Chapter Text
They win big on new years eve, and Jamie figures it’s probably a good way to end an otherwise shitty year. Afterwards, Sam hosts a party for the whole team at Ola, and Jamie tags along with Roy, thinking it’d be weirder not to go, than to probably hide out in the bathroom half the night. He’s well aware of how out of practice he’s become with socializing, and even more aware that the only way to fix it is to start getting back to normal again. It’s easier when he’s at the club, and he knows what to expect from everyone. He knows the routines, the subjects of conversation, the inside jokes. Once they venture out somewhere else, it all just feels so vulnerable.
Roy somehow seems to know all of this too, even though he hasn’t told him at any point. He knows he’s stopped going out with the team, that he doesn’t go by their houses anymore either, and he knows that a new years eve party with loads of people stuffed into one small restaurant is, to put it mildly, anxiety-inducing as fuck for Jamie. He holds Jamie’s hand for the whole car ride over there, and he doesn’t let go once they get out into the cold evening air, and walk into the restaurant that’s already half full. It makes Jamie feel safe in a way he rarely does when he’s in public. He feels protected from head to toe, even though it’s really only his hand that’s being cradled, and nothing else.
“Roy, Jamie! You made it!” Sam calls out once they’re inside, making his way through the crowd to welcome them properly, “we have food and deserts, and just so much alcohol,” he says brightly, clearly already having had some of the latter himself.
“Cheers, mate. Is everyone ‘ere already?” Jamie asks, mildly desperate to get some kind of overview of the situation.
“I think Dani is still missing - he had to pick up his dates,” Sam answers, prompting all three of them to nod in understanding.
“Let me know if you need anything, guys. Make yourselves at home. And happy new year!” Sam says with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen, leaving them in the doorway by themselves.
Suddenly, commotion erupts from behind them, and Jamie flinches away, realizing only a few seconds later that it was nothing more than a few strangers trying to get past them, as they were blocking the door. Roy wraps an arm around his shoulder, squeezing the one that’s unscarred, before leaning in to speak.
“Let’s find somewhere to sit down, yeah?” he says, mouth right beside Jamie’s ear so he doesn’t have to yell for him to hear over the loud music and chattering. Jamie just nods pathetically, allowing Roy to lead him through the room in search of a quieter spot.
They squeeze their way through the crowd, finding a few scarcely occupied tables on the other side. It takes Jamie a moment to realize who is sitting there, but he does eventually, once she looks over at him.
“Jamie! Roy! You’ve gotta try this Chin Chin, it’s fucking fantastic!” Keeley squeals from her seat, Mrs. Welton laughing beside her.
“ Please take it off her, she’s gotten through three of these already,” Mrs. Welton exclaims, pushing the plate in front of Keeley to the opposite side of the table.
Jamie pulls a chair out across from them, hands shaking and legs a bit wobbly as he plops down on it. Roy stays behind him, squeezing his shoulder and leaning down a bit so Jamie can see him without wringing his neck out.
“I’m gonna get a drink. Want anything?” Roy asks, thumb rubbing soothingly along his sore muscles.
“Just a coke or summat,” Jamie mumbles, unsure if Roy can even hear him over all the noise. He feels hot, like his skin is too thick for air to get through to his insides, and it’s making him a bit claustrophobic.
“Keeley, Rebecca?” Roy asks, pulling his hand back as Jamie starts to pull off his coat with uncoordinated movements.
Keeley asks for a refill on her champagne, and Mrs. Welton announces that she’s going to the loo. Roy looks at Jamie for a few prolonged seconds before heading off to the bar, searching his eyes for something. Jamie doesn’t know what he found, but it couldn’t have been too bad, if he dared to leave him alone. Well, almost alone. Keeley is still across the table from him, smiling brightly as she stretches over and grabs a fistfull of Chin Chin.
“How are you doing, Jamie?” she asks casually, her voice soft and caring and bright, and fuck how he’s missed hearing it.
