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Chapter Text

4 PM

“That was a fucking shit show!” Roy Kent’s shout heavied the locker room filled with muddy footballers. Everything looked grey. Even the warm overhead lighting seemed to tint blue as rain pattered outside. “We almost won the fucking league and now you shits can’t even do a normal fucking drill?!”

Someone in the room sniffed. Isaac felt his own blocked nose complain. The numbness of his skin started to tingle, imitating the sharp rain that had been poured onto them for hours on end. Storm Agnes was a bitch, coming in to ruin what was supposed to be the only time of year where English weather was anything resembling ‘nice’. Isaac knew the tense statue of his body betrayed it, but he was beyond exhausted. He wasn't alone. Even without forcing his glare up to see, he knew his team looked the same. After all, Roy Kent was right: Training today was a fucking shit show.

“Coach,” Beard reminded, taking charge of the room’s atmosphere with that single word. Isaac guessed at the levelling look their coaches must’ve shared.

“Yeah, alright,” Roy grumbled. “All of you,” he continued, ordering: “Get showered, get home and get some fucking sleep. We do better tomorrow.”

The room whined back: "Yes, coach..."

“What was that?” Beard prompted.

Isaac raised his eyes. With his team, he bellowed, “Yes, coach!”

Roy Kent gave them a nod, before marching off into his office.

The room remained caught in a disappointed silence as the coaches closed their door. Isaac didn’t pity them. Whatever happened over winter break, it was enough to fuck Richmond up. Something in the play was hiccupping. The passes didn’t land, the attempts weren’t goals, and the team wasn’t in sync. Everything they’d learned seemed to have gone, roaring up the dreaded question:

Who were they without Ted Lasso?

“We’re fucking shit,” Roy burst as soon as the door shut.

“Yep,” Beard popped, settling himself into his chair and propping his feet onto his desk.

“How can we be so fucking shit?!”

Beard shrugged, hands clasped calmly in his lap. It frustrated Roy, whose body vibrated from vexation. He should’ve known he couldn’t do this without Lasso. Roy’s not a coach. He doesn’t know how to do strategy. He doesn’t know how to motivate. He doesn’t know shit. “Fuck!” Roy swore, pacing away from Beard so he wouldn’t punch his calm face in.

“It’s the first day,” Beard stated, “They just need to get into the rhythm again.”

“This isn’t about rhythm,” Roy snapped back, spinning around to him. “And it's never been this bad before- not even when I first transferred here.”

Beard didn’t look offended or impressed by Roy’s bite. He sat and studied his fellow coach, letting Roy conclude: “They’re playing like they’re scared.”

He was sure of it: Their passes were uncertain, their attempts were careful, and their teamwork was hesitant. What the hell made them all crawl back into their chickenshit shells? Was it Lasso leaving? Was it Roy becoming manager? Had they lost trust in him? If they ever had any to begin with. And worse- much worse- Were they right not to trust him?

It wasn’t all-around, Roy had to admit. Rojas still played with roaring life, Obisanya remained strong-hearted, and the defence was tight enough. It was somewhere in the middle though, that suffered from this new fear. Throughout their exercises, that indecision had spread over the field. Not even to mention Tartt- from whom Roy had seen great improvement- suddenly playing like he forgot what position he had on the field. Like he’d thought they were playing volleyball and when they weren't, decided to prance along anyway- pretending he knew the rules.

It wasn’t rhythm, Roy was certain. This was fear.

Jamie' brow furrowed as he watched whining rule every aching movement made by his muddy teammates. He scoffed, disbelieving: “It wasn’t that bad.”

The whole room whipped around. Jamie stared back.

“Come off it-”

“Do you seriously-”

“Didn’t you see-”

“I can’t feel my-”

“Lads!” Jamie rose from the bench with placating hands out. “It was only training. And the first one back, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Isaac boomed, standing opposite the room from Jamie with his hands in fists and his face bubbling with fury.

Jamie’s resolve wavered, forcing his voice to pitch higher: “I’m just saying we have time.”

“You’ve never been relegated, bruv-” Isaac started to point. It was never good when Isaac started to point. “Trust us,” he barked, “that shit’s not nothing.”

“No- I know, I’m just saying-”

“How are you not going crazy like the rest of us?” Jan Maas interjected. “You did not score a single goal today.”

Fair enough, he hadn’t. Though he hadn’t really been trying to. Not that there was anything wrong- There wasn’t anything wrong at all. His dad wasn’t bothering him, his mum was happy, everything seemed alright. Still, he was feeling… Off. Days felt long and his mind felt heavy while his bed felt too comfortable. The world was off- all tilted and lonely and wrong- but supposedly everything was just fine?

Like hell- Jamie didn’t trust that one fucking bit. So when the team played like shit, leaving the locker room charged, Jamie relaxed. This he could handle. He smirked at Jan Maas: “I’m just trynna make you feel better about your defence.”

“Our defence is fine,” Jan stated, “It’s you and mid-field that’s the problem.”

“Whoa-” several midfielders roared up. Richard exploded in a furious French ramble- “Je t’emmerde, tête de noeurd!”- jumping up and marching around Colin to gesture in Jan Maas’ face. “Con comme une valise sans poignée-” The Dutchman simply looked bored, murmuring “Ja… Ja…uhuh…”

Thierry clawed his way between the French- and Dutchman. Jamie expected to see the captain break up the scuffle, but Isaac didn’t seem to notice it at all. He was watching Colin. The brunette sat slumped on the bench, staring at the phone in his hand. Jamie watched the captain settle down beside his best mate, asking “You alright?”

Colin flinched, phone disappearing between his knees as he looked up. “Yeah,” he breathed, “Fine.”

The obvious lie was insulting to Jamie. To Isaac, it must’ve been a punch.

Thierry broke up the stand-off, causing Richard to storm back. He reached between Colin and Isaac for his stuff, causing them to scoot away from each other. Richard fumed to himself, yanking clothes from his locker. Colin stared at the floor, studied by Isaac’s hurt eyes.

The training hiccups replayed in Jamie’s mind. He remembered Isaac with the ball looking for an opening but finding nothing. He’d dance around- getting intercepted or passing back or making a painfully hopeful pass forward. Jamie relaxed. Everything wasn’t suspiciously alright. There were problems around and that, Jamie could handle.

Colin was completely out of his tiny depth. Today was his and Michael’s one-year anniversary and…

And nothing.

Michael hadn’t mentioned it, so neither had Colin. Maybe his partner had forgotten. Maybe Colin was supposed to surprise him but that didn’t feel right either. Michael hadn’t been around as much that week. He’d go to bed earlier. Skip dinners. That morning he even left before Colin woke, heading into the office like any other day.

Because it was just any other day. Colin shouldn’t make a big deal of it. It didn’t mean anything. He’d just never been in a relationship this long. Or been in love this long. Or had people know of it- of them- of him. And he should make use of that, right? If he was uncertain about this painful rod between his ribs, questioning whether it was an overreaction or his insecurity or cowardice- He should ask the room, right? Then why did that idea make him want to be sick? When did he start hiding his phone again? And why did Isaac’s lingering eyes make him want to roll his neck and shoulders- shake him off- push him away?

Everything was so very fucked.

Things were looking up, Keeley chirped to herself. She was single- and happy to be. Incredibly happy to be. Her time was her own and she was spending it. Well. She was spending it well. She’d gotten her work for the day done, she’d go see Rebecca, call Ted if he had any time, and maybe go home and cook herself a fancy meal. Or have dinner with Rebecca. Sure, yeah- That sounded nice, right? Sure, it did. After all, things were looking up.

Keeley made quick work of the stairs and knocked on Rebecca’s door. Heels clacked on the other side, approaching together with Rebecca’s ‘business tone’: “And we appreciate your offer but I’m afraid we have to decline-”

The door opened, revealing the tall club owner in all her glory: High heels, slick blue dress, and gorgeous platinum hair as some man rattled through the phone pressed to her ear. Her face brightened when she saw Keeley, leaning in for a quick hug. Keeley returned it, whispering a hushed “Hi!”

Rebecca stepped aside to let her in. “The money is not the issue, Mr. Benedict. Your morals are.”

The man’s voice heightened through the phone line, sputtering away as Keeley walked in. She had to step over a dustpan filled with glass shards to get to the white couch. It must’ve been a long day. Keeley planted her purse on the coffeetable, catching her reflection in Rebecca's tall mirror. Her blonde hair was messier than she'd had it in the morning. Her smile looked tired. Her posture, insecure.

She'd had a long day too.

Rebecca closed the door. “And you have two first names, but you clearly don’t seem to understand that risking your mother’s feelings is a worthy sacrifice for not being named like a fucking cartoon- Mr. Bennett Benedict.” Rebecca hung up, dumping the phone on her desk.

Keeley felt a proper grin lighten her face. She gasped, “What the hell did he say to you, Rebecca?”

“Ugh,” Rebecca breathed dropping herself by Keeley on the couch. “Something about ‘women not understanding that profit means sacrifice’.”

Keeley scrunched up her nose, shivering her disgust. She turned to her purse, fishing out an elastic band to tie her messy hair up. “At least I got to watch you destroy him.” She laughed, “His poor mother.”

“Oh God no- Look I’m all for sisterhood but she’s the one who named him.”

Through her chuckles, Keeley argued: “Maybe his father named him.”

“Oh please!” Rebecca deadpans, “There's no way 'Bennet' grew up with an involved father."

5 PM

So what if Jamie kidnapped them? They knew where they were and the door was technically unlocked. He’d even let them shower and change all in their own time. It was only when they were walking out together that he grabbed them by the collars of their coats and shoved them into the boot room, announcing: “I know it’s you two.”

“The fuck, bruv-”

“Jamie?”

Isaac and Colin readjusted their rumpled coats, glaring up at Jamie from where he'd dumped them on the bench. Jamie crossed his arms, widening his stance to make sure he covered the door. “I fucking well know it’s you two that’s causing this,” he accused.

“Causing what?” Colin whined.

“This. The playing.” 'This weird feeling,' Jamie didn’t say for some reason. He was certain of it though, because they were part of a team, innit? It made sense that Colin and Isaac’s issues were what was affecting him these past weeks. It made sense, but Jamie kept it to himself, choosing to blame his kidnapping on altruism instead: “You’re doing Roy’s head in so you better fucking fix this.”

Isaac grumbled, glowering at Jamie. Colin’s wide eyes blinked- once- twice- before he got up, saying: “I don’t have time for this.” He walked to the door, but Jamie latched onto his arm, stopping him.

"You’re not leaving.”

Colin baffled, stuttering a breath that he might've intentioned as words.

“Neither of you are leaving until you fix this.” Until Jamie’s weird feeling was gone and gone forever.

Isaac sprung up, “What, mate?”

Colin gaped, “You’re mad-”

Jamie let Colin’s arm go, pressing himself against the door. He eyed his former underlings, ordering: “Sit down.”

“Fuck that-”

“You can’t force us-”

“I said,” Jamie yelled over them. “Sit down.”

Isaac and Colin gaped at him. They glanced at each other. “We can take you,” Isaac threatened, sizing Jamie up.

Colin winced, “We can?”

“Bruv-” Isaac spun away from Jamie. Colin hunched down, but at the same time raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“You’d have to knock me out before I’d let you out of here,” Jamie interjected, keeping himself pressed against the exit. “And we all know that I can take a punch.”

That shut them up. Their eyes dropped as their shoulders sagged. They shared a sad glance, communicating something Jamie wasn’t privy to. 

With a final hesitant look at the door, they sat down.

6 PM

“Coach.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m going home.”

“Huh?” Roy forced his eyes away from the screen playing a match of last season. Beard stood halfway out the door with his coat on and his rucksack hanging over his shoulder.

“I’m going home,” Beard repeated, adding: “You should too.”

Roy grunted in response. Beard was probably right. Even Nate had gone home and he usually stayed till the bitter end.

They were far yet from the bitter end.

Roy had barely noted half a page- comparing today’s training to one of their better matches- and all of it seemed like nitpicking. He wasn’t getting anywhere, circling the question: Where was this fucking fear coming from?

Beard sighed. He turned and walked out of the office, calling over his shoulder: “See you tomorrow, coach.”

Roy grunted in response. He returned to the TV that had been rolled in front of his old office. On it, Jamie sunk a goal. The pitch exploded- blue kits taking off to embrace each other. The team jumped, faces bright in a way that had gotten utopically close to normal. The footage cut to the coaches and Roy’s hands found the space bar, freezing the image.

Beard was bent low, mouth open in a victorious roar. Beside him, Ted jumped with a wide grin on his face and fists punching air above his head. Roy stood there too- next to them- arms crossed, feet at the width of his shoulders, and nodding.

What the fuck was he doing here? Coaching? Managing? He didn’t know shit about this. He couldn’t be the positive motivator the team had grown used to. Even back when Roy was with them on the pitch- in the locker room- he’d failed them. He’d stayed distant. He’d stayed angry. How was he supposed to change that now? How could he become the safety that they needed? How could they ever trust him? Combing over any and all the Richmond footage scattered across the internet wouldn't change the truth staring him in the face: The only difference between last season and today, was Ted fucking Lasso.

Roy dropped his head in his hands, bowing to what he wasn’t. What he could never be.

“Rebecca said you’d be down here.”

Roy spun around. In the doorway, he found Keeley Jones.

“It’s been an hour,” Jamie whined. He’d sagged down the door at some point, sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out before him. Colin and Isaac stayed on the bench, arguing about who actually won their FIFA game a couple of nights back. “Can’t you two just shut it and talk about the real problem?”

They turned to him, a humorous glint in each of their gazes. “Nah, bruv, we can’t.”

“Yeah, boyo- d’you want us to shut it or talk?”

Jamie was going to murder them. “Talk. Obviously.”

“That’s what we’re doing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is,” they chorused.

“No- you’re being fucking normal. You always argue about this shit. But something is not normal, because Jan Maas is right. Midfield is fucked because of you.”

Colin’s ears burned red.

“Oi-” Isaac defended his mate.

“The both of you,” Jamie corrected. “You both fucked midfield.”

Isaac’s anger stuttered into confusion. He lifted an arm from his crossed ones to point to himself. “I’m centre-back.”

“Yeah, and you and Colin have always been our most stable line forward. But during training today when you had the ball-” Jamie turned from Isaac to Colin, “you didn’t free yourself up. You run ahead instead. Like you don't think he’ll pass to you.”

“No, I didn't.”

“You did,” Isaac lamented, accusing the floor. It bounced back to Colin all the same, but maybe the indirection would make it more bearable for the Welshman.

It didn’t. Colin turned to Isaac, pinched brow and a wide gaze. His jaw was shut tight.

The indirection wasn’t for Colin, Jamie realised. It was for Isaac, avoiding Colin’s stressed look to add: “And you’ve been hiding your phone from us again.”

“I haven’t,” Colin forced, voice as thin as the lie. Isaac dragged his gaze up, aiming the accusation directly. Colin stuttered under it, glancing away and back and away and- As if by some cruel universal joke, his phone buzzed.

Colin darted for it- turning away with eagerness- only hesitating when it was already out in front of him. He held the screen close to his chest, eyes flickering toward Isaac and Jamie but never reaching them. He seemed to give in, reading the message in secret with his body leaning away from Isaac. The captain didn’t attempt to glance at the screen though, betrayed eyes glaring at the side of Colin’s head instead.

It must’ve been an anticipated message if Colin was willing to betray his lie so easily to read it. As he did, his pose changed. He stopped leaning away, sagging more into himself. His face fell, tension dimming into sadness. With a forced breath, he tucked his phone away.

Isaac’s glare softened. Jamie watched Colin cough, collect himself and look between them. Jamie raised an eyebrow at him. Was he really not going to tell them what that was about? Colin continued glancing, feigned innocence fading for a fake scoff. “It’s nothing,” he insisted.

“Bruv.”

It was Isaac’s final indignation.

Honesty was all he asked of his friends and Jamie knew that was why Colin’s secret had broken them so thoroughly. Privacy never mattered to them as much. Maybe it ought to. Colin shouldn’t have to reveal anything he felt uncomfortable with. Even his coming out should’ve been more firmly his than it was. Whatever was on his phone now should be allowed to remain his. But privacy and lying weren’t opposites. The message on Colin’s phone was not the ‘nothing’ he tried selling it as. If anything, it looked to be everything. And if Colin lied to Isaac about that now, Jamie knew it would be the end of something vital.

“Michael can’t have dinner tonight,” Colin muttered, fidgeting with the zipper of his coat. “That’s all.”

“Keeley,” Roy grunted, adopting a more put-together look that Keeley could easily see through. Rebecca’d been right: Roy was doubting himself. His shoulders were tense and his eyes were red from irritation, underlined by heavy bags. He was still in his coaching uniform, but it looked crinkled. His hair was messy and his beard had a very odd length to it. He must’ve been anxious about today. And it seemed to have gone as bad as he’d feared.

Rebecca had told her how she'd watched the training from her window, wincing. That was after she excited over her date that night- giving Keeley the adress in case she went missing- and before she asked Keeley to have a chat with Roy. Only if she wanted to of course.

What Keeley wanted was to avoid a lonely dinner. If she couldn’t, then she wanted to cook and treat herself to a fancy meal. She wanted to enjoy being single. She wanted to find that it could be fun- not just lonely and scary and new. She wanted to avoid exes who still looked at her in that expectant way, asking questions with double meanings and triple intentions.

But she also wanted to help. She wanted Roy to be alright and to check up on him. She wanted the club to do well. She did- in ways- want to be here, leaning against the entrance of the coaches’ office with an unfamiliar batch of keys in her hand.

She held them up, shaking them and explaining, “Harry’s gone home, so I’ve been given the keys to lock up.”

Roy’s tired eyes blinked as he grumbled: “Is it that late?”

“Only six. It’s just that people usually leave work at five.”

“This isn’t really work.”

‘It is,’ Keeley would argue, except she knew that Roy loved football too much to see it as such. It was why she’d pushed him to take the pundit job. It was why he’d cheered up so much when he came back to Richmond. Back to the pitch. It would be pointless arguing with Roy about whether it was work, so instead Keeley quipped: “Then all of you get paid way too much.”

Roy’s eyes eased- as if the light had been bothering him and Keeley dimmed it. She could feel herself beam in response. She walked into the room, placing her bag onto Beard’s desk and settling into his chair. She flicked her gaze to the TV screen wheeled in front of Roy’s old office.

“That’s a good frame,” Keeley mused, taking in the joy of the three coaches on the screen. She missed Ted. She missed Roy too. She missed the way he smiled with his eyes. He used to look at her exactly like that. Proud. Happy.

“It’s shit.”

“What?” She turned on him, “Are you mad?”

Roy raised his brows, rolling his eyes to the side to look at her. Keeley never understood why he moved like his neck was in a cervical collar, but it was another endearing quirk of his she’d been missing. She covered up the sad flutter of her heart by teasing him: “Are you seeing the same picture I’m seeing? The one with the three joyous men cheering-”

He huffed through his nose, glancing away.

“-that’s the one that’s shit?”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking one,” Roy grunted. “But there’s not three ‘joyous men’, is there? Only two men are cheering and then there’s some dipshit who can’t even fucking smile.”

Keeley followed Roy’s angry gesture back to the screen. Back to a younger Roy Kent with a normal beard length and the proudest look brightening his dark eyes. ‘This isn’t really work,’ he’d said, whilst staying late at the office to agonize over his skills. Well then what must it have been for him on the edge of that pitch, eyes glowing and lips on the comfortable verge of a grin? “You are smiling.”

“Don’t.”

“You look happy.”

“I said-”

“You’re practically glowing.-”

Roy snapped: “Don’t fucking take the piss out of me now!”

Keeley stared at him. Roy avoided meeting her gaze, vibrating with anger. That was another thing about him she’d grown to: When he was still, he was alright. He was a stable and calm presence. It was when he started to bubble- visibly shaking- that meant there was something wrong. And his sudden angry outbursts? Those she missed less.

“I’m not,” she breathed, hoping her wide eyes didn’t look as hurt as she felt. She’d never been good at getting yelled at. Especially not when she was trying to be kind. Genuine.

“You are-” he spat, finally turning to her. His dark gaze hit her before it hesitated. The sharp edges of his face softened as the bubbling anger dwindled. He stilled. “Shit- I’m sorry.” He worked his jaw for a moment, looking like he was going to say more, but he didn’t.

Keeley took it all, breathing in the hurt and the apology and letting them sit heavy on her chest. “I know. It’s okay,” she forgave, giving a tight smile she meant to mean. Keeley wanted to help, but she’d only made it worse. She should leave him alone. That was what he wanted, right? It was why they broke up?

Dragging her eyes away from Roy, Keeley grabbed her bag. “I’ll just leave the keys here, yeah?” she said, aiming for casual but the hoarseness in her throat betrayed her. She stood up, dropping said keys on the desk.

“Keeley…”

The bruised tone around her name forced her eyes back to him. He looked tired. He looked lonely. He looked very similar to when they broke up.

Keeley dragged her lips up, ignoring the stinging behind her eyes and her heavy lungs. “I’ll see you around, Roy.” She left the office without looking back.

Her resolve carried her only to the hallway, where she sank to the floor and hid her face in her hands just in time to catch the tears.

When would she stop feeling so abandoned?

Chapter Text

6:30 PM

“I’ll see you around, Roy.”

And she was gone. Roy’s hand tightened around the TV remote. 

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t motivate. He couldn’t strategize. He couldn’t coach. He couldn’t even recognize kindness from the nicest person he’d ever loved-

“Fuck!” The TV remote launched into the screen, glitching out Roy’s face under cracked glass. The remote clattered to the ground. Ted and Beard remained in their frozen celebration, not knowing of the dark glitch beside them. Even with the break, the cheerful image finally looked genuine.

Keeley deserved better. It was why they had broken up and Roy could live with that. He had to live with that. But what he’d known- What he’d never accepted was that Richmond deserved better too.

He surged up, furious energy pushing him on- into the locker room. His eyes lingered on the second cubby on the right. ‘Obisanya 24’. Once it had read ‘Kent 6’ on the same Greyhound blue. Roy approached it, standing where he often had. He was close enough that the letters and numbers above his head blurred. All that reminded him now that this locker was no longer his, were the items inside: Pictures of Nigerian teams, Sam’s family and friends, and a mirror. The same one that hung in all the cubbies. Roy’s tired face stared back at him. He looked nothing like the player he’d been. Nor the version of him that had been frozen on the TV. He looked decades older here. Decrepit. 

His fist buried itself in the glass, fracturing Roy’s face in the falling shards. A cold wind brushed past him. His fist stung as he pulled it back, dislodging a few more shards that trinkled to the floor. His fury settled in the pain, vicious stinging shooting up his shaking hand. Roy turned it to look over his knuckles. They were bleeding, pieces of glass glimmering more brightly between the blood. “Shit."

The anger had dwindled though- settled in his opened skin- and it only took two acts of vandalism. He turned, eyeing the wound and heading for the bathroom.

A set of sneakers in the way froze him. Roy glanced up from his hand. 

Obisanya stood in the middle of the room, a blank look glazing over his usually kind eyes.

“Obisanya-” Sam’s eyes widened. Roy grumbled, “I thought I told you to go home.”

Obisanya stared at him, rigid and shocked. Right, Roy remembered as spikes flared up from his knuckles, he’d punched the lad’s mirror. “Sorry about that. I’ll get you a new mirror.”

Sam’s wide eyes flickered to it. They settled back on Roy, inhaling and opening his mouth to speak, but then he paused. His face dimmed, gaze flickering to the ground in a sad confusion.

Roy looked over the lad- he seemed fine. He had no apparent injury or teary eyes, but something must be wrong for him to act so odd. So quiet. “You alright?”

Face still stuck in a sad confusion, Sam gave a slow nod.

Roy was about to ask more when a drip on the floor had them looking down. The blood from Roy’s knuckles had traveled down his hand, falling from the tip of his ring finger. “Fuck,” he made a fist with the wounded hand, imagining that the stinging it ignited meant the blood would shut up and stay in. Sam stared at it. “I need to rinse this- Wait here.” Roy marched around Sam to the door. He’d shove it under a tap and get back to the lad- He’d thought, but as he rounded the corner into the hall, Roy was blocked once again. 

His sneakers squeaked as he stopped, making Keeley’s head pick up from her hands to look. Her cheeks glowed with tears, smudging her mascara. “Roy,” she choked, wiping at the tracks but managing only to smear her make-up more.

The nicest person he’d ever loved… Why did he always do this?

“Your hand!” She picked herself off the floor, reaching for him immediately. 

“It’s fine,” Roy offered. He should pull away, but he didn’t want to. He studied Keeley. Her frizzy blonde hair was up in a high ponytail, flowing down her neck. Her glassy hazel eyes were downturned with concern for him. Her lips were apart. Her fingers were gentle under his, opening his hand. Roy had no right to love her. He’d made her cry and yet there she was, caring about his self-inflicted anger. His tantrum that he’d hurt her with too.

“What did you do?” Keeley worried.

Too much. Too little. He never did the right thing. Should he have stayed with her? Should he have stayed away? The hand, Roy knew. She was only asking about his hand. “It’s nothing.”

Keeley gave him an unimpressed look. “Come on then,” she said, guiding him toward the bathroom with a gentle tug.

“It’s fine Keeley,” he protested.

She didn’t even turn to him, making Roy grumble as he followed her down the hall. 

A voice had him pausing. 

Keeley tugged herself to a stop in front of him. Roy knew the voice- the intonation and timbre telling him it was definitely one of his. It couldn’t be Obisanya either- he was in the other direction. No… This came from the boot room.

“What?” 

Roy didn’t answer Keeley as he approached the door, amplifying the voice on the other side: “Why d’you hide the phone if you’re letting us read the text anyway?”

“Because you’re accusing me of lying!”

“You are lying-”

Roy tried the handle, but was met with resistance. “Oh shit-” someone let out as Roy pushed.

“It’s the truth- alright? It’s just-”

“Lads.”

“He’s not lying…”

“Lads!”

“Oi!” Roy bonked on the door with the hand that didn’t sting. 

Sneakers squeaked as something clattered to the floor, followed by an unconvincing silence. Roy bonked again: “Who the fuck is still here when I specifically told everyone to go home?!”

The hush on the other end persisted. Roy bonked again.

“We’re not still here,” called the voice by the door. A voice Roy should’ve recognized right away.

“Jamie-” Roy duh’ed at himself. “Open this fucking door right now.”

“I can’t until-”

“Open the fucking door!” Roy bonked.

“Alright- alright,” Jamie whined as Roy heard shuffling on the other side. A moment later the door swung open to reveal a guilty smile on Jamie Tartt’s face. Behind him stood a sheepish Hughes and a tense McAdoo.

“Well?!” he yelled at them.

They glanced at each other. “Well what?” Jamie asked, eyebrow rising. It wasn’t good how little fear he had left for Roy.

“What the fuck are you three still doing here?” 

“What happened to your hand?” McAdoo ignored. Roy looked down, finding a red droplet on the floor beside him.

“It’s nothing, apparently,” Keeley called over his shoulder.

The lads perked up. “Hey, Keeley!”

“Hiya!”

“Oi!” Roy intercut. 

“You alright, Keeley?” Jamie ignored him, throwing worried eyes over his shoulder.

“Yeah, fine.”

“It’s just you’ve got some mascara…”

“Oh,” she started wiping at her eyes again, making it worse.

“Have you been crying?”

Keeley hummed. “It’s alright, though.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie worried, puppy dog eyes glittering under his messy hair.

“She said she’s fucking fine!” Roy interrupted. He wasn’t gonna let Keeley fall back in love with the boy. “Now stop cocking about!”

“Yeah, mate,” Jamie eyed his bleeding hand, “You really ought to rinse that out.”

Roy growled at him. 

“Calm down,” Jamie placated, chuckling, “I’m only trying to help you.”

“Come on,” Keeley started walking again, reminding Roy not to punch anybody. He followed her lead, pausing only to yell at the three footballers: “Go home!”

They shut up, watching him leave with wide eyes. Jamie sneered a little, clearly jealous of Keeley patching Roy up in a small empty bathroom.

Roy’s hand send up a jolt, reminding him of where he was headed- Why he wanted to be quick. “Actually,” he turned back, ordering Jamie, “go check on Obisanya first.”

“What?” Hughes flummoxed, appearing in the doorway beside Jamie, “Sam’s still here?”

“He’s in the locker room.”

McAdoo appeared too, eyebrows drawn low. He gave Roy a nod, “Got it, coach.” He set off, back up the hall. The other two followed their captain.

Roy’s blood dripped onto the floor again. 

Keeley chided: “Can we finally take care of your hand now?” 

Isaac marched ahead. He needed to get away from Colin and go to a mate who actually wanted his help. Because even though Colin let him read the message- and he hadn’t been lying about the content- There was more to it that the brunette insisted on denying. It killed Isaac. He was being shut out. Colin avoided him on the pitch and was overly protective of his phone. Even while showing the message, he kept a hand clasped firmly around the top of the screen. That was, until Roy’s interruption had the phone clattering to the floor. 

Isaac heard Colin and Jamie follow behind him. He made sure to keep to a steady pace, reaching the locker and turning into-

His shoe crunched on glass. He stopped. 

Jamie and Colin’s footsteps caught up. They hesitated behind him. “Fucking hell…”

The entire floor of the locker room glistened with glass shards and specks of blood. Every mirror in the cubbies was gone, leaving only a few shards clinging to the edges of the frames.

“Who the fuck did this?” Jamie breathed.

An image clicked in Isaac’s mind: “Roy’s hand.”

“What? You think he did all this?”

“And where’s Sam?” Isaac grunted.

“Maybe Roy’s gone mad,” Colin suggested. “I mean I saw Sam leave after training.”

Jamie smacked him across the arm, making them turn to him. “So you’re saying Roy went mad, broke a bunch of mirrors, and then imagined seeing Sam?”

Isaac and Colin shrugged, the captain adding: “It would explain why Keeley was upset.”

“Yeah, but-” Jamie argued, “I mean he’s old, but not that old. And of all the things he could hallucinate, he’d hallucinate Sam? Like not me? I’m great hallucination material.”

Isaac looked back to the mess. “We should clean this up. It’s not safe and shit.”

“What about Sam?” Colin asked. A foreboding urge to ignore him crept up in Isaac, but he was saved from making that mistake by Jamie: “I’ll go ask Roy if he’s gone mad and imagined him, yeah?”

Isaac furrowed his brow, the beginning of laughter bubbled in his stomach. To ask ‘if he’s gone mad.’ Sure. That was exactly why Jamie wanted to go after Roy and Keeley. Isaac’s neck ached to turn to his best mate- share a look, but Isaac denied it. Colin’s gaze itched the back of his hair- A familiar burning feeling. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t like last season.

‘It was nothing to do with you,’ Colin had told him on the doorstep that night. ‘It was about me.’

That wasn’t the case this time, though. Colin was avoiding Isaac, clear as day. This was about him. This was about them- and Isaac didn’t know how to not let that hurt. So he didn’t look at Colin until the itch of his green eyes left.

7 PM

Colin watched Jamie leave, taking away the final buffer that had stood between him and whatever was upsetting Isaac. Colin hadn’t lied, after all. He’d told Isaac about the message from Michael.

The message from Michael…

I can’t make it home for dinner tonight

Right. Because of his job. Because it was just like any other day.

Sorry love x

Right. Because Colin was still ‘love’. Because he’d know if their relationship had an inherent and inevitable fracture. He’d know if Michael had become disenchanted by the reality of Colin and Colin’s career. He’d know because Michael would be around less. He’d cancel plans. He’d forget special occasions. And eventually, he’d leave.

Michael was trying to be gentle with him. Many fellas before had as well and really, Colin should appreciate that Michael cares enough to be kind. He should appreciate that he was- at least at some point- loved.

“Brooms,” Isaac stated, marching around Colin- ignoring him- to look up and down the hallway. He headed right, the opposite direction Jamie’d gone. 

Colin sighed.

The silence. The lack of eye contact.

Ever since Isaac had been able to ignore him for weeks on end, Colin’s been waiting for him to do it again. He’d been anxious around the captain- more careful with who he was, what he said, what he did. The ease that their friendship used to embrace had cracked and Colin felt its constant pressure. He was paralysed by the rift, holding his breath as it crept and spread across them. Now it had finally shattered, Colin couldn’t help but feel relieved. It happened. Isaac was ignoring him again. He could finally stop worrying about when he would.

Which wasn’t fair to Isaac. He’d apologized. They’d made up. He wouldn’t do it again. Or so, Colin had scolded himself. The guilt remained anyway, because how horrible must he be to feel relief when his best mate refused to look him in the eye?

With his guilty reprieve, Colin trudged after Isaac. They walked by the showers; The treatment room; A flight of stairs; Another bathroom- until Isaac stopped. Colin kept his distance, slowing down too. His heart hammered, wondering what Isaac was going to do. The captain stood tense in the hallway. His shoulders were set and his feet were a confident and stable distance apart.

As steady as a rock, Colin had always thought of his best mate. Until some asinine photos had that rock tumbling away. 

“D’you know where the brooms are?”

Colin flinched. 

Isaac wasn’t ignoring him. Not entirely. Not in the same way he’d done before, because here was his voice with a question and no one to direct it to but Colin. With a slowing but hesitant heartbeat, Colin murmured: “No, I was following you.”

