Chapter Text
Shutterbug: Do you ever feel like no one really knows you?
SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes. Most of the people I interact with are fucking idiots.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Has something prompted this existential crisis?
Shutterbug: My friends. And work. Everything.
SirSwears-a-Lot: It’s hard to be vulnerable with people.
SirSwears-a-Lot: In the effort to respond to honesty with honesty, I’ve recently been struggling with the question: What the hell am I doing?
Shutterbug: I’m about to start a new job and I’m questioning every decision I’ve ever made.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Same.
You were trying to navigate your way through the AFC Richmond building when you spotted a familiar blonde ponytail down the hallway.
“Keeley!”
Keeley squealed your name when she turned around to see you.
“EEEEEE! I’m so excited that you’re here!” She shouted as she ran toward you at full speed before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck tightly as you spin her in a little circle.
To this day you weren’t sure how you’d ended up being best friends with Keeley Jones.
You’d met on a commercial set when you were an assistant to the photographer and Keeley as the talent for the shoot had charmed your pants off.
Not literally. You two didn’t have that kind of relationship. No matter how often Keeley joked about wanting to shag you.
But Keeley’s uncanny ability to befriend anyone and everyone she met had worked on you. Despite being the model-slash-acress-social media star at the center of the commercial she took the time to ask you your name, understand what your job was, and pepper you with personal and ranndom questions.
And as an unmoored creative professional in London, you’d latched onto Keeley as a familiar face in the circles you both ran in (Well, circles that Keeley ran in and you sort of loitered on the outskirts of with your camera).
And when the two of you’d walked in on her boyfriend at the time shagging the executive for the brand you two were working on the shoot for, she’d slapped him clear across the face (the boyfriend, not the executive, you both wanted to continue working). And you’d let her move in with you until she could figure out what she was going to do next.
It had bonded you together for life.
Which is how she’d managed to rope you into taking AFC Richmond’s promo photos despite your strong anti-sport stance.
You were easily swayed by the Keeley Jones pout. And the promise of a well-paying job.
“Ted! Roy! This is my friend-slash-photographer-extraordinaire,” Keeley called out to two men in Richmond jackets that made their way over to you, introducing you all to each other. They both looked a little too old to be players so you assumed they were coaches. “She’s going to be the photographer for the promo shoot tomorrow.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m excited to work with the team,” You tell them as you reach out to shake their hands.
“Pleasure to meet an old pal of Keeley’s,” The one with the mustache, Ted, replies as he shakes your hand eagerly.
“Oh! You’re American!” You exclaim in surprise.
“Yes, we are,” Ted replies with a small chuckle. “But I promise we have nothing but the utmost respect for the game y’all call football.”
“I’m not really a football fan to be honest,” You admit with a shrug.
You don’t necessarily have anything against the game itself. But the fact that the world pours billions of dollars into an industry built around boys kicking balls around seems silly to you. Especially considering the way some fans of the game react – hooliganism, riots, bar fights, increased rates of domestic violence after matches – it all seems like a waste.
“Roy! this is the photographer for the shoot tomorrow,” Keeley tells a man with a head of dark curls and a deep frown etched into his stubble.
You can’t help but give him the once over. It’s part of the artistic nature of your work, you’re always scanning people for their best angles, natural beauty, etcetera, that you might want to work with when you’re shooting.
And he’s pretty. In that gruff, grumpy mountain man kind of way.
“Nice to meet you,” You greet him with a smile as you hold out your hand to him. “Are you a player?”
“Do I look like I’m a fucking player?” He grumbles at you before he pushed between you and Keeley and walks into the locker room.
“Excuse me?!” You shout after him, completely taken aback by the rudeness you’d just been faced with.
“You’ll have to excuse Roy,” Keeley tells you with an apologetic smile. “He wakes up on the wrong side of the bed, well, every morning.”
“Right,” You reply with a glance over your shoulder in the direction he stalked off to.
“Since he’s not a player at least I don’t have to work with him,” You add with a halfhearted smile. Trying to play the optimist for the sake of your professionality.
Keeley’s eyes widen slightly when you say that and what smile you had managed drops off your face completely.
“Um…” She mutters.
“What?” You groan.
“He’s one of the other coaches,” Keeley tells you apologetically as she purses her lips at you.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” You grumble.
“Fucking dick,” You mutter under your breath as Keeley leads you down the hallway, explaining what the team owner, Rebecca Welton, is looking for brand-wise from these promotional photos.
Shutterbug: Why are men such assholes?
SirSwears-a-Lot: I feel like you’re expecting me to defend my gender but I honestly can’t.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Men are pricks.
Shutterbug: Agreed. This guy I met for part of my new job was a complete and total dick to me today for absolutely no reason. If I didn’t like getting paid I would have gone full psycho bitch on his ass. See how he liked that.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I would pay good money to see that.
Shutterbug: I did meet another guy at this job today who was actually a really nice guy, like unnaturally nice.
Shutterbug: And you’re nice.
Shutterbug: So I guess #NotAllMen.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I’m not nice.
Shutterbug: Yeah, you are.
Shutterbug: You let your niece help you come up with your dating app profile.
Shutterbug: And if you weren’t a nice guy you wouldn’t let me complain to you all the time.
SirSwears-a-Lot: I complain back to you so it’s really an even exchange. Plus most of your stories are hilarious.
Shutterbug: Well, I do usually like my work.
Shutterbug: But my pro tip of the day: don’t work with athletes.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Noted.
“Hiya,” Ted greets you as you stand in the middle of the locker room on your phone.