“Yeah… Good, yeah,” he says, not knowing how he’s supposed to answer such an awful question. He’s not sure what Roy’s told her, and what he hasn’t. He must have said something though, because Keeley hadn’t reached out to him since he’d moved in with Roy, and a coincidence like that was probably a bit too well-timed to actually be a coincidence. Still, he feels terrible about it all. He hasn’t reached out to her either. Hasn’t even thought to, if he’s being honest. Not before the last month or so, at least. It’s been 8 months, and they’ve barely seen each other. Just a year ago, the thought of not hearing from her for more than a week had seemed unreasonable.
They’re quiet for a while, and Jamie can’t bear it. Keeley’s polite enough to make it look like she’s busy answering a text on her phone, but he can’t help but think that she’s just searching for a way to stave off the awkwardness until Roy and Mrs. Welton return. He has to say something, anything.
“I…” he starts, voice breaking off immediately, even though it’s enough to get her to look up at him. She puts her phone down and smiles patiently at him. He hates that she’s just as kind as ever, despite how awful he’s been.
“I’m really sorry if we’ve drifted, like,” Jamie croaks out, looking down at his hands that are starting to shake where they’re laying limply on the table. He’s about to pull them away so he can hide them, but Keeley must have seen it too, because she reaches out for him, and takes his hands in her own. Her skin is warm and soft, just like he remembers it. He looks up at her, and she’s just sitting there, smiling at him.
“Oh Jamie,” she says, giving his still shaking hands a light squeeze, “We haven’t though, have we?”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d kind of thought that she’d be angry with him for having been such a shitty friend, but she isn’t, apparently. When Abney had suggested he reached out to her, he’d thought it was a stupid suggestion. Keeley yelling at him for breaking up their friendship was something he didn’t quite think he had the capacity to endure right now. If it hadn’t been for this moment, for running into her unannounced, he might not have seen her at all, for a long time.
“Us two,” she continues when he doesn’t say anything, “we’re gonna know each other forever. And that’s a really, really long time. So it’s only natural that there are some stretches where we’re too busy to be around all the time. And that’s okay, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he manages to say, voice shaking in his closed-up throat. He feels his eyes start to get warm and wet, but he doesn’t look away from her. She keeps on smiling at him, all soft and warm, and he feels his own lips start to draw upwards, in what must look like a pathetic attempt at returning her expression, with the way his eyes are tearing up and his chin is trembling.
“Would it have helped if I was there?” she asks after a moment, her eyes glistening at the question, but her smile unwavering.
Jamie thinks about it, but doesn’t have to for long. He just shakes his head slowly, sniffling as a rogue tear finds its way from his eyes and down across his cheek.
“Yeah, I thought so,” she says, a tear of her own following along. She starts squeezing at his hands a bit tighter, lifting them a bit off the table to bring them closer to herself.
“But I’m here, Jamie,” she assures him, “for when you need it. Forever, okay?”
He believes her, even if part of him doesn’t want to. He can’t think of a time Keeley’s ever lied, so that must count for something. In the back of his head, Abney’s words ring out quietly. Occasionally, things are allowed to be uncomplicated. If there’s any occasion to ever put his trust into the hands of someone else, this must be one of them, he supposes.
“Okay,” he croaks out, finally feeling his muscles relax into the smile on his face.
Technically, going to a loud new years eve party when he can barely stand the sound of his own voice should have been a recipe for disaster, but it somehow all turns out fine in the end.
They stay there until a bit past midnight, hanging out with some of the team, occasionally going outside to get some air once the room starts to feel too cramped. Roy can somehow see it in him, the instant where his body shifts into something rigid, the second he needs to take a step back so he can remind himself of where he is again. He drags Jamie by the arm the few times it happens, finding a place alongside the smokers lined up outside the front of the restaurant, and just kind of stays there for a minute or two, sometimes commenting a bit on what’s just happened inside, sometimes just standing in the quietness of the night as Roy rubs his back with a firm hand.