He should’ve quipped probably. This was the kind of moment where Colin usually quipped. Before he could dig himself in with dread, Isaac turned around. “I don’t know where the brooms are.”

His tone was dry and dead. Normal, but he didn’t look at Colin. He was glaring somewhere past him instead. “They’re probably not this way,” Colin thought aloud.

Isaac hummed. They stood in silence. Colin worried that he was supposed to say something. Should he apologize? What for? Should he kid around, tease, joke?

Isaac didn’t give anything away. He hadn’t even glanced over. He started out of nowhere, marching around Colin and heading back the way they came. Colin turned with him, watching him over his shoulder. It was the same dance they’d done on the pitch that first day Isaac cut him out.

The rift in their friendship that Colin had been watching suffered some kind of shatter, but it hadn’t all come down the way he’d expected. Isaac wasn’t ignoring him. He wouldn’t do that again, Colin had known, making the wrenching guilt of his premature relief dig in deeper.  

What had he done and how could he fix it? How could he get their ease back? Or if push came to shove and kick and scratch and punch- If it all came down, could he at least clean away the broken shards they were tip-toeing around? It would mean another vital relationship lost on the same day, but colleagues was better than whatever these interactions could be categorized as. And ever since coming out, Colin found that rejection was poignantly more bearable than fear.

Isaac had taught him that.

Colin reset his resolve, forcing his eyebrows into a neutral angle. He followed the captain and his trudge down the hall, past the bathroom, the stairs, the treatment room, the showers, the locker room-

Isaac stopped.

Ahead of them, Jamie inched out of Trent’s old office. His face was blank, absent of his old sneer or the newer genuity of his smile. He looked uncertain. His steps were careful and his gaze roamed. It was alien on the most confident person Colin knew, making him reassess the ‘just the way I am’ style of Jamie’s hair and the brightness of his baby blue hoodie. His eyebrow slit looked odd too. Colin had long ago grown used to it, but now he couldn’t stop noticing it. As if it was new.

Colin pulled up beside Isaac, standing a respectful distance away. It was weird. His arm felt chilly. Trent had once said- glasses in hand and eyes narrowed- that Isaac and Colin stood together like an old couple. ‘Too close for most but to you it’s only natural.’

It was hard not having Trent around the club anymore.

“D’you know where the brooms are?” Isaac grunted.

Jamie flinched. 

“You alright, boyo?” Colin worried.

“I’m great- hallucination material.”

“What?”

Jamie gave a smile, but it was forced and awkward- never reaching his dead eyes. He whispered, “...gone mad…”

“What’re you saying, bruv?”

Jamie exhaled, letting the zombie smile drop. “Fucking hell…”

Colin glanced at Isaac. Isaac didn’t look back, worrying: “Jamie?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, blankness returning.

It unsettled Colin, who stepped closer and reached out to him in case he might collapse: “Are you alright, matey?”

“Yeah,” he repeated with the same tone and cadence like a scratched record. Something sickened in Colin’s stomach. Nothing about this was right. Jamie never spoke in single words, except for maybe a ‘duh’ here and there. His voice and body were always lively and confident even- Especially when he wasn’t doing well. So what could cause this? This emptiness that had never lived in his brown eyes before.

“Did you talk to Roy?”

Jamie nodded, “Ask if he’s gone mad.”

“Yeah…” Colin murmured. “Are you sure you’re good?”

“Yeah.” That same ‘yeah’ again. “Just forgot… Where the bathrooms are.”

Jamie’d been in this building four times a week for at least three years. He knew where the fucking bathrooms were. Maybe Colin was the one who’d gone mad. Maybe they’d been in an asylum all this time and imagined AFC Richmond. The club was weird enough for it. This weird though?

Isaac joined in Colin’s worry, stepping closer too: “You should sit down.”

“No,” Jamie irritated, flinching back and eyes twisting- for a moment- into a glare. “I’m fine.” He calmed again, asking politely: “Bathroom?”

Colin stared. Jamie didn’t look to be injured. He could walk and talk fine, so he probably hadn’t hit his head. He refused to sit down and looked eager to get away from them. Was he on drugs? This was far beyond Colin’s depth. He looked to their captain, who continued to study Jamie with his eyebrows furrowed deep. He pointed to the bathroom where Keeley and Roy were. “End of the hall. On the right.”

Without another word, Jamie stalked off.

Colin couldn’t keep it in: “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“D’you think he’s gone mad too?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jamie’s retreating back. “I don’t know…” he walked after Jamie, cooling Colin with relief. Isaac would fix it. 

The captain took a turn in the hallway, walking up the stairs instead.

“Where are you going?” Colin rushed to the bottom of the steps. 

Isaac didn’t stop or turn to look at him. “Brooms.”

“What about Jamie?”

“Roy and Keeley will handle it.”

“Will they?”

Isaac didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Something was clearly wrong with Jamie and it had unsettled him as much as it had Colin. They were both just hoping someone else knew better than them- even if it felt odd, leaving others to care of Jamie. The Mancunian didn’t seem to want Isaac or Colin around though, so maybe it was for the best.

Colin doubted the idea aloud: “Are you sure?” 

Isaac spun around- “I don’t fucking know, Colin!” he spat.

Colin let it hit him, making sure to look only stunned. The captain’s glare dimmed. He turned away, stomping up the stairs. Colin threw one last look at Jamie’s retreating back, but what the hell was he going to do to help? He hung his head- letting shame eat him- and followed Isaac up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Through the ajar door, a running tap offered white noise to an uncomfortable silence. Jamie strode to it. He pushed the door open and stepped into the white-tiled bathroom. It was small: Only two stalls to his right and a single sink and mirror to his left, where Keeley and Roy were bent over the tap.

"Roy," Jamie introduced his presence, “Have you gone mad?”

Keeley glanced over with a lopsided grin as Roy’s head snapped up, grunting: “What?”

“Sam’s not in the locker room.”

“Then where is he?”

“Colin says he saw him leave and that he thinks you’ve lost it.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. Jamie wasn’t sure why. He nudged: “So have you?”

Roy yanked out of Keeley’s grip to point at Jamie. “I haven’t fucking lost it!” His hand glistened as thin blood started to mingle and crawl with the drooping water.

Aiming unimpressed eyes, Jamie glanced from the hand to Roy’s sneer. Keeley disguised a snort with a chuffle. Her usual easiness looked odd on her mascara-smudged face. Jamie bet Roy’d made her cry. Not because he meant to, but because Roy and Jamie were sometimes too alike. At least, they used to be. Roy might’ve changed first, but Jamie changed further: He’d stopped saying hurtful things when he was hurting himself. Or he thought so at least, but he hadn't really been hurting. Not for a while now. It hadn’t been nice either. It’d just been… odd. Uncomfortable. Unsteady, but somehow dull at the same time. He didn’t know. He didn’t like it.

Roy followed Jamie’s unimpressed look to his bleeding knuckles. “Piss off!” he yelled, but put his hand back over the sink. “I know I saw Obisanya, alright?!” he snapped.

“Alright, grandda-” Jamie put his hands up in sassy surrender. “Just don’t punch another mirror, yeah?”

Keeley chuckled, making Jamie smile. Roy glared at her. A stubborn joy tinkled Keeley’s gaze as she stared right back.

Their look stretched, softening Roy’s glower.

“D’you need a hand?” Jamie wormed his way between them. He wasn’t having any of that. They couldn’t fall in love in front of him over his joke- his joke.

Roy growled in his ear as Jamie took his hand and held it under the tap again. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Nah, you need Dr. Sharon’s.”

“Jamie-”

“What? You punched the locker room to bits, Roy- You need proper help.”

“It was one mirror.”

“No, it weren’t.”

“Yeah, it fucking was.”

“No, you-”

“Oi!” Keeley called, halting them. “Stop it, yeah?” She gestured between them.

“But he’s-”

“I’m just-”

“Shut it!" Keeley exclaimed over them, gaze sharp with authority as she threatened: “or I’m leaving. Alright?”

Jamie tightened his grip on Roy’s hand. Roy growled. They both muttered: “Alright…”

“Good." Keeley picked her purse off the ground and rifled through it, emerging with a smaller bag and her phone. She passed her phone to Jamie as she dropped her purse to look through her smaller bag. Jamie watched, entranced as another tiny grey bag appeared. “How many of those have you got?”

Keeley smirked. She opened the tiny drawstring bag and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

Jamie looked at Roy. Roy looked just as bewildered, grunting to Keeley: “Why do your tweezers need their own bag?”

“Yeah, and why does the bag need its own bag?”

Keeley shrugged, “For in my bag.” She left her stuff in a pile on the floor, leaning over to look at Roy’s hand. She took her phone from Jamie, turning on its flashlight before passing it back to him. “Hold this.”

The brunette did as he was told. Raising the white light over Roy’s hand, Jamie could see the scattered cuts covering his knuckles. The blood was bright but only raised from the wounds sluggishly, too little to form a droplet that could trickle down into the sink. The red glimmered in the light. Occasionally, a spot would reflect brighter- sharper- like the setting sun bouncing off city windows. Keeley turned off the tap. Jamie’s ears rushed for a moment to imitate its white noise before accepting the silence.

Keeley nudged his elbow, making Jamie hold the flashlight a little higher. Her touch lingered as she bent over Roy’s hand, fingers flowing under his as she carefully rotated it under the light. The blood and glass glittered. Jamie leaned in more too. He was so close to Keeley that if they turned to each other, they’d be kissing. It would have been romantic if Roy’s hand wasn’t just as kissably close.

“Ok,” Keeley prepared, “Hold still.”

“Me?” Jamie asked, finding his voice chorusing with a gruffer one. Jamie turned to it, smirking at Roy. The new Richmond manager looked a bit ill now. Some green had crept into his face and a wobbly line worried between his brows.

“Yes," Keeley chuffled, "Both of you.” She let Jamie go, her hand appearing with the tweezers above the sink. Jamie missed her warmth on his elbow. The cold didn't mix well with his newfound nerves at their game of operation. He kept his lonely arm still as best he could while Keeley’s tweezers approached one of the sharper reflections shining through the blood.

The air felt scarce between the tiled walls, barely enough for three. Keeley’s pincette met the edges of a reflection- the beam of light swung around- Roy winced- His hand twitched, making Keeley pull back with the tweezers.

“Sorry."

“It’s okay,” Keeley soothed, kind tone casual and genuine in the way only Keeley could manage. She approached the glass again. She tightened her grip on Roy’s fingers. Her pincette loomed closer, surrounding the edges of the glass. Keeley squeezed the metal contraption, trapping the light- Roy grunted- Keeley pulled and the glass came free.

The small shard clattered into the sink. A bubble of blood formed where the glass had sat in Roy's knuckle.

“You alright, Roy?” Jamie turned to the older man. Roy nodded- the green tint and worry were still there, but his eyes were the kind of certain Jamie knew to rely on.

The room widened, gifting them fresh air. They breathed it happily.

That hadn’t been too bad.

By the time Keeley pulled out the last piece of glass, Jamie was bored. His neck ached from the pose and his arm complained over holding the flashlight, but Keeley wasn’t done: “We need to check that there aren’t any more.”

“I can’t see any," Jamie whined.

“It’s just to be sure.”

“Yeah, I know but- I can’t see any, so…”

Keeley gave it another long look before she sighed too: “Yeah, alright. We’re done.”

Jamie stood up, cracking his neck. He dropped his sore arm, making the flashlight’s beam bounce around the room.

Roy pulled his hand to himself. He studied the knuckles, glaring at them. He looked alright though- his green face and worried lines had dwindled.

Jamie felt himself relax. He caught his reflection in the mirror, but it didn't bounce back his relief. Instead, he looked empty. He looked like the weirdness that twirled inside him: uncertain, distrustful… dreading. His hair was a bit off and- hold on.

He wasn’t standing in the doorway.

Jamie snapped around to the entrance behind Roy.

Isaac looked back.

“Jesus-” Jamie jumped. Roy turned around to the captain. Isaac watched them, unimpressed.

Jamie spun back to the mirror to find that he was right: He’d been looking at Isaac… “I thought you were me,” Jamie breathed, eyes narrowing.

“What’re you saying, bruv?” Isaac grunted back, slight worry in his tone but his face was all blank. He eyed the mirror, meeting Jamie’s gaze through it.

“Nothing, mate,” Jamie waved him off. He was fucking with himself. The weird feeling was making him see things that weren’t there. 

Isaac glanced between the three of them. “Do you know where the brooms are?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Roy riled back.

Isaac’s eyes zipped to the side, then back to Roy.

The coach sighed, exasperated. “They’re upstairs in the storage.”

Isaac nodded, but he didn't leave. He stood there, eyeing the mirror. Jamie watched him through the glass until Isaac’s gaze bounced into his. The captain looked pensive, but not in the way he usually did. Isaac was one to furrow his brow, maybe stroke his chin and glare like vision itself was a distraction to his thoughts. This time, Isaac’s brows arched. His dark eyes were wide and flickering. He was considering with his gaze, not despite it. It made him look younger, more open and vulnerable. Jamie didn’t like being the subject of young Isaac’s study, but before he could protest, the captain left.

Jamie huffed a laugh at the weird behaviour. He smacked Roy's shoulder, quipping: “I think he’s worried that you’ll break another mirror too.”

Isaac stood in the doorway of the tight square storage room, sighing when he spotted them. He bent over the mess on the floor to take the two grey brooms leaning against a cupboard.

Colin was silent behind him.

Isaac shouldn’t have snapped. He shouldn’t feel so stricken by Colin’s avoidance, but he did. Had he fucked up again? Had he ignored him? Used ‘gay’ as a slur? What was so wrong that Colin would lie about it?

As he passed the brooms back to where he knew Colin would be, Isaac wondered if he should’ve said something. He didn’t. He didn’t look at him either. The weight of the brooms got taken over, so Isaac let them go, continuing to search the storage for dustpans.

He could feel Colin’s fidgeting energy behind him. He wished it wasn’t so frustrating. Everything between them right then was frustrating. With all his attention going into interpreting Colin, Isaac couldn’t even register what he was looking at in the storage.

Refocusing, he toppled a large bucket filled with cleaning supplies. He ruffled through the wipes and rags and gloves, finding no dustpans.

He wasn’t even thinking about Roy, who’d ruined his hand by breaking every mirror in the Richmond locker room. Had he been feeling that horrid? Had they not noticed? Had they let him carry too much alone?

Isaac kicked the mess of the bucket aside. He yanked the door of the cupboard open, eyes jumping about the overstocked shelves. No dustpans.

Or Jamie. Scary blank-faced Jamie, who’d muttered to himself and asked where the bathrooms were. Had Isaac brushed him off? Should he have forced the confused sod to sit? Or brought him to A&E? Given him a hug? How could he have been so irresponsible to send him off to Roy, who was struggling himself?

Isaac shuffled bottles of bleach and cleaning detergent aside in the cupboard, looking behind them at the depths of the shelves. No dustpans.

Or Sam. Where had he gone? Was he here? Was he ill? For Jamie’s underdeveloped brain- He had a point. Roy wouldn’t hallucinate Sam, so the Nigerian must be here somewhere too, hurting. Alone.

There were too many bottles and too little space on the shelves. Isaac started taking them out, piling them into his arms.

Why would Colin avoid him? Why would he hide his phone? Why would he lie? Why, why-

“Why the fuck-”

Isaac’s hands were full of bottles. He dropped the poison on the floor.

“-aren’t the dustpans-”

He yanked out the rest of the bottles from the shelves.

“-with the fucking brooms!”

He smashed the cupboard door shut. He kicked at the supplies piling the floor. Nothing.

He shoved the door all the way open, barging out.

Colin stood pressed against the wall, frozen as he hugged the brooms to his chest. “Mate…”

“What?!” Isaac barked, twisting back.

Colin looked concerned more than he did scared. “Maybe we just brush the glass aside? Make it safe for now at least.”

“No.”

“But we can’t find-”

“I said no!” Isaac stepped up to him, yelling into his face: “You do something, you do it right! Brushing it aside doesn’t clean it up or make it safe, does it?!”

“But it would be better than it is now."

“No- that’s just shoving problems around,” Isaac barked. He shouldn’t have let Jamie go off by himself. He shouldn’t have assumed Sam wasn’t there. He shouldn’t have let Roy get so bad. He shouldn’t have done whatever he did to Colin and he definitely shouldn’t be yelling at him: “You have to fix shit!”

Colin’s gaze twisted. He angered: “So you’d rather not make anything better? Just let everything be- ignore it. Even if that makes it worse- until you find whatever shit you need?”

Isaac glared. He jumped his gaze between Colin’s eyes, seizing up his accusation. Isaac knew himself. When he did things, he did them well. He did them right. When he came across something he couldn’t handle- he wouldn’t flounder around trying to. Colin was naive, thinking that trying was always better. He didn’t know the damage it could do, meddling when you didn’t know everything. Like using slurs without knowing they applied to a friend. Like despising someone without knowing why they acted the way they did. Like bullying a kit man without knowing… Without knowing better. Isaac had fucked up enough to realize that saying and doing nothing was better than trying when you weren’t in the know. So he glared at Colin, accepting his accusation with pride: “Yes.” Isaac turned and marched down the hall.

For once, Colin didn’t follow. “Why are you angry at me?”

Isaac whipped back. “You’re the one who's angry.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s what Jamie said, innit? You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

Isaac wanted to scream- Stop lying, stop lying, stop lying. He fought himself, grinding his teeth and stomping away from Colin.

“Isaac-“ Footsteps rushed after him. “Will you just talk to me?”

“Depends,” Isaac ground out, not bothering to stop his march. He needed to get away. “Are you going to keep lying?”

The footsteps after him fell away. Isaac hated how pleased his gut was. Until Colin’s mournful words echoed after him: “I thought we were done with this.”

Isaac stumped, halting. Right. They were past this, weren’t they? Colin had lied to Isaac for years. Isaac had been angry. Then he'd apologized. Colin had forgiven him. Yes, they should be past this. 

Isaac accused: “So did I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Isaac spun back to him, “that you’re angry with me- you’re avoiding me, lying to me- but you won’t tell me why. You won’t even admit it.”

Colin stared. His eyes were still twisted in righteous anger but the look became hollow.

“And don’t tell me,” Isaac took control of Colin’s silence, remembering what he’d said the last time Isaac had felt hurt over Colin’s mistrust: “that it’s got nothing to do with me, because I know that’s not true.”

“Isaac-”

“Don’t lie.” It was a cruel cut-off maybe, but Isaac couldn’t take another mistake. He was afraid, so he stopped Colin and communicated the terms of his next words. 

Colin understood. He usually did. He studied Isaac as he worked his jaw. But it shut, clenching tight. Colin’s eyes were guilty, but his silence was loud. Not a lie, but not the truth. Another avoidance.

Isaac tried not to sour or scoff. He nodded, accepting the hurt, and turned around.

Colin didn’t follow.

7:30 PM

Jamie looked to Keeley, who was putting away her tweezers in her Russian doll of a bag. He smirked at her: “We make a good team, Keels.”

“You only held the flashlight, you prick.”

Jamie shrugged Roy’s grumpiness off. “It’s crucial work, innit?” He waved Keeley’s phone in his coach’s face, shining the flashlight in his eyes.

“I could’ve held a light,” Roy grumbled, snatching the phone from Jamie and turning the flashlight off.

Jamie crossed his arms. He challenged: “Yeah, but you didn’t.”

Roy stepped closer. “But I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I-“

“Alright-” Keeley burst, pushing her way between them. “I’m getting bandages.”

“I’ll-“

“Let-“

“No!” she snapped over her shoulder, turning into the hall. Her heels clacked away happily.

Jamie glared at Roy. Roy glowered back. “Well done,” he accused.

“You what? Piss off, mate- That was all you.”

“Like fuck it was. You’re the one who had to come in here and push yourself between us.”

“You’re the one who made her cry!”

“How did you kn-“

“Ha! See! I knew it.”

Roy clamped up. Jamie waited for a ‘fuck this!’ and a stomping exit, but Roy remained put. He deflated even- leaning back against the sink and lowering his head. He cradled Keeley’s phone in his hands, studying it. His jaw clenched and unclenched, moving the muscles along his cheeks. He was quiet- no grumbling, no growling, no swearing. Jamie felt his fight or flight kick up. What the fuck was this?

Jamie’d known Roy a while now. Once, they’d fought, insulted, and hated one another’s guts. Then they’d done shit, admitted things, and supported each other. Was that not a one-way change? Jamie’d thought he could drop the snide around Roy, the tired defence of hit first and hit harder that made every sentence exhausting and angry. They didn’t need to survive each other anymore, did they? Jamie’d thought crying in someone’s arms would break that instinct for good, but here they were, weaving between fights and support. At least Jamie could never go back to hating. He hoped. 

Maybe the regression was part of why Jamie’d been feeling so odd- uncertain, on edge, sort of unsafe. As he named the feelings, the rock in his gut twisted deeper. Jamie tried to sigh it out, leaning against the wall. This was exhausting.

“You’re bored, are you?” Roy judged, glaring at Jamie’s stance.

Jamie’s defences flared up- hit back, hit back, hit harder- but he twisted the angry energy into frustration. “Can you not? For a second, yeah? Cause I just spent an hour trying to fix your problem-” Not entirely true, nor untrue. “-so don’t get pissy with me, mate.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

Jamie lightened at the question, ready to show off his genius deduction: “It’s Colin and Isaac.”

“What’s Colin and Isaac?”

“Your problem.”

“What problem?”

“Training today,” Jamie duh’ed. “Ain’t that why you punched the locker room to bits?”

Roy’s glare deepened. “One mirror.”

Jamie smirked. “You need to start learning how to count, mate.”

A growl vibrated low from Roy’s throat, but it was harmless. Jamie recognized it more as a laugh when Roy’s head had decided he wasn’t allowed to show joy at what was happening. In ways, that made it better than a chuckle or a grin. It meant Jamie’d managed to shake the mood Roy had set for himself that day, giving him the means to enjoy it instead.

Roy’s brows remained deep as he glared, but Jamie could sense his gaze flicker out. Roy was watching something else in his head, eyes open only for the show of presence. They narrowed. They widened. Roy concluded: “Fuck- you’re right.”

“Were you trying to count?”

“No- piss off,” Roy swore, but it held no venom, letting Jamie’s defences sleep on in peace. “It’s McAdoo and Hughes. Our play is the same as it was during their fight.”

“Told ya.”

Roy growled. He didn't look particularly relieved by Jamie's genius. “What happened now? Is McAdoo gay and is Hughes ignoring him over it?”

Jamie snorted. “I wish. Then they could just kiss and make up.”

“The last thing we need is a fucking relationship on the team.”

“So you want me to break it off with Dani then?”

“What?” the coach scoffed and Jamie feared that Roy was no longer able to read his playful tone, but then he continued: “He lets you chase after Keeley like that?”

“We don’t own each other, innit?”

“Sounds like you two should get married.”

“Only if you’ll be my best man.”

“I’m not wearing pink.”

“Yeah, you will.”

Roy growled. Jamie beamed, adding: “And no shirts, only lush jackets. It’ll be sexy.”

“Fucking kill me.”

Jamie laughed. Some sliver of safety and certainty returned, lightening his burden. He and Roy still got on. That hadn’t disappeared. It only slipped when Keeley was around, which broke something too, but not something they’d already built. It broke something Jamie wanted.

There'd been that one moment at the end of last season that Jamie still chased. He had a commercial shoot in Brazil and could ask Keeley along. She'd cheered. She'd hugged him. He'd been floating on her perfume when Roy came around and invited him for a pint. An actual pint. With Roy Fucking Kent.

Since coming back to Richmond, Jamie'd been well supported by good people. He'd asked for advice and gotten it. He'd made mistakes and been forgiven. He'd broken down and been held. Still, that moment when he had simple plans with two amazing people- people who were excited to see him- he felt so safe. He'd thought he'd never be alone again.

“But that doesn’t explain you,” Roy suddenly grunted.

“What about me?”

“Why are you playing like shit?”

Colin shuffled down the stairs.

The brooms were heavy in his hands. They shouldn’t be. They were hollow plastic sticks with long brushes on the end- Light by all means. They were the stupid kind of genius. Brilliant in their simplicity.

A lot of things in Colin’s life used to be like that. When they’d been great, they’d been like that. Being with Michael had been simple once. Then they’d kissed on the pitch and somehow things had gotten to the genius kind of genius. It was complicated, huge, and tangled in the world’s atomic response, but they were them. They wanted to manage and so they had, together. The genius kind of genius.

So for an anniversary to break them? Nothing but a celebration of the time they’d shared and the struggles they’d handled. Nothing but a symbol for their ingenuity, disenchanted and reduced to another day. A shitty one at that. It could fool someone love-luckier than Colin, but he knew what was truly the matter: Michael was done. A year was too much. It had happened before- Why wouldn’t it happen again when everything was even more complicated? Michael could’ve gone his life without crossing football’s homophobia, but because of Colin, he was tied to it. Trapped there and asked to smile, support the person who put him there. A year of that and for what? For a shitty insecure footballer? A year was more than Colin could have asked for. More than he should’ve.

And Isaac… They’d always been brilliant in their simplicity- stupidity even. Where had that gone? Colin had been feeling its hollow residue for so long that he wondered if his memory had romanticized it. But if it had, would he hurt so much?

Colin landed from the last step of the stairway, hearing Keeley’s heels clacking further down the hall. He wondered where she was headed but found his head too heavy to care. Colin trudged to the locker room. He could at least clean it up a bit in there, so when Isaac would return with the dust pans they could have it done quicker. They could part ways quicker.

The locker room loomed huge without the team in it. It made Colin’s skin crawl, not just because of the new floor decorations, but the silence too was unnatural.

Ditching one broom against the doorway and his brown coat on the bench, Colin pulled up the sleeves of his green sweater. He started sweeping in what was once Zava’s corner, cringing at the sound of glass screeching against the floor. Red trails formed from the blood droplets entangling in the brushes of the broom.

What the fuck was going on at Richmond? Hadn’t this been such a good place last year?

Colin eyed the empty blue spot above the office door. Maybe he was romanticizing that too.

He returned to the sweeping, drawing more lines of blood on the floor as glass screeched. He was halfway down the room when the corner of his eyes caught a familiar shape.

Isaac passed the doorway where the other broom stood, heading in the direction Keeley had gone. They’d already been down that way, though, and there wouldn’t be any dustpans there. Maybe he was passing by to pressure Colin. To make him feel even worse for staying silent.

That wasn’t fair. Isaac wouldn’t do that.

Would he?

God, they were a mess. They didn’t have to be. Colin wanted to be honest. Maybe if he told Isaac the truth- about Michael, about his own confusion over his avoidance- Maybe he could make it all a bit better. Sweep the glass shards aside.

He left his broom leaning against Cockburn’s locker and walked to the second opening of the room, crunching the glass to intercept Isaac.

“We already checked down there, didn’t we?” he said by way of greeting. It was careful and shy- completely wrong on his voice- but the fear was back. He was watching the crack in their friendship travel and he couldn’t quite remember who he was.

Isaac glanced at him. He looked annoyed. He kept walking.

“Boyo.” Colin raised his voice, maybe he’d been too quiet.

Isaac kept walking, striding right past Colin.

“Isaac-“ The first drop of dread hit. The captain must’ve heard him now, but he didn’t care. He kept walking, past the white couch where he'd once left Colin to drown in his dread.

Fuck this. “Are you seriously going to do that again?” Colin accused Isaac’s back. If they were doing this then they might as well be honest about it, because Colin’s relief was back and he didn’t want to hate it. It happened. Isaac was ignoring him again- except: Isaac stopped.

Down the hall, he froze. Something in him snapped, the annoyed tension shaking into something stronger. He twisted, spitting: “Leave me alone.”

Colin stumped. Upstairs, Isaac had been angry- desperate- not desolate. Not done. Was that what the ignoring had been? Even the first time- had Isaac implemented it not as a punishment or a break but as a goodbye?

For all the time Colin had spent waiting for this, he didn’t want to let it happen. He felt betrayed by all his preparation and preventative behaviour. He’d been tiptoeing for so long and they still ended up here? Fuck that. Colin stepped into the hall: “I’m sorry I lied.”

Isaac watched him, narrowing his eyes. The scrutiny was fair, as much as it unsettled Colin. He forced himself to continue: “I am. I know how much it matters to you, but I lied anyway. So I’m sorry. And if you want to know- Well… It’s just- me and Michael, today's our one-year anniversary.”

Isaac looked unimpressed. Colin tried not to see it as dismissive. Maybe he’d been right- He was overreacting. He ploughed on anyway: “But Michael’s been pulling away. He’s not at home as much. Maybe he just forgot but… I’ve been… Lonely, I guess.” Heartbroken, more like, but Colin didn’t like the word. It scared him, so instead he looked to the floor as if he was standing at a gravestone, whispering, “I really loved him.”

He wished his love wasn’t so deep. He wished the past tense wasn’t there or at least- that it was true. That his love had seeped out the way Michael’s had, but lonely love weighed heavy in him. Maybe that was the best he could ask for.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Isaac sneered.

Colin’s gaze darted to him. Isaac looked sick, mouth twisted with disgust and eyes, furious.

“Everything about me,” he barked, "is about you.” He gestured at Colin. It wasn’t his normal point- the attention-grabbing kind. No, this point was an accusation. A humiliation.

“What?” Colin breathed.

“No no no no- you know it. You’re full of yourself- with your insecurities and your little problems. You think you’re all that matters. But you know what? I exist too. I’m not just you. So fuck you, Colin Hughes.” He drew the name out, loathing every syllable. “Fuck all of you.”

“Isaac…”

“Piss off.” The captain gestured him away as though he owned the hall. The floor under Isaac seemed more stable than the floor under Colin, so Colin’s body listened. He drifted back to the locker room, but caught himself, right before the threshold. He looked back at his supposed best mate.

Isaac didn’t look angry anymore. His eyebrows had relaxed. His sneer had gone, leaving a slight surprise in his gaze and a creeping smile on his lips.

Colin retreated. He needed to sit down. He must’ve done, somewhere- There was a bench supporting him and his knees didn’t wobble anymore.

What the fuck.

Isaac had asked Colin to be honest. Should he not have been honest? Had he been right about how stupid his problem was? That anniversaries didn’t mean anything? Just another day… like any other.

No- no, he was doing it again. Isaac was right. He was making it about himself. There was something wrong with Isaac. There was something wrong with everyone. The floor under him was covered in glass and blood and he was cleaning it away without even thinking of the people who made it this way. God, he was horrible-

No, no he was doing it again. How selfish to think of this when people had real problems. Isaac was the captain- he didn’t have time for this shit with Colin. Not when three other people needed his help. And what was Colin doing? Sitting here whining-

Shit- he was doing it again. Fuck! Colin dropped his head in his hands, hiding himself from the room.

He shouldn’t be here.

He didn’t belong here.

He was spiralling. He needed to stop. Dr Sharon had taught him to breathe, hadn’t she? After Nate’s insults, she’d taught him to stay present.

‘What can you feel?’ She asked him.

The cold wooden bench. He could feel the floor holding up his feet. His hands pressed against his face. His teary eyes pressed against his palms. His breath brushed against his wrists.

‘What can you see?’

Nothing. Blackness. Weird colours and shapes danced as he pressed his palms too tight against his eyes.

‘That’s good, Colin,’ she complimented, not knowing he had failed her question. Failed failed failed. ‘Now what can you hear?’

A door closed somewhere distant. His heart hammered in his ears, but Colin wasn’t sure that counted. He heard his shaky breaths and- footsteps? Something crunched on the glass, nearing him.

Colin tried to wipe his eyes- hide the tears- in the same movement as he lowered his hands.

“Colin.”

He jumped back. In front of him stood a body- almost touching him so close- as the voice had commanded from above.

“Michael?”

Chapter Text

Keeley broke free from the suffocating bathroom. She liked Roy and Jamie- she loved them- but being around them was insanity. All they seemed to be capable of was bickering and attacking, which was the last thing she needed. If her relationships didn’t work out- fine. If they couldn’t be friends- okay- but she hated that it was breaking Roy and Jamie’s friendship too. They’d become bigger people than this, hadn’t they?

Rebecca would chew her out for thinking like that. She’d tell Keeley to be furious with them in her own right. That she wasn’t a thing they could bicker over between themselves. That they ought to be grateful for her friendship- not annoyed and immaturely snatching for more. But Keeley didn’t feel angry. She felt resigned to her circle of sadness. She’d lay with the loneliness dragged up when amazing people in her life always expected more from her. And when she didn't give it- not because she couldn’t but because she shouldn’t- they resented her. They resented each other.

It was breaking too much, her tired heart.

But shit- she was so tired. Tired of other people’s smells coming from the bathroom. Of someone’s footsteps when she wanted to be alone. Of stuff not being where she left them. Of her bed, halved in size. Of darker hairs clogging up the drain. Of the same conversations and the same flaws and the same wants and needs of the same person. God, she was tired.

