile didn’t last very long though. He had barely made it to his seat when there was a shift in the energy, a hum that began as barely a murmur but quickly spread through the stands and turned into a chant he had heard a hundred times over during his career—one he had thought he wouldn’t ever hear again. 

"Jamie Kent, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo," the crowd sang, their voices rising in unison. The catchy melody echoed through the stadium, and it didn't take long for the players on the pitch to notice. Jamie’s cheeks flushed, but he turned to wave at the crowd nonetheless—they’d already fucking noticed him, hadn’t they, he weren’t that rude—before the team, mid-game and in the throes of competition, turned towards the stands. 

Their expressions transformed from focused determination to sheer joy as they spotted Jamie. Dani exclaimed in joy, waving excitedly at him, and some of the younger lads began chanting with the crowd. Waves and cheers erupted from seemingly everywhere, the energy infectious, and Jamie felt a surge of pride.

He weren’t quite forgotten, then. 

It took a moment for the pitch to resume its normal play, but once it did, the match unfolded with intensity, each play echoing through the stadium like a heartbeat and Jamie were on the edge of his seat along with everyone else there. The stakes were high; victory would secure the Premier League title for AFC Richmond—the first time they would do so since the year Jamie had returned as Captain after his stint in Rome. 

As the minutes ticked away, the tension in the air became palpable. 

They were fucking tied, had been since halftime and both teams were in top fucking form. 

The crowd, fueled by a shared hope, erupted into cheers and groans with every twist and turn on the pitch. 

In the final seconds of the game though, Dani managed to get the ball and took off across the pitch to a collective gasp that swept through the stadium. 

“Come on, lad,” Jamie breathed, hands curled into fists, staring hard , breathing hard , and—

A kick—a thud—a cheer crescendoed into a deafening roar. 

They’d done it.

As the final whistle blew, Jamie couldn't contain his excitement, screaming along with the rest of the crowd. He joined the jubilant crowd, climbing over seats and barriers to make his way to the pitch. The chants of “Jamie Kent” continued, mixing in with “Richmond ‘til we die” and “Dani Rojas,” reaching an unintelligible crescendo as he reached the edge of the pitch to meet Dani in a crushing hug. 

It took seconds for the rest of the team to pile on them and Jamie laughed, loudly and happily, catching his husband’s eye over the throng of former teammates. Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that electrifying moment. Without a word, Jamie managed to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs that was the rest of the team, and in a heartbeat, he was wrapped in Roy's arms.

“Surprise,” he muttered against Roy’s cheek. 

“Fucking muppet,” Roy grumbled before dragging Jamie into a kiss. 

The stadium erupted into cheers once more, the love and support resonating through every corner and Jamie couldn’t help but think of the last time he kissed Roy on this pitch—their first public kiss, their first at the dog track after they’d gotten married, the kiss they’d come out to the world with—a public declaration that Jamie Tartt belonged to Roy Kent and that Roy Kent belonged to him. 

It was just as exhilarating now as it had been then. 

The weight of retirement, the uncertainty of the future—all of it seemed to dissipate. He and Roy had weathered this together, and now, as they shared a passionate kiss on the pitch, Jamie couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose.

As they broke the kiss, the crowd's cheers still deafening, the rest of the team slammed into them, screaming and celebrating and Jamie felt, for the first time since his leg had given out from underneath him a little less than a year ago, that he weren’t afraid of what the future would bring. 

The whispers of future endeavours—the underprivileged children’s charity he’d begun with Keeley, starting a family with Roy, and maybe even coaching—sounded more like promises than possibilities.

He were ready for them all. 

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“I’m Excited to see what the Future holds.”
—Thierry Henry

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