Chapter Text
Jamie had a thing. It wasn’t a big thing—at least not most of the time—but it was definitely a thing. Weeks, sometimes even months, it was barely more than a quiet buzz in the back of his mind. But there were also times when the thing got so big Jamie couldn’t do anything but give in to it.
Only two people in the world had even an inkling about it. His mum, obviously—he couldn’t keep a secret from that woman even if he tried. And Keely, his very lovely ex turned close confidant. She found out mostly by accident: one bad day, then a worse night, and Jamie coping the only way he knew how.
Keely didn’t really get it, but she was open-minded as hell, so she tried to help in the ways she could—mainly by making sure he was safe. She also genuinely liked buying him little bits and bobs. Jamie never stopped her; she had great taste, and if it made her happy to be involved in a tiny way, who was he to stop that?
For a while, it worked. He kept up the persona the press and the team expected—it was easier to be hated than to be known—and then he’d go home and let himself be himself. But then he got traded back to Man City, and everything got harder. Back to a place with too many memories, painfully familiar faces, and worst of all, closer to his dad. Practices felt heavy. Games felt worse. Even being in his own flat felt too sharp around the edges. He kept telling himself he’d unpack, maybe put something on the walls, but the motivation never came.Then came the match against Richmond, and for the first time in months, he actually felt like himself. Playing against his team—because the Greyhounds would always be his team—was rough, sure. But Ted’s stare felt like a warm hug, and Roy’s glare felt like a blanket. He knew these men. He could read their moves from vibes alone. It almost felt like a midweek scrimmage.
And then the final whistle blew.
He won the match for his team, but Roy had walked off the pitch after his tackle, and all his old teammates were looking at him like he killed their mums. Even Ted was giving him a pained smile.
A hollow ache spread through him, and before the spiral could fully grab him, he slipped out toward his own locker room.
The celebration inside was loud—too loud. He didn’t join. Instead he got cornered in the physio room by his drunk of a father. Nothing made the static take over his brain faster than the verbal abuse his father hurled his way.
The ride back home was a blur, all he remembers clearly is the feeling of protection that little green army man gave him.
His childhood bedroom was still exactly the same: twin bed with football sheets, little trophies, old posters. He fell asleep in his football pajamas staring up at Crazy Hair Roy, imagining that maybe someday he wouldn’t have to deal with this crushing feeling all on his own.
Eventually, after leaving Man City, joining a reality TV show and killing his reputation. He found his way back to Richmond. The team was relegated. Everyone hated him a little. But he was home.
“Whistle! Whiiiiistle!” God, what a stupid way to get attention. Still worked, though. The whole offense trotted over to Roy.
“You lot are running 30 suicides. Then 10 penalty kicks each. We’re done when everyone makes all 10. Dani, you’re first.”
Practice was brutal. It took four rounds before everyone finally made their shots. By the end, they all looked slightly green. Jamie, was happy. He loved these guys. He’d love it even more if Roy would just look at him, or coach him, or something. He’d have to ask Keely how the hell to get through to her boyfriend.
“I just agree with whatever he’s saying,” she’d told him. Truly awful advice. But Jamie tried it anyway—he was desperate.
Roy, of course, had been a complete dick about it, making him repeat he was an “ugly, ugly boy.” The words landed deep, settled in a place that Jamie knew would haunt him later when he cried into Roy Buttons, his favorite stuffed friend. But at least Roy was treating him like everyone else. The team was warming up. Even Beard stopped giving him that too-wide, too-creepy stare.
Matches rolled by—more ties than anything, followed by some wins —and then his dad reappeared, screaming down the phone for tickets so he could watch Jamie “embarrass” him at the FC cup semifinal.
The match was awful. The loss burned. The locker room was silent. Jamie kept his head down, breathing around the lump in his throat, when he heard it—his father’s voice, loud and venomous, coming down the hall until the door slammed open.
“You little shit. Embarrassment of a son.”
Jamie’s brain fizzed into static. He couldn’t really hear the words, only saw his father moving closer. Never good. Suddenly he was five, ten, fifteen—small and helpless. But he wasn’t anymore. He was twenty-four. Strong. And scared. And wanted to be safe.