Keeley approached the treatment room, relieved when she found it unlocked. The inside was bleak with grey walls and a single treatment table in the center. The cabinets wore the same moody grey, stacked high and boring. Keeley could imagine the sinister feeling it would give to- say- a group of impressionable footballers. She had to admit that a chill crawled up her arms when she entered, but that was mostly due to the echoing thunder of Storm Agnes combined with the addition made by the team after the exorcism. Framed images lined the walls, showcasing the young troops that had been sent out to fight in 1914. Keeley walked past them, studying the crowd that stared at her. The boys were all young and excited, dressed in the same camouflage and the same unknowing smile. They leaned on each other, hooked arms around shoulders, poked sides, laughed- Except…

Keeley paused, eyeing the outlier in the photos. A pale boy around 20 with fluffy brown hair- much like Jamie’s- and amber eyes. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t interact with the boys around him, glaring right at Keeley with his arms crossed. He didn’t look angry per se, but he looked defeated. He looked weary of the world, ageing his smooth skin and young eyes. Keeley moved closer, trying to discern the odd shadow on his cheek. A scar, she realized. From the bridge of his nose down to the bottom of his ear.

Maybe the lad had already seen war. If his long scar and weary eyes were anything to go by, he'd at least seen some kind of violence before. But why would a boy like that, join a war like this?

Keeley stepped away from the ghost. He probably wasn’t even drafted at Richmond. The team wasn’t one for research- sentiment was plenty- so the relevance of the images was debatable.

She made the rest of her way to the cabinets, flicking her eyes across the labels until she found the bandages and some anti-infectant ointment. Heading for the door, Keeley caught her reflection in the mirror beside it.

“Oh- great.” She disposed of the stuff on the treatment table, licking her thumb to start in on her smudged mascara.

7:45 PM

No dustpans.

Isaac had the creeping notion that they were hiding behind one of the locked doors in the hallways. He doubted Ms Welton would appreciate him breaking them down to check though, so there was nothing left to search upstairs.

Downstairs, he trodded. He went left, walking away from the locker room where he knew Colin would be, sweeping at the shards. There wasn’t much down this way that could be hiding the dustpans, but it was Isaac’s final hope. He’d already tried everywhere else. Worst case, he’d swallow his pride and ask Roy where they were.

The boot room drew up on Isaac’s right side. Guarding it, stood the same door as all the ones riddling the blue hallway: white frames with little windows covered by dull blinds. The door was ajar- the way they’d left it- but something on the floor winked at Isaac.

He paused, gazing in. The floor glittered again. Isaac approached it, pushing the door open to uncover a spill of glass littering the grey stone. Isaac’s eyes trailed it to his left, finding the small angled shoe mirror shattered. One of the boots that had sat on the shelves lay scattered under the glass.

The first thing Isaac thought was that the boot must’ve been thrown into its reflection, shattering it. The shoe would've pulled the shards to the ground and over it like a dangerous blanket.

The second thing Isaac thought was: What the fuck? Another mirror? Maybe he’d been wrong about Roy punching around in the locker room. Maybe they were being targeted by some reflection vandalists, set on destroying every mirror in Richmond. But why? And how did they get into the club?

Isaac’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a message from Sam in the team’s group chat:

I don’t want to worry anyone, but I’m at the hospital

I’m alright tho!!

WTF, responded Thierry right away. Isaac felt the same sentiment worry in his gut.

No! Amigo! What happened? Dani followed up.

Isaac opened his phone, rushing to the chat. He should’ve listened to Roy. He should’ve gone to find Sam. How the hell could he call himself a captain?

Jan Maas’ message caused a buzz in the room, pausing Isaac. His phone hadn’t vibrated- already content with Isaac’s attention. Another message, another buzz and this time he caught it.

From under the cabinet that reached toward the door poked the corner of an alighted screen. Colin’s phone, Isaac realized, remembering how Roy’s bonking had sent it to the floor. Colin must’ve forgotten it in the following chaos and concern.

Another buzz. Sam responded:

I was at Ola’s and out of nowhere my hand started to hurt

I looked down and it was bleeding so Simi drove me to the hospital

So he hadn’t been at Richmond? Roy had imagined him after all? Isaac typed: How bad is it

Just some cuts the doctor said. Apparently there was glass in it but I have no idea how that could’ve happened

Suspicious, Moe theorized. Very suspicious

Are you alright, mi amigo?

Yes I’m fine

Really

Relief grounded Isaac. Sam wasn’t around here. Isaac hadn’t abandoned him and he was alright. His hand was alright. The group chat kept raving, interrogating Sam on how he cut his knuckles open and chiding him to be more careful. The messages buzzed throughout the room, calling Isaac’s attention back to the source of the sound: Colin’s phone.

He didn’t think long about taking it. The only words his mind conjured were very simple: He needed to know.

He needed to know what Colin was lying about. He needed to know what was bothering him. He needed to know it all. Truth was, Isaac didn’t regret grabbing Colin’s phone that day, because if he hadn’t, the Welshman would still be in the closet. Isaac would still be missing out on his best mate’s life. His actual life.

Isaac regretted all the rest, though. How could he not? He ignored Colin for weeks- fuck, how could he not? But the phone? That, he’d do that again. He’d grab it, see it, and grin- shake his head at at himself. I could have realized that. ‘Good on you, bruv,’ he’d pass it back. ‘See ya tomorrow, yeah?’ he’d clap Colin’s shoulder, smiling. This don’t change nothing. I love you, bruv.

But that wasn’t what he’d done. This time, he had to do better. He had to find out what was wrong and fix it. Then he’d fix Roy and his hallucinations. Then Jamie and his odd behaviour. Then he’d figure out what the hell was going on with the mirrors. But first: Colin.

Isaac closed the door, strode over, and reached under the bench to slide the device free from the cabinet. Settling down on the bench, Isaac opened it. He knew Colin’s code- they’d been mates for five years, of course he knew Colin’s code- and he began his search.

Michael looked like he’d been drinking. His eyes were glassy. His suit was disheveled: The jacket, gone and his shirt collar, untidily tieless. Colin had seen him like this before, sipping on gin tonics at hotel bars while they Facetimed. Or at home, Michael would throw off his jacket and tie on the way to the cupboard for his favourite pinot. He enjoyed a nice drink after a long day, but this was different. Michaal wasn't only loose, he was messy. He didn’t look like he was enjoying himself at all.

Colin surprised, not unhappily- never unhappily: “What are you doing here?”

Michaal didn't look affronted by the question, but some kind of panic worried his brow. He stated: “Today’s our one-year anniversary.” His voice was off, taut and robotic. A suppressed lilt danced with his words that struck as almost Welsh. It could've been flattering, but in its suddenness, it only unnerved Colin. Michael always pronounced words well and proper, rounding the i's and tapping the t's. The care-free dance of the Welsh lilt didn't suit him.

Colin was about to ask if he was alright when Michael stepped forward, pushing one of his legs between Colin’s and pressing their bodies close. A hand cupped Colin's chin and guided his eyes up. He followed it easily, insecure about how tacky his cheeks must feel from the tears. Michael didn’t judge him- of course he didn’t- running his thumb over the drying skin and settling a hand in brown hair.

His touch flowed with warmth. Colin's thoughts drooped. He felt like sinking into Michael, burying his head into his chest and dozing there until everything was over. But most of it was over. Michael was here. Colin had overreacted. “You didn’t forget."

“I thought I’d come by and see you,” Michael said, finally sounding like himself. Or maybe it seemed as such because the phrase was familiar. It was what he’d proclaimed when he showed up after training one day. “Now that I can.”

Michael’s face was locked in shadows, backlighted by the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. Colin wasn’t used to looking up at him like this, but he couldn’t trust his body to stand yet. Michael didn't seem to mind- encouraging it, enjoying it- even when his newfound bout of dominance stunted. He studied Colin with a twinkling uncertainty. His chest drummed between them.

It was unlike him. Where Colin felt like a scared and young river clashing from the mountains, Michael was as tenacious and certain as the sea. He knew who he was, where he was, what he wanted, what he didn’t. Nothing met Colin’s stubborn insecurity as well as Michael’s stubborn confidence, so his rumpled physique and anxious actions were disquieting. Colin worried: “Are you alright?”

Michael shot down and kissed him. But it wasn’t right. It was Michael’s lips and Michael’s warmth, but he was rougher. He was needy and forceful- keeping a firm hand behind Colin’s head as their lips crashed together. Colin’s hand came up on instinct, laying on skin somewhere. He hadn’t closed his eyes- hadn’t had the time- and watched Michael’s scrunched face: eyes tightly shut, brow furrowed. He didn’t look calm or comfortable and Colin felt completely stumped by the forceful rush of it all.

Michael kept in it, pushing Colin’s lips open and deepening the kiss as his free hand appeared on Colin’s chest. It slit down him to the hem of his green sweater and Colin finally reacted. “Michael-” he grunted through the kiss, grabbing Michael’s wandering hand.

“What?” he panted.

“What are you-”

“Don’t you want to?” Michael breathed, pulling away. He didn’t look worried. He looked surprised, if not annoyed.

“I- I’m not exactly a nun but- here?” They were in a blood and glass-filled open space where Colin’s mates always changed and farted on one another. It didn’t feel particularly sexy. Nor was Colin up for it. His eyes hadn’t even dried from the tears. His breaths were still not filling him, but shallowly pretending to, bullying him with a lack of calm functioning air. He wasn’t relaxed enough to enjoy anything right now- let alone sex in a smelly locker room. Hold on... “How did you get in here? Don’t you need a pass for the gate-”

“Your coach helped me. It was supposed to be a surprise,” Michael smirked. It was what he’d said back then too- but it didn’t make sense this time. The only coach at the club right then was Roy and- going off the broken mirrors- he didn’t seem like he was busy planning surprise visits. Which this was, contrary to last time, when Dani had already let news of the surprise visit slip. Before Colin could wonder any of that aloud, Michael continued: “For our anniversary.” His fingers slid down from Colin’s hair, settling in the crook of his neck. “Isn’t this,” the sweater tugged again, “what you do on an anniversary?”

A year? Nobody had ever managed a year with Colin before. Michael knew that, didn't he? “I don’t know,” Colin ached, as cold air brushed under his sweater. A hand laid against his skin.

Michael leaned in low, whispering, “Don’t you want me here?”

The reminder of Colin's long-lasted loneliness had his answer falling quickly: “Course I do-”

“Then kiss me.” The hand started to travel down-

“Michael-” Colin grabbed the touch and pulled it out of his sweater. “Can we just…”

Michael scoffed. His hands yanked back. He stepped away from Colin, turning to sit beside him on the bench, far enough so as not to touch.

Shame burned Colin's ears. It was a dreaded emotion that brewed up in him all the time, but he rarely understood why. Somehow not knowing how he embarrassed himself only worked to sink the shame deeper. Was his humiliation confusing Colin? Was he the one acting off? Or was Michael more messed up than he looked?

“Why won’t you kiss me?” struck Colin from the side, low and frustrated.

“I’m sorry. It’s not-” he stumbled. He’d been so anxious that Michael was leaving him- that the avoided anniversary meant the end- but Michael was there, wanting him and he said no? He pushed him off and made Michael feel unwanted instead. God, he was such a piece of shit. “It’s not about you. It's me: I fucked up with Isaac. It’s just… upset me.” The heat from his ears spread to his face. Embarrassing. Who hadn’t he let down yet?

A hand on his. A whisper in his ear. “I can make you feel better.”

“I don’t-” Colin pulled back. He spun around to his fella- his patient, loving, and kind fella. Colin didn’t feel scared or violated, he just felt startled. “Michael, I don’t want to.”

Michael didn’t seem to catch the sincere shock ruling Colin’s words as he looked back with condescending judgement. “Fine.” He scoffed. “Fine.” He turned away, taking his hands to plant themselves above his knees. He was sitting quite wide, legs spread and arms away from his body like they were bulging with muscles. It wasn’t a pose Michael’d ever pulled before and it made Colin feel even smaller with his slumped shoulders and scattered feet. The tension and frustration leaked out of Michael’s angry eyes as he seemed to realize something. He drew out: “I guess I have to stop lying to you now.”

Colin couldn’t seem to recover from any jolt before he’d get thrown another. “What?”

“About this. About us.” Michael looked back to Colin, with a sorry smile. “I haven’t been honest.”

Colin knew this moment. He’d read this poem. He’d done this play. He’d heard these opening notes many times before and all his well-versed heart could muster in response was: “Oh.”

Michael’s lips tugged. “You already know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Yes. Colin did. Heat stung in the corner of his eyes. He took in Michael’s features, the shade of his eyes, the curve of his nose, the timbre of his voice.

“I thought I’d hidden it better. Sorry.”

Colin’s insides capsized. ‘Don’t cry,’ he scolded himself. It would only make it more embarrassing- add to his inherent block of shame. He wanted to ask Michael why- He wanted to get through these sickening motions- but his voice strangled it.

“I wanted to see you one more time,” Michael continued, eyebrows nudged up with pity. “I wanted to be with you one last time.” He lowered his eyes, mourning: “But if you don’t, then…”

Colin pressed his eyes shut. Couldn’t he be given another minute? Another moment where Michael still loved him? Where he still smiled when Colin quipped. Where the ridiculous amount of times he thought of him were still beautiful- not painful or annoying or embarrassing. They weren’t twisted memories yet. This wasn’t gone yet.

“Colin…” Warm hands cupped his face. Colin shook from the gentle touch. He’d been fearing this all day but now it felt impossible. He was going to tear open. He was going to spill across the floor. “Look at me, love.”

A whimper fled him as Colin forbade his body to sob, tightening his chest and shallowing his breaths. He sniffed up the tears. His skin trembled. He forced his eyes open.

Michael looked back, exactly the way Colin memorized him- the dark shade, the gentle curve, the certain timbre. He soothed Colin’s cheeks with his thumb, exhaling a sombre breath. His hold was so steady it shook Colin more. This wasn’t hurting Michael. This was saving him. Colin should bear it. He should bear it for him.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Michael,” Colin begged. He sobbed. His heart capsized, he tore open and spilled across the floor. He should take this- For him, he should take this- but he couldn’t. He couldn't bear it. He couldn’t even look. Such a piece of shit.

Arms wove around Colin’s shaking body. His face was placed against something warm and moving and he wailed into it. A soothing hand curled in his hair. Another laid across his back. Michael’s voice rose over Colin’s drowning: “I thought if I kept saying that I loved you, maybe one day it would be true. But it isn’t. It can’t be true, because Col,” he whispered the nickname, tickling Colin's ear. Would he never do that again? "Colin," Michael corrected. “You’re unloveable.”

Colin rocked. Nothing else in him seemed to work anymore.

“And it’s not just your homophobic career. Or the publicity and the harassment. Or even how bad you are at football,” he huffed it like a quip. Like a comfort. “It’s you. And I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to be honest. It’s like what Nate said. About you doing the job. It’s that. You did the job and I should never have let this drag on to an anniversary. You understand, don’t you?”

‘No,’ Colin wanted to cry, but he did. He understood. He just couldn’t bear it.

“I’ll go,” Michael ends. The hands disappeared. The warmth Colin had clutched drew back. He keeled forward with a sob, reaching but finding only an empty bench. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t bear to.

Colin was a young and scared river again. Crashing against rocks, clashing from heights, being pushed and pulled- and without a sea at the bottom, he’d run without respite. This pain was indefinite.

Keeley’s cheeks felt rough from scratching at her skin, but the black smudges were finally gone. With the bandages and ointment in hand, she turned back into the hall.

A new set of footsteps joined the echoing beat of Keeley's heels. Ahead of her, a man emerged from Roy’s old office: dark hair, white blouse, neat pants, and a jangling bundle of keys swinging from his hand. Michael, she recognized. She’d worked with him a bit after he and Colin kissed on the pitch and caused a global outburst. Keeley’d never been an activist but she’d quite liked the change. Instead of desensitized companies thinking of how to best make money, she got to work with two scared queers who needed the world to be better. She’d done her best but…

She’d done her best.

Keeley sped up- wanting to say hello to Michael, ask how everything was going- when a horrible sob halted her.

Michael kept walking, striding through the hall like he hadn’t heard the sound, but he must’ve. It was coming from somewhere around him.

The cries continued. It was a man, that much Keeley could tell. His sobs were desperate, not unwilling because he was far beyond processing his own will.

Keeley continued, following the sound through the hall. Ahead, Michael turned a corner, disappearing from her sight as Keeley approached the cries:

The locker room. She stepped into the doorway.

“Oh my god…”

She took in the glass. She took in the blood. Had Roy done all that? She would’ve heard that, surely. She’d been right outside. One mirror she could have missed in her own tears- but every single one?

Her eyes recalled the dustpan with broken glass by Rebecca's coffee table upstairs like some fucked up omen.

Someone choked and sputtered, pulling her back down.

Keeley dragged her gaze away from the floor, finding a green sweater and brown hair. He pushed himself up from the bench, hiding his face.

“Colin?” Keeley recognized nonetheless.

“Shit- sorry, just-” his voice caught as his body rocked. He curled his arm in front of his face as if he was protecting his eyes from a dangerous storm. With the other, he shakily held himself up from the bench.

“What’s happened?” Keeley worried, surging forward. Glass crunched under her heels, reminding her of Roy. She remembered the wild look on his face when he’d snapped at her. Was that how he'd looked, breaking all of this? Could he have done it?

Colin tensed with her crunching approach, a whimper escaping through his clenched teeth.

“Hey,” Keeley soothed, laying her hands on his protective arm. He didn’t shrug her off, letting her guide his hand down. She lowered with it, settling beside Colin as he kept his head firmly ducked.

She could’ve remembered Michael striding away from the room, ignoring the broken sounds crawling behind him- reaching for him. She could’ve pieced it together, but she’d been too busy trying to place this bowed and scared young-adult in who she’d come to know as a resilient and optimistic footballer. She baffled, asking: “What happened?”

Colin caved in on himself.

Chapter Text

7:45 PM

“I’m not playing like shit.”

Roy reckoned his glare communicated well enough that he found Jamie’s denial to be bollocks. Still, the little shit decided to answer it with more fake innocence: “What?” he challenged, shrugging in on himself.

“You didn’t score.”

Jamie had the nerve to look unimpressed: “So?”

“So- The fuck do you mean ‘so’? It’s the thing you do, Jamie.”

“I thought the thing I did was being a prick.”

“Yeah, well,” Roy grunted, shifting to lean more of his weight on the sink behind him, “That part’s working fine.”

Jamie let out an indignant squeak. “Why is everyone getting all bent over one fucking training? That’s all it was: Training.”

Roy knew why it mattered- as did everyone else- as should Jamie. His hand tightened around Keeley’s phone. “And because I’m the new gaffer you decided that training doesn’t matter?”

“Piss off- That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Seems like it fucking does.” Roy knew it to be true and he hated Jamie’s defensiveness on it. Did he think Roy couldn’t handle the reality of his own fuck-ups?

“It’s not about that, alright? I’m just…” The lad seemed to workshop something in his head, chewing on words he visibly didn’t like.

The creeping discomforts of worry irked Roy. He’d thought he was the problem. That everyone’s understandable mistrust in him was causing their bad performance. It was what he’d expected to hear from Jamie. What he’d prepared for. He wasn’t ready for something more to be wrong. Roy recalled how Tartt had done the drills and spoken his lines during training, but he hadn’t run with a destination in mind. He lacked his usual energy and competitiveness- not sticking out in any play. Had he been there at all?

Jamie sighed. “It’s just a game.”

Roy’s thoughts rattled and crashed, lining up slow traffic behind it.

That wasn’t a thing footballers said.

It wasn’t a thing they could think.

Even through the bullying and the repugnant racism, Obisanya would never utter such a line. Hughes wasn’t still here- through the chants and the slurs- because he’d always dreamed of being an activist. If Rojas had heard Jamie’s sigh, Jesus Christ himself would’ve been summoned to throw hands. As much as Roy loathed to think of the enthusiast as anything but dim, Dani had a point: Football was their lives. It was the lives they’d chosen. They’d fought to be here. It had been decades since football was ‘just a game’ to any of them. Yet Jamie sighed the words with such resignation that it made Roy remember that he wasn’t wrong. Football was a sport. All of this- all this pain, this worry, this insecurity- was about a sport where you had to kick a ball between some sticks.

Their phones buzzed. Roy hardly registered it through his existentialism, but Jamie obliged. He breathed his carefully chewed words away and reached for his pocket. Roy glared at him reading the message, determined not to let Jamie sweep this new apathy under the rug.

“Sam’s in hospital.”

“What?” Roy jumped up, snatching his phone from his pocket and leaving Keeley’s by the sink. He knew he should’ve been more worried about Obisanya. How could he have walked away- forgotten?

The group chat Roy’d long debated leaving or at least muting was blowing up:

I was at Ola’s and out of nowhere my hand started to hurt

Sam was at Ola’s? Hadn’t he been here a second ago? Roy checked the time. 7:46 PM. It’d been more than an hour since he’d seen Obisanya. He must’ve left and driven to his restaurant in that time.

I looked down and it was bleeding so Simi drove me to the hospital

Roy’s breath rattled. Was it possible for Sam to have gotten injured and to the hospital in that same hour though?

Isaac asked: How bad is it

Just some cuts the doctor said. Apparently there was glass in it but I have no idea how that could’ve happened

He’d already seen a doctor? Sure, Sam was a professional footballer, but that didn’t make Richmond’s doctors less busy. If his hand only had a couple of cuts, they wouldn’t have rushed him to the start of the line- Not even if he were Britney fucking Spears.

A little over an hour was not enough time for Sam to have gotten from Richmond to Ola’s, from Ola's to a hospital, from the reception to a doctor. It simply wasn't.

Suspicious, Moe sent, Very suspicious

Are you alright, mi amigo?

Yes I’m fine

Really

Roy hated himself for the shortness of his relief, but his mind was too busy going over every detail. Obisanya's blank gaze, his sombre confusion, his silent demeanour. Roy was sure- he was certain that Sam had been there. He must’ve been.

But no one else had seen him. No one had heard him. He hadn't touched anything- moved anything- talked. Had he been there?

Through the team’s continued interrogation of Obisanya, Roy typed: When did it happen?

“The fuck kinda question is that?” Jamie judged.

Roy ignored him along with all the messages cheering his first participation in the chat. He’s here! He’s there! He’s every fucking where!

Until Sam answered: About an hour or so ago

It was just getting busy at the restaurant

Jamie jumped in: You were there all night??

He must’ve caught on to Roy’s fear. The realization that made his hands clammy, endangering his phone to slipping.

Yes, Sam answered, I went straight there after training. Why?

“Oh shit-”

“Don’t say it,” Roy growled. For once Jamie listened, lips snapping shut and brown eyes wide. His silence didn’t matter though. The reality screamed through the air with nauseating breath:

Roy Fucking Kent was seeing things.

8 PM

Isaac had figured it out. No wonder Michael cancelling dinner was such a big deal. The anniversary clearly mattered to Colin. He’d gone through the trouble of putting it in the planner Keeley forced them all to keep. He must’ve been afraid to forget, determined to celebrate it. Yet the day had come and at 8 PM he was still here at the club. Michael didn’t even seem to mind.

Had something changed in their relationship? Were they having issues? Why wouldn’t Colin say something?

New determination grounded Isaac. He tightened his grip on the phone and got up, ready to confront Colin. Carefully he wove around the broken glass, opening the door to step out into-

A sturdy figure collided with him. Isaac stepped back, apologizing: “Shit- sorry, bruv-”

He looked up. His voice teetered out. He blinked, once, twice but the image remained: A black man with a clean fade, handsome stubble, and deep brown eyes. The eyebrows which were usually furrowed down, were up and arched. The lips that were usually pressed shut, gaped.

Isaac blinked. The man remained. He wore his black and red Air Jordans, his white and gold tracksuit- his charcoal coat. It was all the same. It was all- undeniably- there.

Isaac had collided with himself.

Roy’s grandfather had been a short man. He’d had polite salt and pepper hair and kind dark eyes. He was an autodidact in many ways. From cars to guitars, he liked knowing how things worked and he loved teaching others. He loved teaching Roy.

There’d been this great red wingback chair in his cosy home, backdropped by the largest bookcase four-year-old Roy had ever laid eyes on. He’d admired it at first- mouth agape and eyes twinkling- until he’d started looking at the covers. They didn’t show any drawn animals or cartoon people. They were usually images of a machine with an ugly long bar of text layered on top. He’d whined, ‘How come you don’t have any storybooks?’

His grandfather laughed. ‘These are storybooks.’

‘No they’re not.’

‘Sit,’ he answered, patient and amused. Roy had found it condescending in his tween years, but as a child, it’d been magical to be talked with by an adult.

Roy’d clambered onto the couch and watched his grandda pick a heavy book from the coffee table. ‘Did you know that for a long time, people did everything by hand?’

‘By hand?’ Roy echoed.

His grandfather hummed, thinking. He explained: ‘Do you remember when you scraped your knee and broke your jeans?’

Roy nodded.

‘Your mother took the jeans and sewed them up.’

‘With the string, you mean?’

‘That’s correct. She used a string and a needle to tie two pieces of the jeans together.’

‘She fixed them.’

‘She did. With her hands. But that took a long time, didn’t it?’

Roy’s eyes bulged, remembering the ages he’d sat there, waiting for her. ‘Yeeesss!’

‘Well this was something a lot of people found just as annoying as you do. So they needed a solution. They needed to build something…’ Grandda’s eyes widened with excitement. His hands gestured as he explained the many attempts, failings, and reinventions that came from a simple idea. He hadn’t glossed over anything- talking of the fearful tailors that burned down factories, the missing patents, stolen inventions, lawsuits- He’d told it all. And Roy had loved it. He’d spend years nagging his parents: ‘Tell me about the sewing machines! Tell me about the sewing machines!’

Near the end, grandda started to lose what he’d sought after most. At nine years old, Roy was finding himself explaining things back to his grandda. Not only the stories but simple things like where his sweater had gone. ‘You were warm, remember? You took it off upstairs.’

‘Oh- oh of course,’ his grandda had lied, face scrunched up as he tried to deny himself from trusting his own treasured perception.

It was only once that Roy voiced what he’d really thought. ‘You don’t remember,’ he accused, ‘Do you?’

The scrunched look fell from his grandfather’s face. He gave a tight smile, betrayed by his glassy eyes. ‘We all lose things,’ he’d said.

It was only after he died that Roy understood he wasn’t talking about a sweater.

“If this is you lot fucking with me-” he angered at Jamie.

“No we-”

“Because it isn’t fucking funny!”

“It wasn’t us! I swear, Roy,” Jamie held his hands up. “Nobody’s trying to mess with you.”

“Somebody is! ‘Cause how else could I be seeing shit that isn’t fucking there?”

Jamie stared, pained pity etched on his face. He shrugged, “Maybe somebody drugged you?”

Roy huffed with frustration. He wiped over his eyes, pinched his nose, and started to pace. Who could’ve drugged him? And with what? What could cause one simple and odd hallucination, but nothing else? No, it wasn’t drugs.

“Or it was like- an optical illusion or summat?”

Roy found a cold wall. He held on to it to try and ground his dizzy head. No optical illusions could conjure up a person like that. No, this wasn’t a fucking trick of the light.

“Or maybe you’re right! Maybe Sam was here and he’s lying about being in hospital-”

“FUCK!” Roy roared. He pulled his hand back from the wall. He swung it back- crashing his fist into the white tiles. The impact cracked through his knuckles. The softened stinging woke again, stabbing up his wrist. His body trembled, but his head stopped spinning. Roy breathed.

Sam was miles too kind for such a stunt.

“Alright- alright…” hands appeared on Roy’s shoulders. They guided him back from the wall. “Enough of that, yeah?”

A red smudge was splashed on the white tiles. Roy kept breathing. The outburst had emptied him. The stings from his hand held all the fear and frustration, so the rest of his body could sag.

“Let’s sit down," a whiny pitch fussed, turning Roy and settling him on the floor. Roy let it happen. He stared ahead, unseeing. His knuckles kept stinging, vibrating with heat. A cooler touch appeared around the pain and moved his hand.

“Shit. Shit, that’s bleeding again.” A strangled whining rang out. “We need Keeley.” The cold touch left as footsteps stormed away. They paused. “Don’t move.” The sounds retreated from the room: “And don’t punch nothing!”

Roy didn’t think he could. He was too heavy. The pain in his hand grounded his body as his mind withdrew to remember his grandfather’s glassy eyes and dejected words.

‘We all lose things.’

The clone huffed his shock into a smile. “Well shit,” he amused with Isaac's voice.

If only Moe had been there. He’d know what to make of this, but all Isaac could think to do was ready his fist and clench his other hand around Colin’s phone- ready to retaliate if his clone tried anything. Or was this a prank? A hologram? Was it some kind of costume and make-up? His lost twin? Isaac didn't trust it. His instinct roared with unease, warning of danger. He narrowed his eyes: “Who are you?”

The clone grinned- Isaac’s wide grin with Isaac’s white teeth. How could he have those? The thief flickered his amused gaze to Isaac’s fists. He tilted his head with a disappointed sigh. With a hand that wasn't his, he gestured at Colin’s phone, judging: “Again?”

Confusion barreled deeper in Isaac. “Wh-”

The thief dashed forward, struck out and Isaac’s chest collapsed- He flew back. He reached out, trying to pull the offending arms with him but he missed.

The clone grinned. Isaac flailed.

His hand cut on glass. Something clattered to the ground. Everything was spinning. The ceiling appeared, fluorescent tubes glaring at him. His head smashed into something. Something sharp and dull that burst his scalp open and sent thick vibrations from the back of his skull to the front to the back to the front to the back to the front to the…

8:03 PM

“Isaac!” Jamie relieved, racing toward his captain the moment he spotted him.

Isaac finished locking up the boot room, spinning around. Jamie jogged up, feeling eyed. The captain grinned, “Jamie Tartt.”

Jamie slowed, stumped by Isaac’s odd greeting. He’d been acting weird earlier too. Maybe whatever was affecting Roy was making Isaac go mad as well. Jamie was about to rush his question when his eyes hooked on red: Isaac’s palm was cut open- a long deep gash vandalizing his lifeline.

Why was there fucking blood everywhere?

The captain didn't seem to notice Jamie’s unease- or the wound- looking enthralled with the Mancunian’s attention: “It’s good that we're talking.”

“What happened to your hand?” Jamie squeaked.

Isaac’s brow furrowed. He looked down. He tilted his hand and stared at the glistening blood. “Huh,” he intrigued.

“The fuck you mean-” Jamie worried, compelled by the gathering blood. Isaac needed Keeley as much as- “Roy, shit-” he panicked. “I need to find Keeley, d’you know where she went?”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed in thought. He glanced behind Jamie, back toward the bathroom.

“Isaac!” Jamie rushed him, afraid Roy would strike another wall if he was left alone for too long.

The captain didn’t look concerned in the slightest. He chewed on it another moment, deciding: “Upstairs.”

“Cheers-” Jamie clapped him on the arm as he darted past him to the stairs. Isaac turned with him, keeping his back to the door.

“Don’t worry about it!” he called after Jamie: ”And I’ll keep an eye on Roy for you.”

“Thanks!” Jamie yelled back, already halfway up the stairs.

8:05 PM

Roy was 38. He wasn’t young the way people meant young- where growing was still a given, not an initiative- but he wasn’t old either. He hadn’t even hit middle age. The thirties were supposed to be for settling down, choosing what you wanted and getting comfortable with the chaos- embracing it if you could. It wasn’t for losing things.

Who lost their sanity at 38? Maybe he’d been losing it for much longer. No mentally well person punched mirrors. Or broke up with someone they loved. How far of a stretch was that to imagining someone who wasn’t there? Maybe his mind had conjured Obisanya as a guilty conscience for breaking the lad’s mirror. It explained why Sam didn’t talk- his overall odd behaviour.

“Well, fellas,” a Texas accent yanked Roy from his thoughts.

“Jesus Christ-”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us in the second half.” Leaning against the opening of the door, stood a smiling Ted Lasso. He wore his khaki jeans, a white polo, and fresh nike sneakers but nothing more to protect him from storm Agnes blustering and lashing down outside.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Roy pushed himself more upright, hiding his stinging hand. He wanted to stand up but the nervous wobble in his knees and stomach forced him to stay on the floor. “Aren’t you supposed to be in America?”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree, big guy.”

Fair enough, the infamous coach was standing there, after all.

But was he?

Roy reeled from the doubt- the question he’d never had to ask himself before. Was this real? He looked for glitches in the appearance, but found Ted's usual amount of fingers and limbs. It all looked correct. Could Lasso have returned to the UK? Without announcing it?

Yes. He easily could have. It wouldn’t be odd for the American to show up for the first week of training as surprise support. And unlike Obisanya, Lasso was talking. But what had he said? Something about a second half? Had it been a quip? A reference? Roy didn’t understand a third of what the man said, so it wasn’t significant that he hadn’t now. It could- for all its oddity and abruptness- actually be Ted Lasso in the doorway.

But was it?

Roy hated the doubt. He hated the clear image of his grandfather’s glassy eyes. ‘We all lose things.’ The stinging in his hand had faded, unable to ground Roy through his search, making him externalize the turbulence differently. He voiced: “Are you fucking real?”

Ted’s head drew back, furrowing his brow in intrigue. “Of course, I am- Why would you ask me that?”

His response made sense. His voice sounded right. His body didn’t glitch. “No reason,” Roy grunted. 