Once midnight hits, the whole team gathers in a circle, counting down from ten and erupting into loud cheers. Roy and him are not cliché enough to kiss at the count of midnight, but they do pull over the car on their way back home so they can make out for a few minutes with fireworks erupting in the distance, bathing the windscreen and their faces in bright vibrant colors.
The start of the year is somehow a good one. He gets a week of manageable freakouts and shutdowns, so minor that they hardly matter in the grand scheme of things. He has fun at training, plays well and all, and he feels good about going home with Roy as well. The evening showers are kept short and proficient, and he finds he only needs a minute or two of hurting himself to feel steady on his feet again, and settled for the rest of the night. Two nights that first week, he even manages to go without.
He tries not to overthink it, tries not to dwell on the knowledge that the steadiness he’s feeling is most likely just a temporary thing. He can’t help it, though. He gets his hopes up, almost managing to convince himself that the worst of it is over now. It just makes it feel all the more devastating when he wakes up the day after their first game of the year, and feels like absolute shit.
He’s stuck on his knees in front of the toilet before the sun even rises, retching and shaking from the overwhelming waves of anxiety. Then he’s on the floor for a while, hitting himself in the gut with clenched fists while Roy stands in the doorway and tries to talk him down, not coming near him since Jamie’s throat took over and started yelling whenever Roy got too close for comfort. With Roy at a tolerable distance, all he can do is choke out apologies in between the strikes and the sobs. He tells Roy he’s sorry, over and over again, repeating it like some kind of mantra, but it doesn’t help with making him calm down. Not even with Roy stuck in the doorway, assuring him that he knows, that he believes him, does he feel any better.
He doesn’t even manage to stop on his own, in the end. Roy steps back into the room at some point, approaching him with slow movements like he’s some kind of frightened animal. By that point, Jamie’s so exhausted that he barely notices when Roy settles down on the floor beside him, and takes him by the wrists until his arms eventually stop moving against the hold. It all feels so painfully familiar. He’s retreated back into his own head, where the real world is secondary, like he’s barely even a part of it anymore.
They spend the rest of their day off in bed, watching movies on Roy’s laptop and eating easily digestible foods. Jamie ends up on the side of the bed anyway, puking into the bucket waiting for him on the floor while Roy rubs his back and holds him, strong arms wrapped around his bruised stomach. They lay like that for what feels like hours, while Jamie shivers under the duvet and Roy’s warm skin.
He feels so fucking stupid that he wants to vanish. He’d had what he thought was a nice Christmas and New Years, a nice few weeks of variable steadiness, but steadiness nonetheless.
In hindsight, maybe it had all just been another trick of his fucked up mind. A way to somehow make him feel even worse. Or maybe, just maybe, it was simply what he deserved. He’d gotten a peak of what his old life used to look like, a memory of how he’d managed to delude everyone around him. It couldn’t last, though. Eventually, he’d have to realize who he is, what he is.
You’re dead, son. You’re dead.
He tosses and turns for half the night, and only manages to fall asleep for an hour or two before he’s waking up in the dark, covered in sweat and shivering from head to toe. Roy’s slow to wake, probably too exhausted to be dealing with any more of Jamie’s crap, so he just kind of lies on his back, looking up into the ceiling as he tries to catch his stuttering breath. He doesn’t remember what he’d dreamt about, but there must have been something to make him feel this unsteady, as if he hadn’t already been enough of a mess prior to falling asleep.
“Jamie?” Roy mumbles, voice heavy with the sleep he’s barely woken from yet. Jamie can’t really get himself to say anything, and part of him thinks that if he’s just quiet enough, Roy won’t wake up all the way. He does, though. Of course he fucking does.
“I’m okay,” Jamie whispers as Roy comes closer, sitting up a bit on his elbows and looking at him through the dark.
“I’m okay,” he repeats, and he must look proper pathetic with the way tears are flooding his cheekbones while he tries to suck in a steady breath through his dry lips.
“You’re not, though,” Roy whispers back, lifting the arm he isn’t leaning on, and placing a careful hand on Jamie’s right cheek. His thumb strokes across the wet skin there, taking a few of the tears along with it on its way. It keeps moving in a soft and steady pattern, even when Jamie catches his breath again, even when the tears start drying.
