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The problem with being surrounded by love, Jamie Tartt decides on a random Thursday after practice, is that it's a constant reminder of when you don’t have yourself. The be-all-end-all to life on earth, if those trashy romance novels his mum read wanted you to believe anything.
He can see it in the faces of his teammates as they putter around the locker room, their chatter fizzing over his skin like the first rain of summer. Sam has whatever’s going on with the head chef at his new restaurant. Colin has his new man- Micah- or whatever the fuck his name is. Richard has his revolving door of supermodels. Even Jan Maas has a partner back home he’s mentioned proposing to in a few months. It’s all incredibly disgusting, in Jamie’s humble opinion.
He can scoff and roll his eyes, make faux-gagging noises at every saccharine display of affection he lays his eyes on. It doesn’t bother him, being alone. Really. By now, he’s used to it.
Then Roy and Keeley break up, Ted’s ex-wife is dating their ex-relationship therapist, and Jamie starts to believe that maybe romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
_______
They’re at some club in Brighton, celebrating a win in the only way they know how: with loud, eardrum-shattering music, copious amounts of cocktails (or, in Richard’s case, an entire bottle of wine), and each other. Jamie wouldn’t have it any other way.
Some bass-heavy pop song blasts from the industrial speakers to Jamie’s left. Colorful lights sweep across the faces of his teammates- his friends- as they dance and sing, shedding off the stress the match had built up in all of them.
Jamie knows he played well. He scored a brace, for fuck’s sake. His teammates were fine too, he supposes. Sam set him up perfectly for both goals, Zoreaux made some clutch saves, and Dani? Well, if you asked Jamie after a few piña coladas, Dani always played perfectly.
Speaking of Dani. He’s to Jamie’s right, glass half-full of some sugary concoction that was an alarming shade of blue held aloft over his head. His shirt- still blue, but far less garish- hangs loosely over his shoulders, not a single button fastened.
As far as Jamie knows, Dani doesn’t have any romantic partner in his life either. Unlike Jamie, on the other hand, he’s fairly certain Dani doesn’t hate-watch Richard Curtis movies on the weekends like his life depended on it.
In another life, one where Jamie was a bit braver and a bit less stubborn, he would be the Hugh Grant to Dani’s Julia Roberts.
“Jamie Tartt!” Dani crows over the music, gesturing wildly for Jamie to come join him, Richard and Sam on the makeshift stage in the corner of the club.
And who was Jamie to refuse? He pushes through the crowd, and lets Dani haul him up onto the platform. Dani reigns him in close, their hands still clasped together.
“For you,” Dani says, his lips right by Jamie’s ear. His long hair tickles Jamie’s cheek, something Jamie had imagined in a very different context on multiple occasions when he would lay awake in a bed far too large for one person, nothing to keep himself occupied except his own thoughts.
Dani places his drink in Jamie’s hand. “I know how much you like blue curaçao,” he chirps. “I have had too much already.” He sticks out his tongue, which is the same color as the lights streaking over his cheekbones.
Jamie stares down at the drink, then back up at Dani’s grinning face. The music switches to something by Lady Gaga. Jamie downs the contents of the glass, shoves it into the hands of a random passerby, and throws himself into the fray.
_______
Much to his surprise, Jamie was the first person Colin chose to invite out to meet his partner. They’d grown closer, he supposes, due to a mutual appreciation for Love Island and a mutual disdain for Richmond’s latest golden boy Zava. Colin got benched, and Jamie got his thunder stolen. It’s trying times for both of them.
He meets the pair at a restaurant Colin’s man selected in Shoreditch- he knows the owner, Colin explained- and loiters by the entrance as he waits for them to arrive. He doesn’t have to wait long as Colin soon appears, a thin man about their age trailing behind him.
“Jamie, this is Michael,” Colin says, the nerves in his voice so thick Jamie could practically see them clouding around his face. “Michael, Jamie.”
“Lovely to officially meet you,” Michael-not-Micah says smoothly. He holds out his hand for Jamie to shake.
“Likewise, mate,” Jamie says, taking Michael’s hand. “I just had to meet the fella Colin won’t shut up about.” Colin goes bright red and swats Jamie’s shoulder. “I only speak the truth,” Jamie says airily, and ushers them towards their table.
