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“Jamie? Babe? Are you home?”
The silence that greets Roy as he toes off his shoes in the entryway is unsettling. Ever since Jamie moved in a little over a year and a half ago - formally, anyhow; his stuff somehow found a home in Roy’s house long before they ever made it official - it was rare to be greeted to the sound of such complete silence when he came in. Jamie usually had no less than three screens on at all times - Sky Sports on the telly, music on his phone, a cooking video on the tablet - or he’d be chattering away to his mum or playing FIFA with one of the lads. The cold stillness of the house felt eerie.
Slowly, his knee aching after another tough round of physio early in the day, Roy began climbing the stairs to their bedroom. If Jamie is home, it’s possible he’s just taking a bath or having a shower, though even from the landing, there was no sound of water running or the hyper-curated self care playlist Jamie agonized over playing. No lights are on, upstairs or down, and Roy has half a mind to double check his phone and make sure he hasn’t missed a message saying Jamie was out when he pushes open the bedroom door to drop his work bag.
He startles slightly at the sight that greeted him: his fiance, face down on their bed, still clothed from the day and looking for all the world like he’d just laid down and died as soon as he came in. Roy frowns worry crawling in the back of his mind; Jamie is religious about making sure no ‘outside’ clothes ever come in contact with their overpriced bedding, so to see him laying prostrate on top of the duvet like this unsettles something in Roy’s chest.
“Jamie?” he tries again, creeping over to the bed slowly like he’s approaching a wild animal. “Babe? You alright?”
Right as Roy reaches the edge of the bed, Jamie lifts his head to stare at him, and even in the dim lighting of the evening, Roy can see the way his eyes are rimmed in red and puffy. Immediately he sits down on the side of the bed, an instinctive hand reaching over to begin stroking through Jamie’s hair; it’s still soft, thank god, like he’s been conditioning it regularly. The smallest bit of tension unwinds inside Roy, that at least he hasn’t missed that much, but seeing Jamie so clearly distraught has worry gnawing at his insides like a dog with a bone.
“Baby,” he says, voice soft in the way it only is - only can be - for Jamie. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Jamie stares up at him with those big, wet eyes, growing impossibly wetter by the second. His bottom lip quivers when he says, “It’s just so fucking much , Roy!”
Roy’s heart breaks right along with Jamie’s voice and he pulls himself onto the bed properly, scooping both arms beneath Jamie’s to tug him into his lap. The position is awkward, Jamie half sprawled on Roy’s chest and half on the pillows, but Jamie buries his face into Roy’s chest, small sniffles undoubtedly wrecking the fabric of Roy’s quarter zip. There’s time to worry about that later, because right now all he can do is wrap his arms around Jamie’s shoulders and pull him tighter to him.
“What is, baby?” Roy whispers, his fingers toying at the edge of Jamie’s hair. “Did someone say something on Twitter about the match? It’s fine, we were bound to lose one eventually.”
Jamie just shakes his head, snotty nose scrubbing into Roy’s peck. “It’s just,” he says, voice watery. “There’s so fucking much to do, all the time.”
“I know training’s been hectic,” Roy agrees. “Last year we barely made it through the group stage of the Champion’s League, and this year we’re much further along, so-”
“It’s the fucking Champions League ,” Jamie interrupts, suddenly energized. He pulls his face out of Roy’s chest to look up at him, tears smeared all over his cheeks. “And it’s the regular match line up, and the international schedule, and the wedding, and any time I talk to anyone all they can fucking say to me is oh, Jamie, you must be so busy , you must be so stressed , and like yeah, mate, no shit, of course I am.”
“Hey, hey, babe,” Roy shushes, one of his hands stroking up and down the knobs of Jamie’s spine. “It’s okay, yeah? It’s all going to get sorted.”
“Not unless I fucking sort it, Roy!” Jamie sobs. His head falls back onto Roy’s with a heavy thunk, nearly knocking the wind straight from Roy’s lungs. “The fucking wedding planner isn’t calling me back, so I don’t even know what we’re paying her a fortune for, and I can’t exactly step back from all the fucking matches, so now I’m trying to coordinate the whole fucking wedding and balance the fixture schedule and I’m fucking tired , Roy. I’m so fucking tired.”
“Baby,” Roy says, the crack in his heart growing with every word that leaves Jamie’s lips. “I’m here to help, you know that. What can I do?”