After a while, the worst of the panic recedes by itself, but he still feels like absolute shit. He knows he won’t be able to sleep after something like that, and Roy must somehow know it too, because he throws Jamie a hoodie and pair of sweatpants, pulls some clothes on himself, and then proceeds to throw both their duvets over his shoulder.
They end up outside on the patio a few minutes later, huddled up on the porch swing and wrapped in the duvets. Jamie has his legs pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and head leaned back. Roy is there, right by him, arm sticking out of his duvet and wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders, as his leg presses against the ground a few times a minute, making the porch swing sway in a soothing rhythm.
“It’s fuckin’ freezing,” Jamie rasps out, watching as his breaths turn into white clouds above his head, before disappearing into the darkness of the early morning.
“We can go back in,” Roy responds, rubbing his already runny nose against the fabric of his duvet.
“No, no… It’s nice, actually,” Jamie says, because it is, actually. His body feels wrapped up and protected, but the coolness of the night still manages to find its way through to him. It feels good, though. Like it’s clinging onto him in a way that lets him stay in the dark garden with Roy, rather than just disappearing into his own lonely head.
“Just don’t get a fucking cold, alright?”
“I’m not the one with the immune system of an old man, old man.”
Roy just scoffs at him, shaking his head a few times before leaning it against the side of Jamie’s. They sit in the quiet for a while, listening to the cold wind blowing, and the soft drops of rain falling on the withered grass. Roy’s hair is warm where it’s resting on the side of Jamie’s temple and ear, and it makes the cold more bearable. He’s shivering, though, can’t really help it when it’s that cold, and he’s this exhausted. His eyes are stinging in the cold wind, somehow forcing tears down his cheeks despite how dry and swollen they feel already. Roy must feel his hair start to get wet or something like that, because he pulls away at some point, squinting to look properly at Jamie through the dim light on the otherwise dark patio.
“What is it?” Roy asks, voice low and quiet, and maybe a bit unsure as well.
“Dunno,” Jamie says back, shrugging his shoulders even though they feel too heavy to be moved around, “just feel bad.”
Roy shifts slightly from where he’s sitting besides Jamie, turning a bit to face him properly. Jamie returns his gaze for a moment, before looking back out into the dark garden instead. If Roy wants to read his face, then he’s more than welcome. The things he’s got to hide from him are buried so deep that he won’t be able to see them, no matter how much he tries to dig.
Roy, however, is a different story. It’s weird with him, more than anything. Either he’s such an emotionally stunted prick that you almost think that the only facial expression he’s able to have is a frown, like it’s some kind of medical condition or some shit. Or else, he’s like this, like he is right now. Eyes big and sincere, face so soft that it makes Jamie want to cry even harder. It’s not a very noticeable difference between the two possible Roy’s, but it’s there . Jamie notices it, he can’t help it. He loves each of them, but he’s acutely aware that he’s one of the only people in the world who’s allowed to see them both. It feels heavy, and even heavier every time he realizes that it’s his own responsibility to not fuck this up again. He has the power to do that. To keep the best thing that’s ever happened in his life intact.
“Why?” Roy says, breaking Jamie out of his thoughts and forcing a quiet bewildered laugh out of him.
“How the fuck should I know?” he answers, eyes still fixed on the darkness in front of him.
“No, I mean like- how? Bad in what way?”
Jame sighs. That’s the question, isn’t it? The one whose answer is staring him right in the face, but that he’s too afraid to speak out loud, painfully aware of how much it would ruin if he did.
He looks over at Roy, finally, and Roy’s still staring at his face, eyes soft and patient. He wants to tell him. He needs to.
“I feel-...” he starts, voice trailing off just before he can manage to speak the words out loud.