“I’ll be right back,” Colin says once their orders had been placed and drinks had been fetched from the bar. He places a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and shoots Jamie a knowing look. “Be nice,” he warns, then trots off towards the toilets.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Jamie mutters, slouching down in his chair. He is nice. He’s a ray of bloody sunshine.
“I heard all about you, you know,” Michael says once Colin is out of earshot, folding his arms and giving Jamie an incredulous look. “Who calls someone a jaundiced worm?”
Jamie scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “Someone who hasn’t been morally reformed, obviously.” He gestures to himself. “Unlike yours truly.”
Michael looks wholly unconvinced. “Right. And how’s being ‘morally reformed’ going for you?”
“Pretty fucking fantastic, actually,” Jamie mutters, avoiding Michael’s gaze. He’s making it rapidly apparent that he isn’t Jamie’s biggest fan. That’s fine. Jamie doesn’t need everyone to like him.
(That was a lie. He absolutely does.)
The table falls silent. Michael picks up his phone and starts scrolling. Jamie tilts his head up to inspect a tastefully exposed pipe on the ceiling and prays for a meteor to come crashing through the restaurant to take him out of his misery.
“So, Jamie,” Michael says, snapping Jamie back to reality. “Are you seeing anyone?”
No, Jamie thinks, and I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with me. I can’t hold down a relationship, I’m scared of admitting my feelings to anyone, and seeing you and Colin makes me incredibly jealous. I think deep down I’m really quite lonely, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Instead, he says: “nah. Too busy for that.” The mask of bravado stays on, and Jamie’s facade remains undamaged.
“Huh,” Michael says, his tone switching from unconvinced to disinterested. “Okay then.”
Jamie peeks behind his shoulder, just to make sure Colin hasn’t snuck back from the toilets yet. If he wants to get this out, it better be now. “Let me tell you something, Mikey. And I’m only going to say this once. If you do anything- and I mean anything- to mess with Colin’s precious little heart, you’ll have a gang of professional footballers hunting you down for the rest of your life.” He leans across the table, putting his face close to Michael’s. “And I’ll be at the front of the pack.” He taps the back of Michael’s hand with his pointer finger. “Got that?”
Michael meets his gaze, and holds steady. “Colin’s safe with me,” he says. “You have my word.”
Satisfied with that response, Jamie leans back in his chair. “He better be.”
Miraculously, Colin decides at that moment to reappear and slip back into his chair. “Lovely to see you’re both still alive,” he says.
“Ye of little faith,” Jamie gasps, pressing a hand over his heart. He heard Coach Beard use that phrase once. He prays this is the right context for it.
Then their food arrives, and it’s the best meal Jamie’s had in some time.
_______
“So? What do you think?” Colin’s eyes are wide, brows raised in anticipation. It’s a nice feeling, Jamie muses, having someone care about your opinion.
Jamie glances over at Michael, who’s chatting to the restaurant receptionist about getting them a car. Colin had, probably for the best, forgone his Lambo for the evening. He thinks back to all of their exchanged looks, their soft smiles, their fingers interlaced underneath the table. It was all incredibly sweet, in that sort of rom-com way that turns your insides to mush.
God, maybe Jamie does want that for himself. Coach Beard was right. He was a complete hypocrite.
“He’s great, man,” Jamie says, and for the first time in quite a while he’s being completely genuine. “I’m really happy for ya.” He slings an amicable arm around Colin’s shoulder. “You deserve it.”
Colin’s entire face lights up, and he grins. “Really?”
Jamie knocks his hip into Colin’s. “Really.”
_______
Things spiral out of control from there.
Jan Maas’ partner visits for the week, and the bastard has the audacity to propose to her at the end of practice. In the dressing room. Right underneath Ted’s crooked ‘ believe’ sign. Jamie hadn’t even unlaced his boots yet.
Tears were shed. Higgins gave a speech. Richard sprayed the contents of his water bottle like it was filled with champagne. Dozens of photos were taken, undoubtedly spread across every known social media platform.
Jamie can’t be upset. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Jan’s partner Anika is a lovely woman, some sort of dog doctor, and they seem destined to live out a long, disgustingly happy life together.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Dani asks, wiping at his eyes. Most of the tears from the evening had been his. He’s taken a seat next to Jamie, and they watch as Jan spins Anika across the locker room.