So he punched him.
Fear slammed into him instantly. Retaliation was coming; it always did. But before he could even duck, Beard had grabbed his dad and dragged him away like it was nothing.
Everything froze. Jamie couldn’t breathe right. His heart was too loud. He wanted to curl up. He wanted his soft clothes. He wanted Roy Buttons. He wanted someone to make it stop.
Then arms were around him. Strong arms, solid chest, a low rumbling sound. He wanted to fight it, but he was so tired. So he melted. And cried.
Roy didn’t move for a long time. When the room finally emptied and Jamie started to sway, Roy backed up until the bench hit his legs and sat down. Jamie fell right into his lap, face still buried in Roy’s chest.
When Jamie’s sobs finally quieted, Roy spoke. “I’m sorry for calling you an ugly boy.”
It came out rough, honest. “You’re good, Jamie. Really good. On the pitch. And as a teammate. And as a person.” His fingers kept moving through Jamie’s sweaty hair. “I see you trying. I’m proud of you.”
And Jamie just…collapsed. Like someone cut the strings. His whole body went limp, heavy, trusting.
Roy felt the shift. Jamie letting go. Letting him hold all that weight. And Roy didn’t mind. Not at all.
“Alright, Jamie,” he said softly. “We’re gonna get up and go home. I know you don’t want to move. But you deserve a real bed, yeah?”
Jamie didn’t speak, just tightened his fists in Roy’s shirt.
Roy got them both up and headed for the car.
The car ride was quiet. Weirdly quiet. Roy didn’t think he’d ever experienced Jamie like this before. Even when the lad wasn’t talking, he was moving—popping gum, cracking his knuckles, bouncing a knee, tapping a rhythm on the dashboard. He radiated restless energy like it was his personal climate system.
But now? Now Jamie was in the passenger seat but also… not. It felt like Roy was driving around with a shell of the man instead of the man himself.
…
The car ride was quiet, which was strange enough to make Roy keep checking the passenger seat. Jamie was never this quiet. Even when he wasn’t talking, he had some kind of energy leaking out of him. Foot tapping. Gum popping. Fingers drumming. Something. But now there was nothing. He was sitting there, small and still, staring at the window like he wasn’t really in the car at all. It felt like having an empty version of Jamie beside him instead of the real one.
Jamie felt like he was floating. He knew Roy was driving. He knew the car was moving. But everything else was far away, like he was watching himself from somewhere above. His mouth felt heavy and slow, his head stuffed with something sticky and warm. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stayed trapped in his throat.
He blinked and suddenly they were at his front door. Panic clawed up his chest. If Roy left him like this, he would fall apart. He felt too open, too soft, too lost. But Roy didn’t leave. Roy took his bag, found the keys, opened the door and guided him inside like it was the easiest thing in the world.
"Jamie, I need you to show me your room. You need a warm shower."
Jamie obeyed without thinking. Following was easy, especially when Roy told him to.
His room was so very Jamie. Bright splashes of color on the wall, a loud jungle-print throw, a fuzzy pink chair in the corner. Roy barely glanced at it. He steered Jamie into the bathroom and started the shower, setting it warm and gentle.
He turned back to check on him and froze for a second. Jamie was already down to his underwear, staring at nothing, shoulders curled slightly inward like a child who didn’t know what to do next.
"I’ll be downstairs," Roy said softly. "I’ll leave clothes on the bed. Shout if you need me."
He didn’t expect an answer. He was halfway out the door when he heard it.
"Roy."
The soft, shaky sound of his name made him turn.
"Yes, Jamie?"
Jamie’s face scrunched. His breath hitched. "Roy Buttons please."
Roy stared. "What’s a Roy Buttons, Jamie?"
Jamie’s eyes watered. His chest fluttered with tiny, panicked breaths. "Roy Buttons please."
Roy sighed, not at him but at the helplessness of it all. Whoever Roy Buttons was, Jamie needed him badly.
"Alright. I’ll find him. You get in the shower."