“Feel like I’m rotting’” he chokes out, eyes searching Roy’s face for some sort of reaction. He gets one, but he can’t actually decipher it, so it’s practically useless. Something changes in Roy - his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, his right eye twitches faintly, and he seems to come closer even though he doesn’t actually move from where he’s sitting. He doesn’t say anything, though. The silence is painful, it’s drilling its way into his bones along with the cold night air, and Jamie’s not sure he can stand it that much longer.
“You think I’m fuckin’ mental, don’t you?” he asks, grinning half-heartedly at Roy. He knows it can’t be that convincing of a smile, since a tear is still finding its way down his cheeks every once in a while.
Finally, Roy moves from where he’d been frozen solid, shaking his head in slow and rigid movements.
“I don’t,” he insists, hand coming up to rest on the side of Jamie’s head for a moment, before firmly planting itself behind the nape of his neck.
“I think you’ve been hurt in ways that I can’t even begin to fucking imagine,” Roy says, and if it hadn’t been for the way he was holding onto him, Jamie would have probably fallen apart, or ran away, or maybe both after a sentence like that.
“It’s not that deep, Royo,” Jamie shrugs after a moment, finally looking away. He lets his eyes drift back to the darkness, lets them go unfocused so it all just turns into one big black mess.
“Dunno why it… Why it screwed with me head like this, y’know. Why it came on like that.”
“Jamie,” Roy sighs, and Jamie doesn’t see it, but he can tell by the sounds of his movements that he’s rubbing his face with the hand that isn’t resting on Jamie’s neck.
“Your dad’s been abusing you your whole life, and yet he still had the fucking nerve to ask if he could crash at yours when he left rehab-”
“He was sober, though. Didn’t even touch me when he stayed, he didn’t-”
“It doesn’t fucking matter what he was or wasn’t, or what he did or didn’t do. Jesus christ Jamie, I mean, living in the same house with him, the pure terror of that… I can’t even-... What that must’ve done to your head, and then having to play along with him pretending to be a changed fucking man… Can’t you see how horrifying that is?”
He’s not quite sure what Roy wants him to say. Not sure if lying and saying yes would be the right choice, or even a lie at all.
“But he left. Shit went back to normal, but I just couldn’t,” he says, voice shaking in his tight throat. The tears that have picked up their pace glide into his half-open mouth, covering his tongue with a sickly taste of salt. It’s vile, all of it.
“‘Course you fucking couldn’t,” Roy says, and he sounds so sure of himself, so stern that it makes it easier to relax into him, into the hand that’s gripping his neck, holding onto it like he’s something Roy can’t afford to loose.
“Noone could. It’s not about you , Jamie. It’s about everything that’s happened to you.” Roy pulls him closer until their foreheads bump together softly. Their exposed skin is freezing, but the collision makes them slowly start to thaw. There’s a desperate part of Jamie that wants to surrender, that wants to take Roy’s word for it. It’s small, and it’s far flung, but it’s there nonetheless. It’s the part of him that’s still very much alive. The part that’s not ready to go like the rest of him.
Okay, so he might have freaked out a bit prematurely. After that first horrible mess of a day, after expecting everything to come crashing down on top of him all over again, it ends up not being quite as bad as he’d thought it would end up being. He wakes up the next day, and the day after that, feeling shitty, but not to the degree that it renders him useless. He’s still able to get out of bed, still goes to training, still able to keep himself somewhat together until the evenings. It’s the same measured awfulness that he’s gotten used to by now, and it’s both dreadful and weirdly comforting to feel its return.
They make it work. Roy rubs his back and makes a new batch of scrambled eggs the mornings Jamie’s so anxious that he throws his breakfast up, and he’s somehow always there, somehow always keeping an eye on him when they’re at the club. It’s fucking annoying sometimes, but he’d rather be annoyed than have to freak out in the boot-room all by himself.
