Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Jay?” Roy opens the door to the mudroom, kicking off his boots and hanging up his key in the same signature spot. He’s too lazy to slide his boots into the proper cubby; not even the future scolding from Jamie is enough to convince him to get his act together.

But the idea of seeing Jamie sends a happy little zing! up his spine.

The series of friendlies in Ireland went extremely well; they won one and lost one, but the comradery between the lads and their opponents made the trip worthwhile. Both games had been a tough battle, the win narrowly achieved and the loss well contested. Roy was extremely proud of each and every one of the boys, especially Zoreaux with his impressive saves and blocks, setting career bests in both matches.

He had only been gone for about three days in total, but he was utterly exhausted, physically and mentally. The lads convinced him to come with to the pubs after both matches, and while he’s glad he went with, he is absolutely positive he has never consumed that much liquor in his fucking life.

His hotel bed was honestly shit, and it didn’t have the added bonus of the adorable younger man he was welcoming into his heart. Not to mention Jamie made the most perfect coffee known to man, despite his initial hesitations to the beverage.

All Roy wanted to do was kiss his lover, drink a delicious cup of coffee, and collapse into their bed and sleep for a millenia or so.

Speaking of Jamie however, he’s nowhere to be found. He doesn’t respond to Roy’s call, doesn’t come careening down the stairs to jump into Roy’s arms to see if the older man will drop whatever he’s holding to catch him (Roy has lost a few pairs of sunglasses and his third favorite mug to this).

While abnormal, it isn’t an immediate cause for concern. Sometimes Jamie is out for a walk when Roy gets back from training and won’t return until dinner time. When prompted, he simply says he needs to be alone with his thoughts and the angels on his shoulders; whatever the fuck that means. Other times, Jamie is napping in a patch of sunlight as if he were a fucking cat, and is therefore dead to the world. But he likes to time those naps around when Roy gets back, so they can curl up in the warm rays together, limbs intertwined and soft kisses pressed against any skin within reach.

Only once has Jamie been preoccupied with something else entirely, and that was when he decided it would be an incredible idea to attempt to learn how to crochet and had somehow - the Gods only knew how - gotten himself, head to toe, completely ensnared in his own fucking yarn.

It had been utterly hilarious, even as recited an impressive array of curses upon Roy and his crops.

Since the closest patch of sunlight is empty, Roy knows he’s not napping. If he’s going for a walk, he always texts Roy to let him know, since apparently the older man worries too much. Roy thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to be concerned for the person whose heart he holds snug in his chest cavity. And since he can’t hear desperate crying from upstairs, he can only assume that Jamie hasn’t braved the crochet hook again.

But, if Roy really listens, he can hear soft noises from upstairs. Soft noises that sound suspiciously like sniffling and crying.

Roy’s heart pounds in his chest at the thought of the younger man in distress. Former exhaustion forgotten, he drops his bag before thinking twice and races up the stairs as fast he can, taking them two at a time, even as his knee groans in protest. He doesn’t think he’s moved this fast since his career ending injury. Perhaps not even then.

The soft crying doesn’t get worse, but it does get louder as Roy gets closer to the sound. The noises could almost be described as gentle, like the flap of a bumblebee’s wings. It makes Roy’s heart ache in his chest even more, and a piece of him wonders if it’s his heart latching onto the emotions of its original owner.

Roy finds Jamie, the source of the gentle crying, in the guest room he’d slept in the first few nights of his stay. He’d since moved out and into Roy’s bed, though he always went to sleep second and got up first. The former statue is facing the windows, arms wrapped tightly around himself, shoulders slightly hunched since his head is hanging forward. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of Roy’s sweats that hang low on his hips and show off the pair of boxers he’s wearing underneath; also Roy’s. With the lack of a shirt, Roy can see straight through his chest where the hole resides, able to see his own body in the faint reflection of the window. It’s a terrifying thing, something he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to.

Even though his tears are gentle, his entire body heaves with it, as if the effort to keep himself silent is redirected into his muscles attempting to tear themselves apart.

“Sweetheart?” Roy asks gently, or as gently as he can manage. Jamie’s head shoots up at the sound of Roy’s voice; he hadn’t heard him coming. He doesn’t turn around, though the severity of his shaking turns down ever so slightly. Roy approaches cautiously, hands raised even though Jamie isn’t looking. It’s the thought that counts, anyway.

“There you are.” Roy carries on, quoting something similar to what Jamie said the first time they met, that fateful morning in the museum. Roy’s life would never be the same after that, changed for the better in every possible way. “I was looking for ya, sweetheart.”

Jamie doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t jump or shove Roy away when the older man rests his hands on his shoulders. The muscles are tense, as if pulled like a rubber band, ready to snap at any second. He relaxes slightly under Roy’s palms, but the former footballer has a sixth sense for a bomb that’s about to go off, and the alarm bells are ringing in his ears like a siren.

When he’s not pushed away, Roy takes it a step further, letting his hands gracefully trace down Jamie’s body before wrapping around his waist, resting carefully on his toned abs. Roy places his chin on the younger man’s shoulder, breathing in the scent that he’s come to adore so much.

Ignoring his gut feeling as best he can - though his gut has never been wrong before - he chuckles and presses a tender kiss to the nape of Jamie’s neck, breath hitching when he sees a shiver run over his skin. “No need to cry, sweetheart. I’m sorry for being away, but I’m -”

“Do you love me?”

Roy blanches, mouth falling open in surprise. Without pulling himself out of Roy’s arms, Jamie turns around to look up at him with red eyes. Even though he looks like he’s been crying for hours, the redness matched by ugly purple splotches underneath his eyes and the paleness of the rest of his face, there’s a terrifying level of determination and desperation in equal amounts in his gorgeous gray eyes.

It terrifies Roy to hold his eye contact almost as much as the question itself does.

Do you love me?

The question is so heavy, it sucks all the life out of the room. Roy briefly questions if he’d misheard and Jamie is waiting for a response to a much more simple question, but when he doesn’t rescind or repeat himself, Roy knows he heard it correctly.

“What?” It’s pathetic, it’s the worst thing he could have possibly said to the question that was asked, but he has literally nothing else to say. He’d been more eloquent when Deliciae had first appeared in front of him, had first kissed him senseless, underneath that beautiful painting. He’d been more eloquent after Deliciae had explained their entire history, from its innocent beginning to its tragic end. At least in those instances, he’d gotten out more than a pathetic single syllable.

Do you love me?

The short answer? He cannot say. Not because he doesn’t, but rather, Roy doesn’t know how to profess it without at least a fifty minute window. There is no short way to describe how he feels for Jamie; he doesn’t even know if love fully captures it.

This is, obviously, the part where Roy is supposed to try. This is the part where he is supposed to kiss Jamie senseless and whisper softly in his ears all the things he truly loves about him, from his coffee to their snuggles to the way Jamie cares so deeply about anything and everything Roy has to say. Jamie makes Roy feel seen. Jamie makes Roy feel like a version of himself he’d forgotten existed in the first place.

This is the part where Roy could sum it all up in three simple words and wipe that terrifying look of Jamie’s face, then promise to never make him feel that insecure ever-fucking-again.

But the question catches him so off guard, he cannot speak. He cannot formulate words because there are none that perfectly capture his emotions. And for Jamie, his words must be perfect.

He deserves perfection.

Jamie scowls for half a second before he schools his expression back to neutral. “Do. You. Love. Me?” He asks again, punctuating every syllable, as if that will help Roy process the question faster. His eyes narrow after he’s finished asking the question again, jaw tightening and relaxing as he forces it to.

Roy glances down at the hole in Jamie’s chest, but he’s caught off guard when the younger man grabs his chin and directs his eyes back up to his own. “No! Look at me and answer the question, Roy. It’s not rocket science.”

That gut feeling from before makes him sick now; something else is going on here. Roy doesn’t know what happened while he was gone, but something has shaken Jamie up, that much is evident.

Regardless, Roy’s metaphorical hackles are raised now, ready to face this challenge before him, even though his heart and the rational part of him tries to convince him Jamie is not the enemy.

He’s on the defensive now, resorting back to his player mindset to give him a scrap of control. He’s in the dark right now, feeling around for the light. Typically, Jamie is his light, but the younger man had ripped himself away and was forcing the older man to paw his way through the darkness with no sense of direction.

Roy yanks his chin back with a growl. “What the fuck is this about?” Something powerful and uncontrollable rips through his gut, a small growl escaping his throat. “Did something happen while I was gone?” That must be it, even though Roy desperately hopes it’s not the case. He looks over Jamie’s body desperately, looking for scrapes or bruises that hadn’t been there before. “Did someone fucking hurt you?”

“No, of course not.” Though his tone is still darker than normal, something softens behind Jamie’s eyes as he shakes his head. “I only saw Keeley once; the lads were gone and I never go out without them.” Roy breathes out a sigh of relief, that strange part of him going silent at the reassurance that nobody inappropriately touched his lover.

“Then what’s going on?” Roy demands, latching onto the comfort obtained from ensuring Jamie was safe and using it to calm himself down, even a little. He and Jamie have had rough conversations before and he hasn’t walked out, he needs to do the same thing now. If he can bring them back to center, then they can get to the bottom of this debate with minimal feelings hurt.

Say the words, you fool. That is all he wants. Is it not what you want, too? A voice he’s never heard before shouts into his mind. Typically, his self-deprecating voice sounds a lot like himself, but this voice is a little…more powerful than that. It’s difficult to describe, and Roy doesn’t want to dwell on it. He doesn’t want to ponder if he has voices in his mind or not.