You’re so engrossed in your text argument with Bantr boy about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza that you jump slightly at the sudden noise.
“Ope, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Ted apologizes.
“Oh, it’s fine, I just got wrapped up in a text conversation,” You tell him with a shrug as you tuck your phone back into your pocket and smile back at Ted.
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Ted asks curiously.
“Just a guy,” You tell him.
Ted nods for you to continue. Something you’ve almost never had someone, especially not a guy do to you in a professional context.
“Well, I’m on Keeley’s app. I figure at least one of us deserves to have success. Even if it’s professional and not personal.”
“You’re a good friend,” Ted interjects.
“And I have been flirting with one guy who’s actually funny. And intelligent. It probably won’t go anywhere but it’s fun to have someone to chat with who doesn’t know who I am.”
“I can’t say I understand the appeal of that sort of anonymity, what if you’re chatting with a serial killer? Or a homophobe? Or someone who hates pizza?” Ted replies. “But then again, I’m not young and hip.”
“It’s a valid perspective,” You reply with a nod. “I’m honestly not even sure if he would like me. If we ever met, I mean, I don’t know if I’m his type.”
“Well, you’re an absolute delight, I can’t imagine a single guy who wouldn’t like you, unless he hates, I don’t know, happiness and joy,” Ted tells you.
“Thanks, Ted,” You reply.
“Anything else I can help ya with?” Ted asks as he slaps his hands down on his thighs. “Got any of those big heavy lights you need moved around?”
“The lights actually aren’t that heavy,” You tell him with a burst of laughter. “I think I’m just about set up here. Just waiting on your team and then we can get started.”
Shutterbug: What’s your type?
SirSwears-a-Lot: Why do you ask?
Shutterbug: Maybe I’m getting plastic surgery so that I can look like it.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Whatever you look like, you’re my type.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Unless you’re actually my boss catfishing me.
SirSwears-a-Lot: In which case, fuck you.
Shutterbug: Damn. You’ve caught me!
You couldn’t wait for this job to be over.
The team was actually easy. Other than a few players who tried to tell you about their best angles (Jamie Tartt had insisted that you needed to only shoot him from the left and seemed unable to not smolder during the shoot which was… an interesting choice), the solo shots of the players had been a breeze.
But these coaches were a whole different beast.
Ted was happy, almost eager to take your direction.
But the other three?
Coach Beard hardly spoke during the entire interaction and refused to smile but his pictures came out fairly decent.
Nathan Shelley was so nervous and fidgety it took you ages to take the photos because he kept breaking the poses to ask you if he was doing alright.
Roy Kent was impossible.
“You have to stay in the pose,” You grumbled as you pushed past your lighting rig to re-adjust Roy for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon to.
“I feel fucking stupid in the pose,” Roy grumbled in response.
“Well, you look stupid when you don’t do it,” You shot back.
“Just listen to the nice lady, Roy,” Ted called out, causing a few of the others to chuckle.
Something of a crowd had formed to watch the entire process. Some of the players who were done with training and the rest of the coaches were standing around watching now that their photos were over and you could tell that Roy hated having an audience.
“Shut up!” Roy shouted at them.
You groaned as he broke the angle again.
“Alright, everyone out!” You shout once you’ve finally lost your patience. You shoo at the men. “Everyone!”
Once it was just you and Roy in the room you turned back to him.
“The sooner you do what I tell you to do. The sooner this is all over,” You tell him. “You’re handsome, I don’t understand why you hate getting your photo taken so much.”
Roy didn’t reply with words, he simply grunted at you as you stepped towards him and lifted your hand to gently tilt his face back to the direction you wanted him to face before stepping away.
“There,” You said a minute later once you’d gotten all the shots you would need. “That wasn’t so painful, now was it?”
“Yeah,” Roy grunted again as he pushed through your set-up and disappeared back into the coaches’ office.
You watched him leave with a puff of mild annoyance before you realized that meant that today’s shoot was over and hurried to back up your things.
Shutterbug: Would you ever want to meet up?
You’d gotten to the restaurant too early. After you’d sent that message you’d thrown your phone across the room and tried not to panic.
When you’d finally built up the courage to retrieve your phone you saw that he’d already messaged you back,
SirSwears-a-Lot: Yes.
SirSwears-a-Lot: Friday night? Bacco’s, 7 pm?
You grinned at your phone for a moment before typing your response.
Shutterbug: See you then :)
And you’d been riding on cloud nine for the last few days. You hadn’t told anyone about the date. Not even Keeley. No matter how hopeful you were about this working out, you hated the thought of getting someone else’s hopes up so you decided to keep it a secret.
Just until after the date.
But it also meant that you’d finished up the day’s shoot, gone home to get ready, and somehow ended up at the restaurant thirty minutes before your reservation. So you were standing in the waiting area, trying not to look too pathetic while you scrolled through Instagram.
Every time you heard the door open your eyes would flicker up only to be met with the view of a sweet elderly couple or a group of business partners making their way through the door.
Until you heard to door open and looked up to lock eyes with Roy Kent.
Your eyes widened before you offered him a sarcastic smile.
“I’m waiting for someone,” You tell him in lieu of a greeting.
“Me too,” He replies gruffly.
“Good for you,” You reply with a furrow of your brows.
“Yeah.”
You roll your eyes and look back down at your phone, tapping out a quick message to let him know you’re here. You hit send just as your phone pings with a similar text from him.
You look up to scan the room again just as Roy’s phone buzzes and your eyes lock as you realize that you’re the only two people in the waiting area.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” You groan.
“Fuck,” Roy mutters.