“You’re busy too, Roy,” Jamie sniffles. “I know being manager isn’t easy, I don’t want to just throw all my shit onto your plate, too, do I?”
“Hey,” Roy says, suddenly serious. He removes his arms from around Jamie to grab both of his cheeks, tugging his face up to look at him once more. “Your shit is my shit, Jamie. The wedding is our shit. That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it? We’re doing it all together.”
Jamie stares up at him for a moment, more tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. When the first begin tipping over, one of Roy’s thumbs is there to swipe it away immediately.
“Do you want to move the wedding back?” Roy offers gently. “It doesn’t have to be this summer-”
“What?!” Jamie squawks, shoving himself into a full sitting position and pulling just out of Roy’s reach. “Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
“You’ve got a lot going on, baby,” Roy reminds him. “It’s okay if we-”
“No, it’s not,” Jamie says, voice firm. “Roy, I can’t stand the fact I even half to wait two more months to be your husband. I’m not fucking pushing it back. Fuck, Roy, I want to be able to call you my husband now .”
And that’s when it clicks.
Roy pauses for a moment, working his jaw as the gears in his head begin turning faster and faster. Jamie furrows his brow, squinting at him, as though trying to figure out what exactly Roy’s thinking, and his mouth pops open to ask just as Roy shakes his head. He needs another minute to figure it all out himself, and while Roy’s never classed himself an especially smart man, the plan is slowly grinding in his head until it settles down low in his chest, and he turns back to face Jamie, unable to help the small smile on his lips.
“So we won’t wait two months,” he says finally, and Jamie’s nose crinkles in that way Roy loves.
“What?” Jamie says, his confusion evident. “What do you mean we won’t wait? Everything’s booked, babe.”
“Yeah,” Roy says. He reaches out one hand to smooth through Jamie’s overly ruffled hair. “But waiting is going to worry you. And you don’t want to postpone. So we won’t wait.”
“What are you saying?” Jamie asks, but Roy can see it all coming together behind his eyes.
He leans down to press a kiss into the corner of Jamie’s mouth.
“We’ll get married, and we’ll do it this weekend.”
–
All it takes is one phone call to Rebecca, and everything is set in motion.
Being the super powered, and dirty rich, person she is, everything is sorted in record time: they’ve rented out a rooftop restaurant, with a gorgeous view of London below; flowers have been ordered, white orchids and greenery ready to spill over every surface; the entire team has been notified, since Roy knows there’s no way Jamie will want to get married without the entirety of them there, tipping into hugs and peels of laughter all night long. Georgie and Simon came down the night prior, after Roy called and told them the wedding had been pushed up, sending Georgie into an absolute tizzy that had her screaming for Simon to get their bags packed, because they need to be in London now . Simon had taken the phone from her and goodnaturedly told Roy they were very excited, they’d see them soon, but he needed to make sure Georgie didn’t give herself a heart attack, if that’s alright.
In an effort to spare Jamie the extra stress, Roy’s not told him any of the new details over the last three days. He’s lingered at the edge of their living room as Roy spent time on the phone with Rebecca and different vendors, getting things sorted, worriedly chewing on the edge of his thumbnail and twisting his fists so far into his sweaters that Roy knew the fabric would never recover. Roy kept shooing him off, either to the bath with a glass of wine or to the shops to grab something for dinner, or any other small things Roy can think of to get him out of the planning process.
Friday night, though, Jamie comes to stand in front of Roy, arms folded over his chest and his bottom lip being torn to shreds between his teeth.
“What’s up, gorgeous?” Roy asks, pushing his laptop off his lap and tugging Jamie’s hands into his.
Jamie hesitates for only a moment, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before mumbling, “It’s stupid.”
“So business as usual, then?” Roy teases, but at the way Jamie’s face falls, he quickly adds, “I’m joking, babe. What is it?”
“Are you staying the night here?” Jamie asks. A rush of pink floods into his cheeks. “It’s just…we ain’t supposed to see each other till the wedding, are we? So it’s getting late, and all, so are you staying the night or not?”
“Oh,” Roy says. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I thought that was only if there’s a bride.”
Jamie fiddles with Roy’s fingers between his own, shrugging. “Just seems traditional, is all.”