“You know I…” Roy starts, then bites his lip. He’s well aware that love-bombing in the middle of an argument is a bit of a shitty move; Ruth’s bastard of an ex-husband pulled that shit all the damn time. But this debate started because Jamie asked the question, so does answering the question make things better or worse? Why are they even fighting over this?

Jamie looks at him expectantly, not rushing him verbally, but his presence is more than damning. Roy leans closer and gently takes Jamie’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger, angling his chin up so they’re looking into each other’s eyes now. “You know how I feel for ya, Jamie.”

He has no idea why he expects that to work, so he’s not entirely surprised when it doesn’t.

Jamie pulls his hand away from Roy’s chin, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. He covers the hole in his chest as a result, and Roy can’t help but wonder if that was intentional. “Maybe it is rocket science for ya, old man. Do you understand what I’m askin’ or do I need to spell it out for ya?”

Roy bristles again, hands clenching into fists in the absence of something - someone - to hold onto. “I didn’t think it was rocket science to explain the entire fucking situation to someone, but I guess I was wrong ‘bout that.”

“Don’t get coy with me.” Jamie hisses, looking away.

“Don’t get coy with you?!” Roy interjects, but Jamie makes a clicking sound with his tongue and continues.

“Just answer me question. No games, no tricks; I want the truth, the whole truth and nothin’ but the truth, yeah?” demands Jamie, firmly. The sinister look behind his eyes is painful to maintain a connection with. Roy has never seen the younger man so angry, not even during their first fight all those weeks ago. “Do you love me? I want…I need to hear you say it.”

Yes. Is the simple answer. Roy has never been good at poetry, but his heart aches to speak it now, to try and capture all that he feels in a few simple yet powerful sentences. Though he’s never been tempted to utilize poetry or symbolism before, it feels like the right thing to do now. Jamie, Deliciae more specifically, is from Rome. The City of Love.

He’s scared of his answer, scared of how much he truly means it. He has never in his life felt this way about another person, not even Keeley, who he always considered to be his first and potentially last Great Love. But his love for her hadn’t lasted them longer than two years; they’d burned bright and burned out; as was typical for anything in Roy’s life. He was the world’s greatest football player for many years, many considering him to be a God when he stepped onto the field. He burned brighter than the sun before he’d gone supernova and imploded, the fragments of what he once was not even catching the warmth of others to reflect off their light.

He wanted a love that burned forever, something that grew and changed with them, like a cloud in the sky. He wanted a love like a fire, something that could ignite a warmth under his skin but never hurt him. He wanted a love that came easily and naturally and without expectations, like the push and pull of the tides with the moon.

Just to be.

Just Roy and Just Jamie.

“Roy,” His attention is drawn back to Jamie, who looks up at him. In his eyes, Roy finds all the words and emotions and feelings he cannot voice.

He can feel just what Jamie feels for him, how strongly those emotions course through his body. It is amplified in his own body, heightened due to the heart in his chest that is not his own. He already knows what Jamie’s going to say before he says it.

“I love you.” The former statue whispers, as if saying the words will shatter him like glass. There’s a hitch in his breath and he bites his lip to stop himself from crying again. When he speaks, his Mancurrian accent is gone, and the specific region his new accent comes from, Roy cannot pinpoint it. “I have loved you for a thousand years. I suspect I loved you far before that, too. I know damn well I will love you long after we’re both gone.”

Something about the way he says it tugs at Roy’s heartstrings. He furrows his eyebrows and adjusts his stance so he’s closer to Jamie.

Jamie backs up a step.

“Jay, what -” Roy tries to demand an answer he’s not sure he deserves, because he still hasn’t met Jamie halfway and answered his question, but he’s selfish and wants to try. Jamie, unsurprisingly, doesn’t give him the chance.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with ya,” Jamie admits, keeping his eyes focused on Roy’s, even though it looks like it kills him to try. “When I said that I would be here, with you, forever and ever. That I would never leave.”

Roy’s heart shatters. He wonders if the pain he feels in his body is even a fraction of what Deliciae experienced when he watched Rubeus die right in front of him. He struggles to form words, struggles to grasp what Jamie is saying. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right away, but when he thinks he has enough control over his body and mind - which it definitely is not enough to carry a sane conversation - he mumbles out, “You’re fucking leaving me?”

He prays Jamie will deny him. Prays that he’ll laugh it off and reveal this has all been a funny little joke and Roy has been played for the goddamn fool. He would give Jamie endless amounts of shit for it, he would probably shed a couple tears and then rush to the doctor to make sure his heart is actually still beating and didn’t actually tear in two. But after all of that, Roy would forgive his lover for playing the most unkind joke known to man and hold him close, until their bodies were nothing more than ash.

But Jamie doesn’t deny him.

“When the Gods granted me this chance, there was a catch,” Jamie admits, talking slowly and in a quiet tone. Now Roy is the one to back away, taking a few hurried steps apart from the former statue. Jamie doesn’t stop him, even though he grips onto his own wrists and places his arms firmly against his own chest to stop himself from reaching out. He lets out an ugly sob that further breaks Roy’s heart, but he cannot run back into Jamie’s arms; his brain and defense mechanisms won’t allow it.

Jamie swallows hard as tears fall in abundance down his face. “The Gods knew that their power would dwindle in the coming years, due to lack of followers and the fall of the Roman Empire. They wouldn’t be able to sustain me forever, even if you found me again.” Jamie lets out a shaky breath. “If I could get ya to say those magic words, it would be enough to break the bargain’s conditions.”

Roy shakes his head, remembering that he knew it had felt like Jamie had been hiding something when he’d told the story of their past, he fucking knew it. His gut feelings were never wrong and he still ignored it in favor of believing the pretty stranger who kissed him senseless and held him like he was something dear and to be treasured.

“How long?” Roy demands without being as specific as he could be.

How long have you known without telling me? How long have you known you weren’t going to tell me? How long did they give you? How long do we have?

“From the time I woke up ‘til I’d turn into stone again without your confession,” Jamie ducks his eyes away and Roy watches his tears fall from his eyes and onto the carpet. “Three months.”

Three months.

It doesn’t take a genius to trace back the calendar and calculate how long it’s been since Deliciae had awoken.

They’re almost out of time.

“You,” Roy is almost vibrating in his anger, he is almost sick with it. “All those times, when you promised me we could have forever, you lied?!”

“No!” Jamie lurches forward, trying to grab onto Roy’s body. The former footballer is frozen in place, but the way he flinches from the touch causes Jamie to reel back before contact can be made. He winces himself, his expression pained beyond anything Roy has ever seen. “I meant it. We still can have forever, Roy, I never lied to you. I would never -”

“You already have! You kept that shit from me, that’s still a goddamn lie!” Roy hollers, unsure why he’s so angry. He shouldn’t be reacting this way. Jamie is being honest with him, he should listen to what the other man has to say before their dwindling time runs out completely. “You’ve lied to me, every fucking minute of every fucking day, letting me think we could last -”

“We can! We still fucking can! If you can just get over yourself and admit you love me!” Jamie screams back, effectively cutting off the scatching retort Roy had on the tip of his tongue.

They stare at each other, panting and heaving, their faces wet with sweat and tears. Roy’s hands are shaking, and with every breath Jamie takes in, his shoulders tremble with the struggle of breathing.

“Just say it,” Jamie begs. “Say it and we can have forever.”

Do you love me?

An ugly, all-consuming silence settles between them, thick and heavy like tar. It seems to seep into every pore, crawling into every crevice of his body and making Roy feel a thousand pounds heavier, like he could sink through the floor and into the earth at any given second.

Roy stares at him.

Jamie stares back.

Roy can feel his heart break in his chest.

Jamie must feel the same, because his expression shows all the pain that Roy swallows down, forces inside where it cannot hurt anyone else. Roy has already hurt Jamie enough.

Roy turns on his heel and walks out.

Jamie doesn’t call after him.

Roy walks down the stairs, avoiding the one that creaks.

Jamie lets out a gut-wrenching sob.

Roy grabs his keys and throws on a pair of sandals, unable to gather the necessary brainpower it would take to put on his tennis shoes.

Jamie doesn’t make any further noise from upstairs.

Roy opens the door to the garage and steps out. Moving around his car, he goes for his bike instead. He puts on his helmet, kicks back the kick-stand and slides down the driveway, ignoring the eyes he can feel boring into the back of his head from the second story window. He bikes away, no particular destination in mind. He can’t even process where he’s going, barely seeing the cars who pass him and the runners who shake their fists at him when he nearly runs them over.

Tears are streaming down his face the whole fucking time, flying away as he pedals faster and faster.

Do you love me?

Yes.

More than anything.

No matter how much he means the words, no matter how badly he wishes he was brave enough, even in the face of losing him, Roy is too much of a coward to say it aloud.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Deliciae feels it the moment it starts.

It’s a more subtle feeling than the first time. An itch here and a stinging there, but the sensation itself is unmistakable. When Apollo and Pluto turned him to stone, all those years ago, it had been a quick, painless experience. He’d barely had time to strike a pose and watch Rubeus fully dissolve into the air before his body froze into marble.

The process has begun again. He is returning to stone, becoming a statue once more.

It’s too early Jamie thinks, desperation and denial clawing to the forefront of his mind, begging and pleading with him to not give in to the darkness that awaits him. There will be no coming back this time around.

It’s time. The cynical part of his brain reminds him. The heart he no longer possesses agrees like the traitorous organ it is.

Without Roy’s confession and confirmation of feelings, Jamie’s time has run out. The Gods’ magic, already spread so thin, cannot withstand the fatal blow of denial and disbelief. Roy’s rejection has accelerated the process, forcing Jamie’s body to turn back into stone before the agreed upon timeframe has expired. Unfortunately, it makes sense.