Ted tilted his head, gaze pensive but he didn’t push it. His eyes flickered to a spot above Roy. The red splash on the white tile- It must be. The ex-coach inhaled and stepped into the room. His eyes roamed over Roy, catching something that made them narrow. He squatted by him, gesturing to his hand and wondering: “Did you mean to do that?”

Roy flexed his hand, feeling the skin pull the wound open and sending stings up his bones. He admitted, “The first time more than the second.”

Ted didn’t look worried, only intrigued. “And the first time was…”

“Obisanya’s mirror.”

“Why? Did you know what it would do? No-” Ted glanced away to scold himself, “That’s a stupid question.”

But was he? Roy’s gut yelled. Was this real? Would Ted Lasso ever look or talk like this? Or was Roy going insane? Had he imagined Ted differently than he ever was? Did Roy- like his grandda- have to accept that he couldn’t trust his own perception? Obisanya hadn’t talked. Roy hadn’t had the chance to look at him like he could with Lasso. This was different. Maybe Roy’s gut was the falseness here, fucking with him. Maybe he had to accept that this was Ted, because… Because why wouldn’t it be?

Ted raised his eyes, accusing: “You’ve always hated your reflection.”

Roy felt the truth tighten up his chest. He couldn’t deny it. Nor did he care to: “I told you I still wasn’t… better.”

Ted hummed. He glanced Roy over. He concluded: “I should’ve believed you.”

Roy’s stinging knuckles went forgotten in the twist of Ted’s hand. Not believed in you. No, because he did do that, didn’t he? And did Roy deserve it? Look at what he’d done just that day: to Keeley, to the team, to himself. Roy burst: “I’m fucking it all up.”

Ted nodded, pity loitering on the slant of his eyebrows. “You are.”

Roy lowered his eyes to the floor, studying a red droplet on the grey stone. Was that his blood?

‘Am I supposed to be the little girl?’ his old words broke out in him.

‘I’d like you to be,’ Ted smiled, nodding as his eyes glowed with belief and trust. Had that finally given out? Three years where Roy proved his own inadequacy over and over and Ted finally believed it.

'For the past year,' Roy remembered what he'd said on Lasso's final day, 'I've busted my fucking ass trying to change, but apparently I haven't done fucking shit 'cause... I’m still me.’

Lasso had disagreed. Had their time apart changed him? Had Roy’s failures today convinced him? Made him realize the truth?

‘The best we can do,’ Higgins had offered, ‘is to keep asking for help and accepting it when you can.’

Roy sighed. Higgins was right. Hadn’t he learned anything from all Ted Lasso’s been trying to teach them? "Fuck," Roy dragged his eyes from the red droplet, facing the truth: “I need your help.”

Ted pressed his lips together as his eyes lightened. He took a moment, before sighing: “Haven’t I helped enough?”

Was this real?

Roy hated his gut. It was oozing with hurt and betrayal and shame and he loathed that it kept making itself known. Because Ted was right- he’d helped more than enough, but would he ever see it as such? Had he changed in America? Or was Roy insane? Could he not trust his own perception? Was his previous idea of ‘Ted Lasso’ fictional? 

Was this entire interaction not even happening?

Roy burst: “You've fucking helped enough but the team's gone to shit, I snapped at Keeley, broke Obisanya’s mirror, and then punched a wall because I’m fucking seeing shit!”

He panted it away as his head spun. If not this, what was insanity?

Ted’s eyes quirked up with intrigue again: “What are you seeing?”

“People,” Roy frustrated, “Obisanya. I thought I saw him but he couldn’t have been here.”

“How do you know?” Ted worried. Was that finally worry? Care? Roy’s gut calmed with the familiarity of it on Ted’s voice.

“Didn’t you see his text?”

Ted shook his head.

“He got glass in his hand or something,” Roy explained, voice tired, “while working at his restaurant.”

Ted’s brow furrowed. His eyes dropped to his hands. One cradled the other as he smoothed his thumb over his knuckles. He turned it around, making a similar movement on his palm. His gaze went off, distracted.

“He’s alright,” Roy cut in, trying to ease the man’s worry.

Ted woke up, dropping his hands and suppressing a gleeful grin. “Good,” he relished, “That’s good.”

And it was good, but “It means he couldn’t have been here.”

Ted’s brows hopped. “Right.” He sounded bored.

Was this real? roared Roy’s gut. Bored? On Ted Lasso? The American, hesitant to help- tired of it? In what fucking world? “That’s it?” Roy accused. “You’re not gonna make a ‘Sixth Sense’ movie reference or some shit?”

Ted’s face scrunched up with confusion, but he schooled it. He studied Roy again, diagnosing: “Maybe it’s time for you to move on, big guy.”

Roy hitched, confusion bellowing up in him.

“You wanted my help?” Ted checked.

Roy nodded with a grunt, hesitant eyes narrow.

“Well- I think- you should move on from all of this,” Ted repeated, words fumbling in Roy’s head. “You were already old when I got here and now you’re still here, after me, clinging on to the only thing you were ever any good at.” Ted shrugged, “But you’re not anymore. You’re a cripple. A liability.” His voice was as light as always, talking like he was pepping Roy up as he asked: “D’you really want to take all these promising young men down with you because you can’t accept that you’re no longer great?”

In Roy’s knee bugged up an old pain. His stomach lining burned from the acid it was made to hold. His grandfather had lost what he'd sought after most: His knowledge. Roy'd lost something similar. He'd lost his body, his skill, his career. For a long time, he felt out of touch with himself, disappointed again and again by his new limits. It'd taken a year to rebuilt that trust in himself- to feel at home in his body- and just like that, the roof came down.

Was denial what steered Roy? Even if the Ted before him wasn’t real, but something he’d subconsciously created- Wouldn’t that make his words all the more true?

“Is it because you’re jealous of them?” Ted wondered, “Are jealous of Jamie?”

“I’m not fucking jealous of Tartt!”

Ted’s brows arched up in doubt. “He makes Keeley happier than you could.”

Roy blanched. That was true, wasn’t it? Roy made her cry. Jamie made her laugh.

“And he’s actually become a good person while you’re still…” Ted searched for the right word to encapsulate the nuisance of Roy’s never-ending shortcomings: “You.”

They were Roy’s own words. They were his own conclusions. They cut worse on Ted Lasso’s voice.

Ted groaned as he stood up. He nodded at Roy, heading out again. Was that all he'd come here to do? Stomp on wounds and twist minds?

In the doorway Ted paused, turning back. “And maybe these things you’re seeing,” Ted offered, waving his hand, “is your subconscious talking to you. Telling you to do what you should’ve done when you started getting slow."

He didn't have to say it. Roy knew the words by heart:

Leave Richmond alone. Leave football alone.

Ted bobbed his head to the side as if he'd offered nothing more than a little fun fact to think about. He turned and left.

Chapter Text

8 PM

Keeley had caught him. She’d guided his face against her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, rocking him gently. As Colin sobbed in her hold, she’d pieced it together: Michael’s retreat, ignoring the cries. Keeley held him closer, recognizing where the pieces of her own broken heart lay. The tree. The schoolyard. The staircase. The gala. The table. The couch.

She’d floated in that feeling, disappearing in Colin’s sobbing until his rocking calmed. He remembered his limbs and picked himself off of her, hiding his face again as he wiped at his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Keeley soothed, watching him slot himself together.

He glanced over, lashes bundled together and the tip of his nose a little flushed. His eyes were puffy, red, and apologetic. “I’m not usually like this.” He tried to quip, distancing himself from the emotion that had overwhelmed him.

“I know, Colin,” Keeley smirked, “We’ve worked together for three years now. And we used to go clubbing together, remember?

“Oh right…” He thought for a moment, glassy eyes distant. Keeley figured he was thinking about Michael, but when he opened his mouth again he asked: “Did I imagine you giving Roy heart eyes after he nutted me?”

“Shit-” Keeley’s lips tugged up as her chest tickled with the memory. She covered her mouth to stop her chuckle, muffling a nonetheless joyful: “Sorry.”

Colin gave a gentle smile. “No, it’s alright- If he were more my type I probably would’ve done…” The watery amusement faded. “The same,” he soured, tears welling up. His gaze floated down and glazed over. Keeley was certain that this time, he was thinking of Michael.

Her smile dropped together with her hands as Colin tried to blink away tears. “D’you want to talk about it?” she offered.

He spooked a little- eyes darting to her as though she’d dropped from the ceiling- before they dropped again. He considered it, even inhaled to speak twice, but in the end, he gave out. His gaze darted over the floor. “I’m supposed to-” his voice cracked. He coughed it away, reaching a shaky hand out to the broom beside him. “I’m supposed to clear this.”

He picked up the broomstick and used it to lift himself. He trembled as he shuffled to where he’d been, indicated by a border on the floor. The glass and droplets ended, replaced by thin streaks of blood- like rain trails on the window of a fast car. He placed the bristle on the border and pulled it closer, drawing more red rain.

Keeley couldn’t decide whether his shrug-off was stubbornness or avoidance- if not both. Either way, she knew how to handle it. She spotted another grey broom leaning against the doorway, waiting for someone. “Alright then.” Keeley marched to it. She snatched the sweeper from its inactivity and proclaimed: “Let’s get this sorted.”

Colin stopped to watch her, dubious, as she marched to the other side of the room. From under the window of the coaches’ office, she pulled the scattered shards of glass. She didn’t turn around to Colin, letting him accept that she wasn’t going to leave him alone right now. Not when he looked on the verge of collapsing into the hazardous floor. She pulled more glas toward herself as the first droplet of blood entangled in her bristles.

Right. Roy. His red hand. The ointment and bandages abandoned on the bench.

The bleeding on his knuckles had calmed though, so there wasn’t much of a rush. Roy could wait a couple more minutes until she was satisfied that Colin wouldn’t cave in on himself. Keeley was sure the new manager would understand.

Another set of screeching joined Keeley’s and she dared a glance over. Colin was frowning at the floor as he weakly pulled his broom around. Keeley let him be. She understood the need to sort through thoughts alone.

8:03 PM

Isaac could’ve sworn he’d been standing. Yet his back pressed with all his weight down against a surface, pieces sticking up and poking him- stinging him. He blinked his eyes open. White glowing lines duplicated and blurred together, screaming at him. They spun, dizzyingly.

His ears rung. There was some kind of swinging sound, a thud, jangling, voices- but it all muffled in the ringing.

Isaac tried to pick his head up- remove the offensive glares from his vision- but his skull split open. His brains bled out. Isaac froze and scrunched his eyes shut, but his stomach cartwheeled as if he was still moving, rolling and rolling and rolling. He groaned, clenching his teeth as the wave sickened him.

That couldn’t be good.

The room straightened. The headache turned into a heavy pulsing, allowing Isaac to peak at his surroundings again.

The boot room.

More images clattered in:

The glass.

The phone.

The clone.

The push.

He needed to get up.

Isaac recognized which way was down and used it to leverage himself upward. He placed his hand on the floor- A sharp pain cut across his fingers. The glass- Isaac yanked it back, shaking. He froze as the pain took its agonizing time to even out.

His head pulsed, his hand stung, and his back ached. Isaac needed to get up. There was someone out there wearing his face. He had to stop him. He had to warn the rest. He had to know what the fuck was going on.

Through narrow eyes, he found a clear spot to place his still hand. The red and stinging one he tucked against his stomach. He pushed himself up- right up and out of the glass- His skull exploded, starting to turn again. Isaac ignored it, leveraging himself forward to shift his weight from his hand to his knees.

He needed to get up.

He shuffled his feet closer, pushing his weight above them. With a final shove off the floor, Isaac was free. He launched forward into a squat, catching himself on the floor to avoid a rollover. Not that his spinning head noticed. He panted, letting the torrent wash and spin and drown him. He kept his face down and eyes scrunched shut, hiding himself from the blazing sun someone had heaved into the small room. His head was going to burst from the pressure of the clamp he'd gotten it trapped in. God, he was exhausted. He could roll forward. He could let gravity pull him into a comfortable glass-less nap. Just for a moment.

Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear a loud frustration: “Isaac!” He flinched back- the yell bounced through his skull, increasing the pressure on his bursting brain.

Jamie?

“Upstairs.”

“Cheers-”

Isaac ducked away from the chalkboard-screeching of Jamie’s booming conversation, trying not to keel over.

“Don’t worry about it!”

Hold on- who was that?

”And I’ll keep an eye on Roy for you.”

The voice was like Isaac’s but deeper. Like how he sounded in recordings.

The memories clattered in his head:

The clone.

The push.

Isaac needed to get up.

“Thanks!” yelled Jamie in the distance.

Isaac dragged himself from the alluring floor. As he rose, hunching, blood pumped desperately to reach his head. Something warm and wet rolled on his neck. Clumsily, Isaac reached over, feeling a steady stream travelling down from his hair. He pulled his hand back. The tips of his fingers glistened with red. As did his palm, a long gash right along the lifeline and a thinner one gushing from the bents of his fingers.

Shit.

Isaac fell against the door. There was shuffling on the other side. His still hand found the doorknob. He weighed it down and pulled- but nothing. He tried it again. And again- to no avail:

He was locked in.

“Oi-” his voice was groggy, his tongue alien and slow.

No response.

The blinds that covered the window in the door danced as Isaac bonked on the frame. The knock bounced through his compressed skull. “Let me outta here,” he tried to yell, but nothing worked right.

A laugh clanged on the other side.

“Let me-” his voice hurt his own ears. He cut it off as the ringing crawled up his spine, trembling his body and numbing his mind.

Footsteps retreated, stirring him. Isaac yanked the blinds that hung over the small window up. He craned his neck, looking around blearily for-

The last trace of the clone walked out of the window frame. In the streak of that moment, the colours went weird: the hair was lighter than the clone's- than Isaac's- and the black jacket was gone, replaced by white. Somewhere Isaac's vignette vision had hooked onto khaki brown.

“Oi!” Isaac bonked, ignoring the pain in his newfound panic. This person- this something- had access to his face. They could wear him. They were going to leave him here, unable to warn anyone. Stuck. He punched the door. “Don’t you fucking-”

The footsteps kept going, leaving him to hollow his voice out alone.

“Hey!” he called to no one, pressing against to window to try and catch another glimpse. “Don’t fucking leave me in here!” he punched. “Oi!”

Nothing.

Isaac dropped his head against the door.

He needed to get out. But why? Why, when the floor was so pretty?

8:05 PM

Keeley shut her mind off, remaining focused on the simple task of clearing the floor. She’d been thinking enough. Right then, she was content to only feel. To feel confusion and worry at the broken mirrors. To feel guilt at her involvement in setting back Roy and Jamie’s friendship. To feel- irrevocably and indefinitely- alone.

To feel afraid of that.

She was halfway down the room when Colin muttered: “Did Roy really do all this?”

Confusion, worry. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Colin said. “Isaac figured that you… Nevermind. Is he alright?”

Guilt. “He will be.” He should be. Isn't that why they broke up?

“And you?”

“Me?” Alone. Afraid.

“You were crying," Colin murmured. "Are you alright?”

The innocence of the question paused her. He had no deeper intention, no expectation, no need to ask after her other than asking after her. It was simple, innocuous, kind. Refreshing after Jamie and Roy's reaching. It stirred Keeley from residing in feelings, letting her voice wake. “Yeah,” she surprised herself, turning to find the streak-faced Colin studying her. “I’m alright. Exes suck sometimes, you know?”

Colin paled. Keeley remembered Michael. The sobbing. Her eyes widened. “Oh shit, sorry- That’s probably the last thing you want to hear right now.”

Colin ducked his head, moving his broom half-heartedly. He lied: “What do you mean?”

Keeley sighed at her clumsiness, but had no intention of pretending she wasn't sure what had happened. She knew the whole break-up business too well for that. Still, she found her mind quiet and her position precarious. She might have five or so years on the footballer in front of her, but love didn’t get easier in that time. If anything, the glued crevice in her heart only created foreboding: The worst kind of certainty. Being queer and a public figure on top of all that, only placed more pressure. As Colin was forced to learn too.

The brunette’s hands shook as he pulled the broom toward himself. His gaze stayed aimed at the floor, but Keeley doubted he could see anything through the wall of water perched under his eyes. Nonetheless, he looked determined to keep the tears there- so long as they didn't slip.

“You’ll be okay,” she tried to comfort, not quite sure if she believed it herself yet. Not quite sure if it meant anything at all. She added the only thing that always counted for her: “You’ll find someone else.”

Colin’s face scrunched up. The wall of tears threatened to burst. He sniffed. He nodded. He kept sweeping.

"I'll shut up," Keeley acquiesced, taking Colin's silence as discomfort. “We don't have to talk about it.”

“It's alright,” he snivelled, voice hoarse as he remained facing down at his task. “I know there'll be someone else. Done this before, haven’t I?” he went for casual- even accompanying it with a weak smile- but the words were snatched and sunken by sorrow.

Keeley wasn’t the only one weary of love.

“Well- not entirely,” Colin added on, still refusing her eye contact. “It’s always a bit different, innit? I don’t know. This was…” His sweeping slowed to a pause. “Different.”

“Why?” she nudged. “What did he say?”

“Everything.” The furrow of his brow looked almost angry, but the emotion didn’t fit Colin’s despondency. He was scared, maybe, or confused. “Stuff he knew would hurt me, but-” he looked to her, pleading with wide watery green eyes, “Why would he want to do that?”

Keeley wished she knew. She wanted to say something about men and emotions and outbursts, but she couldn’t get the words out. Colin wasn’t looking for a societal analysis. He was looking for comfort, closure. Any kind of softener: It didn’t have to wash all the grime off, only make it smell a bit nicer- however artificially.

By the time Keeley realized this, Colin’s pleading eyes had left her. His gaze roamed, distressed and distant. “Unless he meant it.” His voice stretched taut. “He meant it: I’m...” He breathed away the rest of the word, but it was too late. The wall had burst and a long-supressed tear rolled down his cheek.

“Sorry-” he woke, wiping at his face with a shaky hand. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I shouldn’t be crying.”

Ted had done wonders against the toxic masculinity of the locker room, but society’s treatment still stuck. Men didn’t cry. They were supposed to suppress their emotions until it all built and built and built, ending with a furious explosion that usually blew up on someone else. Not that many men turned to see. They had to walk away, because well- If they looked back and noticed the destruction, they’d have to find a different approach to their emotions. And society didn't allow for that.

But all men were different, Keeley chided herself. Even though she loathed being talked down to, sexualised, underpaid, menstrually depressed, grabbed, harassed, assaulted- She didn’t envy men either. She needed her tears. “I’m notoriously pro-crying, Colin. It’s how they came up with the idea for mascara.”

“Really?” he intrigued with a shaking timbre, looking at her as the welling of tears paused in its rebuilding.

Keeley did what any bullshitter would do: “Yup.”

“Oh,” he tilted his head, glancing to the side as he seemed to store up his new fun ‘fact’. It was an endearing look on him. He returned to her, disagreeing: “It’s not that though.” To his visible frustration, the wave of tears welled up again. He blinked at the fluorescent lights so they wouldn’t spill. He tried to keep his tone casual as he continued, but all it did was make his voice strained and sporadic. “It’s that this is a good thing and I can’t be making it about myself.”

“What are you on about?”

“If Michael is happier without me, shouldn’t I be happy that he’s leaving me?” He scrunched his eyes shut and dropped his head, realizing the fallacy in the idea. He blamed it on his phrasing instead: “No- I mean, if leaving me would make him happier, shouldn’t I be…” He gave up, opening his glazed eyes to plead with the hazardous floor between them. “He never loved me, so what am I losing?” he let out, relenting his control on the walls of water. They burst and flowed- one by one. “Why does it feel like I’m losing?”

Keeley’s heart tugged at the words, recognizing the beat. She felt abandoned in everyone’s excitement over their numbers but nobody’d even told her there was a lottery. She wanted to sigh, sink into her loneliness, but something else Colin said caught her: “He never loved you?”

Colin stared at her, burning eyes, bundled lashes, and brows angled in sorry curves.

Keeley’s confusion only rose from Colin’s resignation: “Did he say that?”

A wry chuckle forced another tear down Colin’s cheek. “A couple of times.”

“Bollocks,” Keeley denied. She’d seen the way Michael looked at Colin- that wasn’t just infatuation or respect. It was love: Fond, messy, confident, and tooth-achingly sweet love. But what did Keeley know? With her track record, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had it all wrong.

“He meant it,” Colin resigned. “Why else would he say something like that?”

“Because people are stupid," Keeley burst. "They’re afraid or they’re insecure and they go around ditching their shit anywhere but on themselves.” After Roy’s snap, Keeley’d forgotten to remind herself that it wasn’t really anything to do with her. She should know by now not to cry because someone else needed to.

It was times like those that Keeley understood the cynical ‘all relationships are torture’ idea, but then she’d see couples like Colin and Michael, causing that lonely aching ‘want’ to crawl right back up.

“Keeley,” Colin pitied. Himself or her, she couldn’t tell. “He meant it.” His voice didn’t crack. His eyes didn’t waiver. Not a tear fell.

He’d accepted this.

She didn’t quite believe him, but she was starting to. She tilted her head, dropped her shoulders, and sighed. She felt overwhelmed. Both by her own issues with Roy, Jamie, and Jack, and by the amount of heart-ache Colin had poured out to her that she couldn’t respond to in time. “God, I’m so sick of love and relationships and fucking break-ups.” She plopped on the bench, abandoning her broom against a locker.

Colin chuckled. A lonely, tear-filled chuckle. “Me too.” He copied Keeley, falling back onto the bench where she’d found him. She wished he’d come sit next to her instead. They felt so far apart with the width of the locker room between them, but maybe Keeley was getting too used to Rebecca’s couch. Not everyone enjoyed that kind of closeness.

“So was it Roy or Jamie?” he asked suddenly, settling the broom against his shoulder and leaning his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, resting it against the broomstick. Keeley confused at the question. Colin noticed, shading a little red as he reworded: “Who made you cry?”

“Oh,” Keeley looked at the thin blood streaks. “Eh,” she shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? He wasn’t even angry at me, but I had to make it personal and cry about it. I guess I just… miss when it was all still fun and easy. And exciting. Now I feel so old and bored. Of them. Of myself.” The patterns of hurt feelings, arguments, and pettiness exhausted her. She wanted out. She wanted to love again. She wanted to relax. She wanted the joy and spark, but this time she was too tired. The ease always ended. “I don’t want to date right now,” she knew, “but I can’t stand this feeling either. It’s so…” A lump suffocated her vocal cords.

“Lonely.”

It rang through her, hugging her heart, stinging her eyes and tugging at her vocal cords, playing them like a harp: “Yes.” She dragged her tired gaze up to him. “You too?”

Colin's eyebrows arched as if he was surprised that someone was looking at him, asking after him. “Tomorrow, I think,” he admitted, “but right now? Mostly I feel,” he dragged off. Keeley wanted to fill in the space for him- the way he’d done for her- but she didn’t know what he was looking for. So she waited. She waited until he breathed: “Ashamed.”

It rattled her: “Why?”

Colin shrugged. Casually- unhurt he answered, “I always am, at least a little.”

"Like guilt?” Keeley wondered. She only knew shame in waves, churning her stomach like when she saw Roy and Jamie bicker over her.

Even as Colin considered it, his head was already shaking. “Not really." A glance at Keeley caused him to dim his statement: "I don't know. Maybe. It's just there."

"Always?" Keeley frowned, not quite seeing how that could be but knowing it wasn't good.

"I guess," Colin hunched in on himself. Keeley watched him as if his sombre expression or weary physique could explain what he meant.

"It doesn’t have a reason," Colin started as he caught her searching gaze, "Not one that I know, anyway. I’m just ashamed. It doesn’t matter what I do, what I say, who I am- it’ll always be wrong,” he stated like it was a simple believable thing. His face scrunched up again as a lonely tear trickled down with no resistance. In a whisper, he begged the blood and the glass: “I want to be a good thing.”

Keeley surged up.

“I’m sorry- that’s stupid,” he wiped at his face, hiding his sincerity. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Keeley sunk beside him, the way she’d done when she entered the room and found him a sobbing mess. He didn’t fall into her this time- didn’t even glance over- all hesitant and small. “Look at me,” Keeley nudged his arm. He obliged, tentative as he showed his reddened face. The movement reminded Keeley of a shy child, mop of brown hair and the gell he wore imitating the brush of a caring hand. Keeley promised: “You are a good thing.”

“I’m not though,” he scoffed, turning away to hide his eyes against his hands, propped up by his knees. Under his breath, he muttered: “I’m unloveable.”

Keeley smacked him across the arm.

Colin spun around: “Ow!”

“Listen to me,” she scolded him: “There’s only one thing I can think of that’s wrong with you. Alright?”

The indignancy fell off of his face. He wiped at his arm, looking afraid that she was about to drive and reverse back over his dead pride. She should’ve phrased it differently, she realized, but it was too late for that now. “The fuck do you mean Roy Kent’s not your type?”

Colin stared. His fear twisted into delighted disbelief as a huff of laughter shook out of him, young and sweet.

Keeley smirked back, doubling down: “If sexy, quiet, dark and brooding- but secretly soft- isn’t your thing, what the fuck is?” she only half-joked.

Colin shrugged, a smile lighting up his glassy eyes. “Someone with a bit more confidence I guess.”

A needle hit the floor for Keeley. Her eyes must’ve bulged. She conspired: “Jamie?”

Colin pressed his lips together. Red crept into his cheeks.

“Oh my God-” Keeley shook him. Memories ticked off in her mind. “That explains so much!”

“I haven’t for a while now-” Colin protested, an embarrassed smile pulling at his face.

“I always wondered why you seemed so disappointed whenever I joined you guys.”

Ears reddened. “You noticed?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, tilting his head. “But I guess that makes us even for you flirting with Roy over my concussed body.”

Keeley laughed. “Deal.”

8:10 PM

Isaac was sitting against a door. His eyes complained with the phantom of a sting as a pulsing pressure cramped his head.

Did he get pissed last night? He didn't remember that.

There was something he needed to do. Take a painkiller? Bandage his bleeding hand? Was he talking with someone? His voice felt used- like he’d been yelling, but why? What did he need to do?

Footsteps approached somewhere. They stopped on the other side of the door.

A knock above his head cracked Isaac’s bones. He flinched away, pressing against his ears to keep his skull from falling open and taking apart his face.

“Boyo.”

Colin? Since when did Colin knock?

“Isaac…”

He grunted, “Colin?”

“Are you alright?” worried his modest Welsh lilt.

“Yeah I- I need to…” What? He needed to do what?

The door handle rummaged above his head, vibrating the sensitive cracks in Isaac's mind. His desperate task sat on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t figure out how to move right so it would finally roll off.

The rummaging handle stopped, calming the door and Isaac's bones. Colin confused: “How did you get in here?”

The push.

Images clattered- Isaac caught them.

The clone.

The phone.

The glass.

The boot room.

He needed to get up- get out. “Shit.” Isaac forced his hands to drag his fumbling body off the floor. “Fuck.”

“Isaac-”

He turned finding Colin’s puffy and red face looking back through the window. Isaac should know what that look meant, but his head couldn't connect the image with the information. He was too busy, reminding himself of the task that had finally tugged loose: “I need to get out of here.”

Colin’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the doorknob. “It’s locked.”

Isaac remembered. He kicked the door- ignoring the way it bounced between his ears- frustrating: “He locked it.”

“Who locked it?”

“The thief. The fucking clone.”

“Boyo,” Colin narrowed his eyes, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Isaac wasn’t anywhere near that. He dragged his unscathed hand over his eyes. “There’s something out there,” he grounded out, gesturing at the window, “that looks like me, alright? But he ain’t me.”

“Isaac…”

“You have to get me out of here," he pleaded, eyes wide and panicked.

Colin shuffled under it. He glanced up and down the hall, gaze dubious. He left the door intact and isolating. A judgemental tone muffled through: “Because there’s a clone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?” Colin denied, glaring at Isaac, “D’you expect me to believe that?”

“Bruv-”

“Piss off, mate- You wanna ignore me? Fine. You wanna yell at me- invade my privacy? Fine. But don’t also pull some rubbish prank.”

“It’s not a-”

“Clones? Really?”

“Colin-”

“You’re just blocking the door with your foot, mate.”

“You have to listen to me-”

“Fuck this-” Colin spat, turning away. His footsteps retreated, betrayal and disappointment echoing behind.

“Wait! Bruv! Shit-” Isaac panicked, rummaging the handle and punching the door- leaving splashes of red behind. The stinging of the gash and his ringing ears went forgotten in the nauseating thrum of his heart. “Colin!”

The footsteps didn’t hesitate, marching off.

Isaac’s heart plunged- He beat the door with his fists- He screamed: “Don’t fucking leave me in here!”

He held for a moment. Two. Nothing. No door opened, no lilt sounded, no footsteps approached.

Isaac’s energy fled. He found himself panting, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against the door. His ears yelled back at him. His head pulsed hot. Was he still bleeding?

Isaac was ready to give up, slide back to the floor when he realized that there were no approaching footsteps because there were no footsteps at all.

Isaac craned his neck, trying to see through the window again. Maybe his panic had convinced Colin. He wouldn’t leave Isaac like this, would he?

“Why not?” Colin accused, somewhere down the hall where Isaac could no longer see- no matter how hard he tried. “Give me one reason why I’d still trust you.”

It twisted Isaac’s already stumbling breath. “‘Cause it’s me,” he bared- genuine and sincere, mind too fuzzy to understand why in the world Colin wouldn’t trust him.

A scoff.

The footsteps picked up again, retreating.

Isaac’s mind rattled. The confusion and hurt poisoned each other in his stomach, brewing into betrayal: “Colin?”

The footsteps were indifferent.

Isaac beat the door: “Colin!”

“What the fuck?” a Mancunian accent travelled from the other end of the hall, accompanied by a worried jog.

“Jamie!” Isaac beat the door again. “You have to get me out of here,” he yelled down to him.

“The fuck’s going on?” Jamie’s confused face appeared. He was looking down at where Colin had gone- still was?- while he tried the handle. When it clicked in protest, Jamie aimed his confusion at the door. “It’s locked.”

“I know, I-”

“And Keeley weren’t upstairs,” Jamie irritated, “I thought you were going to Roy?”

“Roy?” Isaac's mind rattled. He scrunched his eyes shut to think, but the world spun in the darkness. His thoughts were all loopy and odd. Images without meaning or discernible features tried to make sense but ended up stumbling over each other. A hum lived in his ears as he felt himself swaying with the spinning images, none able to form a consequential link, until: “That wasn’t me,” he realized, eyes opening as he remembered the conversation he’d overheard. “There’s someone going around pretending to be me.”

Jamie’s face swung between judgemental and concerned. He looked off. He looked exactly like himself-

That made no sense. Was that how Isaac was talking too? Was he too hazy to explain what was happening? For fear of it, he returned to his urgent task: “Just get me out of here, alright?”

After a concerned study of Isaac, Jamie hesitated. “Are you winding me up?”

Isaac punched the door- out of sheer frustration this time. He donned his best captain voice and glowered at the confused striker: “Get me out of here.”

Jamie glanced to the side. Whatever he saw there made his eyes linger. He looked at the floor. He looked back to Isaac, more hesitant than before. The confusion had given way to sheer scepticism.

Isaac couldn’t help the betrayed “Jamie?” from spilling off his lips. First Colin and now…

But Jamie didn’t glance sideways this time. “Yeah, alright,” he sighed. “How?

“We need the key.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Isaac frustrated.

“Can’t you kick it in?”

“I’m not gonna- Just find the key.”

“Why not?”

“Find the key!”

“But I need to get Keeley first.”

“Jamie!”

“Oh- just kick it in, yeah?”

“I'm fucking serious!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“The fuck is going on out here?” joined a gruff voice. Jamie jumped back, looking down to where Colin had gone- Where Colin stood?

A march echoed in the hall. Roy Kent entered Isaac’s frame. He studied Jamie, who whined, “Isaac’s locked in.”

Roy flicked his glare to him. “What do you mean locked in?”

“Can one of you just get me out?!” Isaac burst.

Roy's scowl deepened at him, giving Isaac a moment to regret ever getting vocal cords. The new manager growled: “Climb out the fucking window.”

Isaac was about to complain that he wasn’t going to break glass when a light in the corner of his eye reminded him of the wall of sliding windows beside him. He groaned, turning to them and looking through to the weight room.

“Fucking hell-” roared behind him. Isaac spun back. Roy was staring at him. Jamie’s eyes bulged beside him, lips moving in an 'Oh.'

Isaac threw a quizzical look.

Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but Roy beat him: “We’ll meet you there,” he grunted, nodding his head to the weight room. He dragged Jamie off and commanded over his shoulder: “Hughes."

So he was there.

Isaac stood and waited. He watched until a puffy-eyed brunette passed by. Colin glanced over, eyes observant, casual. Isaac assumed he’d stop. He didn’t. He was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

What the hell was Isaac missing? Right, the mistrust. The lying. The anniversary. The phone. He'd had Colin's phone. Where had that gone?

Isaac looked over the glass-riddled floor, finding the black rectangle. “Shit.” He bent to pick up the shattered device. He must’ve dropped it when the clone pushed him. That wouldn’t help matters.