“Sure,” Jamie says listlessly, picking at a stray thread on his sweatshirt. He’s not really in the mood to discuss romance with anyone, least of all Dani. This crush ( God, Jamie hated that word; what was he, twelve years old?) was majorly fucking with his head.
That gets Dani’s attention. He’s got a radar for people’s emotions like fucking Baymax. “Do you not think so?” he questions, frowning in Jamie’s direction.
“It’s not that,” Jamie backpedals, dismissing Dani’s question with a wave of his hand. “It’s just…” he sighs, and stares down at his trainers. “Guess I’m just wondering when it’ll be my turn, that’s all.”
“I see.” Dani chews his lip, lost in thought. “You cannot let this dictate your worth, Jamie. Just because your alma gemela has yet to reveal themselves, doesn’t mean they never will. I haven’t found mine yet, either. But we’re both great on our own, are we not?”
Maybe it could be me, Jamie thinks, but doesn’t dare say aloud. Maybe I’m your alma-whatever. “That’s actually incredibly reassuring, Dani,” he says, and Dani grins.
He pats Jamie’s chest once, twice. “Of course, Jamie Tartt. That’s what I’m here for.”
_______
Whenever Jamie is in desperate need of advice, or just someone to talk to, there’s really only a single viable option. So that’s how he finds himself in the office of one Keeley Jones on his day off, graciously accepting the glass of champagne she offers him.
“What can I do for you, Jamie?” Keeley asks, settled down behind her desk with her own glass.
“Just wanted to check up on you, that’s all,” Jamie mumbles, and flops down onto her couch. “We’re friends, right? Friends help each other through break ups and shit.”
Keeley smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s lovely, Jamie, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I don’t get it,” Jamie says, snagging one of Keeley’s fluffy pink pillows and holding it against his stomach. “You were perfect together. It was kind of gross, actually.” He pauses, and feels a wave of guilt crash over his shoulders. “He’s way better than me, that’s for sure.”
Keeley sighs, and sets her glass down. “We just weren’t right for each other, Jamie. That’s all.”
“And you and Roy?” Jamie asks, meeting her gaze.
Keeley chews at her lip, but doesn’t respond.
“I like Dani,” Jamie says, when the silence has stretched on for far too long. Keeley would’ve worked the truth out of him eventually. Might as well do it himself.
A grin splits across Keeley’s face, obviously relieved at the change in subject. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Jamie huffs, his face heating. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
Keeley clasps her hands together, and leans across her desk. “Are you going to say anything?”
“Fuck no,” Jamie scoffs. “Why would I do that?”
Keeley snorts. “Oh I dunno, maybe because he looks at you like you’ve just hung the moon and stars?”
“He’s Dani. He looks at everyone like that,” Jamie objects.
“Right. I’m sure he does,” Keeley says, that smug look on her face that Jamie was all too familiar with out in full force. “You were never this nervous around me. You really do like him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, and he can’t help but start to smile himself. “I really do.”
_______
Ted has them running a complex shooting drill when it all comes to a head.
“The fuck you mean you’ve never seen Notting Hill?” Jamie protests, his boot catching awkwardly in the grass. The shot goes wide, skimming the top of the crossbar. “Everyone’s seen that movie. Have you even heard of Richard Curtis?”
Dani shrugs, and chips his shot into the top left corner. “Is it that big of a problem for you, Jamie?”
“Yes!” Jamie splutters, foregoing the shooting drill entirely in favor of directing all of his attention towards Dani. “Sam, back me up.”
“Jamie’s right. Notting Hill is a classic,” Sam agrees, passing a ball wide to Isaac who easily lobs it into the back of the net. “Though I personally prefer Bridget Jones’s Diary.”
“As much as I love debates on romantic comedies, gentlemen,” comes Ted’s ever-cheerful voice from the sidelines, “let’s focus on the drill, yeah?” He pauses for a moment. “ Love Actually is his best work, though.”
There’s a few murmurs of agreement from his teammates save for Zoreaux, who firmly sticks by Four Weddings and a Funeral. Dani, on the other hand, still looks completely lost.
“That’s it,” Jamie says, clapping him on the shoulder. “This weekend, you’re getting a rom-com crash course.”
Dani gets that determined glint in his eye usually reserved for the pitch. “I am ready to learn, Jamie.”
“Attaboy, Dani.” Jamie turns to his teammates. “Any suggestions?”