It crushes his already wilting spirit.

While this process seems to be significantly slower, he’s not entirely sure if he’s grateful for that or not. He meant what he said to Keeley, when he spoke to her last; he doesn’t want to live in a world where Roy doesn’t love him. But now that the final moments are here, Jamie is desperate to stop the process, to reverse it.

He has so much left to do. So many people to love.

People to love.

He may not have done everything he wanted to do, but he made headway in some regards. First and most obviously being his friendship with one Keeley Jones.

Running downstairs for his phone, his movements causing his joints to spasm as they obey his commands. He prays that movement doesn’t accelerate the process further; maybe it will have the opposite effect. In the same way exercise is good for a cancer patient, maybe his body will appreciate the activeness he provides.

Maybe he can buy himself time by constantly moving. If that was the case, perhaps he could just run after Roy for the rest of his life, even if the other man doesn’t love him in return.

Jamie finds his phone charging on the kitchen counter, suddenly very grateful that Roy had convinced him to not live in the days of Ancient Rome (ironic coming from the Grandpa, but whatever) and keeps a smartphone with him at all times. One of the first things Jamie had planned to do if he and Roy were given a complete chance would have been to download all of the social medias and make his online presence known (The world needs access to this immense beauty, Royo), but he supposes he’ll never get that chance.

He opens his messages app and finds Keeley’s contact immediately; she’s pinned at the top for easy access. He hits the dial button and prays to the Gods that are holding on that she’s not busy.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Hey babe!” Keeley’s voice filters through the device, sounding like literal music to his ears. “You caught me at a great time, I just got out of a meeting with a client and it went really well! If you’re not busy, could we go to coffee? My treat?”

Jamie smiles, hating himself for ruining her day. He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice wobbles from the effort to keep himself steady. “Keels?”

“Yes, babe?” Keeley either doesn’t pick up on the shakiness of his voice or is otherwise distracted. Jamie’s going to go with the former, since Keeley is the most observant person he knows.

A painful cramp surges through the spot where Jamie’s heart should be. His mind doesn’t seem to accept the fact that his heart turned and walked away from him without a final word or farewell. Jamie winces, moving the phone away from his ear to prevent Keeley from detecting his pain.

When he brings the phone back to his ear once the cramp has passed, he grits out, “I talked to Roy.”

“Oh!” Jamie knows he’s got her full attention now, the sound of her heels clinking against the floor of her office go quiet. “How did it go?”

Jamie lets out a wet chuckle, ignoring the tingling that is stretching across every inch of his body now. He’s too afraid to look down and see stone where his toes should be. “He walked away, Keeley.”

“He what?!”

“Yeah,” Jamie whispers, hating himself once again for how weak he sounds. Once upon a time, Deliciae wouldn’t have been caught dead crying over another man. He was the one men and women cried over, desperate for another chance with him, not the other way around. He flirted and teased and danced away with promises to fulfill their wildest dreams, only to never contact them again. Rubeus had been his first and only love; the irony of how tragic it ended is not lost on Jamie.

(Even though he is staring death in the face for a second time, he can’t bring himself to wish it to be any other way).

“Stay where you are. You’re at your house, yeah?” For a split second, Jamie hates, with a white-hot, blinding rage, how Keeley calls it your house. But the second passes, leaving behind a painful cramp across the back of Jamie’s neck. “I’ll be right there with wine and ice cream and we will watch whatever true crime documentary you want and contemplate how we’ll kill him and hide the body and no one will ever find him -”

“Keeley! I don’t have the fucking time! I’m fuckin’ dyin’!” Jamie shouts, unable to restrain his anger and frustration. Keeley should not be the subject of his outburst, but he can’t stop himself. He is desperate here, death is knocking and Jamie doesn’t have an answer. “I’m turnin’ back to stone, babe. I got…I don’t know how long I got.”

“You’re…” Keeley’s voice is so quiet, so unlike her. Keeley is a force of nature and should never, ever sound that scared. “Dying?”

Jamie grits his teeth around another painful cramp, shifting so he’s slumped on the floor against the kitchen island, unable to find the strength to stand. “His rejection…made it go faster. I don’t even think I got a full hour, Keels.” Jamie confirms, blinking. Tears fall down his face and land on his bare torso, slipping through the hole in his chest.

Jamie has never really noticed the absence of his heart, if he’s honest. He got used to it quickly, when he came back to life. It didn’t affect him in any way, negatively or positively. But now, he can feel the emptiness, the absence of what should be there. Of what could be there, if he had only done more.

“Jamie fuckin’ Tartt, I’m gonna kill ya.” Keeley threatens, and Jamie lets out another wet chuckle. Keeley returns it, the threat already falling flat. He hears her heels clinking against the ground again, moving quickly. He hears her apologize to the people around her, then the signature ding! of the elevator of her building. He’s been on the phone with her when she’s leaving work enough times to know that. “Hold on ‘til I get there, yeah? You can’t die without me, okay?”

“Hmm,” Jamie agrees nonverbally, ignoring the way his legs look a creamier color then they did before. The way they feel heavier than they had even an hour ago. He suspects if he tries to flex his calves, he wouldn’t be able to watch the muscles move anymore. If he tries to wiggle his toes, he’s unsure if he could.

He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired.

Maybe, when he opens his eyes, Roy will be next to him again. They’ll hold hands and go home together, in a place where they can finally be happy together. Forever.

“Tell me ‘bout Italy!” Keeley begs, the sound of her car engine roaring to life almost drowning her out. “What should we do when we get there?”

Jamie hums again, forcing his eyes to open. He knows what Keeley is doing, recognizes the tactic from a mile away, but he appreciates it enough to let it slide. “You know I haven’t been to Italy since I died, right? I don’t know much more ‘bout it than you do.”

“That’s a damn lie and you know it.” Keeley argues, her tires screeching against the pavement. It’s a fifteen minute drive from her office to their house, but from the way he hears honking and yelling, Jamie suspects she’s trying to cross the city in five. “You’re an all-powerful being, remember? You saw it all when you were asleep, you know what’s good in Italy and what isn’t.”

“All-powerful, huh?” Jamie echoes, chuckling a little. He forces his eyes open, forces himself to count each flower petal in the painting Roy bought for him. So many colors, so many textures. Jamie had to have it, and Roy was more than delighted to buy it for him. “Well, in that case…”

Jamie spends the next five minutes telling Keeley about all the best spots in Italy, from the popular destinations to the lesser known areas that offer charm and sweetness unlike any other. He tells her about the little house he and Rubeus lived in, the meadow that they loved to visit. He tells her all about the food and wines, about the desserts that he had tried to make as Deliciae, only to fail spectacularly.

“You have to promise me,” Jamie whispers, his eyelids heavier than ever. “That you’ll go.”

“No! Not without you!” Keeley cries before cursing someone out for stopping at the light. He hears her cry out again, slamming her hands against the steering wheel in anguish. “Jamie, I won’t promise that.”

“You’ll never be without me, Keels.” Jamie smiles as he says it, shaking his head softly. “You think death can stop our friendship? I’ll follow you everywhere, like a fuckin’ stalker you can’t get rid of.” His chest feels tight, making breathing feel impossible for a couple seconds before he manages to suck in a massive, deep breath of precious oxygen.

“Fuck you to hell and back,” Keeley sobs; he can only imagine how smudged her makeup probably is. She’s silent for a moment before she whispers, “I promise.”

Something feels lighter inside of him at that. He knows that he and Keeley weren’t friends for very long, but every moment they spent together made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. He hopes, and it might be egotistical of him to think that a short lived friendship such as theirs would have such an impact on her, that she can move on, go to Italy and all the other places she wanted to go to, without lingering guilt or a deep sense of loss.

“Thank you.” Jamie whispers, finally out of petals to count. His eyes shift to the blanket tossed over the back of the couch and starts to count all the diamonds embroidered into the fabric. “Thank you, for all of it.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, ‘cause you’re not fuckin’ dyin’.” Keeley urges him before cursing someone out for almost taking her off the road. “Don’t die on me, Jamie. I swear to fuckin’ god if you die before I get there, I’ll kill you myself.”

Jamie laughs, as best he can with his chest as tight as it is. “I love you, Keels. Here and there and everywhere.”

“Oh god, Jamie.” Keeley sobs again, sounding like she’s trying to muster up the courage to say so. “I love you, too. Here and there and everywhere.”

The effect is immediate.

The tightness that had been so restricting and debilitating vanishes, like it had never been there. Jamie sucks in another deep breath, but only the one; his lungs continue to take in oxygen normally after that first massive gulp. He recalls the last serious conversation he and Keeley had, using his newfound strength to lean forward slightly.

“I need it in spoken form, not action.”

“I love you. I love you so much, Jay.” Keeley says, even though they both know it’s not enough. Jamie cannot put into words how much he desperately wishes it was. He wishes he had been smart enough to create backup plans into his agreement with Apollo and the other Gods, that if he found some kind of love after being awoken, that it would be enough.

It’s not enough. But it’s something. The Gods are throwing him a fucking bone. About damn time.

“Keels,” Jamie whispers, his voice strong despite the low tone. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“Just say it again! Please!”

“Alright, alright! I love you!” Keeley retorts, and despite her harsher tone, the effect still remains. Jamie’s chest loosens further, and he feels more awake than he has since Roy left. His limbs still feel heavy, but he’s more alive than before.

“It’s workin’!” Jamie exclaims, his face widening into a grin. “Keels, it’s working!” Rapidly explaining his confirmed hunch, Keeley gasps with excitement.