“Oi.”

Isaac looked up. Roy and Jamie stood in the gym, watching him through the window. Isaac pocketed Colin’s broken phone and the betrayed hurt digging in his chest. Even as his hand, head, and back screamed at him with aches, Isaac wasn't caught up in those. Those he understood. Glass on his skin cut. A fall crashed. A bad landing bruised. It made sense, but Colin's lying- his apathy, his mistrust- Isaac couldn't begin to fathom. Instead, all he could do was circle the hurt, spiralling down the drain after it.

He limped over to his waiting manager and teammate, gingerly making his way through the pieces of the broken mirror. He reached the window, sliding it open as Colin entered the weight room, quiet and observant. He sauntered from the door that was beside Isaac's window to the middle of the room, behind Jamie and Roy.

He’d been crying, Isaac’s mind finally connected the redness and puffiness to their cause. There was more off about him though. Something with how he looked was plain wrong. The haze in Isaac’s mind was leaking back, calming together with his panic and letting him-

"McAdoo."

Isaac looked to his new manager. Roy's brow furrowed as his dark eyes studied him. Was that concern? On Roy Fucking Kent?

"I got it," Isaac assured, focussing on hauling his leg over the window sill. He kept his bleeding hand tucked against his chest to avoid using it. With his other, he held onto the frame. Roy and Jamie helped, grabbing his elbow and arm to bring him to their side. Isaac pulled his other leg free from the boot room and sighed in relief.

“Sit him down,” Roy commanded. The hands on his arms started guiding Isaac to the floor but he refused, glaring.

Roy disagreed, “Sit down.”

“I can’t- There’s-” Isaac reached back where his predecessor held his arm. He scrunched his hand in the elbow of Roy’s jacket, pleading: “You’ve got to listen to me.”

Roy’s head moved back. He glanced between Isaac’s desperate clutch and the bleeding hand he kept tucked against his stomach. He looked to Jamie. Isaac wanted to check what emotion lived there too, but he had to keep his eyes strong on the manager. On his old captain. His coach. Listen to me.

Roy looked back, gaze pensive. He studied Isaac, who straightened. I'm not barmy. Listen to me. Roy received it. He decided: “Sit first.”

A surge of panic shook Isaac until he realized the meaning of ‘first’. He nodded, feeling a little less abandoned. As he let Roy and Jamie settle him down, Isaac caught Colin’s indifferent gaze. The Welshman still stood in the middle of the room, keeping his distance, observing. It wasn’t like Colin. He always stuck himself in the middle of things, hiding in plain sight.

Hands guided Isaac's back against the wall, he flinched away, blanching. He tensed as his bones trembled under the screaming stings.

“What?” Jamie worried.

Isaac waited for the pain to roll back. He groaned: “Bruised my back on the glass.”

“Glass?”

“Someone broke the mirror in the boot room.” Could it be the same someone who walked around with his face? But, “It doesn’t matter- Listen-” Isaac spilt it all. He rambled, words quicker than his mouth as it all went hazy. The boot room. The glass. The phone. The clone. The push. God, he was dizzy. He panted the final words, a panicked reiteration: “There’s someone with my fucking face.” He looked up at his squatting audience.

Roy and Jamie shared a look. Concerned- dread- Isaac realized as his lungs collapsed into his stomach. They didn't believe him.

“Alright, mate,” Jamie offered, patting Isaac’s arm. “We’ll sort you out. Don’t worry.”

Roy was tight-lipped, face grim.

“It’s not my head,” Isaac frustrated, pleading. “I fucking saw-”

“Maybe you didn’t,” Roy interjected. He looked like he loathed the words as much as Isaac did.

“What are you…”

“Maybe you’re remembering shit that didn’t happen. Seeing shit that ain’t there.”

Isaac shook his head. He thought they would listen. He thought he would be listened to. “I’m not making this up.”

“It’s alright, mate,” Jamie repeated. Isaac wished he’d see that no- No, it wasn’t fucking alright. He was about to snap when Jamie followed his lie up with: “You’re not the only one.”

“Jamie-”

“Don’t you think he should know?” Jamie shot back at Roy, capturing him in a stare-down.

“Know what?” Isaac clung on. Had he been right? Was someone winding him up? Pranking him with a costume and makeup? But they wouldn’t have pushed him, surely. So then what? Had someone been going around drugging people? Making them envision themselves, others, and broken mirrors?

To Isaac’s frustration, Roy’s jaw clenched shut. Not that Jamie cared. He looked behind him to a disinterested Colin, not even spooked at being noticed. “You were right." Jamie explained as Colin narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Jamie quieted- unnaturally careful with his words: “Sam left after training. Roy couldn’t have seen him in the locker room.”

Roy glowered at the striker. Jamie glanced at him, apologetic. He looked more concerned than regretful, telling Isaac he wasn’t sorry for talking, so much as he was sorry that Roy got hit by the words.

Isaac’s skull pulsed a vibrating pang. Pieces were tripping over each other, trying to make a picture. Roy had imagined Sam. Isaac had seen himself. Jamie’d acted weird before. He’d looked weird. The eyebrow slit- Isaac noticed. Had that always been on the left? Hadn’t it been on the right earlier? Or was this Isaac’s concussion fucking with him? Was that all he needed to explain away everything that'd happened- seeing himself, the odd behaviours- but what about Roy’s madness? His concussion couldn’t explain that, could it?

Isaac’s hand trembled, sending up vicious stings. Roy’s knuckles held the same colours as Isaac’s palm. From punching the mirrors. From punching all the mirrors? Did that make any sense? But if it didn’t, what would? What could possibly explain the shattered glass that riddled AFC Richmond?

A small ache on his back nagged, almost going forgotten in Isaac’s haze of pain. He eyed Colin, who lingered on the outskirts- not even- the outsides of their circle. Like he didn’t belong. Like he hadn’t taught himself how to pretend to belong. He was quiet, observant, and comfortable with the blatant distance. He looked off- not the puffiness or the red- no, there was something truly and intrinsically wrong. Not even to mention what he’d done. How willing he was to leave Isaac in panic? Would Colin ever do that? Even when Isaac had ignored him, Colin still tried. When Isaac apologized, Colin had asked him in. The past days as he pulled away, they still hung out- they still laughed. Grudges weren’t something Colin held. Not for Isaac.

Maybe it was Isaac's concussion. Maybe he had to be concussed to ever make such a connection. To believe it. But believe it, he did.

“He wouldn’t leave me.”

Colin’s brows drew down. Isaac felt Roy and Jamie's eyes burn him, but he kept his glare aimed at the intruder. The thief.

“We argued,” Isaac voiced, “So? Last time we did, he still tried every fucking day.”

“Isaac-” Someone tried to defend the thief while Colin’s stolen face only watched with intrigue.

Isaac laid down his case, anger pulsing through his muscles: “He wouldn’t have walked off.”

“Alright, calm down-”

“No-” Isaac snapped, spinning to Roy. “No look at him!” He gestured at the thief. “Look at how he’s fucking acting- look at-” Isaac cast his glare back at not-Colin to search what it was that had been pestering him and finally, it clicked. The thing that was so blatantly wrong. Offensively wrong. “His hair,” Isaac breathed. “I know for a fact- I did the cut myself.”

“The hell are you on about?” Jamie interjected.

With a condemning scowl aimed at the thief wearing what was never his, Isaac closed his statement: “The part’s on the wrong fucking side.”

Chapter Text

8:15 PM

Jamie blinked. “Fucking hell, you’re right.”

Colin had changed his hair a few times. What with his best mate being ‘The Guy’ he always got the most out of the one-per-season deal. Not that he ever got more. No: Isaac lived and died by rules. Only once, did he stray. Not for Colin though, because Colin respected the rules. He respected his mate. Instead, Isaac had betrayed his religion for Jamie, back when the striker was still king of the jungle. In some small way, it was why Jamie'd grown his hair out. He refused to ask the captain for a haircut until Isaac told him he needed one. That would be how Jamie'd know it was all forgiven.

He feared sometimes that he was the only one aware of that little law he'd created.

But Colin, even with his many opportunities, reluctantly strayed from the simple fade on the sides and longer strands on top. His hair part- which Isaac had fought and failed to hide last season- lived on the right. It was the origin of the rolling waves. It was as clear as anything, especially after he’d grown it back out during the off-season.

Only, now- The part was on the left.

Colin didn’t look worried by the universal glitch- even with red-rimmed eyes, he looked cocky. He reached up and pulled his fingers through the wave like he’d done plenty of times before. But never with his left hand. Never in that direction. Never with such oozing confidence.

“Jamie-” Roy’s disapproving grunt had him turn. The manager was glowering but at the wrong person. Jamie tried to gesture him toward the right one: “Did you even look?”

“You can change a fucking hair part.”

“Not his-” his protest chorused with Isaac’s sneer. The captain was right, but his injuries were still concerning. His head and hand crept with blood- some with thicker pieces in it that made Jamie ill. He shoved it down, only to find it replaced by a different kind of nausea: Worry. Jamie looked away from the blood, to Roy, adding: “And even if he could- Why would he have?”

“Forget the fucking hair!” Roy snapped. His eyes jumped between Jamie’s, the anger there covering for something else- but what? It was something desperate. Something like fear or dread that had him anxious to avoid any visual proof. “Isaac had a knock to the head- He’s confused. Don’t fucking-”

“I know it ain’t him,” Isaac snarled, making Jamie glance back. He tried to avoid the nauseating blood by focusing on the captain’s gaze. It was steadfast on Colin. Or not-Colin? Whoever the fuck it was that loitered eight feet from them.

Roy refused to look. It made Jamie twitchy, urgency hammering in his chest and contorting into frustration.

“He’s right about the hair,” he hissed to Roy, watching the apathetic not-Colin for any signs of danger. Who the hell would wind them up like this? Who even had access to these kinds of costumes? Or to the club? Colin didn’t have a twin, did he? Finding no signs of danger- only cockiness- Jamie dared a glance at Roy. The coach wasn’t convinced: The same anger clenched his jaw and glared at Jamie to shut it.

Was he not going to look? Was he going to refuse to listen- Ignore Jamie?

He checked the Colin-disguise again. He hadn’t moved. He was leaning back against a lat pulldown, arms crossed and chin high. He was calm. It was grating. It was wrong- It was so very wrong.

That’s what Roy had been saying too, wasn’t it? That things were wrong: Sam had been in the locker room and Roy insisted he broke only one mirror- not all of them. Jamie looked back to his old captain, hushing: “Maybe you’re right too.” The tense expression froze. “Maybe you did see Sam.”

As though his neck was stuck, Roy gave the slightest shake of his head.

Jamie’s attention had to leave him, checking that the Colin-disguise hadn’t moved. He had: His head had tilted and a confident smirk rested on his lips. His eyes were glowing with amusement, but not the kind-hearted sort that suited Colin best, but the gleefully mean kind. The kind he’d once worn a hint of when bullying Nate, but here it was dialled all the way up. He stood bigger and wider than Colin ever had. It didn’t help that Jamie was sitting back on his haunches, but the Welshman’s gaze down his nose was almost… intimidating. Dangerous.

“Maybe something really fucked is happening,” Jamie whispered. It would explain it all. He’d known this was coming. The weird emptiness where he used to feel sparks and blossoms- that part of him knew, didn’t it? It knew that something was looming.

He wished he could say that being right- even with this real spooky shit- wasn’t at least a little satisfying. More than that though, it was a relief. He wasn’t crazy- No one was. They were being toyed with.

“This is going too fucking far-” Roy surged up- away from Jamie. “Is this some sort of hazing? Fucking up training- Making me think I’m seeing shit- Smearing fake blood on your head-” he accused Isaac. “And then pretending that there’s what? A fucking shapeshifter?” He rounded on not-Colin, spewing the final to his face.

Not-Colin’s smirk rose into a grin. He looked wholly amused by Roy’s outburst in a way none of the easily intimidated team ever could be.

“Roy-” Jamie worried, rising in case he needed to pull the manager away, but Roy was already stepping back: “The fuck…”

“Well,” the disguiser said- sounding so much like Colin that Jamie doubted his conclusion. Was this not some Scooby Doo shit? Was this more like Doctor fucking Who? Not-Colin gave a lopsided chuckle, teeth bare as he wiped the tip of his nose with the top of his thumb. “I guess that’s the end of that then.”

“Ted duck-taped it,” Keeley remembered as she swept her final heap of glass to the back corner of the room.

“Are you serious?” Colin amused, adding his gathering to hers. “Jamie was all angry- blaming us and saying we were jealous and shit.”

Keeley laughed: “Of my tits in his locker?”

“Yeah,” Colin joined in. “I don’t know how the hell I kept a straight face.”

Keeley’s chest bubbled up with laughter at Colin’s terrible pun- more so when his double take told her he hadn’t meant to make one. They gathered the last of the glass and guarded it by leaning their brooms around it. “Alright then,” Keeley satisfied. A content warmth blessed her breathing and she had the oddest urge to hug someone.

She remembered what she'd promised Colin and finally found it to be true: It did get better.

“I should probably get back to Roy and Jamie,” she realized aloud. “Make sure they haven’t declared another duel in the parking lot.”

“Another?” Colin intrigued.

Keeley grinned: “I’ll tell you about it some other time.” It was a promise. She hoped he knew that.

Colin smiled, sadness still pulling down his puffy eyes, but it lay dormant. The best thing it could be right then. He quipped, “You'll have to now.”

Jamie stared. He sounded like Colin. Exactly like Colin, but he’d admitted it: This wasn’t him. Jamie’s worry surged, twisting into an anxious nausea. Isaac’s low “I told you,” was a comfort in his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?” Roy grunted.

The grin drooped and the diguiser’s eyes went distant. He seemed to flicker out, looking lonely and confused. The human emotion made Jamie doubt every conclusion he’d drawn so far- until the cockiness popped right back over it. Not-Colin hummed. “A great question I don’t care to answer.”

Storm Agnes thundered indifferently outside.

“Just fuck off then,” Roy bobbed his head to the door. “Or we’ll call the police.”

“Oh right. The police,” not-Colin sing-songed. “Don’t you think they’re a little busy with a storm like this to come here and help with your little visions?”

“You shoved me-” Isaac roared. Jamie spun around to find him pulling himself up on the wall.

“Isaac-”

“You ain’t a fucking vision.” Isaac pushed through Jamie’s protesting touch, hauling himself to a hunched stand. Jamie hovered.

Roy didn’t turn. “Sit down, McAdoo.”

“Where the fuck do you get off-” Isaac marched through Jamie’s hover to the disguiser- Roy swung his arm in the way, stopping him even as Isaac continued to roar: “-wearing my face? Wearing Colin’s? Sam’s and Jamie’s?”

“Someone pretended to be me, too?” Jamie breathed, furrowing his brow and stepping up on Isaac’s other side.

“‘Course, Jamie,” not-Colin smirked, eyeing Jamie the way Isaac had done earlier in the hall. If that had been Isaac at all. “You’re my favourite.”

Jamie felt his spine tingle. Roy tensed, roaring: “Fucking enough of-”

The disguiser didn’t even look the manager’s way, asking Jamie sincerely: “Would you prefer it if I looked like you, instead?”

In a blink, Colin was gone.

“Shit-”

“What the…”

Was it some sort of mirror effect? Some sort of trick? How could Colin disappear in a blip and be replaced by him? The way Jamie knew himself best: not from the pictures or the TV, but from the mirror.

This wasn’t someone winding them up. This wasn’t costumes. This wasn’t toying. This was something unhuman.

“Fuck no-” Jamie protested, voice pitchy from shock. “This is my fucking face.”

His independent reflection sighed. In a Mancunian accent that shouldn’t sound natural after the Welsh lilt, Jamie’s mirror frustrated: “For people who are so childish about owning their own appearance, you sure love pushing it on someone else. But fine. You’ve not been horrible to me, so…” In a instant, Jamie’s reflection was gone, replaced by a puffy-eyed Colin again. Jamie knew he hadn’t blinked- he was staring, wide-eyed- but it felt like he must’ve. His brain couldn’t comprehend the sudden change. There'd been no transformation, no blending of features or glowing light. There was Jamie, then there was Colin. Like a cut in a film.

Isaac breathed: “What are you?”

“What am I?” The cockiness seeped down, replaced by deep-rooted anger. “What am I?” He pushed himself off the lat pulldown, standing wide. “You think I’m to blame for this?” He enunciated with a hit to his chest. “No no no no- You did this. You reduced me to this- because you think you’re all that matters. But you’re not. I exist too. All this time…” His vibrating energy stilled as his gaze flickered out. It drooped to the side, disappearing into somewhere distant.

“The fuck are you on about?” Jamie frustrated.

The thing woke up. He irritated back: “No- No, you need to listen, Jamie. Listen to me!”

“Fuck you!" Isaac spoke for him. "You could’ve killed me!” He pushed against the arm holding him. Roy grunted, forced forward until Jamie jumped in. He grabbed Isaac’s shoulder and held on- the adrenaline pumping sickeningly with his anxiety.

“Could’ve- yes- but I didn’t! You’re still here, aren’t you? No- what I did to you doesn’t compare to what I did to…” The thing’s anger calmed, crazy washing back into mischievous as it smiled.

What he did to... There were only two people not there. Only one of them that seemed as though he was- eyes puffy and red.

A chill crawled up Jamie’s skin. He looked to Roy, finding furious eyes aimed ahead. The force against their arms rocked forward- they stumbled. They took another step closer to the disguiser before they could find footing and hold Isaac’s fury again. The captain roared: “The fuck did you do?!”

Pure glee glistened on the disguiser, eyes twinkling. A hand rose- slow like he was a magician performing a trick. He placed it over his eyes and suddenly- He wailed. He rocked and sobbed like tigers had ripped his chest open and were tearing his insides out- Intestines coming free as the blood spattered up his pale neck.

Jamie slackened, seeing Colin cry out for his life. Had the disguiser battered him? Left him bleeding somewhere so it could walk around and pretend to be him? A force broke through Jamie’s arms. A figure flew across the room and against the wall- grabbing and slamming the sobbing brunette with him. “What did you do?!”

“Isaac!” Roy dashed forward, waking Jamie up from the bloody scene he’d trapped his worry in. He didn't much feel like stopping Isaac, though. He wanted to watch the disguiser get what he had coming.

Isaac had his forearm pressed across the front of not-Colin's shoulders. The disguiser dropped the crying act and laughed at Isaac- open-mouthed and loud. Jamie saw the twist in Isaac’s face- “Wait!” Roy tried- but the captain was already pulling the disguiser forward and smashing him back against the wall, demanding: “What did you do?!”

The disguiser smirked. "Oops." Red spotted his white teeth. “Bit my tongue.”

“McAdoo, calm down!” Roy ordered, "There's no fucking point in-" But it was futile. Isaac had grabbed the diguiser’s right arm- pulled him and twisted him around, shoving not-Colin’s face against the grey wall. Isaac re-placed his forearm to keep the disguiser trapped, using his other hand to hold not-Colin’s arm behind his back.

“Careful, careful, careful,” the disguiser chided. “I’m just a reflection. You can’t hurt a reflection.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Isaac twisted the forearm to the left- hand forced around to him. Jamie watched, not aware of his own body anymore.

“A reflection is merely a witness.”

“Where’s Colin?!” Isaac twisted, pulling the hand further- the elbow turned, creeping around to point at Colin’s back.

“A witness doomed to do whatever you do! To make your mistakes! To bear the grunt of everything you do to yourself! To live your lives!”

“Tell me what you did!” Another yank on the arm- the upper arm trapped itself against his side, letting only his forearm travel on Isaac’s demand. Something was creaking now- Jamie was certain he heard a tooth-grinding creak.

“But at least I can’t feel your pain.”

At the disguiser’s words, Roy’s eyes bulged. He looked at Jamie, inhaling, body pumping blood for movement- but before it charged up:

“Where the fuck is he?!”

A twist.

A crack.

A deadly echo through the steel-filled room.

Colin laughed- even as his face went pale. Beside his elbow, blood soaked through the sleeve of his green sweater. A lump on his forearm pushed up against the reddening fabric, mangled. Bent.

“Shit-” Jamie’s stomach lurched up. He gagged against his hand as the smell of iron struck him.

Isaac’s eyes jumped between the arm and the laughing Colin. He drifted away, leaving the splintered arm alone.

Roy grabbed the shoulder of Isaac’s jacket, guiding him further with cautious eyes strict on the disguiser.

Not-Colin finally reigned in his joy. He stepped back from the wall and guided his broken arm around his body, back to the front. He nodded at it, turning around. “Impressive.”

Jamie’s eyes remained stuck on the mangled limb. The piece of the arm with the hand attached bent away from them. The lump pushed up to them. Under it, a red droplet formed from the once-green threads. Its tether thinned and the drop flowed to the ground. It splashed open on the floor.

Another splashed. And a third. Jamie dragged his eyes away- across the arm- back up to Colin's stolen face. The disguiser smiled, more blood spotting his teeth. Tears rolled over from his welled-up eyes. “You can’t hurt me anymore.” 

“Shit-”

The swear paused Keeley in her walk out. She turned back. “What?”

Colin’s head was ducked, eyebrows furrowed and hand half-way raised to his lips. “Just bit my tongue… I think.”

Confused by Colin’s confusion, Keeley hesitated, “Are you alright?”

Colin looked up. He shook his head at himself, smiling: “It’s fine.” As he talked Keeley spotted red on his teeth. “Just not sure how I managed it.”

“Alright,” Keeley accepted and turned to go.

A soft voice sang: “Hey, Keeley.”

“Yeah?” she turned back again. The game of stop-and-go would be frustrating if Colin’s tone didn’t remind her so much of Phoebe. The way the kid would try to keep whoever put her to bed from leaving the room.

Colin offered his sincere smile- sombre, but that only proved its honesty. He poured out: “Thanks.”

Keeley felt herself lighten up. “Course,” she chirped. “And it does get better,” she promised the broken-hearted footballer again, this time feeling the words reflected in her content stomach.

It got better.

Colin pulled his lips up. Keeley copied the movement and turned away.

A crack in the air froze her.

She flinched around.

Colin paled. He trembled. A strangled whimper fell from his lips. His wild eyes flickered down to his arm.

Keeley choked on swear words. She launched forward as Colin sagged in on himself, thudding onto the floor. He breathed through a yell- a sob- a shout- as blood worked its way through his sweater sleeve.

“Oh my god-” Keeley dropped herself by him. She heard the sound, she saw the bent- she knew what agony had torn through Colin's skin.

Tears slipped through Colin’s scrunched eyes as he trembled.

“Shit- Shit-” Keeley worried, hands dancing around the mangled arm, not knowing what to do. “How did that-”

Colin cried out.

Keeley shook herself. Ambulance- she needed an ambulance- she needed a phone. Her hands sprung to her pocket. Empty. Her heart plunged. The other: Empty. She blanched as her body pulsed with useless energy. Where the fuck was her phone? She checked the pockets again before her mind caught up:

She’d left it with Roy and Jamie.

“Shit!” she cried.

Colin shivered with agony, refusing to look as tears climbed their way out of his scrunched eyes. He hunched forward, over his broken limb and his other hand held onto the box in the middle of the room. He’d stopped yelling out. He’d stopped sobbing. He’d stopped breathing.

“Colin- Colin, breathe,” Keeley rambled. Her body twitched- Should she run for her phone? She couldn’t leave him like this- She had to stay with him, tell him to “Breathe!”

Colin whimpered as air forced out through his nose.

“Okay- Okay, good. Once more, yeah?”

Shaky air drew in.

“There you go. Just focus on that, alright?”

Colin rocked with a sob- tears flowing- but he did as he was told. Air whistled out through clenched teeth.

“Good- You’re doing good,” Keeley’s voice cracked. They needed an ambulance. Colin needed- He had a phone, she realized. “Your phone- Where is it?” she urged, seeing that his pockets were empty.

Colin’s eyes opened. Through narrow slits and glazed pain, his eyes pleaded with her.

“Your phone?” Keeley felt her voice crack.

Trembling, he shook his head.

“What do you mean ‘No’? No, not here? No, you don’t get me? Colin, what-” she rambled, stopping herself when Colin’s face scrunched up more- paler, tears, trembling.

“Breathe-” Keeley realized. “You have to breathe.”

Colin sobbed- body forcing the breath out of him. Keeley couldn’t leave him. But she had to. Blood oozed from his sweater sinking onto the floor and creeping up his jeans by the knees. They needed an ambulance. They needed a phone. They needed to- Colin strangled. They needed to- “Breathe.”

"What did you do?" Isaac panted, demanding still but his anger had been buried under exhaustion. Jamie felt it too. His haze fled away, like a bad trip finally ending.

“Punch me,” not-Colin suggested, shrugging. “I might tell you.”

Jamie's mind stuttered. Punch him? Why? All Jamie knew with certainty- carved into his bones- that they couldn't trust the shapeshifting disguiser.

“Don’t-” Roy warned. “He’s-”

“Punch me!” the thing taunted, louder as a gleam of mischief widened his crazy eyes. The disguiser held his ugly, bloody, and teary smirk, revelling in the chaos he had unleashed. “Don’t you care, Isaac? Don’t you want to know what I did to him? Where he is? Or are you as shitty a captain as everyone knows you to be?”

Isaac clenched his fists. His skin radiated heat, clueing Jamie in on his boiling blood. Roy's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Isaac, it won’t hurt him-”

The thing screamed a chuckle- still wearing Colin’s crying face. Jamie wished it wouldn’t anymore. He’d twisted it with such hideous anger that Jamie had forgotten what Colin actually looked like. Another tear flowed down. "You're all so entertaining,” he delighted, roaring over Roy. “I love watching you squirm, questioning reality.” He approached the manager. “It's a fun game, innit?"

Roy’s scowl deepened. “We’re done playing.” He pulled at Isaac- trying to place himself in the way- but Isaac held. He glared ahead, angry and deathly determined.

“No, you’re not,” the thing sing-songed at Roy. “See I haven’t broken all of you yet. I thought I had you down, but you’re back now, aren't you? Coach?” he mocked.

Roy tugged at Isaac, grunting, “Let's move.”

Isaac held.

The thing grinned. “No, you don't.” He stepped closer. “Cause right now, I’m busy breaking,” he levelled his gaze on Isaac: “him." Roy pulled at the captain as the disguiser leaned in, alluring: “Punch me.”

"Don't-"

Isaac twisted.

“Shit-” Jamie jumped forward- Roy yanked- but Isaac’s arm swung and met his target- snapping him to the side.

“You didn’t do shit to me!” Isaac hollered. Roy and Jamie dragged him away. “Get off me- I’ll fucking show you broken-”

The disguiser straightened- a fresh trail of blood trickling down from his nose. He grinned.

Jamie fought Isaac with new vigour- he needed to get the fuck out of there. He needed to get away from this thing. He pulled the captain back, but Isaac pushed and shoved with all his might. “Tell me what you did!”

“Punch me again.”

“Isaac-”

“Tell me!”

“Punch me!” it roared, dashing forward.

Roy and Jamie yanked Isaac away. “You fucker!”

“Punch me!” It followed them up against the door. Roy clambered around, trying to pull it open but they were pressed too close to it.

Isaac wrenched his arm free. “Fuck!” Roy reached for it. He’d miss, Jamie saw, along with the desperate haze of Roy’s doomed grab. He didn't understand what was so important about stopping Isaac from hurting the disguiser, but he trusted Roy. He swung around, catching the back of Isaac's elbow and wrestling him back.

“Hit me!” The disguiser ran up and grabbed Isaac by his tracksuit- broken arm shifting in the scuffle and making the blood stain spread quicker, down the sleeve. Isaac growled. Desperate- Jamie jerked on his arms- trying to haul Isaac out of the disguiser's grip. Roy hesitated at the door- giving them another yank before joining Jamie. He latched onto an arm and wrenched. Isaac snatched back, but the hands didn’t let go. They followed as the disguiser stepped closer, ignoring their fight and snarling: "Punch me!"

Isaac tried to pull his arm loose but Jamie wouldn’t let him: “Don’t do what he wants, mate-”

“Get off me!”

“Hit me!”

Jamie grunted as Isaac tried to twist free. He focussed all his energy on the arm, dwindling out his voice- but Roy’s old captain tones took over: “McAdoo- Listen!”

The disguiser shook Isaac: “Hit me!”

“Get off!”

“You're not hurting him-”

“Punch me!”

“Let go!”

“You’re hurting Colin!” Roy growled.

Isaac’s fight staggered. Everything breathed. The tension in Jamie’s muscles seeped out. The yelling halted. Only the thunder clattered outside as they panted.

The disguiser smiled its ugly and bloody smile. His wild eyes devoured Isaac. “... again.”

It was when Colin’s nose started to bleed that Keeley couldn't take her gnawing helplessness any more. He choked on the red- the breaths that they’d been managing so carefully, gagged on blood.

“Lean back-” Keeley’d guided him, worry thick in her throat. He’d followed, tears rolling down his temples. His choking breath wobbled as he sobbed again. Hadn’t he just stopped crying?

'Thanks,' he'd poured out.

She'd promised: 'It does get better.'

And did it? She yelled at herself: Did it get better?

It was then- “Don’t breathe through your nose- your mouth, Colin. You have to-” her voice caught in a lump. She wasn’t helping like this.

Colin forced breaths through his clenched teeth, biting through the sobs.

She knew she needed- “I have to… You stay here, okay? You’re-”

Colin shook with agony, strangling on blood. Taking his right hand- still completely attached to his body, not a bent broken mess- he scrunched a fist in the upper arm of her top.

Panic wrapped around her, searing where Colin tugged at her to stay. She cried. “I have to get help.”

Colin’s eyes were scrunched shut. He was sweating under the pain. Keeley doubted he understood her predicament. She couldn’t leave him like this, but what if it got worse? What if after his arm and his nose, his ears bled? His eyes? His legs? Never to play football again? What if that wasn’t even the worst thing he could lose? What if it was only the first?

Keeley didn’t know what was happening to him. She didn’t know what killing him on the inside- how much worse it would be if no one got to him on time. She couldn’t bear to find out. But Colin was so scared. He was in so much pain. He was so alone.

“Shit,” Keeley blew out, tears rolling, but nothing more in her released. She begged him: “I have to get help.”

His glazed eyes narrowed open. They pleaded with her. Scared and alone and hurting.

She tore his hand from her top. “I’m sorry," she cried.

Colin rocked. He clutched onto her hand. She squeezed it back. Was she doing this to him? Hadn’t he gone through this today already?

“Keep your head back and breathe through your mouth. I’ll run back- okay? I’ll get Roy and Jamie too- You’ll be okay.”

His head shook. His hand gripped her tighter. His eyes begged.

“I know,” she lied, “I know- I’ll be fast.”

Holding his arm, she pulled her hand free. His grip was weaker than it should be as he fought not to let her go. “I have to get help,” she loathed.

With a sorry touch on his arm, she got up and ran.

Isaac felt his eyes go wild.

He scoured the mangled arm, the bleeding nose, the steady stream of tears and the pale face. Isaac panted- shaky, staggering, unfulfilling- as the horrible sight held him too close.

Had he done that? Had he done this?

Had he done this?

Isaac trembled. Colin had gone pale like this before. At A&E- where they’d rushed with his concussion- He’d been this pale. Had he been this pale on the couch? When Isaac yanked his phone away, had he been this pale? It felt like he’d been. Had he been? Isaac couldn’t remember right. The back of his head pulsed overwhelmingly and all he could see was sheet-white and hazel-green and unforgiving red and red and red.

Had he done this?

'...again.' Again?

The thief had said that before. In the doorway, looking down at the phone that had since been stashed in Isaac's back pocket. Colin’s phone.

Again…

Was that the same as this? It couldn’t be, but the thief said it was. The thief knew more than Isaac. The thief knew what he’d done. The thief knew where Colin was. Isaac didn’t.

Isaac didn’t know anything more than the heart-mincing agony of what he’d done.

This. Sheet-white. Hazel-green. Red, red, red. This, he’d done this.

“There.” The thief’s eyes itched over Isaac, delighted. He satisfied: “Broken.”

No fight welled up in Isaac. He’d done this- he’d done this-he’ddonethis.

The hands scrunched in the front of his tracksuit let go. Isaac fell back. He was caught, but who would catch a thing like him? After what he’d done?

Colin stepped back, righting his sweater with his broken arm.

He’d done this.

Hands were helping Isaac. Voices and vowels cared. He was sure they were familiar, but his ears rang too loud and his head pulsed too heavy. He had to find Colin. He had to find him and fix this. 

“The rules have changed,” Colin told them. “I’m in charge now.”

Chapter Text

8:20 PM

Roy should fight back, he thought, but every bit of insecure fury failed him when he needed it most. He was silent. He was scared.

He held Isaac up by his arm, stomach worrying at the captain’s state: quiet, limp and swaying. It was an exact opposite of his usual tension. His knocked head must’ve caught up to him again, bleeding poisonously into his unwarranted guilt to render him near catatonic.

Isaac was always fierce in his friendships. It made him a better captain than Roy could’ve ever hoped to be, but now this thing had come in and twisted it against him. It had broken in, attacked Isaac where he lived most and Roy’d watched it happen. He’d failed his captain. And fuck- Colin too if what the thing said was true. Roy should have been quicker- pulled harder- stopped Isaac earlier.