After setting out comfortable clothes, he searched everywhere. Closet, nightstand, under the bed. He finally checked under the pillows and found a stuffed grey bunny with huge floppy ears wearing a tiny Chelsea jersey.
Roy Buttons. Of course.
He slipped back into the bathroom and set the bunny on the sink where Jamie could see him. The shower door was fogged, but the shape inside was unmistakable. Jamie was sitting on the floor of the stall, knees up, water pouring over him, eyes unfocused.
Roy’s heart squeezed. He stripped down to his boxers and stepped inside.
"Hi, Jamie. You doing alright?"
Jamie’s gaze lifted to him. That was the only answer, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders just from hearing Roy’s voice. So Roy kept talking.
"I found Roy Buttons. He’s very cute. He said he’s worried about you, so he’s watching from the sink."
"He wear your jersey. That why he got your name." His voice was soft, almost slurred. Jamie nodded once. "He protect Jamie."
Roy’s chest went tight again. Had the bunny been doing this alone for a long time?
"I can tell he has. Think he’d mind if I took over for a little while?"
Jamie made a tiny humming sound and shook his head.
"Good. Let’s get rid of the sweaty, icky feeling. Then we’ll put on warm clothes."
Jamie nodded again, fingers slipping between his lips for comfort.
Roy took the shower head down and grabbed a washcloth and soap. He washed Jamie in slow, steady movements, the same way he used to bathe Phoebe when she was little. Gentle swipes along arms and shoulders. Soft words filling the quiet.
"Your arms are clean now. Can you stretch your legs for me?"
Getting up seemed too hard for Jamie, but he straightened his legs in front of him so Roy could keep going. Roy worked quickly but tenderly, narrating every step so Jamie wouldn’t drift any deeper into whatever fog he was in.
When he finished, he coaxed Jamie.
"Jamie, I need you to stand up for me."
Jamie whined, tiny and overwhelmed.
"I know it’s hard, but we can’t stay in here. Come on. I’ve got you."
Jamie pushed himself up, shaking, waiting for instruction. Roy wrapped him in a thick fluffy towel, tucking it tight around him to give him a sense of pressure and safety. He tried to free Jamie’s hand from his mouth but gave up when it only made him cling harder.
Roy handed him Roy Buttons and sat him on the closed toilet lid while he dried off and dressed quickly. When he pulled Jamie to his feet and guided him out, the boy peered at him over the stuffed bunny, hair damp, towel swallowed around him.
A grown man had no business being that cute.
"Alright, Tartt. Let’s get you dressed."
Jamie gave him a tiny frown, almost pouty.
"Not Tartt."
Roy huffed a soft laugh. "No Tartt. Just Jamie. Come here."
Jamie relaxed at that. Dressing him was simple. Jamie lifted his arms when Roy tapped them. Stepped into sweats when Roy nudged his foot. Soft, pliant, trusting. Like he’d slipped into a much smaller headspace where the world made more sense when someone else took charge.
Once he was dressed in the softest clothes Roy could find, the next task was food.
Dinner was easy. Roy knew he should stick to a nutritionist pre approved meal, but the boy watching him from the breakfast bar deserved some comfort, so buttered noodles and chicken it was.
Jamie started eating quietly at first, but then the talking came. The moment he thawed, it was like a little kid waking up after a long nap. Feet swinging under the table. Fingers tapping. Voice floaty and bright. He chattered nonstop. About Roy Buttons. About his teammates. About Keeley. About a squirrel. About something that sounded like a dream.
None of it connected, but Jamie looked so happy that Roy let the noise wash over him.
"Alright, chatterbox. Finish your dinner and you’ll get some ice cream."
Jamie perked up instantly. He took more bites, fast ones between giggly little rambles, until the plate was clean. Then he looked at Roy with huge, expectant eyes.
Later, when Roy tucked him in, Jamie curled around his bunny, breathing slow and soft. Roy felt exhaustion settle into him like a weight. It had been a long, strange, emotional day.
He wouldn’t have traded any of it.
Not when Jamie looked that safe.
Not when Jamie trusted him this much.