“I love you, Jamie Tartt! I love you, I love you, I love you!” Keeley repeats it over and over, her words acting as a barrier between the Gods’ magic and Jamie’s impending death.

Jamie hauls himself to his feet. His feet are still solid marble, unable to be moved besides big steps, but it’s something. He sighs in relief once he gets himself fully standing, feeling more hopeful now than he was previously.

“I’m almost there, babe!” Keeley takes a break from showering love and affection onto her best friend to remind him that she’s on the way. “I texted Sam, and he’ll bring the lads over! We’ll keep you alive with our love long enough for someone to find Roy and drag him in by his fucking dick! We’ll save you, babe, just hang on!”

The reminder of Roy’s betrayal sends a sinking feeling into Jamie’s stomach. It sits like heavy tar inside him, leaving him unable and unwilling to forget the harsh reality of the situation.

Platonic love may be keeping him from turning to stone, but it’s not a permanent solution. For every moment that Keeley spends not professing her love and endless devotion to him is a moment that the stone creeps back up his limbs. Call him paranoid, but it feels like the spreading is getting faster, working like a bacteria that overcomes a vaccine.

Perhaps somewhat foolishly, he thinks of a quote from his favorite movie Roy had shown him. Cut off one head, two more takes its place (screw him if he thought Bucky Barnes was hot). The magic was getting stronger, learning and planning and calculating its attack as if it was alive.

The love of his friends may be able to prolong the inevitable, but it cannot withhold it forever.

The only person that could save Jamie from certain death was Roy.

The only person that could save Jamie was the man who walked away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I can’t believe I walked away, Rachel!”

Rachel gives him a judgemental look over her coffee cup. “I can.”

“Hey! Fuck you!”

“It is literally your MO!” Rachel scoffs, rolling her eyes in the way only a big sister can. “I am sick of it!”

Roy bristles, crossing his arms and slumping on the couch like a damn child. He’s literally no better than Phoebe. “You’re supposed to be comforting me!”

Rachel fixes him a glare. “Like hell I will! You had every opportunity to say it back and you walked away! You can’t keep running away from shit, brother dearest, it will get you exactly nowhere in life.”

“It seemed to get me pretty far in football,” Roy mutters, well aware that he’s being a smartass. “If I didn’t run, I wouldn’t have been the star that I was.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Rachel hisses at him, launching one of the decorative books on her table with enough force to rival an Olympic Shot Put athlete. Roy flinches away from the attack, even though he knows it’s the least he deserves. “I am so sick and fucking tired of you walking away from your happiness, of you being so damn close to your happy ending, only for you to walk away ‘cause you don’t think you deserve it. Guess what, brother dear? You do deserve it, whether you like it or not!”

“Stop it,” Roy scoffs, but his plea falls on deaf ears. “Just stop, Rach.”

Does she really think he’s not aware of all of this? Does she really think that Roy hasn’t kept himself awake at night, replaying in his mind every opportunity he had to fulfill his happiest dreams, only to fall short due to his own cowardice? Does she honestly think that anything she says in the next handful of minutes will be something he’s never said to himself in the mirror?

Roy’s decision to drive to his sister’s house had been an impromptu decision, and by impromptu, he means he swears he closed his eyes for a second and suddenly he was knocking on her door, eyes stinging from the wind (not his tears, obviously).

Normally when he needs comfort or support, he goes to Ruth. Even though she doesn’t let him wallow in his sadness for too long, especially if he’s in the wrong, she would still have let him have a few uninterrupted moments with Phoebe until it was time for the young girl to take her nap, then she would give him an earful and send him on his way. Not to mention, her house is significantly closer than Rachel’s (his burning legs and throbbing knee can attest to that).

Before she moved to the States, Rose was typically the sister he went to first, since she always had a soft spot in her heart for the only boy in the family. She would comfort him and give him freshly baked cookies or a bowl of ice cream and promise him that he was never in the wrong, that the other team was a bunch of self-righteous pricks who didn’t know their ass from their mouth. Even though they were both aware that sometimes - most of the time - Roy was in the wrong too, it was nice to pretend, at least for a little while, that he wasn’t.

Maybe he’s at Rachel’s because she’s the only one who will understand the exact circumstances Roy is experiencing. She is, in fact, the reason Roy and Deliciae ever met in the first place; in a way, this is all her fault. He knows better than to tell her that, of course (he’d opened his mouth to try but had promptly shut it from the look he received that said I know what you’re going to fucking say, asshole, so keep it to your damn self).

Maybe he’s at Rachel’s house because he knows she won’t baby him or give him a short reprieve before tearing him a new one. That woman can lecture something fierce; she got it from their mother. When Roy is in need of some tough love - and is missing his mom - he’ll call her and tell her something stupid he did. So while Ruth can turn a new shade of red in her anger and frustration towards the only Kent brother, it’s still nothing compared to the God-fearing terror Rachel can put into him with a few well-phrased sentences.

He’d flopped down on her couch, blinked the tears away, and told her everything. He’d been sending updates on their…courtship? Relationship? As things progressed at her request, but he went into more details and ended with the bomb dropping of Jamie demanding to know if Roy loved him or not. He hadn’t expected her support at the end of it all, but a part of him had been hoping she would take his side, that Jamie had sprung all this on him too quickly for any human to respond accordingly.

She started ripping him a new one from the second he closed his mouth.

“No! I will not stop!” Rachel launches herself up out of her seat, pointing an accusatory finger at her brother. “You have earned everything you have ever gotten! You know why? Because you worked for it! You took the circumstances we were born in and said fuck that and made somethin’ of yourself. And I have been proud of you, every damn second of every damn day, until right fuckin’ now.” She pauses to take a long sip of coffee before continuing. “Give me one good reason why you don’t deserve to let yourself love Jamie and be loved in return.”

Roy purses his lips, digging into his mind. There are so many, yet she asks for only one? He can give her a thousand. “Because -”

Rachel interrupts him by pressing a button on her phone that releases a loud air horn noise. Caught completely off guard, Roy covers his ears while releasing a hundred swear words, glaring up at his sister with venom in his eyes. She meets his glare with one even more vicious.

“Go on,” She coos, her voice deceptively innocent. “Try again, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Roy huffs angrily, opening his mouth to try again. “I don’t deserve Jamie because -”

Beep!

Roy scoffs, trying again, “He is too-”

BEEP!

“I could never-”

BEEEEEEEEEEEP!

“Oh my fucking god!” Roy shouts indignantly, finally reaching his limit with his sister. “Shut the fuck up already!”

“Do you get it yet?” Rachel demands, finger poised over the button on her phone to release the noise again if she has to. “Are you picking up what I’m putting down, you fucking fool?”

Yes, because her methods aren’t as cryptic as she thinks. Everytime Roy tried to argue why he didn’t deserve Jamie, she never let him speak. Because to her, none of his reasons existed. None of them were good enough reasons to explain why Roy walked away from his happy ending with the man oh-so willing to be his happy ending.

The man he wanted to be his happy ending.

“Roy,” Rachel plops down on the couch next to her brother. She reaches over and pulls his head down so it’s pressed against her neck, her fingers carding through his hair. He relaxes into the touch, taking a deep breath into her perfume and the underlying scent that has always been her. “You know I love you, yeah?”

Roy grunts an affirmative until Rachel pinches his ear with enough force to tear it. “Jesus H. Christ! Yes, I’m aware that you love me, and sometimes I love you back.”

“I’ll take it,” She coos, releasing his ear. With a sip of her coffee and a sigh, she continues. “I can’t stand to watch you self-destruct and abandon the love of your life to your own selfish stubbornness. You told me that you almost said it several days ago, but didn’t. You are aware that the world will keep on spinnin’, even if you say you love him back, right?”

“The world will keep spinnin’ even if I don’t, then.” Roy argues back, lamely.

He hears the response in his head before Rachel voices it. “His world won’t, Roy. You heard him, he doesn’t have long left.”

A knock on the door interrupts Roy before he can interject. He sits up, meeting Rachel’s perplexed look as she glances over at her door.

“You expectin’ someone?” He asks gruffly, fully prepared - and in the mood - to bash someone’s skull in if he has to.

“Probably just a sales rep or something.” Rachel shrugs, unbothered. “I had a Jevohah’s Witness come by the other day, if you can believe it.”

Roy knows this conversation is far from over, but he’s grateful for the brief reprieve as Rachel rises to tell the sales rep to fuck off. He looks over the back of the couch, throwing one lazy arm over it and tilting his head.

Opening the door, Rachel lets out a surprised scream, her body locked in place. Roy immediately understands why.

Standing at the door is definitely no sales representative Roy has ever encountered, unless they started exclusively hiring male models who appear to be carved from literal stone. His features remind him a lot of Jamie; the shape of his nose and the color of his ultra-bright hair. Seriously, it seems to be glowing in the fading sunlight, paired wonderfully with his tan skin and piercing gray eyes. Holy shit, their eyes are even the same. The man is shirtless, wearing only a white robe over his lower half, revealing his toned chest and muscular abs for all to see. Damn, even in the peak of Roy’s fitness, he never had toned muscles like that.

Maybe if he ever stops glaring at Roy like he’s going to kill him where he sits, he can ask for the man’s fitness regime.

Rachel remains frozen, but even from a distance Roy can see where her entire body is trembling in the presence of this man. Of course, Roy can understand that too, given how menacing his stare is.

Because from the second the door opened, Roy had made direct eye contact with this beautiful man, as if he’d known exactly where Roy would be sitting. Which should be, of course, impossible.

Unless…

“You’re,” Rachel’s voice is more alarmed than Roy has ever heard it, but she also sounds strangely…excited? “You’re him! You’re Apollo!”