An American accent judged him: ‘Is it because you’re jealous of them?’

Never. He’d never let something this bloody happen over something that childish. Did he yearn when the team played? Every fucking time. Did they earn those matches, those passes, those goals? Every fucking time.

This wasn’t some nasty emotion twisting in him. This was another failure. Another thing he should’ve done, but failed to. He’d been too slow.

‘Maybe it’s time for you to finally move on, Roy.’

It might not have been Lasso behind the words and Roy might not be going crazy, but that didn’t change as much as he needed it to. The truth remained as stark as it had been that horridly long day: Richmond deserved better. The team deserved better. Every fucking time.

“Tell me where the mirrors are.”

Roy’s attention dragged from Isaac back to the bleeding Colin, confused at another of his demands. They wouldn’t fall for it again. “Piss off,” he spat. “Jamie, get the door.”

Jamie’s gaze bruised the side of his head, but Roy couldn’t afford to look, keeping his determination on the Colin.

“Yes,” the Colin smirked, “Jamie, you do that and-”

“Don’t listen to it-” Roy interjected.

“You’ll listen, Jamie-”

“Ignore it-”

“Listen.”

“Go,” Roy commanded. Jamie moved, pausing only to check: “You got him?”

Roy readjusted his hold on Isaac, pulling an arm over his shoulders and shifting their weight. Isaac’s head rolled with the handover, stirring him. The captain tensed: “We gotta find him.”

Colin, Roy knew. They needed to get Colin help. Was the lad alone? What state would they find him in? It was only nauseating and useless to wonder: Roy needed to get Isaac and Jamie the fuck away from this cruel thing first.

"We have to find him," Isaac repeated, voice deepening as determination seemed to ground him.

In the hall behind them, footsteps clattered. Jamie gave a sharp inhale. “Keeley.”

Roy swung around to the windows in the door but she’d gone. Shit. She didn’t know about this thing. “The door,” he urged Jamie. “We have to go.”

Keeley sprinted through the halls. She darted past the rooms, kicking off her heels as she launched into the bathroom.

Empty.

Shit- Where the fuck had Roy and Jamie gone?

Keeley jumped inside. She snatched her purse off the floor, rummaging through it. The usual organized mess blended into an undecipherable chaos. She flipped the bag upside down and let everything clatter to the floor: her keys, tampons, makeup, pens, chapsticks, powerbanks, earbuds- but no phone.

Shit.

Jamie must still have it. Or Roy. It didn’t matter, she needed to find them.

She spun around and her eye caught it: Her pink glittery case by the sink. Relief fluttered around her hammering heart. She snatched it, swiping to the emergency page. Her thumb found the nine and soon she was dialling, pressing the ringing phone to her ear.

She was out the door, listening to the repetitive sound as she started her way back to Colin. Three quick tones and a click froze her.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the white screen, numbers asking her to dial when '999' stood right there. She pressed call again, dread holding her panicked feet captive.

Three rings, three tones, and a click. Nothing.

“What the fuck-” she cried. Her phone blinked: No service.

No service?

Storm Agatha thundered outside: No service. They were on their own. "Shit!" she panicked. She trembled through the wave- It wasn't helpful. She needed to think.

Maybe she could still find service somewhere. If she went higher- up to the stadium- she might find reception there. She stared down the hall in  Colin's direction. Her heart tugged, dreading as she knew what she had to do. “I’m sorry,” she loathed, not quite knowing for which part of the footballer's ordeal.

Once again, she turned away and ran.

The Colin tsked at Jamie, stopping him from reaching the door. “Now don’t make me do something you’ll regret.” A hand rose to his eye, hovering over it with his nails aimed claw-like at the pupil. “Midfielders don’t need eyesight, do they?”

A rod shoved down from Roy’s throat. He felt Isaac’s muscles tense. “We have to find him,” the captain babbled, troubled and ill.

“Roy?” Jamie scared, but Roy couldn’t answer. His voice was trapped, furious at his own helplessness.

“Don’t look to him,” the Colin took control of Roy’s silence, telling Jamie: “Look to me.” The hand inched closer to his eye. “Tell me where the mirrors are.”

Jamie'd been told to ignore the thing and though the lad didn't usually listen, he would at least hesitate, making it Roy's move. The coach knew they needed to act. He needed to tell Jamie to take Isaac and run. Tell them to find Keeley and Colin and get an ambulance. He needed to tackle this shapeshifting thing and hold his claws to the floor for however long was necessary. He shouldn’t be afraid. He should do it. He had to do it. Now: “Jamie-”

“Is this not enough of a threat for you?” the Colin angered.

“Jamie, take Isaac and-”

“How’s this?”

Panic trembled Roy still. His words died. His plan fuzzied.

Keeley's rundown mascara was tidied and her kind eyes were still sympathetic, even when worn by such a cruel thing.

Jamie’d frozen, the door staying persistently shut.

Isaac panicked. Roy felt him try to push himself off and up.

“Is everybody decent?” rang out. That was her voice. That was her line. That was her.

“The fuck-” Jamie breathed.

“How did you get actual printed tickets?” Keeley enthused, smiling up at Roy.

His mind reeled back. Back to the office she’d once had at Richmond. It was emptied out, grey and dull. Two open boxes and a pink tiger sat on the desk, the only things left. He remembered the surprise. The plane tickets he’d gone and printed out to gift her. He remembered what she’d said. His heart hollowed.

“Roy, I’d love to,” Keeley whispered, regret curling her eyebrows. “But I can’t. I just can’t.” Her voice shook. She quelled it down, faking enthusiasm: “But you should go.”

“How the fuck do you know this?” Roy angered. It’d been the two of them a year ago. This thing shouldn’t be able to recite these words. It should never recite these words.

‘Are we breaking up?’ he’d asked her.

“No- Roy. I love you.” This Keeley echoed her lie: “We’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Jamie worried.

“It’s imitating her,” Roy spat. “How fucking dare you-”

Keeley’s sadness dipped into boredom. “Tell me where the mirrors are.” Roy’s gut twisted: The voice held true, but Keeley’d never said such a thing.

Roy’s mind reshaped, heavying as the ridges of his brain wormed into place: “You were learning it. You’re stealing her voice.”

“While I loved tormenting you all,” Keeley grinned, the cruelty looking playful in her happy eyes. “I really do need to get back to it. Tell me where the mirrors are.”

“What- All of them?” Jamie squealed.

“Yes.”

“I don’t fucking know where-”

“Jamie,” Roy warned, “Don’t-”

“THE MIRRORS!” the Keeley roared. Roy’s body tensed, making him aware of how naturally he’d relaxed under Keeley’s happy gaze. He didn’t want to fight that instinct. “Now!” the thing demanded, wrapping fingers around Keeley’s thumb: “Or I start breaking bones.”

Stone crawled around his hollowed heart. “Don’t-”

“Take me to the mirrors.”

Jamie cried: “I don’t know where they-”

It started to pull back Keeley’s thumb.

“-all are,” Jamie rushed. “Give us a second to think!”

“You better not make another fucking move,” Roy threatened. He’d had more than enough of this shit.

“Or what?” The thing bored before her entire stance changed. She widened her gaze- glazing it over- and whispered: “Will you hurt me?”

Roy clenched his jaw. His hands tightened around Isaac. Fury scalded up his skin. He vibrated under it, mind boiling until all that was left of his thoughts was fire.

“That’s what I thought,” the Keeley chirped, laughing: “Now I know you’re not much of a manager but I’ll teach you what I know: First thing you need,” Keeley darkened: “is discipline. Rules. So how about this?” The faux-cheer smeared back into anger: “You shut it. Say another word and I break her, yeah?”

Roy didn’t speak. He didn’t move. If he uncoiled in the slightest, he knew he would launch forward and hurt Keeley in the process. Again. 

“And you,” the Keeley smiled at Jamie: “Do what I say.”

Finally Roy looked at the lad. Jamie turned to him, question and fear bright in his wide eyes.

“Don’t-” the Keeley barked, “look at him. Look at me.”

Jamie’s eyes flinched to the thing. He wasn’t breathing right. Too quick. With Roy’s jaw clenched shut and his hands busy holding Isaac, there wasn’t anything he could do.

He’d failed. Isaac, Colin, Keeley- and now Jamie too. He failed them all.

“Turn around,” the thing commanded: “Let’s move.”

Jamie- stubborn, annoying, smart-arse Jamie- did exactly as he was told without so much as a snort or a quip or an annoyed glance. He kept his head down, dragging himself to the door and avoiding Roy's eye.

Not that Roy could’ve beared his terrified and pleading gaze again. The manager was helpless. He was supposed to be the one in charge- the one that would take care of them, but he was helpless. Hopeless.

The door finally clicked open behind him.

“After you,” the Keeley offered in her usual kind tone. It twisted in Roy.

With tension flinching up his muscles, he did as he was told, hauling Isaac around. Jamie held the door open, eyes on the floor. Roy’d been right: He couldn’t bear the fear there. Jamie was shut tight: Jaw clenched and eyes avoidant. It was the same tense look as when his father had barged into the locker room at ManCity. Hadn’t Roy sworn he would act as soon as he saw it on the lad again? He’d sworn not to linger- slow- like last time and yet…

“Now there’s a good little greyhound,” snickered behind him.

He suppressed a growl, a swear, a swing. Instead, he snarled at the hallway, wishing to God he could bash the thing’s head in.

“Alright,” the Keeley chirped. “Bring us to a mirror.”

“Um,” Jamie staggered. His mind must be fogged over with panic, adrenaline and instinct pumping his head too full for anything else. Roy could feel the thing’s frustration bubble. He needed to get their attention away from Jamie. He started down the hall.

“Oi!”

Roy paused. He turned to her, eyes loathing in a way Keeley could never deserve. His guilt dug thicker. He wished he could swear and bark but under his new silencing rule, he pulled his arm from under Isaac’s shoulders and pointed to the bathroom.

“Oh,” Jamie caught on: “The toilet’s got a mirror.”

The thing narrowed her eyes at him, studying him warily. She made a decision and turned back to Roy: “Lead the way.”

Roy glanced at Jamie. The movement caused a dart of brown his way before being aimed back at the floor.

“Don’t make me ask again,” the Keeley sneered.

Roy creaked his head the right way, placing his arm back under Isaac’s shoulders and shuffling them forward.

Footsteps followed them. He dragged Isaac past the door to the boot room and the one to the coaches’ office, turning into the hallway.

A distant sob, echoing through open doors, faltered him.

Isaac alerted: “Colin-” 

“Don’t stop,” crowed in Roy's ear. Her breath itched his neck. He went on, recoiling from the hissing air to haul Isaac onward.

“Cap’an.”

Roy spun to the sound. He hadn’t been called that in years.

“Captain,” Isaac huffed again. He was straining against Roy’s pull. “We have to find him.”

Roy bit his tongue. ‘I know,’ he wanted to assure. ‘We will,’ he wanted to promise, but he couldn’t. The footsteps close behind his rattled like chains trailing them.

He pushed himself and Isaac on, turning away from the far wrenching cries. “Roy-” Isaac betrayed. “He’s-” his voice cut off. His brow furrowed and his eyes glazed over. It cleared. He breathed: “You’re not the captain anymore.”

Roy gave a nod- a clear and certain nod that Isaac had to understand. His captain’s eyes studied him, before shifting off. They went distant, flickering through images Roy couldn’t see.

“What are you whispering about?”

Roy flinched from the Keeley’s sudden appearance. He couldn’t answer.

“I have to get up- get out,” Isaac urged, gaze stuck flickering over a memory. Roy’s gut worried. Would Isaac recover from this? How had it even happened? Roy only saw him after the blood was slowing its run- How could he not have asked yet? “You have to-” Isaac continued to mumble. “Listen to me…”

“Oh he’s proper lost it, hasn’t he?” Keeley laughed, falling back again to talk to Jamie. Roy wanted to turn and check on him, but he didn’t dare, stealing comfort nonetheless in the lack of Jamie’s voice in their hushed conversation.

Isaac’s eyes awakened. He grunted to Roy: “There’s someone with my fucking face.”

‘I know, lad. I know.’ But Roy’s pitied eyes were misunderstood: “It’s not my head,” Isaac panicked, angry and betrayed. “I fucking saw-”

Roy glared at him, shutting him up. He didn’t dare another sombre look so he resorted to what he did best: He gave a fierce nod. ‘I know.’

Isaac calmed immediately, eyes flickering away to think. They bounced around until they struck something, widening. He looked at Roy: “We have to find him.”

‘I know, lad. I know.’

Roy should’ve been faster. He should’ve found Isaac faster, pulled him off faster, gotten away faster. 

The captain was pulling at Roy, craving to limp back the other way. “Let me go,” he grunted. He levelled his eyes on Roy, angrily pensive in the way Isaac always pulled off. He declared: “It has to be me.”

Some of Roy’s thick cloud of failure and misery blew off. Isaac had said something new. Something present. Was he with them? He was confused, battered, and driven by poisonous guilt but could he be with them?

Isaac tried to push himself off of Roy, but Roy clung on. If Isaac ran off the face-stealer would have reason to hurt Keeley. He couldn’t let that happen. It was an advantage too, Roy realized. The thing wearing Keeley thought Isaac was completely gone- completely broken- so it might let its guard down around him. It might be the only advantage they’d get.

The captain angered. “Roy, I have to-”

Roy tightened a fist In Isaac’s tracksuit, freeing his other hand as he held the captain. He flipped Isaac off.

Isaac stared. He inhaled to speak but Roy nodded his head from his middle finger to Jamie behind them.

Isaac followed it. His eyes grew. He understood:

The signal. The play.

This was a play.

Jamie tried to do what Roy had told him: Ignore the disguiser. Don’t listen. But she looked like Keeley. Unlike Colin’s version, she wasn’t covered in blood. She didn’t have a side hair part or any other clear asymmetry in her face. Confidence didn’t look alien on her either and no matter how hard the disguiser tried, she could never look cruel. The sceptical instinct Jamie had pampered was wavering, unsure of whether he could trust her or not. His mind knew for certain, though, as he kept reminding himself: This wasn’t Keeley.

Not-Keeley snickered, falling back from Roy and Isaac. Jamie felt her eyes on him. “It’s good that we’re talking, Jamie," she hushed.

A hollow flutter struck Jamie’s chest. Did Keeley ever feel that way? He kept his mouth shut and his eyes ahead, watching Isaac and Roy’s tired shuffle. He wished Roy would look over again. He wished Roy would speak. He didn’t and Jamie understood, but it didn’t change the anxious blood spilling everywhere in his body.

“You should know I’m not cruel,” Keeley frustrated at Jamie's silence. The striker didn’t understand where it had come from, but he sure as hell didn’t believe it.

‘There,’ it had delighted at Isaac’s torment. ‘Broken.’

“I’m not horrid- I’m just… You understand, don’t you? We’re the same. You should recognize that.”

‘Don’t listen to it,’ Roy had told him. ‘Ignore it.’

Jamie'd heart thundered and pulsed under his skin. Static crawled all over him with every word the disguiser hushed his way. He’d seen what this thing could do- what it would do- and Jamie didn’t know how safe the favouritism made him. If it made him safe at all. He’d dated Keeley: He’d seen where idolization slipped into obsession, seeped into anger, and struck into danger. Was Jamie safe? Or was he doomed?

“You’ll see. I’ll show you-”

“We’re here,” Jamie relieved, watching Roy and Isaac turn and stand by the bathroom door. Not-Keeley grabbed Jamie’s shoulder, guiding him around his captain and manager, under their glares. They stopped on the other side of the doorway where the hall ended.

Not-Keeley’s eyes stuck to Jamie before they dragged to the door. She stepped closer, glancing inside and saying: “Oh it’s this one.” She stepped out, commanding: “Go break it.”

So it was the disguiser who’d been going around breaking mirrors. But, “Why?”

“Not you." The disguiser nodded to Roy, “You. Set our captain down. Go break it.”

Roy looked like he wanted to grumble, but he didn’t, starting to set Isaac down. Not-Keeley walked up to stand beside Jamie. His skin tingled with irritation, wishing he was standing on the other side of the doorway with Roy and Isaac.

“Here look at this.” Movement in the corner of Jamie’s eye had him turn. Keeley had gone: A second Roy stood there. “Hold on,” he said, voice pitching in weird ways.

“You better not make another fucking move,” he growled. The real Roy glared at his double.

“You were learning it,” the disguiser mocked louder: “You’re stealing her voice.”

Jamie could vomit. The sickness was rooted in something deeper- panic maybe, or doubt- but all he attributed it to was the disguiser's existence.

“That’s better, innit?” not-Roy delighted with his new voice.

Roy got Isaac down, slumped against the wall and weary legs stretching into the hall. The captain muttered to himself. He needed a hospital. Concussions killed careers in this building and if Isaac was still this confused and shaky- it could mean something dizzyingly worse than that.

Roy straightened. Jamie flickered his gaze to the coach, expecting to find concern reflected in darker eyes, but he didn’t. Roy had his brow furrowed, his jaw set, and his gaze glaring ahead. If anything, he looked determined. It reverberated in Jamie, releasing knots and tensions he hadn’t yet noticed.

Thank fuck. Roy knew what to do.

“Go on, then,” Not-Roy commanded. Roy followed, glancing at Isaac. The captain’s haze seemed to dissipate. He looked alert, ready, and as observant as Jamie knew him to be. He felt like he was missing something. His body prepared: energy pumping, charging, tensing.

He knew: Something was about to go down.

“Watch.” The disguiser called for Jamie’s attention. The Mancunian dragged his eyes from the renewed Isaac as not-Roy held his hands out, palms down. One of the knuckles was still littered with the wounds they’d spent too long clearing out. It had been bleeding ever since Roy punched the wall, causing branches of blood to have crept down his fingers. Jamie hoped he’d use his other hand. Or better yet, didn’t use his fists at all. “We’ll be able to see the knuckles break open,” the disguiser excited.

Acidic vomit crawled up Jamie's throat. He wished: ‘Goddamnit Roy, for once don’t use your fucking fists. Don’t make me watch this.’

But he knew Roy too well: An inhale, a whistle in the air and a crash, trinkle, and blood. The once unharmed hand tore open: Cuts blossomed, spilling red down his hand. Glass glittered through the blood and if Jamie couldn't taste the insides of his own stomach, he imagined it might be pretty. The disguiser seemed to think so. His bleeding hand trembled as he leaned back. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep as his shoulders relaxed like he was hitting some kind of high.

A flash flew across Jamie’s vision and before he knew it Isaac had pressed the disguiser against another wall. “Fucking-”

“Don’t!” Jamie feared, shivering at the idea of another splintered arm.

“I know,” Isaac grunted. Jamie noticed how carefully he pressed Roy's shoulder against the wall, making his hold weaker. The disguiser noticed too: not egging Isaac on but fighting back. The disguiser pushed off, making Isaac step back. “Help me!” he panicked.

Jamie’s charged muscles sprung into action. He jumped in beside Isaac, taking hold of one of Roy's shoulders and the arm so he couldn't hurt himself. He pressed them to the wall. They struggled as not-Roy pushed back. “You’re gonna hurt him,” he taunted.

"You got that side?" Isaac grunted.

Before Jamie could answer another voice joined in the mix: “What the fuck are you doing?” Footsteps thundered to them.

“Keeley-” Jamie huffed.

"Get off him!"

“Wait- Keeley, you don’t-”

“Stop it!”

“Fuck!” Isaac reeled back. Jamie wanted to turn and see if he was alright, but with Isaac gone, the disguiser's other arm was free.

“I can’t believe you-” Keeley strained as a force met Jamie’s chest and his precarious struggle with not-Roy ended. He fell back, regarded by disappointed eyes. Behind Keeley was a flash and an angry shove launched Jamie away, smashing him against the opposite wall. His back flared and he choked on his breath. He moaned. He hunched. He waited for the darkening wave to pass his eyes.

"What the fuck has-" Keeley's cry strangled. There was a thud- a breath.

Jamie swam his way through the vicious wave. He forced his eyes up, finding himself on the dead-end side of the hall. He searched for Keeley, finding her on the floor opposite him, a trickle of red streaming from her forehead, just above her right eyebrow. Isaac sat on the other side of them, tensed everywhere as he seemed to ride out some kind of agony.

“I'll fucking kill you,” Roy angered, pulling Jamie's eyes up. He watched Roy grab his own jacket. His copied jacket? Or with copied hands?

Jamie blinked through his haze. There were two of them: facing off in the middle of the hall as Isaac and Keeley blinked themselves awake.

The other Roy pushed the first off. “Get off me-” He tried to approach Keeley but was stopped by his double.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

Jamie ignored their game. He crept around their stand-off, squatting by Keeley as he yelled across the hall: “Isaac? You alright, mate?”

A groan. Jamie worked his concern over, checking first: “Keeley?”

“I’m alright- but Colin he…” her eyes shifted behind Jamie. She froze, wild-eyed as she watched the two Roys argue. “What the fuck…”

“It’s… it’s hard to explain.”

Keeley reached up to her head, finding the blood. She dragged her eyes to her glistening fingers, sluggish as she accepted: “Oh.”

“No,” Jamie loathed to correct. “It’s real.”

“Jamie-”

“It’s real,” he pleaded with her. The scepticism on her was swept away by her trustful nature. She believed him.

The Roys continued: “I'm not fucking doing this."

“I'm not letting you near them.”

Keeley studied them: “How-”

“I don’t know.”

She flinched all of a sudden, grabbing onto Jamie: “Colin.”

Another groan. “Where?” Isaac growled.

“The locker room.”

Isaac’s pinched face worked away, turning guilty, “I have to…”

“I know,” Jamie offered.

“Can you two handle him?”

Jamie glanced at the arguing Roys.

“Get out of my way.”

“Like hell-” broke them. One of the Roys swung- the other snapped to the side. Both their noses started to bleed.

"Shit-" Jamie’s eye darted to Keeley. She nodded, pushing herself up: “We got it.”

A thud and a swing- Jamie rounded to find one Roy being smashed against the wall by the other.

“Go,” Isaac told them from the other side of the fight, forcing himself to rise. His eyes apologized to them, but Jamie couldn’t imagine what for. For leaving them to jump into violence while he went after Colin?

“I know,” Jamie offered again. Isaac's scowl deepened. He turned to go-

“Isaac,” Keeley suddenly shot out. “There’s no service. I’ve checked everywhere- there’s nothing.”

Isaac paused. The thunder raged outside. A grim light fell over them as the Roys roared each other down.

They were beyond help.

Isaac shouldered the weight. He sprinted for the locker room, leaving Jamie and Keeley to swivel around to the mirrored and furious Roys.

Chapter Text

8:25 PM

Keeley jumped right in. “Stop it!” She latched onto hands and pulled. The fighting needed to end no matter what so she threw herself in the middle, knowing at least her Roy would stop the second she was in the struggle.

“Jesus, Keeley,” Jamie squealed behind her but she was proven right: The Roys’ eyes widened at her manicured hands on their swinging and clawing arms. They pulled back as she wormed between them.

“Keeley-”

“Get back!” she yelled at the Roy who’d tried to reach out to her. The Roy's right nostril was bleeding as he stared at her, eyes glaring as usual but they were wider. They were panicked. Betrayed. It wasn’t a look she recognised. Roy went for self-loathing before he ever set on betrayal. Then again, this was an ‘ever’ breaking situation. Keeley’d already seen things she’d never had before. She’d feared and tried to handle things she could never have imagined.

She hoped Isaac had reached Colin. Maybe it should have been her. She was the one who left him in a state, so for their building trust not to stagnate or crumble, it should have been her. Even as she thought it, her body disagreed: Colin was years more familiar with Isaac and would feel safer with him, while Keeley knew Roy down to his heart. This is where she belonged: Picking out reactions and subtle glares of the man she still loved.

The panic and betrayal on right-nostril-Roy simmered out, smearing over with a fury aimed past Keeley.

She spun, following the glare to left-nostril-Roy. Relief hinted in him as he gazed at her. “Kee-”

“You stay back too,” she commanded. Right-nostril-Roy’s emotions repeated on this one: Panic, betrayal, anger. Keeley stayed in the middle of the crossing glares, preventing a fight as she glanced between the Roys. Whatever this clone was, it had already slammed her head against the wall and that stung enough. She wasn’t looking for a do-over.

As she studied the mirrored Roys, she found no glitches, no alien features, no awkward mannerisms. She’d have to go about it some other way. “Why did we break up?”

She never meant to ask such a personal question but it had been on her mind ever since Roy’d snapped at her in the office.

As she glanced between them- waiting for an answer- Jamie threw her a bewildered head shake. Keeley demanded his patience with an index finger.

“Because we were too fucking busy,” grunted right-nostril-Roy, grabbing Keeley’s attention. This Roy looked frustrated with the question or maybe the situation as a whole. “Can we stop this now?”

Keeley accepted his answer, knowing it to be true. That was what they’d said. What she’d needed. She turned to see what left-nostril-Roy had to say, but this version didn’t seem ready. He didn’t look frustrated with the question- not guarded up and angry- but hurt and scared. The way Roy’d once looked when he pleaded with Keeley: ‘Are we breaking up?’

‘No- Roy. I love you,’ she vowed, believing: ‘We’ll be fine.’

Left-nostril-Roy caught on his words, swallowing them before grunting: “I don’t know.”

Keeley’s heart beat to him.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” roared the other Roy, forming fists and squaring up.

“Hold on,” Keeley commanded, holding out a hand. She studied right-nostril-Roy. This anger, this closed-off and annoyed stance was very him. Yet Keeley knew that the reason they broke up had felt personal to Roy. She knew that if he were able to let himself be honest and vulnerable ‘I don’t know,’ could well be his answer. The only question Keeley needed to figure out was: Would Roy be honest in this scenario? His perceived identity weighed on it- Could that be enough for him to be vulnerable? Or was it a reason why he would never be?

“Keeley, it doesn’t matter,” worried Jamie over her spinning mind. “Whatever this thing is, it knows everything.”

Her deduction skidded. “How?” she breathed, but as much as she wanted to know, she needed to shake her foreboding off. She could feel the glares cutting through her on the way to their targets and even though she was standing in the middle, how long would that hold Roy’s anger? She refocused: “Then how do we know who’s who?”

“Keeley-”

“Don't tell me you're falling for this shit.”

They closed in- pushing off the wall and nearing her. Keeley ignored them, waiting for Jamie to answer: “He's mirrored- That’s how Isaac recognised that it wasn’t Colin.”

“Colin?”

“Oh- right, you don’t know. Colin was-”

“Jamie-” Keeley stressed: “Tell me something useful!”

Jamie faltered, stumbling on air. His eyes clicked and he sputtered: “It mirrors us.”

Keeley flicked her gaze between the Roys. “On which side should his nose be bleeding?”

“C'mon, Keeley-”

“Shut the fuck up!” a Roy roared at the other, stepping closer. Keeley held her hands out, not far enough to touch them but enough to placate them.

Jamie blurted, “I don’t know.”

“Okay- that’s okay,” Keeley tried to calm him, feeling herself shake from stress and anxiety. Her forehead stung and sticky blood trailed down the side of her face. She itched and irked about a do-over as the walls of Roys closed in. “What else?” she pleaded with Jamie, but the Mancunian was stumbling on thoughts again.

“Are we seriously fucking doing this?!” A Roy yelled as the other pleaded her name again: “Keeley-”

She ignored them, urging: “Jamie?!”

“I know- I know- I’m thinking!” he shot back, distressed. Keeley was about to spur him on when his face lit up and his gaze darted to her: “It knows everything, yeah? More than we do.”

Keeley’s anxiety pleaded: “You already said!”

Jamie’s brows drew up, face alight. He pointed at her: “That’s how it learns- It learns our voice by repeating things we’ve said.”

“The mirrors, Jamie,” one of the Roys added.

“It wants to break mirrors," Jamie repeated, shooting right-nostril-Roy a scared glance.

“Don’t fucking talk to him!” left-nostril-Roy stepped closer. Keeley felt him tower over her.

“Keeley, move,” right-nostril Roy alarmed stepping up too. Keeley held out her arms, holding the clones back from each other. She didn’t move, urging: “Jamie?!”

“I don’t think it feels pain,” Jamie rushed: “but whatever happens to it also happens to whoever it’s mirroring.”

“Roy’s nose,” Keeley realized, remembering a sudden crack echoing in the air: “Colin’s arm.”

Jamie’s eyes darkened. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she breathed, “Okay.” Her mind warped and rearranged, coming up with options. The first: Asking a question too emotionally complicated for Roy to know the answer. But she might’ve done that already and found herself unsure of which answer was Roy’s. There was also her second option: She could force a reaction. She could do what she’d done plenty as a teenage girl. She glanced at the Roys, letting her instinct pull her to one.

“Keeley-" Jamie worried.

Right-nostril-Roy, her heart told her.

‘Because we were too fucking busy.’

That’s what they’d said, wasn’t it? That’s what he’d echo back to her- swears and all. She turned to him with sorry eyes, grateful at least that she’d scattered her heels somewhere.

Roy’s eyes eased- as if the light had bothered him but Keeley’s attention alone dimmed it. She gave him a sorry wince, hesitating his relief.

Barefooted, she kicked him in the balls.

Roy went blue. He hunched over, gripping himself and groaning.

“Roy,” Keeley relieved. She’d known- she’d fucking known.

A horrible laugh tore through her, making her realize who she’d turned her back to. She spun around to the amused Roy, nose bleeding on his left, as she backed away to her real Roy’s side.

The false clone laughed, open-mouthed and loud in a horrid way. “I’d forgotten about that pain.”

He knew this room: These blue and grey colours, this musty smell, his exhausted limbs. But it was all off: There was red smeared across the grey. There was iron tinging in the smell. There wasn't just exhaustion in his body- there was agony.

He couldn't pin-point where he was or where it came from. He'd thought maybe his stinging eyes, his sharp plundering heart, his pounding cheek, his shrieking arm- maybe all of them. It didn't matter. He didn't care so long as it stopped.

He just wanted it to stop.

He needed a second where he could breath instead of cry. If the consuming pain didn't take him- wracking over his trembling body- what would ever be able to end this?

He'd struggled forward, finding nothing that would stop any of it but he couldn't stay where he was. He couldn't stay with the sharp pieces splintering under his skin. He needed to prove that he wasn't trapped in an airless coffin. He needed to breathe.

He needed it to stop.

“Colin!” Something shook him. “Shit- Colin?”

He croaked: “Michael?”

“No, bruv-”

But Michael needed to be here. Michael'd know what was happening. Michael'd show Colin how to breathe again. Michael would make it stop.

"Colin!" tried to shake him, but it was pointless.

He'd already given in.

Keeley reached Roy. She comforted at his shoulder, pulling him to the hall. She called Jamie: “Let’s go.”

“Aw, why?” False-Roy smirked. “We haven’t had the chance to talk yet, Keeley Jones.”

Keeley guided an uncrouching Roy away. “I don’t think I want to talk to you.”

Jamie rushed over, grabbing onto her elbow and backing them further into the hall.

“Not even when I look like this?” False-Roy gestured at himself, trudging after them. He smirked: “Or do you prefer this?”

Roy was gone. In his place stood a mirrored Jamie. Keeley’s thoughts caught and stumbled over each other. Was this a fucking shapeshifter? Hands guided her back, the only thing keeping her moving as she gaped.

“Or… God, what was it she looked like?” the false clone said in Jamie’s voice. “Jack? She rarely came by here, did she?”

Keeley didn’t bother with that. She already knew that Jack hadn’t been a great relationship for her. Even as the name alone kicked her in the gut.

“Ignore him," Jamie told her as Roy growled: “Leave her alone!”

“Keeley,” the clone sighed, shaking Jamie's stolen head at the men around her. “Surrounded by exes. Is that the only way you make friends? By fucking them first?”

“I wish,” she quipped, glaring. “That means I’d have gotten it on with Rebecca.”

False-Jamie glowed up, laughing: “This is why people like you.” He tilted his head and shrugged, crossing his arms in a fake and condescending thinking stance. “Is that why you’re always leaving them? So they can never find out who you really are? Because you must be something horrible with so many breakups under your belt."

Roy roared: "You fucking-"

"Are you afraid of commitment?" False-Jamie ignored him. "Or are you just a narcissist?” The stance dropped. He picked up his pace, making Jamie, Roy, and Keeley scramble back as he sneered: “Do you think you’re better than them?”

She wasn’t big on fighting, but walking away from someone taunting her felt like lying on the floor and asking to be kicked. She scoffed at the prompt and incorrect psychoanalysis, scowling: “I’d never think that.”

False-Jamie hummed. He shrugged, “It doesn’t actually matter why, you know? You’ll always be leaving people. Still you have the nerve to feel abandoned? You have the nerve to feel alone? To cry?”

It struck something and shivered in Keeley.

“Fuck off!” defended around her, “Ignore him.” Keeley found her own voice caught behind clenched teeth. They reached the corner in the hall, backing toward the locker room.

False-Jamie followed them around the bent. “I don’t hate you, Keeley,” he said, opposing his cruel rant. “You were nice to me.”

Keeley furrowed her brow. She didn’t know what this in front of her was, let alone had she ever been kind to them.

“But don’t you think it’s time to grow up?” False-Jamie judged. “Isn’t time to stop stomping on people and pitying yourself for it?”