Dr. Abney’s weird suggestions and lists of coping strategies helps, too. At least kind of. They don’t help with the actual self-harm, but it helps to feel like he’s at least trying to do something else. Some days it’s only for show. He sits on the couch, with greasy hair and the smell of sweat and grass clinging to him, squeezing stress balls and ice cubes, flicking elastic bands around his wrist until they break, sniffing essential oils like some fucking lunatic. It doesn’t do much, but it makes it look like he’s actually trying, and that does something . Abney says he has to give it a chance to work, and he technically is. He’s just also sitting there, counting down the seconds until he can finally go shower and do what needs to be done.
It’s not all bad, all the time. He’s back to the double-life he lived before, except he doesn’t have to hide them from each other anymore, and that makes everything a whole lot easier. It allows him to not feel as guilty when he’s feeling like shit, nor when he’s actually content. There are these small things that get reintroduced into his life, now that he’s actually being honest for once. They’re tiny things, like the way he doesn’t feel as ashamed when his voice shakes in his throat, or how when Roy reaches up to rub at his back, or squeeze his shoulder, he lets himself lean into the touch rather than freezing under it. And then there’s the big things. They’re few and far between, but they’re there.
On a day off early in February, they’re stacked on top of each other in bed, kissing for what feels like the whole afternoon. Roy’s laying down, hands on Jamie’s neck while he’s sitting on top of him, straddling his hips and leaning down on his elbows as they eagerly make out. Roy’s pulled his own shirt off a while ago, but neither of them have gotten much further than that, too caught up with exploring each others lips to muster the focus to take their pants off as well.
Jamie’s not thinking about it before he says it. There’s a desperation hiding somewhere in the pit of his stomach, though. This itching need to be as close to Roy as he possibly can be. To feel his skin against his own, to be able to sink into him, become one with him.
“Can I take me shirt off?” he asks, head raised a bit, mouth moving when he hadn’t thought it would. Roy blinks up at him, and maybe he doesn’t really hear him at first, because it takes a few seconds for him to even respond. When he does, he licks his lips and hums softly, letting go of Jamie’s neck so he can sit up properly.
It feels stupid that it’s this scary. They have sex frequently, Roy’s seen all angles of sides of him, but just not his stomach. And Roy knows what it looks like. It’s not like he doesn’t know about the self-harm anymore, not like he can’t imagine how bruised up Jamie still is. But this feels different, like showing him his skin will somehow show him everything else, too.
He wants to, though. He wants Roy to see.
With shaking hands, Jamie reaches for the neck of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift move and throwing it off to the side. He tries to avoid the mirrors in the bathroom, but even just by looking down at himself, he can see the bruises littering his upper body. It looks bad, objectively, but he knows how much worse it has been. Roy’s just kind of laying there for a second or two, letting his eyes travel across Jamie’s chest and stomach, and then his hands reach for the sides of his hips. He sits up slowly, with Jamie still sat on top of him, and the movements bring them impossibly close ones again.
“You’re in charge,” Roy says, his voice low, his breath soft as it travels from his own lips to Jamie’s. He understands what he means. He feels like he’s in charge. Like Roy wouldn’t care or get mad if he scrambled down to the floor to pull his shirt right back on again. He doesn’t want that, though. He wants this, he wants Roy to want this.
Jamie nods ever so slightly, watching as Roy moves his head to the side and continues to press a soft kiss to Jamie’s shoulder. Underneath his lips hides the raised scar that Jamie tries no to think about, and for a moment, he’s scared that Roy will linger by it, but he doesn’t. He moves slowly, kissing along his collarbone and letting his lips travel down Jamie’s chest. A low moan escapes Jamie’s slack mouth, traveling up from deep within him. It feels like his skin is fizzling underneath Roy’s lips, like they’re melting together and becoming one.
“Jesus christ,” Jamie gasps as Roy moves to suck lightly at the delicate skin around his nipple. His body moves for him, squirming under the touch, head flopping forward until his forehead rests on the top of Roy’s head. Goosebumps are spreading all over him, and though a vivid desperation is building up within him, he also feels unfathomably calm.