The man - the God - doesn’t tear his gaze away from Roy when he answers. “Stand aside so I can torture this man for all of eternity for breaking my son’s heart.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Keeley arrives three minutes after she hangs up.

She throws open the doors, launching her bags into the living room without seeing where they landed (she broke a vase) and runs to Jamie’s side, professing her immense and overpowering love for him with every step and breath she takes. The weight in Jamie’s chest was virtually gone, but his legs were still so fucking heavy.

Despite her ugly crying and desperate pleading for Jamie to stay alive, she still reminds him how much she loved him with every fiber of her being. She hugs him and rubs his hair, promising that they’d finally go to a nice salon and get his roots touched up, because they’d started to grow out a bit in the time he’d been alive again. She promises that she’d paint his nails whenever he asked, but only if he gave her his legendary back rubs in return (and they were legendary, of course). She promises that after they go to Italy, they’d go to France and Spain and maybe even the States, but only to a small town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere so they could disappear for a few days and just be besties together.

The lads arrived shortly after her, since the ride from Nelson Road to Roy’s house wasn’t far. Luckily, they’d all been together at the field just practicing for shits and gigs and responded to the call immediately, loading into their cars and driving over to Roy’s house as fast as they could (apparently breaking a couple traffic laws and committing a few acts of property damage along the way) (“Mrs. Guss won’t even notice her mailbox wasn’t bending that way before, honest!”)

Keeley rapidly explains that she’d given the boys a very basic rundown of the situation, so he’s not surprised that no one seems at all phased by the fact Jamie is turning back into a statue right in front of them. He catches a few startled glances to the hole in his chest, but is incredibly grateful when nobody lingers on it or asks questions, even though they’re likely full of them. A few of the lads might just think this is some fucked up dream from a residual hangover from Ireland, but they don’t treat it like that.

Jamie hasn’t known these lads for a while, and he hasn’t gotten to know them as well as he’d liked to, but apparently he’d made quite the impression, because their confessions of love and appreciation are genuine. And while Jamie knows he’s been given quite the loophole, he also knows that fake professions of love wouldn’t cut it in this case, they had to be legit.

But the loophole’s magic is wearing thin, Jamie can tell. It’s exactly as he expected: even though they’re delaying the inevitable, the inevitable bit is getting stronger and less affected by the resistance of the declarations of platonic love. Like a virus, a cancer that spreads despite the treatment being pumped into the body, it becomes more powerful in the face of adversity, not weaker.

Jamie has minutes. A half hour, if they’re truly lucky. Definitely less, by now.

“Bruv, I fell in love with you a little bit when you came second to Moe in the competition,” Colin confesses, getting a laugh out of everyone, Jamie included. “You looked so damn hot when you were talkin’ trash I had to wonder if you’d ever lost anything in your life.”

“Only then?” Jamie demands cheekily, wincing when someone presses their hand against his leg. “Colin, you wound me.”

“Oh please, I fell in love with you from the very first time I saw you,” Moe confirms, jabbing Colin in the ribs with an elbow.

“Now that’s more like it.” Jamie smiles, clenching his jaw as he feels the magic work his way up to his hips. It’s becoming uncomfortable to sit now, so he reaches out his hands in a silent request to be picked up. Isaac and Richard comply, helping him carefully to his feet and supporting his weight since it’s difficult for him to stand on legs made out of stone. “I knew I liked you best, Bumbercatch.”

“While I find you attractive, I wouldn’t say I am in love with you.” Everyone turns to glare at Jan Maas, who wears his normal confident yet utterly perplexed expression, like he can’t believe that everyone else doesn’t feel the same, so he chooses not to believe that. “What? There is only room in my heart for one overconfident, sexy footballer, and that’s Richard.”

“Holy shit?!” Isaac adjusts slightly to glare at Richard, who’s turning a bright shade of pink. It’s utterly adorable, especially when he turns and smacks Jan Maas across his pecks. “You guys are together?!”

“Don’t act too surprised now, babe.” Colin grins triumphantly, flinging an arm Isaac’s shoulder, which is only slightly awkward given the way the Captain is curled around Jamie’s body. “We’ve been together for how long now?”

“Bruv!” Isaac screeches at the same time everyone coos at them, Jamie included once again. “Shut the fuck up!”

He winces, grateful that everyone is too focused on the brightness of Isaac’s cheeks to notice. “I hate to hog the spotlight here, guys, but uh….” he trails off, his gut tightening in an uncomfortable, unnatural way as the stone creeps up to his abdomen.

Sam jumps back into it, single mindedly focused on the task at hand. “I love how you make Roy softer at training for us, Jamie. He doesn’t make us do nearly as much ever since you came into his life.”

“Yeah! I caught a picture of his lockscreen once, and it was a picture of the two of you!” Richard exclaims, and everyone chimes in agreement.

Despite himself, Jamie can’t stop the tears that spring to his eyes. Keeley steps in, misinterpreting his tears for sadness. “Guys, maybe don’t mention Roy right now, it’s kind of -”

“Roy loves you so much,” Dani agrees, his tone so simple, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if they’re discussing the weather. “I can tell.”

“I agree.” Zoreaux pipes up for the first time in a while. “He never said it, but you could totally see it. Oh! Remember how he’d always grab an extra apple from the cafeteria? We teased him that it was for his special person, and you remember how red he’d get?”

Jamie remembers the apples Roy would bring back for him. His favorite; the tartness reminding him of the name Roy had given him. He’d always accepted the gift with a kiss and a hug, turning away to cut it up without looking too closely at Roy’s face. Had the man been looking at him with love, then? Had been close to saying the words then, too?

“Oh, that’s right! What about that time we saw him watching YouTube videos about how to braid hair in different ways?” Dixon chimes in. “Roy hates physical touch with anyone, so it shocked me he wanted to learn how to braid. I thought that was for his niece until I saw you with the braids, Jamie. He must really love you.”

Jamie recalls Roy running his hands through his hair, late at night, when the older man had thought Jamie had fallen asleep. He’d been trying to braid his hair so the former statue wouldn’t have to? His hands had been so gentle, so careful every time. Sometimes, Jamie could have sworn he heard the older man humming a tune; a song there’s no way he could know. A song that Rubeus sang for Deliciae every night as they danced under the glorious stars.

“Roy told me once that he hated big pieces of art, especially basic shit you could find anywhere. Well, what the fuck is that, then?” Bumbercatch points, and everyone’s gazes follow to the painting on the wall that had kept Jamie conscious while waiting for Keeley to arrive. He smiles a little, a barely-there upturning of the corners of his lips.

“I think what they’re all trying to say, Jay,” Keeley pipes up, pressing herself into Jamie’s side and wrapping her arms around him. As best he can, he wraps his arm loosely around her, tugging her closer to his still-warm skin. “Is that Roy loves you very much.”

He doesn’t need to state the obvious. She already understands.

It’s not enough.

The boys keep rambling, transitioning back into talking about how much they love Jamie, insisting they can keep this up for several hours. He’s not sure if they realize how the process is slowly getting faster or if they’re doing all they can to slow it down regardless.

The weight on his chest is back, but it’s not constricting like it was the first time. It fills him with a strange sense of calm, a serene feeling he’s never experienced before. It reminds him of that documentary he and Roy watched, about the cows being led to the slaughterhouse. Sometimes, they’ll be compressed in a big machine to help alleviate some of the stress they experience within that horrid place. It’s the worst kind of hug, Jamie thought when he watched it; how dare humans take something as innocent and fulfilling as an embrace and turn it into something so sinister.

Or maybe, Jamie realizes now, it’s the best they can do. A hug is meant to make you happy, eliminate some stress and negative emotions. Does dying not bring out the worst in people? Would a tender, comforting hold not starve off those emotions, even for a little while?

Beside him, against him, he’s pretty sure Keeley lets out a surprised scream, a desperate plea broken up by ugly sobbing. She had never been a pretty crier, anyway. But the noise is muffled to the former statue, like his ears are stuffed with cotton.

This isn’t the first time that Jamie has greeted death. It had taken him quickly the first time, tugged him down into a seemingly endless, deep sleep for centuries. Though he hadn’t technically died, he wasn’t honestly sure which fate was worse.

He’s fairly certain that the lads are all standing in front of him, their hands moving wildly and their mouths moving as they seem to be forming words. But again, the sounds are muffled and the shapes are becoming harder to make out, blurry and solid blocks of color instead of the intricate designs of the Greyhounds’ training kits.

He’d been hoping that this time, if he was truly meant to die again, that there would be the typical bright light and the flashing of memories behind his eyelids. He wanted to see the epic highlight reel of his life, of the moments spent with Rubeus and Roy alike. He wanted to see his friend Felix again; it had been so long since he’d seen his friends’ face. Maybe his dear friend would be waiting for him, complaining about how long it took his friend to catch up.

But there is no light. There is only the increasingly blurry scene of his friends in front of him before there is nothing at all.

Despite the limited feeling remaining in his face, Jamie feels a tear slip free of his eye, sliding down his cheek.

This is it, then.

He’d kept the hope alive that at any second, he’d turn his head towards the doorway - their doorway and see Roy standing there, breathing hard from running to catch him like in all of the romantic comedies they’d watched together. He’d hoped that Roy would take his face in his hands and kiss him silly, confessing his love between each embrace and promise he’d never leave him hanging again.

Hoping had gotten him nowhere.

Roy hadn’t shown.

Jamie wishes, more than anything, that he was strong enough to hold on, to try and give Roy a few more minutes of time. Maybe he was on the way, desperately trying to get back to him. If Jamie could just give him a few more minutes, they could be happy.