Overwhelming fondness runs through Roy’s veins and he can’t help but smile up and Jamie, using their twined hands to tug him down and into Roy’s waiting lap. Jamie falls forward, ungraceful and uncoordinated, but his thighs slot onto either side of Roy’s and he catches himself against his shoulders. Roy snakes his arms around his waist and pulls him closer still, until those lush pink lips are within kissing distance. It hits him right in the chest that tomorrow, after what seems like a fucking lifetime of waiting but really has only been a few months since their Parisian proposal, he finally gets to call this gorgeous, funny, amazing man his, forever. The metal of Jamie’s engagement ring brushes against Roy’s cheek when he moves to cup his face, sinking deeper into the kiss.
“I’ll go get a hotel room,” Roy whispers when they pull away. “You have a nice night in with your mum and Simon, have a nice dinner on me. I’ll leave my credit card on the table-”
Jamie snorts at that, his fingers playing absently with the hairs of Roy’s beard. “Like I haven’t got that shit memorized, babe.”
Roy rolls his eyes, undeniably in love with the muppet on top of him, and kisses him again.
“Of course you have,” he teases gently, giving Jamie’s waist a gentle squeeze. “You feeling alright? Ready for tomorrow?”
“Only been daydreaming about marrying you since I was a sexy little baby, staring at your poster on me wall,” Jamie says, no trace of joking in his tone. The familiar rush of how deep Jamie’s love for him goes makes Roy’s stomach swoop. “Thank you for making this happen,” Jamie adds, softer, and Roy smiles at him once more. If anyone were to ask, he’d never admit exactly how fucking soft he is for Jamie, but here, in their home, it feels right, natural to be sweet to him in the way he deserves.
He’s just about to lean into kiss Jamie again, the same way he’s going to get to do forever, when the front door bangs open and Georgie comes stumbling in, Simon in tow, and weighed down by a truly staggering number of Selfridges bags that Roy knows for a fact are filled with every single piece of skincare Jamie has deemed necessary for optimal wedding-day glow factor.
“Roy!” Georgie cries, depositing her bags on the stairs and hurrying into the sitting room. Jamie slides off his lap, his blush returning at his mother catching them in the position. “What are you still doing here, love? Your wedding’s in less than twenty-four hours, you can’t be seeing each other!”
Roy holds up his hands, placating, and presses one more quick kiss to the side of Jamie’s head before standing. “I was just heading out,” he promises. “Let me grab a bag and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Good lad,” Georgie smiles, and Roy rolls his eyes, fond, and ducks to kiss her cheek.
He and Simon exchange a nod and a smile, and then he takes the stairs two at a time to pop into their bedroom. He grabs his suit bag, another thing he’d needed sorted quickly but if there’s one thing money can buy, it’s a rush tailoring job, and tosses a few toiletries and pajamas into a duffel bag. He’s just about to head back out the door, phone pulled up to a hotel near the venue, but nearly topples into the solid brick wall that is Jamie, materialized at the entry to their room.
“What-” he starts, but then Jamie’s lips are on his, his arms thrown over Roy’s shoulders. Roy drops his suit and duffel to pull Jamie tighter to him, melting easily into the heat of his body and the taste of his tongue, still sweetened from the sugary coffee he indulged in earlier.
When Jamie pulls back, his shyness from minutes earlier has been replaced by his typical mega-watt grin, his whole face lit up with the force of it.
“We’re getting married tomorrow,” he says. “Babe, we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Roy says, voice rough with the kissing or the feeling - he’s not sure which, and he doesn’t care to investigate too much further. “Yeah, we are, baby.”
“I love you,” Jamie says, simple, and presses one more quick kiss to Roy’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And, Roy thinks to himself, every day after that, too.
–
Nothing Rebecca ever does is half assed, and the micromanagement of the florist and venue and caterer is no exception. It’s as gorgeous as Roy thought it would be, a lush forest of greenery transforming the chic restaurant they chose as the venue into something straight from one of the wedding magazines Jamie’s had littering their house the last several months.
The crowd has already started filtering in, all of the team and their dates, Phoebe and his sister, Keeley and her new girlfriend. Roy stands near the entrance, greeting everyone as they filter in, and his nerves feel raw and frayed as the clock ticks closer and closer to the actual ceremony. His sister raises her eyebrows at him, silently asking if he’s alright, and he nods to her, acknowledging that yes, he’s fine. His suit fits perfectly, something he knows Jamie will be thrilled with, and a white orchid is pinned on his lapel, identical to the one Jamie will have on his own.