The cacophony is immediate and overwhelming. The title of probably every single romantic comedy released in the past twenty years is shouted, some more often than others. Someone- Jamie thinks it’s Bumbercatch- mentions something about a spreadsheet. Sam is shouting about Letterboxd, whatever that is, and Ted is grinning like the entire debacle is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.
Then Beard blows on his whistle, barking at them to get back to the drill, and the debate is dropped. Until practice is over and they’re all crowded in the locker room, where it picks up right where it left off.
Jamie finds Roy in the hallway after his teammates have all cleared out. “ The Princess Diaries better be on your list, Tartt,” he mutters as they pass by one another, and then continues on to his office.
_______
Dani arrives the next evening at five on the dot, arms laden with takeout bags. They arrange themselves on the couch with their meals- vindaloo for Dani and kadhi for Jamie- and switch on the first movie.
They start with Casablanca at Ted’s insistence. The Princess Diaries is next, since Jamie is just a bit scared of what Roy might do to them if they don’t. It’s quickly followed by Dirty Dancing, 13 Going On 30, then The Proposal, and by the time the opening credits to Notting Hill fly across Jamie’s television screen it’s nearing two in the morning.
On screen, Julia Roberts’ head lays in Hugh Grant’s lap as he thumbs through a novel. It’s a scene Jamie has seen dozens of times - countless, even - yet this time, with Dani’s thigh pressed up against his, it doesn’t give Jamie the overwhelming sense of his heart threatening to rip itself out of his chest.
“If you’d like to be more comfortable,” Dani remarks, gesturing to the TV, “I am happy to be Hugh Grant.”
“Who says I want to be Julia Roberts?” Jamie asks, shooting Dani a sideways grin.
Dani pats his lap invitingly. “You share her confidence. And her kindness,” he says, and shit, who was Jamie to argue with that? He swings his legs up and over the arm of the couch, and leans back until he’s nestled against Dani’s legs. His view of the screen is now partially blocked by the coffee table; but it’s not like Jamie cares. He stopped paying attention a while back.
“Thank you for showing me this, Jamie,” Dani says, his fingers scratching across Jamie’s scalp. “I can tell it’s important to you.” He’s peering down at Jamie, all smiles as per usual, and in Jamie’s mind there’s really only one move from here.
He taps Dani’s elbow and raises an eyebrow. A silent question. When Dani doesn’t move away- in fact, Jamie gleefully notices, he leans in even closer- Jamie takes the leap of faith and nudges their lips together. About time indeed.
It’s a bit awkward, given their unconventional positions on the couch. But Dani’s lips are warm, his hand warm and reassuring on the back of Jamie’s neck. He’s holding Jamie’s face so gently, so reverently, Jamie doesn’t even think twice about whether or not he deserves it. He knows he does.
“Pause the movie,” Jamie murmurs against Dani’s lips. Dani fumbles for the remote and the room goes blissfully silent, and Jamie takes it as an opportunity to climb into Dani’s lap. He slides his fingers into Dani’s hair, relishing in the breathy sound the move coaxes from Dani’s throat.
“Jamie,” Dani whispers, his hands sliding down to Jamie’s hips. “Jamie, please.”
“What was that word you used the other day? Alma something?” Jamie groans as Dani’s mouth skims across his neck.
Dani’s lips twitch in amusement. “ Alma gemela?”
Jamie grins. “Yeah, that. I reckon you might be mine.”
Dani blinks up at him in surprise, and then that smile of his Jamie holds so close to his heart breaks out in full force. He kisses Jamie again, and pulls them both down onto the couch.
“Okay,” Jamie says, a bit breathless once they break apart, feeling all warm and tingly with Dani’s weight on top of him. “You’re definitely Hugh Grant.”
_______
“Oi, Dani,” Colin says as they’re changing for practice the next day. “Which film did you like the most?”
Dani locks eyes with Jamie across the room, and sends him a small, private smile. “I was enjoying Notting Hill,” he says to Colin as he tugs on a shinguard. “I got distracted halfway through, though. I’ll have to find another time to finish it.”
Colin hums in approval and goes back to his boots, and Jamie makes a mental note to tell him about Dani later. If anyone will understand, it’s Colin.
They never do finish Notting Hill, but Dani doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, Jamie doesn’t either. They have way better ways to spend their time now.