I’m tired. Jamie thinks, and is confused why a small part of him still resists the idea of finally going to sleep. He hasn’t gotten a good nights’ rest in several thousand years, anyway, he is long overdue for a nap. I’m so tired.

Death creeps along the edges of his vision, overwhelming his eyes in a sea of complete blackness. He loses feeling in his fingers, his toes haven’t felt anything for several minutes now anyway. His chest, while still feeling like it’s wrapped in a tight hug, doesn’t hurt at all. He can no longer track the path the tear has taken on his body; it could still be on his cheek as far as he knows. He no longer feels Keeley’s arms wrapped around him, can no longer hear her desperate voice and ugly sobs.

I’m sorry, he says, but he knows the words weren’t spoken out loud. I love you the most. As long as you remember that, I don’t care that this is the end.

As Death leans in close to press its kiss against his cheek, Deliciae swears he hears a voice he’d prayed to hear again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Roy stares at the man before him, jaw slack in surprise. Apollo, A fucking God!! meets his stare head on, unflinching and unwavering and still looking like he’d rather be tearing him to shreds. His words hang heavy in the air, leaving a lot more questions than answers, at least in Roy’s humble opinion. He doesn’t have a major or minor in this fucking shit, but he still finds himself incredibly confused by what’s going on. Thankfully, his older sister, who does have a degree in this shit, looks just as confused as him. Rachel looks between her brother and the God, seemingly contemplating if it’d be worth it for her to even attempt to save her brother if a God decided it was high time he died.

Fucking wonderful.

Roy has no fucking idea what to say. Apollo doesn’t toss him a bone either, seemingly content to glare and be gawked at until the opportunity arises for him to dispose of Roy’s body quickly and effectively.

After a few more moments of awkward tension, Rachel’s shoulder sags and she sighs, stepping out of the way to let the God into the house. Roy doesn’t even get the chance to cuss out his older sister for choosing a Gods’ wrath over his own fucking life, since Apollo doesn’t waste a second, stepping through the threshold and taking a giant stride towards the ex-footballer with the bum knee.

Seriously, this isn’t even close to a fair fight!

“He’s not going to kill you,” Rachel declares, his voice carrying a strange amount of authority. While Roy is not inclined to believe her - Apollo’s storm gray eyes reveal that he’s already calculated several dozen ways to cut Roy up and discard the pieces without anyone ever knowing what happened to him - the God does slow down in his approach until he’s standing a few meters away from him. While it’s not nearly enough for Roy’s comfort, he lets out a small breath of relief that he seems to have paused his assault for now.

Apollo doesn’t turn to look at Rachel, even when he addresses her. “You cannot guarantee that.” He tilts his head, and a smirk that looks far too similar to Jamie’s arises on his face. “I certainly would like to.”

“I can guarantee it, actually,” Rachel replies, voice sounding almost smug. She is way too comfortable in this fucking scenario for Roy’s comfort. He’s honestly surprised he hasn’t shit his pants. “Because if you are as you claim to be, then you will not harm whom your son loves most.”

“Wait, he was serious?” Roy finds himself asking, latching onto the topic of conversation that doesn’t revolve around his dismemberment. “I thought all Gods call their subjects children or some shit.”

“They do. At least, historically.” Rachel confirms, taking a loud sip of her coffee. Apollo finally tears his gaze away from Roy to glare at her now, but she meets his gaze unflinchingly. “But not just anyone gets to be my son when it’s coming from Apollo.”

The silence that serves as Apollo’s response is deafening, all consuming like a black hole just opened up in the living room. The Gods’ body is as tense as a bowstring, and even though he obviously isn’t as powerful as he was, there is still a crackling in the air around them.

Jamie is Apollo’s son.

Roy takes a second to analyze the God before him once again. His golden hair, his defined body and chiseled face. His beautiful, awe-inspiring eyes. It makes Roy a little weak in the knees to look at him.

“Is that why Jamie almost died as a baby until he touched the sun?” Why he still curls up in the sun now? Roy finds himself asking, though it seems inappropriate to ask and to use Jamie’s new name instead of the name given to him at birth, likely at Apollo’s discretion.

Apollo’s voice is quiet, but by no means weak when he replies, “Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate further, doesn’t go into any of the details about his affair with Jamie’s mother or whether or not he’s the reason she died.

Again, Roy’s mouth moves before his brain stops him. “Does he know?”

“No.” The tone carries the additional harshness of and he never will being left unsaid. Roy respects the line that’s been drawn and nods once.

“Wonderful, now that we’re done with that,” Rachel clarifies, tilting her head in a cheeky way. “Can you use your words and talk like a big boy?”

Apollo doesn’t look at her when he hisses, “Continue to address me in this way, and you will find out why the Romans chose to fear me.”

“Maybe back then.” Rachel agrees. “But if you still had that kind of power, you would have already inflicted unspeakable pain upon my brother.”

“I’m still debating it.” Apollo replies easily, a little too comfortably for the ex-footballer’s liking. “I would be more than delighted to utilize some of my reserves if it meant severing his head from his body, keeping him alive the whole time.”

Feeling his face turning red, Roy points at himself wildly, feeling his heart beat harder in his chest. “I’m right fucking here!”

Apollo’s eyes narrow as he glares at him. “And I wish you were not. I wish that my son had never fallen in love with you in the first place. You spineless, insolent whelp.”

Roy reels back, helpless to do anything but feel a stab of pain at the insult. Rachel doesn’t do anything to protect him this time, though that probably has something to do with the rising, palpable tension in the room. And while Roy isn’t normally one to cower before a threat, it can hardly be frowned upon that he’s a little timid before a fucking God of Rome.

Apollo, of course, isn’t finished. He steps closer, and from where he’s looking at the floor, Roy can see an imprint of his sole in the carpet, charred there like the bottoms of his feet were burning. Lack of power my ass.

“You never deserved him, he has always been outside of your reach. You did not deserve him as Rubeus, and you especially do not deserve him now.” Apollo seethes, his breath hot where it touches Roy’s cheeks. “I certainly never saw anything worth dying for inside your mind nor body, let alone worthy of his love and care.”

Okay, this one-sided verbal assault has gone on long enough.

“Then why did you let him?!” Roy shouts, caught off guard by his own words, but he can’t stop them; not anymore. He’s not sure if he’s fighting for Jamie, or himself or neither, but he will continue to argue until he’s put into the ground. While Rachel appears genuinely shocked and perplexed, Apollo’s expression becomes infinitely angrier. “If he is your son, and if you disapprove of his decisions this strongly, you could have prevented it!”

“He is my son, and I love him above all else.” Apollo’s tone is far too calm for Roy’s liking. “Even when he was willing to love a man who never deserved him, I supported his decision regardless. Even when he chose to trade places with you, I let it happen and I was willing to further expand my power to alter the fabrics of the universe to ensure you would find him again. I would make sure of it, even when it nearly cost me everything.”

“Well, I’m glad your precious life means just a little bit more than your son’s.” Roy hisses right back, daring to take a step closer.

Apollo doesn’t flinch, and Roy swears he feels fire lick his skin. “And I am delighted that your insolent pride means just a little bit more than your love for Deliciae.” Roy immediately retreats back to the step he just took, and Apollo advances in his place. “Right now, I see my son slipping past where even my power can save him, because you refused to admit what we all already know. I am desperately trying to see what he saw, though I must admit I find you sorely lacking thus far.”

“Why isn’t it enough just to feel it?!” Roy pleads, hating himself for trembling and trying to defend his shitty actions. “Why can’t my emotions be enough? Why do I have to say it?”

“Why can’t you?” Apollo challenges. “If you have the emotions within you, what trouble does saying them even bring you?”

“BECAUSE I KNOW I DON’T DESERVE HIM! I NEVER HAVE, AND I PROBABLY NEVER WILL” Roy bursts, screaming the words loud enough to cause his entire body to shake from the duress. Apollo straightens so he’s not breathing on Roy’s face anymore, but he doesn’t back away. Rachel lets out a soft gasp of surprise, and to be honest, for a good minute Roy even forgot she was there.

The God’s body has shifted slightly, angled to reveal the door behind him. He couldn’t have moved more than a handful of centimeters, but it's obvious enough that Roy knows he was meant to pick up on it.

Apollo is giving him an out. Silently saying, If you know you don’t deserve him, then walk away.

No. Roy has already run away once. He will not do so again, especially not when Jamie’s father thinks so lowly of him.

“Jamie has always been too good for me,” Roy continues, shaking his head before running a hand over his face. “He’s been patient with me, and I mean in the sense that he waited thousands of years for me, and let me take this shit at my own fucking pace. He told me that he almost gave up his memories to make it more fair for the both of us. I didn’t ask him to, but he was willing.”

Roy reaches into his pocket, looking at the lock screen he’d been using for the past several weeks. A photo of the two of them, one of the first selfies Jamie had taken after learning how. Jamie has his mouth open wide, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, beaming at the camera. Roy smiles at his angry face, but he can’t miss the way his eyes are sparkling in the picture.

“What I feel for him…it’s always been complicated.” Roy shrugs, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “Our connection is so fucking strange it gives me the creeps. I think about him all the time. I never did that with anything except for football, let alone another human fucking beaming. I want to be near him. I want to smell his shitty cologne, even though I hate it. He would leave me to use the goddamn bathroom and I’d start to get anxious.”

(Roy recognizes that he’s oversharing a little, but drastic times and all that.)

“I barely say the words to my own family.” Roy mutters, glancing over at his sister in shame. “It’s not that I don’t feel that way for them, but it’s just hard for me to say. Shitty dad, mom dying on us, grandpa dying, whatever you wanna think; the words don’t come easy.”