The realization that this is real , that this is happening, keeps sinking deeper and deeper into him, nerves about forgetting his vows and talking about his feeling in front of everyone they know melting into a giant ball in his stomach, eased only by the fact that in thirty minutes, he will finally, finally see Jamie. They’ve not spent a night apart in ages, other than when Jamie has to spend time training with the national team. Sleep was fitful last night at best, horrible at worst, tossing and turning in a seemingly endless and empty bed. The only thing rocking him to sleep through the night is the knowledge that they’ll never have to spend another night apart.
Above the nerves though, above the lack of sleep and the jitters of professing his love in front of a crowd, is that today, and every day after, everyone will know that Jamie is his, and more than that, he’s Jamie’s. It settles him, keeps his feet planted on the ground and his focus on the now, on smiling at their guests and thanking them all for coming. He’s no idea what Jamie’s wearing, his little idiot having kept his outfit entirely underwraps, but the image of Jamie smiling at him as he glides down the aisle, Georgie on his arm, replays on loop in his head just as it did when he realized he wanted - no, needed - to propose to him.
By the time Beard leans over and whispers in Roy’s ears that the ceremony needs to start, he’s ready.
In an unsurprising turn of events, Beard is, of course, ordained by the Church of England to perform wedding ceremonies, a revelation Roy learned when he put this whole plan into motion and was too used to Beard’s seemingly endless qualifications to question much. He walks down the aisle beside his sister and Phoebe, looking straight ahead, his heart hammering his throat. Some pop song instrumental plays as he does - one Jamie insisted would be perfect for Roy’s entrance into the ceremony, and while he doesn’t know the song, the thought of Jamie once again keeps him calm, even as his pulse feels like it’s about to burst his skin open.
He kisses his sister and Phoebe each on the cheek, before leading them to their seats in the front row, ride before Simon before walking up the small platform they’re using as an altar. He and Beard exchange a look, and his assistant coach’s eyes are already watery as he smiles at Roy, who represses the urge to roll his eyes. For all that he’s caught up in his feelings about the day, about being with Jamie forever, he knows for certain he’s not going to start fucking crying in front of everyone, for fuck’s sake-
The music changes, and Roy’s breath catches in his throat.
Jamie looks like a vision as he starts walking towards him, his eyes trained straight on Roy even as his teammates and friends and their ever-growing found family all beam right at him. He’s dressed in head to toe white, the dramatic prick, a suit that fits him so well it may as well have been sewn straight onto him. The orchid pinned to his jacket is framed by a delicate bundle of greenery, and Roy is sure Georgie looks spectacular as ever on his arm, but he can’t pull his gaze away from his fiance - soon to be husband - love of his fucking life headed in a beeline towards him.
Time stops altogether, the clicking of cameras and the song playing in the background all falling silent in Roy’s ears as he stares straight back at Jamie. The sight of him slows down Roy’s racing heart, the blood in his veins settling down, nerves forgotten because this - this is Jamie. His Jamie. The only person on the planet worth replanning a 200,000 pound wedding for. The person Roy will go to the ends of the Earth for, time and time again, no matter how many times he’s asked. The person - the only person - Roy will ever want to spend the rest of his life with.
He knows Beard says something when Jamie finally, finally reaches them, but Roy’s too busy kissing Georgie’s cheek and taking Jamie’s hands in his own to notice. The crowd titters around them, surely at some joke Beard’s made, but all Roy sees is the incandescent glow of the candlelight around them bouncing off of Jamie’s blue eyes, still trained straight on him, and all he feels, all that keeps him tethered to Earth and assured that this moment isn’t a dream, are Jamie’s warm, big hands between his own.
“Roy,” Beard says, breaking his reverie. “I believe you prepared a few words to share with Jamie?”
Roy nods and swallows, throat gone thick. He sucks in a shaky breath and can’t help the smile tugging on his lips at the reassuring squeeze Jamie gives to his hands.