Keeley wanted- she needed to be furious, but she wasn’t. An anxious blend of emotions- denial, hurt, pity, shame- surged through her, catching up in her throat and begging her to vomit them out.

“Colin!” broke through their stand-off. “Fuck- wake up!”

Keeley sickened. The locker room was approaching behind them and they couldn’t lead this false thing to Colin. She shouldn’t have left him in the first place. There’d been no service to find, she hadn’t gotten help, and she’d pulled Isaac and Jamie off the False-Roy. She'd freed the shapeshifter. If she’d followed her gut and stayed with Colin everything would’ve been better. But she’d left him. Like she left everyone.

The first opening to the locker room inched up on their side. Keeley ached to look in and try to see how Isaac and Colin were doing, but she didn’t. She couldn’t draw the shapeshifter’s attention to them.

“Colin, bruv-” filtered through, catching the shapeshifter’s focus as he neared.

“You’re wrong about me,” Keeley lashed out, making False-Jamie turn back to them with a wide grin. The trio passed the door to the locker room, leaving nothing between the shapeshifter and Colin and Isaac.

“Ignore him,” Jamie pleaded in Keeley’s ear again. She appreciated him. She knew he was right, but she wasn't trying to save herself.

“You’re wrong,” Keeley reiterated to the shapeshifter.

False-Jamie smirked. “The fact that you think so only proves me right,” he amused as he approached to door to the locker room. He started to look in when-

“I thought you wouldn’t steal Jamie’s face,” Roy shot out, catching on to what Keeley was doing. The shapeshifter turned back, amused glint lighting up his eyes. He stepped closer. Roy tugged Keeley and Jamie backwards.

“And I thought you would know better than to attack me, but I guess,” False-Jamie smirked, stopping by the door, “here we are.”

The shapeshifter side-stepped into the locker room.

“Shit-” Keeley flew in after him, feeling Jamie and Roy on her heels.

False Jamie had made his way into the room, standing above the gruesome scene. Colin lay on the floor where the coaches tended to stand, eyes closed and skin grey. His left arm- mangled- lay on his stomach, blood seeping through his green sweater and pooling under him. A line of smudged red hand prints crawled along the block in the middle of the room, tracing the spot where Keeley had left him to where Colin's limp body lay. Isaac was on his knees by him, bent over with a hand scrunched in the shoulder of the green sweater. He was muttering to himself as he shook at Colin’s limp body.

Keeley daunted. She shouldn't have left him.

“Look what I did,” False-Jamie prided, making Keeley’s eyes drag away from the blood. Smiling brightly, False-Jamie picked up his foot and stood on Isaac’s troubled back. Isaac didn’t seem to notice as he was pushed down more, made to bow.

“Get the fuck off him!” Roy exploded- flying around Keeley. He grabbed the front of False-Jamie’s sweater and yanked him away, growling.

“Careful now,” the shapeshifter laughed. Dressed as Jamie, he chided: “We don’t want to hurt the star player.”

Roy hesitated, teeth clenched and bared. He glanced between his fists and False-Jamie’s calm face, dreading himself.

“After all,” Jamie’s clone grinned, “I thought you two were finally done fighting?”

Keeley could see Roy’s strength wane as the fists in False-Jamie’s hoodie relaxed. His eyes jumped about, fury turning inward.

“We are-” Jamie launched around Keeley. He jumped in, grabbing his clone’s arms and pulling them back. Roy awakened, strengthening his hold again as the shapeshifter started to wrestle their clutch.

Keeley used the struggle to run to Isaac and Colin. “Isaac, is he-” she feared, plunging down by him, but her question died as she heard Isaac’s sorry muttering. “...my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault…”

“Isaac-”

“Fuck!” The agonising cry had Keeley spinning around. The shapeshifter was twisted in Jamie’s grasp. Jamie let go, face scrunched up as he grabbed for his right shoulder. He hunched over, falling back. His arm was dangling sickeningly, his mangled shoulder hanging too low.

“Keeley!” Roy cried out for help as he let go of False-Jamie’s sweater and engulfed him in some kind of hug, tackling him to the floor. The shapeshifter grunted, kicking out as Roy stayed curled around him and wrestled his arms to his side.

Keeley glanced at Isaac. "...my fault, my fault, my fault..."

"Keeley," Roy grunted as the shapeshifter fought back.

"...my fault..."

Jamie whimpered, pale and scrunched as a cringing hand hovered over his mangled shoulder. 

"Keeley!"

"Shit-" she overwhelmed. She jumped up, launching to Roy. She took over False-Jamie’s unharmed arm and shoulder and pressed them to the floor with all her weight. Roy let her side go, kneeling on the shapeshifter’s stomach and pushing his chest and left arm to the floor.

False-Jamie growled: “You’ve already tried this!”

“Isaac!” Roy called out. “Isaac- we need to fucking tie him up!”

Keeley tried to look back at the captain but as she did the arm under her rocked up. She refocused, smashing it down. “Isaac!” she panicked. “Jamie?”

She was met with a low sob. Jamie, she thought, glancing over to the mirrored mess of a shoulder that Roy was keeping pressed to the floor. She hissed, nauseating. “Isaac!” Roy shouted again, voice deepening with authority.

False-Jamie twisted under them, fighting. Keeley wouldn’t be able to hold him forever. Her arms were already complaining. “Isaac,” she begged.

The shapeshifter roared with laughter. “Why bother asking? I broke too many of them!” False-Jamie twisted, pushing up the shoulder under Keeley’s hand. She shoved it down. “Isaac…” she grieved, remembering the way he was sitting by Colin, catatonic as he muttered untrue blame at himself.

Her fight was dying when above their heads the tell-tale rip of duck tape sounded, accompanied by a low grunt: “I’m here.”

Chapter Text

8:45 PM

Isaac’s skin was covered with blood.

This was his fault.

The image of his hands on Colin’s arm made him sick. He remembered how it felt. He remembered how the bone had given way and snapped. The vibrations of it lingered under his fingers. He swallowed the vomit back and blinked away the visions.

This was his fault. He had to be the person to fix it. He had to be the one to press the wound. He had to be the one to stop the bleeding.

It would’ve been better if Colin hadn’t woken up the moment he applied pressure. Isaac’s voice had caught. He hadn’t dared to look at Colin, glaring at his task- his mistake- the bone bulging up flesh and blood. Colin whimpered. He’d tried to pull free but Isaac held on tighter.

Colin trembled. “What are you doing?”

Isaac’s voice remained caught, stuck behind something solid and hollow in his throat.

“Just stop-” Colin begged, clammy hand pushing at Isaac’s arm. “Boyo, stop for a second.”

This was Isaac’s fault. The words tugged free: “I can’t.”

“Isaac- Isaac, please- Isaac…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just stop.” Colin’s hand pulled everywhere it could, weak from pain. He sobbed, “Stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” he cried. “Isaac-”

They’d stayed like that until Keeley came barging in with painkillers and bandages.

“You ready?”

“Fuck no,” Jamie trembled from the floor. He was sweaty, pale, and tinted green as his glassy eyes frightened at his dislocated shoulder. Roy had moved him into the hall to separate Jamie from Colin, who trembled as Keeley bandaged his arm.

Isaac had glared himself through the begging- keeping agonizing pressure on Colin’s wound until Keeley could get to them. Roy knew he’d have to do the same.

He’d have to do the same.

He picked Jamie’s arm up, making the younger man flinch and yelp out. Jamie clenched his teeth, muffling his cries into a sorry hiss. A shiver shook over him as he aimed his eyes at the floor, away from Roy.

“It’ll be quick,” Roy promised the both of them. Neither believed him.

He’d already tried to pop the arm back in on Jamie’s clone to save the lad some pain, but the thing realized. It changed into Roy and refused to change back. Roy had boiled over, shaking him. ‘I thought you wouldn’t hurt Jamie?’ he’d growled at his mirror.

It had smiled. ‘It’s not him I’m hurting.’

“Just do it, yeah?” Jamie whispered, turning his face away. His hand trembled in Roy’s. The older man held tighter onto Jamie’s wrist and elbow. He placed his foot under the lad’s armpit to hold him steady.

He needed to pull the dangling arm. He needed to pop it back in. He needed to make Jamie go through excruciating pain and not let up until everything was right again. No matter how hard he screamed or begged.

“Just do it,” Jamie repeated, voice cracking. He’d turned away completely, chin on his unharmed shoulder.

Roy tightened his grip. He was going to do it. He had to do it.

But his breath faltered. His hands slacked. 

“Roy,” Jamie shook. His voice was taut. He was crying, Roy realized.

The older man ground his teeth. He tightened his hold. He dug his foot into the floor and the other into Jamie’s side.

He pulled.

Jamie cried out- He screamed and yelled, kicking against the floor to get up.

Roy pulled.

“Roy- Roy- Wait- Okay- Wait!” Jamie bellowed. He’d turned around pushing at Roy’s foot. His face was scrunched up and tear streams curved with his cheeks as he wailed: “Roy!”

Roy closed his eyes. He couldn't stop. He had to do this. He pulled.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Arms tore Roy off. He stumbled, trying to hold onto Jamie but he was gone. Roy opened his eyes to find Jamie coiled around his arm, shaking. He sobbed into the floor.

Roy couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t. He turned to the person who’d pulled him off, screaming: “We have to pop his fucking arm back in!”

“No, you don’t!” Keeley screamed back. “You’re not a doctor, Roy! You’ll only make it worse. Jesus christ-” She slumped down by Jamie, curling around his good shoulder as he shook with pain. “It’s alright. It’s alright,” she soothed, drawing circles at the base of his neck and holding him up with a sure hand on his unhurt arm.

Roy watched them. He could still feel Jamie's arm in his hands and his side digging into Roy's foot. It all trembled, flaring up.

Was Keeley right?

Jamie tried to bundle his dangling arm close to his chest but as he moved, he flinched. He went white and froze- every muscle tensed as his body rolled with pain.

What had Roy been thinking?

“It’ll pass,” Keeley whispered to Jamie, “It’ll pass.”

Roy’d fucked it all. Guilt nauseated his already unsettled stomach. He was going to be sick. He’d done that to Jamie for nothing- Worse than nothing: He’d made it worse.

He’d made it fucking worse.

Everything in Roy twisted and sickened, fighting itself. 

He’d made it fucking worse.

“I was trying to fix it,” tumbled out from deep under his suffocating guilt. Roy loathed the immaturity in his voice- the whine. He felt tears well up in his eyes as he looked at what he’d done. Why did he think it was a good idea? How could he have been so fucking stupid?

Keeley looked up. She hardened her glare for him but it fell away before it could even strike Roy. She offered: “Just pass us the painkillers and bandage up Isaac, yeah?”

She was getting him away from Jamie- sobbing, pale, gagging-from-pain Jamie. It was fair. Roy’d fucked up.

He’d fucked it all up.

He stumbled away, into the locker room.

9 PM

“Isaac.”

He sat on the bench by his cubby, bloody hands drying but he didn’t deserve to wash them. He was beyond spent.

“We have to look at your head.”

Colin had fallen asleep with the painkillers. Jamie’s cries in the hall had calmed. Isaac was pretty sure both his mates were still begging for it to stop though.

“McAdoo.”

God, he was beyond spent. Nothing felt important anymore. His head still had an open and cold piece at the back. The wound on his hand scolded him. Everything spun. The guilt had rooted in his gut, cramping as though he'd overeaten. All of it was drowsy and tired, swirling over him and begging: ‘Stop. Stop.’

Or maybe that was Colin and Jamie.

A hand weighed on his shoulder. “Isaac.”

Isaac stirred.

“We have to check your injuries.”

Roy? His voice sounded off, softer and airy.

Maybe Isaac should open his eyes.

It was Roy- something similar to him anyway- that squatted in front of Isaac. He looked pale. His face was as tense as usual but this time it looked like that was tiring him. Like his furrowed eyebrows wanted to relax and his clenched jaw wanted to unwind, but Roy was forcing them into place.

Isaac's eyes floated shut again.

“Isaac-” frustrated Roy’s voice, seeming to ebb and flow between careful exhaustion and bubbling anger.

Isaac was too tired to care. He didn’t have to anyway: He’d failed as a captain. His official responsibility was to the two people who were lying on the floor in pain.

He’d failed as a captain. He’d failed as a mate.

“Alright,” Roy’s voice gave out. Isaac heard him walk off. He heard Colin breathe. Keeley and Jamie talked in the hall- too softly for Isaac to understand. The thief, tied up in the office didn’t make any sound, leaving Isaac to doze off to the peace.

A thud on his left had Isaac’s head shooting up. His muscles charged and his fists formed but- There was still the same peace. Isaac looked to where the sound had been, finding a grey bucket of water with a white towel on the bench. Roy stood over it, wearing the same exhausted tension. He took the towel and drenched it, twisting the access back in the bucket. “Lean your head forward,” he grunted.

Isaac’s adrenaline pumped away. He was nothing more than a shell. He did as he was told, closing his eyes on the way down.

A soft warmth scrubbed at his neck. Isaac focused on it: feeling the encrusted layer on his skin get washed away. The towel left. Water splashed. The towel reappeared, scrubbing at the base of Isaac’s hair.

The rhythm continued, not quite dulling Isaac to sleep but settling him on the edge of unconsciousness. His mind was silent and his body listened: That was all he needed to do.

The towel worked up his hair and hit a nerve. Isaac hissed, flinching away. The cold piece at the back of his head pulsed and stung.

“Shit,” Roy swore at himself. The towel splashed into the bucket and footsteps marched off again. There was some talking in the hall. Keeley’s swaying tones danced with Roy’s tense rumble. When the footsteps returned, they didn’t thud back to the bucket. Instead, Roy stopped in front of Isaac, calling his name again.

Isaac peeled his eyelids open.

Two white pills and a glass of water were held out to him.

“Are there enough?” Isaac asked first, eyeing the white tablets. His head drummed and his hand stung, but he would live with it as long as no one else had to.

Roy didn’t say anything. He grabbed Isaac’s unharmed hand and pushed the painkillers into it.

It wasn’t an answer. Isaac dragged his gaze up to his predecessor, glaring.

Roy glared back. “Take the pills.”

“Are there enough?”

“Isaac-”

“Tell me.”

“Take the fucking pills.”

“Not if-”

“McAdoo,” Roy commanded.

It shut Isaac up, but he kept the pills in his hand. He glared at his coach, demanding to be in the know.

Roy relented, much quicker than he usually would have. “Colin and Jamie have taken as much as they can. It’s your turn.”

“I don’t-” deserve it, but Isaac cut himself off, loathing that the start of that sentence ever made it out. He needed the pain. He needed the reminder of his failure to hurt him, but he couldn’t tell Roy that. If he told, he’d have to recount all his failures and Isaac couldn’t bear to. The guilt was deep in his bones and if he were to rouse it back up, Isaac thought he might implode.

Roy’s eyes narrowed. He studied Isaac, dull gaze waking up. He didn’t say anything.

“What about you and Keeley?” Isaac guided them away from his slip up.

Roy grunted. He remained hesitant but allowed Isaac’s wandering: “Keeley said she just needed one. I’m fine.”

Isaac doubted that. He glared as much back to Roy.

Roy ignored him: “It’s your turn.”

“You’re-”

“I failed enough people today,” Roy ground out. He looked as shaken by it as Isaac was, hands trembling and face scrunching up. The coach grunted it away: “Take the fucking pills.”

Isaac looked at his predecessor, recognizing the guilt that also sickened his own stomach. Isaac had meant what he’d vowed: He would take the pain as long as no one else had to live. He threw the pills back. Roy’s tension eased. He handed Isaac the glass of water and returned to the pink contents of the bucket, continuing to clean away Isaac’s blood.

9:30 PM

“The fuck are you on about?” Colin croaked, brow furrowed and glassy eyes dull as he stared ahead into the coaches’ office.

“It’s true, bruv.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“How else do you explain the double Roys?”

“You don’t,” Colin slurred, “You just give me a good knock on the head till my eyes see right again.”

“Can’t you trust us?” Keeley jumped in. She’d watched the concussed Isaac try to explain the shapeshifter to Colin, who was still grey and drowsy from blood loss. It had been a fumbling mess- avoiding half the story- and she couldn’t blame the slumped brunette for his disbelief.

He was sitting against the block in the locker room, left arm bandaged and lying on top of a pile of towels. His legs stretched out toward the center point of the red abstract painting that had become of the floor. The blood trails they'd made with the brooms had been interrupted by Colin’s struggle. It looked like some fucked up red snow angel, but the brunette didn’t seem to care about avoiding it. His jeans and sweater were already covered in the red anyway.

Isaac sat beside him, atop the block. His hand was wrapped while the back of his head was held together by too many butterfly bandages. They didn’t have enough material to wrap a bandage around his head, so Keeley hoped this would do.

She watched them from the bench beside the office door. She’d cleaned the blood off her forehead and put two butterfly bandages on the wound, hardly feeling it with the painkillers. More than anything, she felt her eyes burn from the focus she’d demanded of them for too long. She felt the weight of her arms. She felt the links in her legs that had kept her moving to bandage everyone up. She felt the knot in her hand where everyone had squeezed her from pain. Her mind didn’t want another problem to solve. She didn’t want to step into any more shoes that required a medical school she never attended. She wanted to pass the weight off now. She wanted to sleep.

Jamie was slumped beside her, mangled right arm supported by a sling made of towels and safety pins. He was quiet. He was pale and sweaty. The pain had taken a lot out of him and it made him jumpy at anyone getting near his arm. Keeley doubted that he blamed Roy for the pain, but then again she doubted Jamie was able to do much other than tremble under the hurt.

Colin studied Keeley, before glancing at Isaac. His gaze was exhausted and slow- hesitant, making Keeley regret asking for his unwavering trust. Especially when she saw hurt and guilt harden Isaac’s features.

“Trust us for now,” Keeley bartered, making Colin look back at her, ears tinted red. “Just until the shapeshifter-”

“The thief.”

“The disguiser.”

“That,” Keeley nodded at Isaac and Jamie’s corrections. “Until it shows itself for what it is.”

Colin studied her. He didn’t turn to Isaac. Keeley felt more weight stack on her as she remembered leaving him. She remembered running away as he bled out alone. How could she be so cruel as to ask him for trust? But Colin gave a slow nod: “Alright.”

Maybe he didn’t remember, Keeley calculated. How else could he look her in the eye and say he could trust her? How could anyone trust her when all she did was leave?

“What it is?” Roy’s voice repeated her words, snarling through the open office door. “What it is, is not deaf.”

“Will you shut the door, Roy?” Keeley looked over at the final occupant of the room. Roy was leaning in the doorway to the office, bloody nose wiped clean and a defeated sag to his stance that didn’t belong there.

“Ah come on, Keeley,” called Roy’s voice while the Roy she looked at didn’t move his mouth in the slightest. “We were just getting to know each other!”

Roy stared at the clone Keeley couldn’t see. He dismissed her with a tired voice: “We need to watch him.”

Keeley knew that Roy looked the most whole out of all of them. While Colin bled through bandages, Jamie shuddered with agony, Isaac hazed from his concussion and even Keeley herself had a mark- Roy didn’t seem wounded at all.

But Keeley knew him better than that. She knew his wide stance, his tense glares, his big presence. She knew what he was supposed to look like. It wasn’t this. It wasn’t these low shoulders or this downed chin; The arched eyebrows and wounded eyes. The smudged blood on the floor might not be Roy’s, but he was far from whole.

Maybe Keeley shouldn’t have yelled when she saw him trying to set Jamie’s arm. It probably wouldn’t have mattered though. Keeley could have had all the time in the world to gently break it to Roy that he’d hurt Jamie and it would still have crushed him.

With the warmest eyes she could manage, she told him: “Watch him through the window.”

Roy gave a slow blink. He grunted, dragging himself upright to shut the door.

“C’mon now! Wait a min-“

The door clicked. The shapeshifter’s taunts muffled through meaninglessly, mingling with the rumble of the storm.

Keeley was relieved at Roy listening to her. It felt like ever since his snap in the office, they’d been on frustrating ground. Between his and Jamie's bickering, Keeley bringing up their break-up and now the arm... Roy had things to say to her, she knew. He’d been meaning to say things for too long. With the addition of the taunting shapeshifter, they were reaching a hurting and lonely mountain’s crest. They needed to talk.

Everyone waited for Roy to turn around and take charge but the new manager didn’t. Roy retook his pose, leaning against the door and keeping his defeated gaze on his chattering clone.

Keeley sagged lower. Roy was gone. It didn’t matter that they needed to talk when Roy couldn’t even function. As for Isaac, he suffered from a concussion while Colin and Jamie were drugged up against pain they could still feel. 

This remained Keeley’s race. It was still on her, her tired limbs, her heavy mind.

A sharp inhale made Keeley twist. Jamie’s face was scrunched up, head down. Keeley grabbed his left hand, feeling his clammy one squeeze around hers. “It’ll pass,” she offered, loathing how little she could do. Jamie kept getting hit with disabling waves whenever he accidentally moved his arm. Even with the sling, it wasn’t immobile enough and Keeley could see his shoulder start to swell.

She didn’t know what more to do. She couldn’t fill these shoes.

Jamie rode out the wave, breath returning as he blinked his eyes open. He gave her the ghost of a nod. “I’m alright.”

Roy hadn’t been all wrong. Jamie’s arm did need to be set. The longer it stayed this way the more damage it could do. For however good Jamie was at recovering from pain, the truth remained: He wasn’t alright. Every second he stayed this way, it got worse.

And then there was Colin. The lad had already lost way too much blood, coating through the locker room. He’d bled through the first batch of bandages that they’d wrapped around his arm. Keeley knew he was losing more under the white as they sat. She wasn’t naive to the dangers of losing so much blood and she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer until the already grey Welshman would be drained.

“We need to get help,” she told the room.

Isaac’s determined eyes lifted to her. Keeley's heavy shoulders breathed. Maybe Isaac wasn’t as concussed as she’d thought. Maybe they could run this together. He grunted: “How?”

“We flag down a car, get to a hospital, and send an ambulance.”

Isaac chewed on it. “Roads will be empty.”

He was right: With storm Agatha the streets would be abandoned, but Keeley couldn't give up. “Then we go by houses until we find service.”

“If there’s nothing here, there won’t be any nearby-“

“But we have to try,” Keeley frustrated. Her mind couldn’t handle any more problems beyond her to solve. “If we stay here then-“ her words dwindled as her eyes met Colin’s. He looked at her, the smallest knit forming as though he only just realised that her bandages couldn’t protect his life. Had he not known that while the pain was dimming, so was he?

“You don’t think I know that?” growled Isaac.

Keeley eyed him. She was running this alone after all. Isaac’s strong gaze wasn't supposed to be coated with grimness. It’d never been empty of joy. His anger was a translation of passion, not hurt. Not self-hatred or guilt. Not this turmoil.

Keeley faltered under it.

“If we stay here then… what?” Colin pulled them down to him. His eyes were wide, more present than before.

Keeley conjured up words- apologies, softeners, assurances- but before her brain could settle on a sentence, she heard:

“You’ll bleed out.”

It was blunt and short. It was lowly grunted. The cadence was characteristic for only two men in the room and Isaac’s jaw was tight with guilt.

Roy turned to them. He looked down at Colin with hardened eyes. His stance remained slumped, but his face glared.

He wasn’t gone yet. 

Colin’s head ducked, looking at his mangled arm. He’d gone greyer somehow.

Keeley remembered how awful he’d looked when she’d found him heartbroken. She remembered his scrunched face and a lonely tear as he begged the floor: ‘I want to be a good thing.’

‘You are,’ she’d promised him. She meant it: Colin didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be in so much pain. He didn’t deserve to be bled dry. He hadn’t even deserved the heartbreak.

“I’ll go. I'll get help,” Roy said, calling Keeley’s attention back to him. Roy hadn’t deserved the heartbreak either, she realized. Had he broken the way Colin had? Had it been Keeley’s fault? Was the shapeshifter right to paint her as selfish and cruel?

“But someone needs to watch him,” Roy nodded to his clone, remaining in the present as Keeley’d dwindled off. She refocused.

“I got it,” Isaac’s determination rose him.

“No.”

“I’m-

“No,” Roy ordered, some memory charging the words. “And not you either,” he said to Colin. “You’ve both gotten enough of him.”

“Let me,” Keeley offered just as Jamie raised his chin: “I’ll do it.”

Roy was glaring at Jamie, opening his mouth to speak but Jamie was quicker with his hoarse tones: “He said it himself: I’m his favourite. He won’t do shit to me.”

Jamie was the shifter’s favourite? Keeley hadn't been there- she didn't know what it meant- but found herself copying the disdain boiling on Roy’s face.

“No,” refused the manager.

“I’m the only one not bleeding-”

“Your fucking arm is dangling out of-”

“He’s tied to a chair! What? You don’t think I can do it?”

“Jamie-"

“I can do it, Roy.”

Keeley had to give it to Jamie: He looked nothing like the lad who’d only just been bent over in agony. He’d straightened his spine and raised his chin, looking almost like the sling was a bad Halloween prop.

But Keeley knew it was false. “I'm in the best state," she told Roy, "Let me."

Roy’s gaze landed on her. He didn’t look any more comforted. “No-” he grounded out, glare dimming with a realization.

“Roy,” Keeley sighed, “Someone has to-”

“I know,” he broke through her protest. “But we need you to go for help. People will stop for you.”

“Okay,” Keeley rose, readying to bear the storm, “Then you stay here and watch-”

“You can’t go alone,” Roy interjected.

“Why not?”

“There’s a fucking storm outside.”

“It’s safer than it is in here-”

“We don’t know that.”

“Roy-”

“You’re not going alone.”

“Who the hell am I gonna take with me?” Keeley frustrated, arms open to gesture at the wounded room.

Roy ground his teeth. He spewed: “Fuck.”

Keeley toughened her gaze. “I can get help.” Leaving was what she did, after all.

“You’re not going alone,” Roy resisted. “The storm took out the fucking service. It’s not safe out there.”

“Will you stop arguing with me?!” Keeley blew out. Ever since he'd snapped at her in the office, Keeley'd been feeling alone and abandoned. Couldn't he see? "I can handle a storm."

Roy studied her. His wounded eyes softened and there was something there. Some kind of love or protectiveness that stalled him. There was a sadness to it that reminded Keeley again of Colin. Of his heartbreak. Was that what Keeley left behind in the people she loved?

Keeping his conflicted gaze on Keeley, Roy asked: “Isaac?”

“Yes.”

“You got them?”

“Yes.”

“We won’t be long,” Roy finally relented his stare off Keeley, looking over the other three. “Keep the door shut and don’t fucking move.”

His team raised their eyes. They each gave a strong nod. Roy returned it, moving past Keeley to the door. “Let’s go.” Keeley followed him, the weight on her shoulders shifting. She wasn’t running this race alone, but she wasn’t here with Roy either. Not until they talked.

Chapter Text

9:45 PM

‘You’ll bleed out.’

The words swindled, silencing Colin. The stabbing pain in his arm was hollow, nothing more than an endless echo hitting the insides of his skin. It was hardly the worst he’d felt that day, but somehow it was this that threatened to kill him.

Colin never really thought about death. He hadn’t had the space with all the room that his life took up. He was a child and before that had even ended, he was footballer. He never meant to be anything more. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more. He wasn’t supposed to want.

To want men. To want love when he was unloveable. To want to be a whole, solid, full person when he was nothing but a hologram showing people what they expected to see. He shouldn’t be taking up so much space. He was the reason that Roy and Keeley were out in that storm. He was a liability. Isaac had been right to tell him to piss off. He’d been right to tell Colin how full of himself he was. Michael’d been right to leave him.

As the thought struck out, Colin fumbled with it. Exhaustion pulled and swam around with his reasoning, but a rock rolled up and sat stubborn in the confusing stream. His breathing tingled through his body and his head. It was barmy, of course, but so was everything he’d been told since waking up. Now this rock was there and Colin couldn’t give it up.

“Who can it turn into?” he asked the drowsy room. He tried to keep his hope twirling in his chest, not leaking into the words. He hadn’t quite succeeded, making his shy wish vulnerable in the air.

“Us,” Isaac grunted, pensive glare studying Colin from above. He was sat on the block that Colin leaned against, making him much taller than what Colin was used to.

“It talked to Keeley about changing into Jack,” Jamie contributed from the once-Zava-corner, voice strained as he made an effort not to move from his slumped pose. “But then it said that Jack hadn’t come around here much or summat.”

Isaac was nodding along, scowling at himself as he thought. “So maybe it can only turn into people who’ve been here.”

Michael had been at the club plenty. He came around for matches. Sometimes he'd drop Colin off so they could spent as much possible time together before he flew away to some other continent. If anything about the ducktaped Roy Kent was true, maybe...

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

That much Colin believed. That much he was expecting, but in hindsight, he saw odd pieces that didn’t fit quite right.

‘And it’s not just your homophobic career or the publicity and the harassment. Or even how bad you are at football,’ he’d huffed like it was a quip.

Michael didn’t know anything about football. Nor did he care. In what world would he laugh about how shitty Colin was at it?

‘It’s like what Nate said. About you doing the job. It’s that. You did the job and I should never have let this drag on to an anniversary.’

Had Colin told Michael about Nate’s words? It’d been two years ago and for the most part, Colin had let it go. Surely he wouldn’t have recited it to Michael? And would Michael have remembered the words just to spew it back?

‘Col. Colin,’ he’d corrected. ‘You’re unloveable.’

There was still- even with the discrepancies- a reason Colin had believed it. Maybe he didn’t have to anymore. Maybe it had been unfair to Michael that he'd even done so in the first place.

“I have to call Michael,” he realized aloud, slow hand going to his pockets but finding them empty. He heard Isaac move and suddenly his cracked phone screen appeared above him. Colin followed it up to the man holding it as Isaac muttered: “There’s no service, bruv.”

It didn’t matter: Colin had already forgotten why he needed the phone the moment he saw it in Isaac’s hands. “Why do you have this?” He snatched the device back.

Isaac’s gaze was locked on the floor. “You dropped it in the boot room.”

Colin narrowed his eyes. An old fear swirled in his head. “So you went back and got it?”

Isaac didn’t say anything, jaw tense and brow furrowed as he glared at the blood streaked floor. The captain wasn’t afraid of eye contact. He wasn’t afraid of conflict or confrontation. He jumped right in it every time, but not always with his words. Even though he was loud, Isaac wasn’t talkative. He was observant. His eyes spoke more than his voice and after being his best mate for so long, Colin could have full conversations with just the glares. He knew: If Isaac wasn’t looking, he wasn’t present.

Colin pushed him: “Isaac.”

“I’m the one who broke your arm.”

The room rattled.

“That’s not-” Jamie’s voice jumped in, as Colin breathed: “What are you on about?”

“I knew it wasn’t you, bruv,” Isaac finally turned. His dark eyes were wide and unfamiliarly scared. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

“And you couldn’t have known,” Jamie cut in.

Isaac had mentioned this. Something to do with the shapeshifter. Colin didn’t know if he cared. “Did you look through my phone?”

“What?”

“Did you?”

Isaac’s fear dimmed. “That’s what you want to talk about?” He searched Colin, something angry twisting in his gaze but his voice remained aching: “I broke your arm.”

“No, you broke some fucking…” Colin shook his head at the absurdity, “Shapeshifter’s arm.” He tightened his fist around his broken device. “Did you look through my phone?”

Isaac’s stare measured Colin. His face hardened. “I needed to know.”

Colin’s weight dropped. He wanted to scream at Isaac but his voice was too weak and his heart too disappointed. “Needed to know what?”

“Why you were lying.”

“I told you why I was lying and you accused me of being full of myself.”

“Lads-”

“You told me to piss off, Isaac, and now you’re looking through my phone?”

“I never said that,” Isaac barked, “And you never told me it was your fucking anniversary!”

“Yes, I did,” Colin threw back. He kept putting himself in these vulnerable positions. When would he learn to stop setting himself up to get kicked?

Anger dwindled away as something formed behind Isaac’s glare. He glanced down, disappearing again. Colin felt an urge to push him like before, but he didn’t. There was no reason to. Colin knew what he needed to know: Isaac had gone through his phone again. His draining body couldn’t muster up any anger or indignation. Colin only felt small and resigned.

Isaac’s glare returned, wider. “That wasn’t me.”

Colin sighed, exhaustion sagging him lower.

“You thought that was me?” The anger returned, simmering, to Isaac. “You thought I’d tell you to piss off?”

“Yeah, Isaac,” Colin bewildered. “Why wouldn’t I? You ignored me for weeks, boyo. You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t pass to me. You wouldn’t look at me.”

Isaac lowered his eyes. “You said we were past it.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I’m just not angry at you for it.”

“You act like you are.”

“No, I’m…”

“You’re what?”

Colin studied his phone, the cracks spidering over the glass. “I’m waiting for you to do it again.”

He didn’t dare look up. He heard Isaac freeze. He felt Isaac’s scalding glare. There was some shuffling before the glare left, cooling Colin’s face.

Footsteps marched away.

In the desolate air, Jamie asked: “You alright?”