“It’s okay, Roy.” Rachel whispers, giving him as much encouragement as she can.

Roy smiles gratefully, then looks back to Apollo, who is still just watching him.“But that has never meant I don’t feel that way for him. Because I do. And I show it! I show it by braiding his hair and letting him pick the movie at night. I show it by peeling his cuties for him so he doesn’t get the skins under his nails ‘cause he hates the feeling. I know the exact moment I started to feel that way too: the very first time I fucking saw him. And I have felt it every moment since. I don’t fucking understand the big difference between showing and telling to you people, but don’t you ever think, for one fucking second, that I don’t love him.”

Silence settles heavily in the room, disturbed only by Roy’s hard breathing, desperately gulping in lungfuls of air. He’s honestly not sure when or how he got so worked up, but suddenly, here he is. On the verge of tears, his limbs and hands shaking uncontrollably, his knee throbbing in pain even though he’s lifted most of his weight off it, his face hotter than normal due to his impressive yet concerning anger.

Rachel doesn’t say anything more, even though she’d been not-so-gently nudging him into discussing this conversation earlier, before the God had arrived. Said God is still staring Roy down, though there’s a calculated gleam in his eye that wasn’t present before, as if he’s analyzing Roy to determine what his possible next move could be.

Roy doesn’t hesitate a moment before saying, loudly and proudly, “Fuck you.”

Rachel makes a face that reads very plainly to be Why the FUCK did you just say that?! while Apollo’s stony expression remains, his body still angled away.

“How fucking dare you,” Roy continues angrily. “Who the hell are you to come charging in here, saying you know what’s best for Jamie” - he puts extra emphasis on the name that he gave to the former Roman - “When you don’t even have the guts to tell him that you’re his father. You must have pulled a bunch of strings for him, huh? Making sure he got into the Temples, making sure that he was better than everyone else, but he never even knew the truth about you.” Roy points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re the coward here.”

Surprisingly, Apollo doesn’t rise to his own defense. He barely reacts at all, still looking at Roy with that expectant expression. It infuriates Roy even more.

“Listen you piece of shit, I don’t like you, and I don’t think I ever will like you.” Roy continues, taking a daring step further. Apollo allows it, but for once, he doesn’t overcrowd Roy’s space, either. “I still don’t remember my past lives or whatever, but if Rubeus did something to offend you, I’m sorry. Though I see where Jamie gets his self-righteousness from; apple doesn’t fall far from the fucking tree, so Rubeus probably just said your name in vain once and then you decided you hated him forever and ever, amen. Fuck you.” Roy tacks on at the end for good measure.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful that you let Jamie switch places with me to give us both a second shot, though I’m well-fucking-aware you didn’t do it for my sake. You did a good thing, a fatherly thing; putting your son’s needs above your own prejudices.” Roy scoffs, the sound coming off as a bone-dry chuckle more than anything else. “But guess what, asshole? It stops being a good thing the second you hold it over someone’s head, the second you remind the person that they owe you for their good deed.”

He shakes his head, hands crossed over his chest. “Your prick-ass couldn’t go fifteen minutes without reminding him what good you did, right? So yeah, I got a little scared and ran away when Jamie told me the whole story, but he was understandably scared of how I would react, but he was probably even more scared of you.”

Roy pauses, taking in a deep breath of air. Hesitating, he drops his arms from his chest, but is proud of himself when he keeps his eyes firmly trained on Apollo. “But if there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s that I don’t deserve him. Fuck yeah, I even fucking admitted it: I don’t deserve Jamie. I know that, alright? Don’t you think I’m well enough aware of that? Jamie is…” Roy stops again, unable to speak around the gentle smiling and the warm feeling rising in his chest. “Jamie is…” He chuckles warmly, feeling his face heat for a different reason now. “Everything good in my life.”

He hardens his expression as he glares up at Apollo once more. “But I don’t owe you jack shit, no explanation, nothing. Jamie was mine, and I fucked up my chance, and I will live with that until the day I die.”

Roy’s breath catches in his throat as he remembers what Apollo had said when he stormed in here, how angry and utterly desperate he looked.

This wasn’t him coming to kill me… Roy shifts, blinking in surprise when he sees Apollo has suddenly teleported back to stand by the door, his hand on the knob and looking at Roy with soft eyes now. He beckons the mortal man forward, and Roy obeys. This was a test.

As he walks, Apollo speaks. “I have never claimed to be the best father. Deliciae…Jamie is not my only child, but he is the most precious to me. So I am aware that he was spoiled rotten at my behest, working in the Temples and wanting for naught. But it was the way I believed I could be closest to him without interfering with his life.” Roy stands before him now, believing he understands where the God is going with this, though he’s not entirely sure. “When he became old enough for suitors and lovers, I believed none of them were good enough for my son, and I was right.”

Roy waits for the part where Apollo admits he judged Rubeus/Roy a little too harshly, but the admittance never comes. Maybe he genuinely still believes that Roy isn’t good enough, or his pride won’t allow it, but the ex-footballer knows better than to push his luck.

“Jamie asked you a question, before you ran away.” Apollo reminds him, and Roy flinches. He looks at him, really looks at him. Before, all Roy could see was the furious expression of a powerful God. Now, all he sees is the timid desperation of a father. “Do you have your answer?”

Roy nods, because he recognizes that Apollo isn’t asking to hear it. He already knows.

“Jamie has a sound mind and a good heart; both gifts from his mother.” Apollo smiles softly, eyes growing distant as he seems to recall what Jamie was like in his youth. “When he chose to pass that heart to you, I could see how much you mattered to him, how much you still do. His heart calls your name, Roy Kent.”

With that, Apollo opens the door. Roy lets out a soft gasp of surprise when he sees that it’s not Rachel’s lawn on the other side of the doorway, but something he never expected. His own living room, filled with all of the lads and Keeley as they huddle together in his kitchen, sobbing and crying words he cannot make out.

He sees Jamie, standing against the counter, frozen into stone once more.

“Answer it.” Apollo breathes, and Roy steps through the threshold.

He expected his stomach to plummet from teleporting from one house to the next, but it doesn’t. The transition into his own kitchen is so seamless it feels like he just stepped through a regular door. Despite the time restraints, he looks behind him, just to make sure that he’s not going crazy, but all that stands behind him is his familiar front door, shut and locked as if it had never been open.

Answer it. A voice employs him. Roy turns around.

The lads have all noticed him by now, looking at him with expressions varying from anger to shock. He pays them no mind, calmly approaching Jamie’s motionless form.

Though he never hoped to see Jamie as a statue ever again, he cannot deny the sheer brilliance of his form. His muscles and angles look breathtaking etched into stone. His eyes, though now lifeless and unseeing, are beautifully molded and shaped. His hair, woven into an intricate braid, looks like it’s still soft to the touch. He wonders if it still smells like the hair products he’d grown fond of using.

On his cheek, Roy can see the faint outline of a tear, running down his cheek.

Leaning close, Roy takes both hands and presses them to Jamie’s cheeks, holding him gently, like he was a fragile little flower and would shatter with a too aggressive touch. Though he knows that Jamie will not kiss him back, he leans in and presses the softest of kisses to the statue’s lips.

There’s a strange sensation behind his eyelids, something stirring inside of him. When he speaks, though the words and intentions are his own, it doesn’t entirely feel like him.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I first met you.” Roy whispers, the words meant for no one but Jamie. There’s a flash across his eyelids, though Roy still sees Jamie’s face. There’s wood beneath his fingertips, and the warm aromas of a market nearby. Jamie’s hair is still braided back, though he’s wearing a garment Roy can only assume would be typical for a boy working in the Temples. When he blinks, the memory is gone. “My dearest.”

The sensation fades, though Roy picks up the mantle and continues. “I knew I loved you from the very first time I saw you, you asswipe. Back in the museum when you were looking up at the ceiling after making me run around the entire fucking place, thinking you were stolen or some shit. And then you just smiled at me, then kissed me with no fucking explanation.”

“I loved you then and I love you now. And I will keep on loving you, until my soul burns out and there’s nothing left of me but memories. Do you hear me, you piece of shit?” Roy barks, kissing each of Jamie’s eyes, then his nose. “I love you, okay? I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His last phrase ends on a sob as he dives forward and wraps his arms around Jamie in an embrace. It’s extremely awkward, given the way Jamie’s body is literally frozen in place, not to mention the feeling of hard stone beneath his muscles is incredibly uncomfortable, but Roy has no idea what else would be appropriate right now.

Did Apollo really send him back here just to witness what he’d done? Did he send him back with no chance of Jamie coming back to life? What cruel and unusual punishment.

But then there are two familiar arms crashing around him in a rib-crushing embrace, causing some of the wind to fly out of Roy’s lungs. He’s pushed forward, his nose colliding with the soft skin and a scent he would know anywhere.

Beneath him now is no longer solid stone, but hard, compact muscle and skin. Flesh and bone. A living, breathing man. He pulls back, desperate to confirm his suspicions. When he sees the face of the man he loves so much, smiling up at him with such love and devotion, Roy is helpless to do anything but cry.

“There you are,” Roy whispers, that sensation stirring inside of him again. He finds that he doesn’t really mind it. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You motherfucker,” Jamie whispers, his voice hoarse and dry from the tears springing up in his eyes. “You really had to wait until the last possible second, didn’t ya? I almost entered the light ya know, almost said fuck this damn place, you included - humph!”

Jamie’s speech is interrupted by Roy crashing his lips against his own, desperately taking his mouth in a kiss. The younger man responds eagerly, kissing and letting himself be kissed with just as much love.