“Roy,” Jamie murmurs, “kiss me,” and Roy looks up and complies without a second of debate. Jamie wraps his arms around Roy’s bare waist, and Roy mirrors the touch on him. Their chests are pressed together so tightly that it’s almost hard to breathe, but it feels good. So fucking good. Like there’s no pain, and no burst blood vessels, and no reasons to be ashamed. Roy kisses him deeply, mouth agape and tongue following the way Jamie’s move. They become one.
“It just isn’t helping, I-... It doesn’t do shit.”
“What are you expecting it to do?”
“Dunno, fucking work?”
“Elaborate on that.”
“Just… I feel like, if it was gonna fix it- f-fix me, then it would’ve happened by now.”
“Jamie, these coping strategies aren’t meant to fix you.”
“Then what the fuck am I doing ‘em for?”
“You’re doing them because you’re working towards not relying on self-harm as a way of handling your emotions. That’s what you want, right?”
“I mean, yes, but squeezing ice cubes until me hands go numb ain’t gonna do that.”
“Of course it isn’t. I’d be out of a job if it was that easy.”
“So like- so- what’s the fuckin’ point, even?”
“The point is this, Jamie. Harming yourself is an effective way of coping with mental health issues, but it’s not sustainable. Most people never find anything that substitutes the benefits of it, and if they do, it’s usually just by swapping it with another unhealthy alternative. These techniques that we’ve been working on - they’re not meant to fix you, or to take away your pain. They’re there to distract you when you feel the need to hurt yourself, something to do while you wait for the urge to pass. And they can be anything, really. It doesn’t have to be something from the list we made. They can be as unconventional as you need them to be, as long as they’re serving their purpose.”
“Okay. I mean, that makes sense, like. But that- that might work for a day or two, but I can’t just… I can’t just keep holdin’ it down.”
“You absolutely cannot. And that’s where the real work starts, the thing that’s actually going to help you, rather than just distract you. But you need to have these strategies locked and loaded, before we do that. And I’m not gonna lie to you Jamie, because that would just be a waste of both of our times - it’s not going to be easy. We’ll have to talk about the things you don’t want to talk about, and delve into the stuff you’ve been pushing down. It’s most likely gonna hurt like hell, but it’s going to help. At some point, you won’t have to be counting the hours in between hurting yourself. You won’t feel like it’s your only option. If you do this, and you do it wholeheartedly, then I swear to you that you’ll feel better eventually… Will you trust me on that?”
“Don’t have much choice, do I?”
“On the contrary, Jamie, you have all the choice in the world. You’re the one in power here, remember? You decide if you want to get better or not.”
“I… I remember.”
It’s quiet in the car as they drive back from training on a random tuesday night. Roy said he’d make chicken korma and put on a movie once they got home, and it sounds nice and all, but something in Jamie is stopping him from feeling it. From feeling anything, really. He’s had a somewhat decent day, but the last couple of hours have made him increasingly anxious. Nothing’s happened - no word from his Mum or Dad, no bad passes or tackles, nothing to think of that could be the reason for why he’s shaking in the car seat, counting down the seconds until they’re back at Roy’s house. He knows he won’t be able to pretend tonight. It’s not like it’s even that terrible. He feels bad, and it’s painful, but not bad enough for him to be scared of what he’s gonna do once he’s alone. He already knows. He’s gonna wait for Roy to unlock the front door, he’s gonna throw off his shoes and jacket, and then he’s gonna walk to the bathroom in a very calm and collected manner, as if Roy doesn’t know exactly what he’ll be doing in there. He’s used to it. This is just how it goes.
Except it doesn’t. Roy parks the car, turns off the ignition, and then goes to open the door. Jamie gets out right after him, following him inside and untying his shoes with shaking hands, while Roy turns on the lights in the hallway.
“I’m gonna shower,” Jamie says, his voice strained but steady as he starts to walk towards the bathroom. His legs feel heavy and slow as he moves them, like he’s walking through wet cement. He’s terrified he might get stuck there forever, suffocated in its drying mass, if he doesn’t keep moving.
“Jamie,” Roy says from behind him, and he doesn’t mean to, but it makes him stop in his tracks immediately. His heart is hammering in his chest, so loud that he barely hears it when Roy speaks again.