“I love you, Jamie,” Roy says, simple. True. “Even though I used to think you were the absolute worst prick on the planet.” The crowd laughs again, and Jamie rolls his eyes, blushing. “But I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong,” he continues. “And if you let me, I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make you happy. You make me…better,” Roy pauses, sucking air back into his lungs, and can hear the way his voice quivers, but if he cries, who’s going to do anything about it? This is for him and Jamie, and them alone. “You make me a man I can finally be proud of, and I hope you are, too. I love you,” he says again, and he can see the tears shining in Jamie’s eyes, too. “And there’s no one in the world I’m more honored to call mine.”
“Jamie?” Beard prompts, his own voice watery.
“I’m not good with words, and everyone knows that, but I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was, Roy,” Jamie starts, then pauses to cough, the first tear slipping down his cheek. Roy untangles on of their hands to brush it away and Jamie smiles again, leaning into the touch. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life loving you, if I’ve anything to say about it. Swear down, and all. I still can’t believe that in like, thirty seconds, I get to be your husband. Fuckin’ mad, innit?” he blushes at the swear slipping out, mumbling a quick sorry pointed in Georgie and Phoebe’s direction. “You’re my favorite person, ever, and you’re my hero, and it’s nothing to do with footie or anything like that. You’re my hero because you’re Roy. And I love you.”
The dam behind Roy’s eyes threatens to burst and he clenches his jaw, trying to fight it, but when Jamie looks at him, sweet and open and bashful, he can’t keep fighting the tears and allows a few to fall. Jamie lets out a small coo and mirrors Roy, reaching up to brush them away. The rest of the ceremony is a haze, his only focus on Jamie, and when they slide the rings onto their fingers, each promising with an earnest I do , he rushes to kiss him before Beard can even tell him he’s allowed to. And fuck Beard, and fuck the tradition and the rules and everything else, because right now, in this moment, Jamie fucking Tartt is his husband, now and forever, and Roy figures that means he can kiss that gorgeous face whenever he damn well likes.
The crowd behind them cheers, and when Jamie pulls away, it’s like someone has turned the volume back on high and Roy hears all of them. They both join hands once again, looking out at their family and friends, and Jamie lifts their arms up over their heads, shouting some nonsense like We did it! , and Roy lets him, unable to keep the grin overtaking his entire face.
The rest of the night passes quickly, a rush of music and dinner and laughter, almost every member of the team standing to give a toast, Georgie sobbing into both of their arms as she tells them over and over how happy she is for them. Simon gives them each a hug and presses champagne into their hands. Phoebe comes over and sits with them during dinner, chattering on about how happy she is that Jamie can finally really be her uncle, and with every well-wish, with every congratulations and smile and hug and kiss, Roy feels the happiness sweeping through him. Jamie stays within arm’s reach the whole night, and Roy can’t seem to keep his hands off him - his husband .
At some point, they manage to slip out from the merrymaking to stand on the impressive terrace shooting off from the restaurant, all of London laid out below them. Flower petals are scattered on the floor, and there are certainly going to be extra cleaning bills from the drinks and food spilled on the floor by a group of overexcited footballers, but Roy finds he doesn’t care much, not when Jamie tucks himself into Roy’s side and one of Roy’s arms finds its natural place around him.
“Thank you, babe,” Jamie whispers, leaning into Roy’s shoulder.
Roy tightens the arm around his waist. “For what?”
“For making this happen,” Jamie says, looking up at him with those wide, gorgeous eyes. “For being the best. For marrying me. Take your pick, I suppose.”
“I’d do anything for you,” Roy says. “I’d throw together a hundred weddings, if that’s what you wanted. Let’s get married in every country in the world.”
Jamie’s nose crinkles. “Not Siberia?” he asks. “Fuckin’ cold, innit?”
“I’ll keep you warm,” Roy promises, pressing a kiss into Jamie’s carefully styled hair.
A little hum slips past Jamie’s lips, content. “Yeah, you’re always fucking hot.”
“Muppet,” Roy says, not even trying to keep the fondness from his voice.
They stay like that, leaning into each other and looking between the skyline and their loved ones, and Roy is just about to lean in to give Jamie the first proper snog of their married life when Dani comes bursting out, grabbing them both by the arm to pull them back into the fray. In another circumstance, Roy might be annoyed, or even mad, at being interrupted, but watching Jamie smile with his friends, the love of his life a beacon of light drawing every person to him, he finds he doesn’t mind too much.
After all, they’ve got time.