Though he’s aware of the lads screaming and cheering behind him, Roy doesn’t pay them any mind. He’s more focused on feeling the skin of Jamie’s chest knit itself back together, closing the hole that had always resided there.

That, more than anything, confirms that they’re in the clear. That they’re safe to live their lives. Together.

“I love you,” Roy breathes when they are forced to pull apart for air. For the first time, he notices Jamie is breathing just as hard as he is. He’ll probably have to adjust to being human again, after all this time.

Jamie chuckles, kissing his nose. “I love you too, asshole.”

“Even if I made you wait until the last possible second?” Roy teases, though he desperately needs the confirmation.

Jamie smiles, closing his eyes again and leaning in. “Even then.”

And then, Roy understands.

His eyes are still open, but that weird sensation behind his eyelids is back, and his vision is suddenly flooded with memories. Images and smells and touches across his body and mind alike. Emotions stretch through his heart, filling his eyes with tears. He hears laughter and arguments and the soft snoring of the man standing in his arms. He can feel the utter anguish of watching an enemy sneak up on Deliciae from behind, knowing there was only one way to save his life. He sees Deliciae’s tear-filled eyes and feels only love and happiness in his heart, not an ounce of regret.

All of his past lives flash before his eyes. Living, dying and everything in between. His consciousness shifts all over the world, across every continent and every corner of the globe. Some lives were full, others short and tragic. Some he had families in, and others he avoided human interaction entirely. Some he fought wars in, and others he was a doctor or peacekeeper. In each and every life, it always felt like he was searching for something; more than one of his marriages ended in divorce and several of his lives ended early in his desperate attempt to find what was evading him.

And now, he has found it.

Roy blinks, and focuses on Jamie once again. Jamie looks at him like he hung the moon and stars.

“You found me,” Jamie whispers.

Roy leans in close, far beyond the need for words.

Kissing Jamie feels like coming home. Roy rushes forward to meet him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

EPILOGUE

Beard taps his chin with the marker he’d just been using to draw out their next possible play. “If we use Bumbercatch as the decoy, we might have a shot. He likes to attack up the side, and he’s typically the one we pass to; it would be the perfect trick play.” His calm voice was hard to fully hear over the uproaring of the locker room behind them. The boys were getting in the proper mindset, screaming and hollering to the lyrics of Hollaback Girl, which had quickly become this season’s hype song.

Roy nods along, humming in agreement. The play they were trying to tweak was a classic created by Ted, one of the first he’d implemented during his first weeks with the team. Though the play was still highly effective and worked more often than not, other teams were starting to catch on to try and shut it down before it started. The lads of course adapted, because they were just amazing like that, but to switch up the play in small ways would go a long way in ensuring the other teams couldn’t fully stop them.

“But he would be too heavily guarded up the center to act.” Roy uses his finger to push the magnets representing the other team towards the blue one, acting as Moe.

Nate steps in between them, the tactician moving around the magnets as he saw fit. Roy let him, because he’d figured out a long time ago that Nate had lots of amazing tidbits to offer, as long as he felt like he was in an environment to do so. “If there’s one thing Moe is good at, it’s acting. Did you know he had a short stint on Broadway in America?”

Beard looks at Nate with his signature blank stare, but Roy can see from the way his eyes flicker with surprise that he hadn’t seen that coming. And if Beard is caught off guard by something, you know it’s serious. “No shit?”

“Absolutely! He told me he was a member of the ‘Congress’ in Hamilton for a season before he came back to compete in football again.” Nate continues proudly, cheeks puffing out in a smile.

Roy arches a brow at him. “Are you absolutely sure he wasn’t pulling your leg?” Because if Moe has a secondary talent for acting, it’s lying in particular that he’s good at. Playing two truths and a lie with that man on bus rides was like asking a kid to tell a story; you never really knew what you were going to get next.

Nate opens his mouth to reject the notion outright, but he closes it with a sheepish look. “I guess I never really bothered to fact check him. I mean, it’s Moe! What reason does he have to lie?”

“Every reason.” Roy and Beard deadpan at the same time.

Ted chooses that moment to waltz into the coaches’ room, the sounds of the overeager lads filtering in before the office door is shut. “Sorry I’m late, y’all. Jules didn’t want to go down for her nap without hearing at least six bedtime stories, so you can see where the delay occurred. What did I miss?”

Roy smiles fondly at the mention of Ted and Trent’s adopted daughter, Julia. She was a lovely young girl, one that Roy himself didn’t mind watching when his head coach and his boss wanted a private night out. Henry was an excellent older brother, dutifully helping Roy with the routines and placement of things in Ted’s weirdly arranged kitchen. Evelyn was overjoyed at the idea of a little sister, already dividing up her toys and dress-up clothes for when Julia was a little older.

Beard quickly catches his friend up to speed, making sure to include the bit about how Moe claimed to be in Hamilton. Ted, to his credit, looks to Nate with a somber expression. “Now normally I’m included to believe everyone unless I have proof that they’re lying - except my buddy from elementary school that would lie out of his ass for fun whenever he got the chance - but Bumbercatch told me that he was in Wicked, so at least one of us has been lied to, Nate the Great.”

Nate still has the decency to look sheepish, but the conversation shifts back to the important task at hand without the assistant coach needing to defend himself again.

A handful of minutes discussing the plays later, Ted and Beard step out to give the boys a little pre-game pep talk, which Roy respectfully remains in his office space for. While he normally loves Ted’s pre-game talks, they’ve been getting a little too analogy heavy for his liking.

When he hears the boys hooting and hollering and running out of the locker room, Roy emerges from his office and watches the stragglers head out. He’s not surprised when one player remains, nervously fiddling with the laces of his boots for the hundredth time.

“Oi,” he calls, and Jamie jumps. Roy approaches his boyfriend, unable to stop the coy smile from rising on his face. “You got nothing to fucking worry about, you’re gonna be great.”

“You don’t know that,” Jamie insists, turning around to face Roy fully. He’s been given the jersey number nine, because get it, Royo? Then we’d be sixty nine if you put us together!. Roy wraps his arms around the shorter man, holding him tight until he looks up and meets his gaze.

Without prompting, Jamie sighs and elaborates. “I’m comin’ out of literally nowhere, Keeley had to make a fake social media of mine stretchin’ a few years bacl and we’re still sortin’ out my birth certificate and shit -”

“Nobody knows that,” Roy calmly comforts for the thousandth time. “And nobody will care ‘bout that when you blow them out of the fucking water tonight. West Ham won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Jamie bites his lip to keep himself from smiling, but Roy sees right through him. “What if I suck?”

“You won’t suck. Not at football, at least.” Jamie wiggles his eyebrows at the suggestive tone, and Roy allows it. “You will be the best player this sport has ever seen.”

“Better than you?”

“Don’t fucking push it.” Roy warns, and Jamie giggles. It’s a beautiful sound, one that Roy is delighted he gets to hear for the rest of his life. The golden band on his ring finger isn’t so heavy now that he’s used to it, but the small difference in weight is comforting regardless. He’s still sad Jamie can’t wear his own ring while playing, even though it’s on a chain around his neck. Roy wants the world to know that Jamie is taken, Jamie is his.

Not yet legally, but in their eyes, and the eyes of the people they care about, they’ve been married for almost six weeks now. When they get Jamie a legal certificate, they’ll worry about the paperwork and changing Roy’s last name.

It’s the name I gave ya, dingbat. Roy had explained calmly when Jamie had looked at him with shocked eyes. ‘Course I wanna take it for myself.

“You’ll be watchin’?” Jamie asks, leaning up on his toes to press a kiss to Roy’s lips. Then two, then three. Then perhaps a sixth.

Roy hums appreciatively before carefully pushing Jamie back. “The whole time, unfortunately.”

“Rude!” Jamie giggles, twisting their fingers together happily, despite his pout. “If you really wanted to leave me behind, I’d get it, Royo. I don’t need an escort to the field.”

Roy scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re going, so I’m coming with. Got a problem with that?”

“No.” Jamie’s eyes sparkle with all the emotions Roy is happy to say he understands now. “You’re so mean to me, Royo.”

“Yeah?” Roy rolls his eyes, letting himself be pulled towards the tunnel and out to the field. “It’s just ‘cause I love you.”

Jamie halts immediately, turning around and looking up at Roy with wide eyes. “Say that again.”

“I love you.” Roy whispers back, capturing Jamie’s lips in a kiss. When they pull apart, Jamie asks to hear it again. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”

Jamie kisses him with enough force to knock a lesser man over, but Roy stands his ground. His knee may be screaming in protest, but he holds them both upright. Behind them, through the tunnel, there are thousands of cheering fans, all excited to see the long-anticipated debut of one Jamie Tartt, who is apparently rumored to rival the skill and technique of Roy Kent himself.

Little do they know, Jamie far exceeds anything Roy could have ever hoped to accomplish. Not that he’ll tell him that, of course.

They pull apart, and Roy jerks his head towards the field, where Jamie’s future as a football star awaits. “Go knock ‘em dead, baby.”

Jamie tightens his grip on their still laced fingers. “Together.” He breathes, his gorgeous gray eyes looking into Roy’s very soul. “Forever.”

Roy’s heart, their heart skips a beat in his chest. He likes the sound of that, however cheesy it may be. Maybe Roy has always been a sap, or maybe Jamie just brings out that side of him. Whatever the answer is, he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life trying to determine it.

With a smile on his face, Roy presses one final kiss to Jamie’s lips before pulling away and letting himself be, once again, pulling into his lover’s orbit.

“Together.”