“Can I join?”
Even though he has his back turned to Roy, he can still feel the way his eyes are digging into the back of his head. He doesn’t want to see how desperate he must look. Doesn’t think he’ll survive the look of Roy’s face if he says no.
Jamie stands there for a while, or at least what feels like it. He feels something drying up around him, and he knows he has to start moving again soon, or he’ll be caught in the middle of it. His head turns slightly, stopping once it’s by his shoulder, before he can actually see Roy.
“Go on then,” he murmurs, his voice so frail that he wouldn’t have been sure if Roy actually heard him, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s moving after him within a fraction of a second, dropping his back and jacket and the floor, and walking to stand by his side. Jamie’s head is turned to his shoulder, and Roy is by his shoulder, but that doesn’t mean that he’s actually looking at him. He keeps his eyes down, even though he feels the way Roy is looking at him. Then he starts walking again, heading towards the bathroom as Roy follows closely behind him.
His heart is still pounding against his ribcage once the lights are turned on, and it feels like all the blood has rushed to his head. It’s not like he’s scared, even though his body’s reacting as if that’s the case. It’s just a lot. Roy’s here with him, in the bathroom, squeezing his shoulder before he goes to turn the shower on. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were supposed to get home, and do as they always did. Instead they’re here, together. Jamie doesn’t know what to feel about any of it right now, so instead, he just kind of stands there, frozen on the middle of the floor while Roy pulls off his own clothes and tosses them into the laundry basket.
“Jay,” Roy says, like he’s been saying it for a while. Jamie manages to nod a bit, but his eyes feel heavy as he stares at the water that’s trickling down the drain on the floor. He realizes after a few seconds that he should probably take his clothes off if he’s going to take a shower, so he does, slowly and clumsily. Roy stands close to him, arm raised ever so slightly towards him, as if he’s scared he might fall over without warning. It’s a surprise to himself that he doesn’t, in the end.
“Come on,” Roy mutters once they’re both naked, laying a careful hand on his scarred shoulder, and leading him into the shower. The water’s hot as it falls upon him, and it snaps him out of his stupor, if only just for a moment. He’s not quite sure where his head is at, or where it’s supposed to be. He’s here with Roy, but in a way he’s not. His eyes are by the drain again, staring as the water escapes down it.
Suddenly there are hands in his hair, soft and slow and unfathomably comforting. Soon enough, soap starts to mix in with the water on the floor, and the smell of his shampoo fills his nostrils. Roy’s fingers move around his scalp, and they’re careful but also firm in a way that makes him feel a little steadier on his feet. Lips are kissing along his temple every once in a while. Words are being whispered through the soft stream of water, as he feels himself start to come back again.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Roy murmurs in his ear, and somehow Jamie finally manages to raise his eyes, and let them meet Roys. They’re close already, knees bumping together, Roys arms reaching around his shoulders as he continues to massage Jamie’s scalp. Somehow the eye contact makes it feel like they’re even closer together, like Jamie can actually see him now, finally. He’s fuzzy, it all is still, but he’s there with him. That counts for something. He’s not alone like he usually is. He’s not stuck in a steamed up shower, bruising his own skin. Roy’s with him now.
“I- I was gonna…” Jamie trails off, voice weak in his throat, but there nonetheless. Roy’s just looking at him, his gaze soft but intent. He nods slowly, his hands moving down slightly to caress the back of Jamie’s head.
“Do you still need to?” Roy asks, and it sounds like a genuine question, rather than a test.
“No,” Jamie says, shaking his head slightly. He wants to, but he doesn’t need to. It’s the first time he’s realized that there might be a difference between the two. It’s the first time he’s felt like he has a say in the matter.
“I don’t,” he says, to both himself and to Roy, letting his eyes fall shut and a relieved sigh escape his lips. Roy’s lips press against his forehead, all soft and wet. He helps clean the rest of him, and then they just stay there until the water goes cold, and their stomachs start to growl up against each other.