Colin was dying. He was unloveable. He was taking up too much space and the shame that crawled through him was unbearable- but something had shifted. There used to be more shame in him. He'd been beating himself up for the fearful nausea he felt around Isaac, but that inclination seemed to have retracted. He'd accepted how he felt. He'd voiced it. He was arguing with his best mate, but that was somehow a fucking relief amongst all the chaos.

“Yeah,” Colin dragged his head up to look at Jamie. “I'll be-” His eyes caught Jamie’s brown- but it was older and crinkled with cruelty. Colin stared.

“Can we talk?”

Roy marched ahead.

“Roy?” called behind him, stumbling as Keeley wrestled on a pair of shoes she'd fished out of the window to the boot room.

But Roy couldn’t handle it. He was running only on his final drive to get everyone to safety: To fix his failures. He couldn’t talk about everything with Keeley too. He had to barge on or he’d lose all speed.

Keeley frustrated, picking up her pace: “Roy-”

‘Roy!' Jamie’s wide, terrified eyes pleaded. 'Roy- Wait- Okay- Wait!’ He’d pushed at Roy’s foot- he’d fought- he’d cried- he’d begged- he’d wailed: ‘Roy!’

‘What the fuck are you doing?!’

What had he done?

Roy ground his teeth and marched on, launching against the blue double doors. They clicked in resistance. He grunted: “It’s locked.”

Keeley sighed behind him, inaudible through the storm but Roy felt the annoyed air dig into his back.

He grumbled, remembering the keys that she’d dropped, teary-eyed, onto Beard’s desk. Had the batch still been there when they were tying the thing up? Roy couldn’t quite remember.

“We need to find a window,” Keeley said.

Roy grunted, appreciating that she was focussing with him on getting help. He took a step back from the door, feeling Keeley hesitantly follow. He glared at his obstacle.

He couldn’t handle stopping. He had to barge on or he’d lose all speed. He kicked at the part.

“Fuck,” yelped behind him.

The doors bulged before swinging back. A pang vibrated up Roy’s foot and ankle. He kicked again.

The doors let go- crashing open. Wind howled in, flapping their clothes as rain pattered on the floor. The car park was grey and soaked. Thick droplets clattered down, fogging everything so they couldn't see more than five feet ahead. The storm was as bad as he’d feared, but there was no stopping now.

He had to fix this.

He raised his arm to protect his eyes from the wind and he pushed himself out.

“Shit-” called behind him. The wind cut across Roy’s skin as rain stung him. He leaned in and shoved his body between the currents.

“Roy!” fluttered in the wind.

Roy picked up his foot and dragged it through the angry air. He had to fix this.

“Hold on,” called to him again, but he had to stay focused. He had to get help. He took another step.

The currents changed: They flew in from the right, unbalancing him. He stumbled.

“Stop!” shrieked behind him, dragging Roy from his focus.

He turned back, expecting Jamie’s wide and terrified eyes: His cries.

The fear froze Roy in the storm. He watched- heart hitting him into dizziness- as a blurry Keeley struggled through the rain. Her air twisted and shot out in all directions. She stood as wide as she could, protecting herself with a raised arm.

‘What the fuck are you doing?!” she'd yelled, but that wasn’t where they were. They were in whistling wind and cutting rain. Jamie was safe inside.

“Don’t ignore me now!”

“I’m not fucking ignoring you!" Roy roared back. “I’m trying to get us out of this.”

“And I’m not?” snarled at him. Keeley clawed her way closer, stepping fully into Roy’s small ray of vision.

“No,” Roy shot back. “You’re trying to drag us back- we need to stay focussed.”

“I am focussed,” she hollered through the thunder. “I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“This isn’t about me!” Something deep and awful was uncoiling in Roy and he didn’t have the time. He had to fix what he’d done. He didn’t have time for this.

He turned to go- away from his failures- but a hand on his arm held him in place. Keeley bewildered, voice wavering in the harsh wind: “What does that mean?”

Roy didn’t turn to her. He grabbed her forearm back and restarted his course. He had to fix this.

Keeley let herself be guided, following Roy further into the twisting rain and wind. The sky lit up with flashes. Roy dragged them through another step- He had to fix this. The thunder vibrated through the parking lot.

The lightning was close. They needed to be quicker. Roy pushed on.

“Is this about Jamie’s arm-”

‘Roy- Roy- Wait- Okay- Wait!’

Roy froze. “Don’t-”

“No Roy, that wasn’t-”

“Don’t make me feel alright about that!” he spun on her. Her head moved back, eyes wide and teary. “I fucked up, Keeley. I have to fix this. I have to-”

“No,” she shouted over him. “We do."

“Then why did you leave me?" It was out before Roy could even contextualize his own feelings. But she had left him. And he didn't know why. Or so his heart vowed.

Keeley shook her head as her mouth looked for words. She swore: “We both wanted that. We were busy. We are busy- You said you felt the same!”

“Maybe I don't,” he said, much too low to travel wholly through the wind. Keeley understood anyway.

Her grip on his arm tightened. She huffed out something- something like frustration or grief- as she glanced around, thinking. She pulled up her shoulders, rueful eyes landing back on Roy and loathing: “And what does that change?”

“It changes how I fucking feel!” Roy stepped closer, screaming the words over the storm.

Keeley’s frustration washed away as quickly as the wind changed course. Her watery eyes studied him. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

Roy hated the way it felt. He didn’t need an apology- he didn’t need to make her feel bad. He needed to go back. Back to before this night and before they ever broke up. He needed her.

“I’m sorry,” Keeley repeated, “but I’m still…”

Roy spun away. He didn’t need to be broken up with again. He was losing precious speed to this heartbreak. He couldn’t afford to. He marched on.

Keeley’s hand burned on his arm as she followed him, silent. They struggled through the wind that tried to trip them and the rain that tried to down them.

Once they got help, it would all be better.

Isaac couldn’t go far, but he had to go.

He found himself busting into Roy’s old office. The view into the other space was blocked by a door and the back of a mobile tv. Isaac didn’t mind. He’d be able to hear if the thief tried anything so he could still do his job while also getting away.

He paced the room, rumbling.

The hiding, the lies, the phone, the fights- All of it traced back to him. To his mistake.

This wasn’t the kind of person Isaac was. He was supposed to be reliable. He was supposed to be loyal. He was supposed to be the strong hand on someone’s back. It was his pride in that which made him fuck up so badly. He’d been so insulted by Colin’s distrust that he’d caused it to deepen by ignoring him.

And now he’d done it again. The lying had made Isaac feel so faked and humiliated- like whatever progress he and Colin had made was nothing but a front. Like all the qualities Isaac prided himself on were nothing but a costume. It’d made him defensive. It’d made him angry.

Colin didn’t care about the arm. He knew the captain wouldn’t do that, but he believed whatever the thief had spewed at him wearing Isaac’s face. Of course he had, when Isaac kept giving him reasons to.

Isaac had to face the truth: He wasn’t loyal. He wasn’t reliable. He wasn’t the mate who had your back.

He wasn't a captain.

Colin’s words dwindled out. He was stuck staring through the window of the office.

“What?” Jamie frowned.

Colin’s wide eyes darted to him. “Nothing,” he lied.

Jamie eyed him. For the most part, Colin didn’t lie. Ask him a question to his face and he would tell you. Knowing what Jamie knew now, it was probably because Colin had already been hiding a part of himself and anything on top of that was too much. So when Colin did lie, it was a big deal.

Jamie pushed himself up.

“Don’t,” Colin warned, but Jamie was already on his feet. Careful not to move his pulsing shoulder, he shuffled to the office door.

“Jamie-”

Tied to Beard’s chair sat a man Jamie’d once learned to be scared of.

“Just leave him in there, yeah?” Colin tried, but it didn’t matter. Jamie’d already made his decision. He wasn’t scared of this thing. He opened the door.

“Don’t-”

“Jamie,” his father’s image delighted.

Chapter Text

9:55 PM

“Do you really think I would’ve come all the way down to London to watch my son pass the ball?!”

It didn’t hold the same bite as it had back then. Tied down by stretched duck tape, Jamie’s father looked as deadbeat as he was. It didn't feel wrong, his dad on someone who'd been going around hurting people. It made sense for Jamie to be faced with that cruelty again, even as it was sickening. There was something deep down in him that screamed: ‘See? I fucking told you so!’

“He don’t bother me anymore,” Jamie ground out.

“You could’ve scored the winner!” the disguiser ignored, face not twisting with anger or glinting with joy. He looked pensive, studying Jamie. “You’re better than that, Jamie,” he spat. “Fuck!”

“Jamie,” Colin’s voice worried, saying his name with more care than the record player of his dad- even with the urgency. “We should do what Roy said-”

“I’m not scared of him.” Jamie stood his ground, glaring at his father’s copy.

The disguiser’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not saying you are,” Colin continued. “Just close-”

“I remember now,” Jamie’s father daunted. “I remember why I took to you. The more I break, the more I remember, the more control I get- the more focused I can be again. I can be real again. Don’t you understand?”

Jamie’s insides were pushed together by something horrible, cramming his heart and lungs. He did understand. His haunting feeling had kept him adrift in nothingness. He felt stranded, untethered. Time was one big knot, making old things new and new things old. He’d got caught up in it, making everything feel tired.

Jamie wanted to be real again too, but he didn't dare admit that. “Not even a little.”

“Focus, Jamie,” the disguiser hissed. “This is important. This is why we’re the same.”

Jamie recognised the thick, slithering, horrible thing that was trying to crush his organs together: Dread.

The disguiser knew- like it knew everything- that Jamie’d been feeling this way. It felt the same- This cruel shapeshifting thief- felt the same way he felt. This shared horridness inside them, would it rot out of Jamie like it had for the disguiser? Would it rot through to everyone and everything around him? Had it been doing so already?

Wheels glided across the floor, friction crying out the smallest squeak before getting cut off by a crash. Jamie spun back to the cacophony. The mobile TV with a cracked screen had been pushed aside and a glowering Isaac stood in the opening. “Jamie-”

“Get out," interrupted a different searing grunt. Isaac twisted around.

In the doorway to the offices stood a soaked Roy Kent. His cheeks were flushed, his fists were clenched, and his glare struck past Isaac and Jamie onto the copy of James Tartt Sr.

He marched in, pushing past Isaac. Jamie stepped toward him. “Roy-”

“Go.” Roy didn’t look at him, bubbling anger locked on its target. Jamie glanced between them. The disguiser was glimmering with joy as Roy’s anger rose. Isaac studied the room with a scowl before stepping back and disappearing into the hall. With a final glance, Jamie did the same, walking backwards into the locker room to avoid the oncoming explosion.

“Fuck this-” Roy launched, grabbing onto the armrests of the chair as he sneered. “You’re not going near him again! Not any of them.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Jamie’s dad smirked, mocking: “Gaffer.”

Jamie watched through the door opening as Roy’s face twisted. The thief gloated, taking in every bit of anger scratched on Roy’s features. Roy jerked back, yanking the rolling chair with him.

“Oh, they don’t call you that yet, do they?” Jamie’s dad delighted. “No, that name’s reserved.”

Roy kicked the chair, pushing Jamie’s dad into the other office.

“You’ll always be Roy fucking Kent- the captain because he used to be great and they were too afraid to bench him!”

Roy kicked again, launching the chair into the hallway and dimming the disguiser’s taunts.

“Legends never die, Roy! They never lose things! Right?!”

Wheels rolled and a door smashed shut, cutting out the last of Tartt Sr’s voice.

Jamie stayed tense.

Roy glared through the window to the weight room. Jamie's dad grinned back, making Roy's arm muscles contract. They begged him to punch the glass, hoping the image of the disguiser would shatter and disappear like the mirrors had. He didn't give in. He knew breaking the window would only allow the thing's poisonous voice to crawl out and choke them. If only he could lock the room and leave it there to never think about again.

He needed to find the keys.

Roy spun around, taunts ringing in his ears as his wet hair itched his forehead.

Isaac studied him with shadowed eyes.

Roy's march hesitated. He had no idea where to start searching for the keys. He couldn't focus. He kept seeing Keeley in the rain. The cold agonizing metal lodged in his chest twisted, deepening into bubbling fury. His arms still begged for a punch. He should’ve known it would use Jamie’s father. He shouldn’t have left them alone. He shouldn’t have tried to set Jamie’s arm. He shouldn’t have been captain and he shouldn’t have been the one in fucking charge.

His fury burst, boiling through his skin. Roy attacked the only person around: “You were supposed to look after them!”

Isaac’s shadowed eyes lowered. Roy thought he caught a glint of tears welling up, but Isaac kept them at bay, never recoiling as he glared at the floor.

The slash in Roy tore further. The fury warped and contained back into guilt, a consuming ball that shallowed every breath. It wasn’t Isaac he wanted to scream it at. “I’m-”

“Did you get help?” Isaac grunted over him.

Roy’s throat blocked.

Isaac dared a glance up. Fear was crawling in the edges of his gaze. “Where’s Keeley?”

9:50 PM

Keeley watched Roy hit the locked gate. “Fuck!”

She slowed, letting the wind sway her. She knew Roy couldn’t kick this open like he’d done the door. That didn’t stop him from trying. He threw himself at the tall metal bars that only clanged in response. The grey rectangle stretched between two brick walls, 10 feet high. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was enough to deter drunk hooligans. It was enough to trap them now.

Unless:

Roy could get her up there. She could climb over and get help.

She could leave.

‘You’ll always be leaving people,’ the faceless chaos-maker had taunted her. ‘Still you have the nerve to feel abandoned?'

Roy swung himself against the gate. Flashes lit him up. His voice:

‘Then why did you leave me?’

Thunder made Keeley jump.

Colin’s glazed eyes had narrowed open. They’d pleaded with her. Scared and alone and hurting.

She’d torn his hand from her shirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she’d cried.

He was going to die. He trusted her.

Roy’d given up on the gate, panting with his head ducked as rain hit the curls out of his hair.

‘It changes how I fucking feel!’

‘Still, you have the nerve to feel abandoned?'

'Why did you leave me?'

'You have the nerve to feel alone? To cry?’

‘I’m notoriously pro-crying,’ her own voice finally broke through. It struck out, reminding Keeley of who she was. Of what she believed.

She didn’t leave people to hurt them. She didn’t even leave to leave them. She left because something needed to happen. She left Colin, hoping to help him. She'd failed him like she'd failed Roy, but she knew staying wouldn't change anything. Staying would keep them as they were. Staying would leave Colin to dwindle out, Jamie to lose his arm and Isaac's concussion to rob him of his career.

Keeley knew she had to go.

“You can get me up there.”

Roy started, twisting around with a glare. “Keeley-”

“Give me a leg up and I can climb over it and get help,” she determined, stepping closer to Roy.

He fumed, “Not alone-”

“You go back, find the keys, and open the gate so the ambulance can get in.”

“Keeley-”

“Roy!” she cried. “The longer we wait the worse it gets. And I can’t lift you up there.”

Roy didn’t say anything. He glared down at her, eyes betraying that anger by laying down turned and heavy.

Keeley let her determination surge through her body, steeling her gaze. “It has to be me.”

Roy barely changed in the angry wind. Only his jaw clenched, showing where his bones sat under his cheeks. He looked small in the pouring rain, water running from his hair down his chin. His eyes were darker than usual. His skin looked tougher.

Keeley stepped closer. She laid a cold hand on his cheek, feeling the bone melt away.

“You’re right,” Keeley worded, the ache in her heart wrenching open: “I left you. I left because I wouldn’t be able to do right by you. You deserve someone who will make time for you and I can’t be that person anymore because I want to prioritize my job. If I had stayed, I would’ve hurt you in the same way, but slower. I had to go. Because I love you. Because I love myself.”

Roy leaned into her hand, broken gaze begging over Keeley and raising her goosebumps like the storm couldn't. He laid his own cold hand atop of hers. He looked comfortable there. As if the wind wasn’t twisting their clothes and the rain wasn’t stinging their eyes.

“Let me go, Roy.”

9:57 PM

“You guys weren’t lying.”

Jamie turned around. “No,” he answered, too tensed to offer anything more.

“What does it want?” Colin was greyer than before. His exhausted features had weakened, pushed back by horror. “Why’s it fucking with us?”

Jamie’s knees were trembling. The stabbing in his shoulder was shooting out, crawling into his neck and arm. The dull feeling that had haunted him was more hollow than ever. He sank back on the bench. “It’s angry, I think.” The disguiser was always yelling or begging to be understood. ‘I’m in charge now,’ it had satisfied as if they had taken that freedom away somehow. “It’s angry at us but I don’t know why.”

Jamie’s eyes drooped closed. He’d seen too much. Roy punching his hand open against the wall, Isaac’s blood-covered head, Colin’s splintered arm, fake-Keeley threatening to break her own fingers, his dislocated shoulder. His father.

It would be over soon. It had to be.

“Are you alright?”

Jamie inhaled himself up, eyes open and head straight. “He don’t bother me anymore.” It floated from his lips, some half-true mantra.

Colin was frowning. It simmered away as if he was too tired to hold it, but his eyes continued to study Jamie.

This wasn’t about his father. Not everything about Jamie was about what his father had done to him. That was over now. It was done. Jamie’d moved on.

He stretched his leg out, tapping Colin’s foot. “Happy anniversary by the way.”

Colin snorted, studious eyes breaking away. “D’you reckon they’re always supposed to go like this?” His retort was slow and slurred, but it was a comfort hearing him try to make his usual quips. “Getting beat up by some supernatural thing, fighting with your mate and your fella being unreachable?”

Jamie huffed. “Fuck if I know.”

“You’ve never had an anniversary?”

“Nah, mate.”

Colin’s head gave a surprised little tilt. “Feels like you’re always dating someone.”

Jamie’s indignation rose. He’d been single for a year now, but even before that: “Dating, yeah- but I’ve never really been with someone, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Colin quieted, “I know.”

Jamie remembered how heartbroken he’d looked in the boot room, reading Michael’s message. It made a lot more sense now. “You and Michael are having problems.” He hadn't said it as a question because he hadn't meant it as a question, only an introduction as to what they should be talking about.

Colin narrowed his eyes at Jamie, uncertain.

“We might lose our arms tonight, mate,” Jamie whined. “No point in fucking about.”

Colin's doubt melted into a pained stare, which dwindled to the floor. He sighed, “I think I fucked up.”

Jamie tried to decide whether that was true, before realising he knew next to nothing about Colin’s relationship. “How?”

“Like- this stuff with Isaac, yeah? I know why I don’t trust him... But why do I feel that way with Michael too?” Colin paused to blink and breathe as though those few words had emptied him. Maybe they had. He continued anyway: “I should know he doesn’t want to hurt me. I should know that he loves me, but I just…”

“Don’t?”

Colin let out a tired groan as his head rolled back on the block, leaving him staring up at the lights. His blinking slowed.

Jamie wasn’t sure if he should let him fall asleep. The red towels under the broken arm told him to be scared. As grey as Colin was- as shallow as his breathing was, hardly rising or falling- he’d look dead asleep. Jamie couldn’t handle that image in his mind too.

He tapped Colin’s foot again. “It’s you and Isaac’s fault that I’m here, you know?”

The brunette’s head rolled to the side, throwing a slow but indignant look at Jamie.

It was a relief, making the Mancunian continue: “If you two weren’t fighting, I wouldn’t have had to lock you up in the boot room and we’d be at home right now.”

A sluggish smile pulled Colin’s face up, but the drone of exhaustion and dread persisted in his eyes. He croaked: “Yeah, boyo, sorry for making you kidnap us. That was real shitty.”

“Cheers, mate.”

They fell quiet again, air lighter. Colin’s eyelids fell shut. He was grey, lips tinting blue, chest too still: He looked exactly like Jamie'd imagined. Like he'd feared. He was about to get another kick when: “Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“What does it mean?” Colin slurred, blinking his eyes half-way open. “When it says you’re the same?”

The haunting hollowness grew, making Jamie light-headed. He wanted to stop feeling it. He wanted to stop thinking about it. He wanted it gone. He denied: “It’s just trying to fuck with us.”

Maybe Colin was too tired to translate the words because his worried expression remained, caring even if weak.

“You have to ignore it,” Jamie drilled on. “It’s all bullshit.”

Colin gulped some air to last him a wispy sentence: “Then why did you open the door?”

“Have to prove I’m not fucking scared of him, innit?”

“Of your dad?”

“He don’t bother me anymore.” There it was again, that half-true mantra.

Colin was staring. Maybe he was tapped out, hearing the words all jumbled because he looked concerned when he shouldn’t be. “You used to have a real shitty life,” Colin slurred suddenly. “Like shittier.” He paused to breathe. “But you look sorrier these days than you ever did then.”

Something crawled over Jamie. It was overwhelming, but not uncomfortable even as he disagreed with Colin. Jamie’d always felt like shit, but he used to be more concerned with hiding it, arming it and aiming it at anyone else. The thought of telling Colin that though, irked him. “Is that why we don’t hang out as much anymore?” He aimed for a joke but it came out painfully sincere.

“Nah, mate,” Colin quipped along anyway: “I was just worried you were still a homophobe.”

“Still?”

“I assumed.”

“Well you were fucking wrong. I was dating a bisexual-”

“Yeah but in that…” Colin’s voice gave out. He breathed. “In that ‘I think it’s hot when girls kiss’ kind of way.”

“Piss off, I weren’t that shitty.”

“You were shittier.”

“So were you. Pretty sure you called someone a faggot once.”

“Oh fuck…” Colin shut his eyes and rolled his head forward.

“You hate-crimed yourself a bunch of times, actually.”

A chuffle jumped Colin’s shoulders. Jamie could see the smile he was hiding as he reminisced: “That was pretty fucked up, innit?”

It had been. Everything had been more fucked up. Except for the nagging, hollow feeling that was vexing Jamie now. “D’you ever kind of miss it?”

Colin’s head picked up. Half-lidded eyes stared.

“I don’t mean like all the shitty stuff we did, but… D’you ever miss when we were like… I don’t know. Fucking- Younger or summat?”

Colin frowned.

“Okay, like-” Jamie reconfigured his words. “D’you ever feel like you’re supposed to be happy but you’re not?”

“I don’t…” Colin trailed as though more words were needed after.

“It’s like,” Jamie looked around for an example, realising much too late that everything in the room represented what he and Colin had in common most. “D’you know when you’re on the pitch, yeah? And you’re running across to the goal and everyone’s fucking cheering? Then you kick and you see the keeper go the wrong way and you just know the sound that the net’s gonna make?”

Colin was more awake than before, dreaming as he breathed: “Yeah.”

“It’s like that but the feeling sort of… dies.”

Colin’s awe melted as he studied Jamie, not judgemental. Just uncertain.

“I know where it should be,” Jamie continued, unsure how to stop now. “But when I hear the sound of the net, the happiness is already gone and I feel…”

Colin refused the trailing off, remaining silent as he watched Jamie and waited. Or maybe he was too drained to speak.

Either way, it left Jamie with no choice: “I feel nothing.”

Something in his hollow chest shifted as he finally spoke the words. It became a bit fuller, no matter how uncomfortably that filling sat. “And then I get sad and shit because I’m supposed to feel summat.” Whatever had found its way into Jamie’s hollowness was making his eyes sting and his voice hurt. He almost wished it would go away.

“Maybe,” Colin’s hoarse word soothed Jamie’s nervous reaction. “Maybe you should talk to someone?”

“I am,” Jamie duh’ed with a taut voice. “Oh,” he realised, “you mean like- a therapist.”

Colin blinked in agreement.

“But there’s nothing wrong,” Jamie argued as he felt tears bundle on his lower eyelids. “I mean yeah- now there's this fucking disguiser thing- but I've been feeling like shit way before all this. I just can't figure out why. I mean- my dad’s not bothering me, you lot forgave me, mum’s doing well... I don’t have anything to talk about.” The uncomfortable filling his chest rolled and grew, tightening his body. He frustrated: “There’s nothing wrong.”

He didn’t like the words in the air. He liked them better stuck in his gut. Somehow this hurt more. Somehow this was harder to contain. But Colin was gentle with them, carefully looking them over before slowly taking them in. He mourned: “Yeah, boyo. There is.”

His chaotic body settled and breathed. It was a stupid fucking relief to hear. Days, Jamie’d spent looking for a problem to solve- a reason to feel wrong- when feeling wrong was enough of a problem all along. He let out a weird burst, a laugh or a sob that had some tears spilling over. He didn’t much mind. For the first time the hollow felt like a tangible piece he could learn to understand and communicate with, instead of a virus manipulating him into attacking himself.

A sharp inhale sucked all the vulnerability from the air, rocking Jamie from his settled state. Colin was tensed up, bent forward as he ground his teeth.

“What happened?” Jamie worried, shooting up.

Colin fought for his breath back, shaking his head. “It’s fine." A shiver trembled over him. "Moved it wrong.” 

“You cold?”

“A bit,” he grunted.

Jamie looked around, finding Colin’s brown coat on the bench. He shuffled over and picked it up, careful not to move his stabbing shoulder. He draped it with one hand over his mate’s wounded left side.

“Thanks,” Colin murmured, using his own uninjured hand to shrug his good arm through the assigned sleeve.

It couldn’t be good that he was feeling cold. It couldn’t be good that he was grey and too tired to speak for long. But Roy and Keeley were out there. They’d-

“Shit.”

The realisation shivered over Jamie. He’d seen Roy. Roy was back. He was back way too early to have gotten help.

“What is it?” Colin slurred.

Jamie felt the tears that sat on his cheeks. He wiped them off.

No one was going to die. There’d be a reason Roy was back. Maybe more time had gone by than Jamie’d realised. Maybe they’d found a house nearby and Keeley was on the phone with paramedics there. Or maybe… maybe…

It didn’t matter. No one was going to die. No matter how grey or cold or weak or drained anyone looked. Isaac’s head would get checked out, Jamie’s arm would be fine and Colin…

“Don’t die on us.”

“Didn’t know you cared,” Colin joked.

“Piss off.” Don’t die.

Chapter Text

9:57 PM

Everything had fallen quiet again. The hallway was free of taunts- screaming- blood. It left Isaac’s mind to fill the space, body bruising as he beat himself with all his failures.

‘I’m waiting for you to do it again.’

‘Punch me!’

‘You were supposed to look after them!’

The shame wasn’t an unusual mist for these halls. Anytime Richmond was pitifully dragging behind in a match it felt somewhat akin to this.

There wasn’t only shame and guilt. There was a fury driving through that. There was pride aching to show why it existed- why it deserved to exist. This beaten feeling wasn’t new to this hallway and with Roy in a similar state, Isaac imagined the moment to be ordinary. They were nothing more than a captain and a manager murmuring at half time. Heads down and grunts low as they decided on a way to win this game when they had both already given up.

“So we need to find the keys?” Isaac concluded from Roy’s grumbled explanation of Keeley’s plan.

The manager grunted affirmative.

“Welton and Higgins’ offices are locked,” Isaac offered what he’d learnt while looking for brooms. He missed when his biggest problems were a row with his best mate and a floor full of glass.

He never did find a dustpan.

“I doubt the keys will be up there,” Roy dismissed. “They were on Beard’s desk, but that’s the last I saw them.”

“You think the thief took them," Isaac deduced.

Roy nodded, but: “They’re not on him- it.”

“So they're hidden?” Isaac felt the first drops of doubt slither through their reasonings. Why would the thief hide keys?

Why did it do any of what it did?

Roy turned to glare at the double doors of the weight room that dead-ended the hall. “Let’s go ask the fucker,” he sneered.

Tartt Sr grinned back.

“Roy Fucking-”

The doors landed shut behind Roy. “Where are the keys?”

Tartt Sr grinned wider. Roy wanted to punch him- It seemed almost a gift, being able to punch both Jamie’s dad and this rotten thing at the same time. It tilted its head: “Keys?”

“You’re tied to a fucking chair,” Roy fumed, threatening: “This shit is over. Give us the keys.”

The grin on Tartt Sr seemed to dim until his lips scrunched together and a howl of laughter broke through. “Oh my God, you think you’re threatening!” it snickered, itching its way into Roy’s veins and making them pop. He readied to punch the thing when Tartt disappeared.

“This shit is over,” the thing imitated, voice pretentiously lower than Roy’s even when dressed and sounding exactly like him. “Give us the keys.” It snickered some more, hiccuping on alien sounds that shouldn't be possible with Roy's low timbre.

The manager stared at his copy. He took in the hollowed eyes, the dripping hair, the broken skin on his knuckles. His hatred grew. It snaked from his veins into his organs, crawling around his crying heart and toughening it with a furious shell.

He launched again- wrapping a wounded fist around his copied neck. “This is all your fault,” he snarled. “I’m going to make you fix it.”

Roy had broken the first mirror. It took him too long to realise: The disguiser wanted to shatter mirrors and Roy’d been the only one to do that before all the chaos started. Sam had been the first of the shapeshifter, quiet and uncertain in the locker room. How had that warped into this?

The thing smiled as Roy’s hand tightened. He could feel the pressure on his own neck, worming in on itself to copy what was being done onto the clone. The thief narrowed his eyes: “Are you talking to me?”

The taunt seemed crazy- empty, bored- but it couldn’t be because every bit of hatred that had snaked over Roy’s body burst.

He swung, all his might and fury blew out into his broken fist, tearing the skin further as it hit the mark. Roy’s image flew aside as his cheekbone roared, sharp pain clattering over his bone. The thing launched aside, his chair tumbling over and crashing to the floor.

The door clattered open- "Shit."- hands pulled on his jacket, drawing Roy back. He was numb, pain pulsing over his cheek and fist. He sneered down to his copy, ducktaped to a chair that kept him on the floor of the weight room.

The smile hadn’t gone. “I’m still in charge.”

Isaac tugged Roy back, but he wasn’t done. A sour taste gathered in his mouth. He refused it: spitting it beside the thing. “Fucking leave him on the floor.”

He let Isaac drag him out.

The doors to the weight room fell shut as Roy ripped his arm out of Isaac’s hand. He stalked away. Not far, but just to where the air felt less punchable.

The sharp pulsing in his cheek would be satisfying if it weren’t annoying and painful. His hand throbbed in harmony, making the rhythm of his pumping blood unignorable. He wanted to stay at the height of pain: Where every stab was piercing and mind-numbing. These after-stings hurt more for the consciousness of why they were there.

This was all his fault.

It had been fuck-up after fuck-up. Now, he’d left Keeley in a dangerous storm and chucked the frustration and worry at Isaac. When would he stop letting people down?

Behind him, someone clattered into the hall and Jamie’s rushed voice delivered another blow: “When's the ambulance coming?”

Roy tensed, nausea making him clench his stinging jaw.

“Oi?” Jamie pushed when Isaac didn’t answer either.

No one reacted. They stood there like they were at some silent funeral. Maybe they were.

Jamie’s voice warped, confidence stripping away for fear: “Where’s Keeley?”

Roy felt himself shake. Isaac gave in, assuring: “She’s fine-”

“She’s out in the fucking storm,” Roy argued.

“She’s out getting help,” Isaac reframed.

Roy wished that was comforting, but it only felt more damning. He’d broken the first mirror. It was his fault they needed an ambulance in the first place. His eyes welled up. He squeezed them shut, lowering his head while shame burrowed through his body.

‘Let me go, Roy.’

It wrung him. He’d done the right thing- the only possible thing that might have all of them walking away from this night- but it sickened him. It shamed him. It hurt him.

He loved her.

‘We all lose things.’

Roy knew it wasn’t the misplaced sweater that his grandfather had meant, but maybe it hadn’t been losing his memories either. Nor his mind. Maybe he’d meant the sense of self, partly defined by what we love and how we commit ourselves to that. His grandfather had treasured knowledge the way Roy treasured football. Maybe we all lost things like that. Things like the simplistic autonomy to hold what we love safely in our lives.

“I have to find the keys.”

Isaac should’ve seen it sooner: Roy was coming undone. Watching the older man punch himself was more proof than he’d wanted, but at least it left no doubt.

“I have to find the keys.” The manager marched off.

Jamie’s wide eyes darted to Isaac, more confused than fearful. “Why do we need keys?”

Isaac’s jaw was exhausted. As was his voice. The painkillers were starting to wear off, reminding him of his beaten back, the bandaged slash on his palm, and the open wound above his nape. His body was done. As if that wasn't enough, he'd also experienced every possible emotion he could that day. Anger, betrayal, frustration, humiliation, fear, guilt, shame- He was too tired to keep feeling. His head was too big and heavy to repeat things he already knew, but he had to answer. Jamie should be in the know. Isaac wrenched himself open to grunt: “Gate’s shut.”

Jamie blinked at him.

Isaac’s headache spun. He forced more words out: “Ambulance can’t get in.”

“Fuck,” Jamie breathed, eyes roaming over the mountain of implications that Isaac had just dumped out in front of him. “How are we gonna find the keys?”

How the fuck was Isaac supposed to know? He might’ve shouted it if his voice had still been a volunteer, not a minimum-wage teenager working at the drive-through. Isaac didn’t even know where Roy had gone or what the man was thinking. He didn't know where to look for the keys. He didn't know how to find them. He didn't know where to start.

“Isaac,” Jamie worried, “What do we do?”

‘I don’t know- I don’t know- I don’t fucking KNOW!’

He couldn’t afford to though. He had to be a goldfish and forget his past mistakes. He had to play the game. He had to captain the team. “You stay with Colin.”

“But I can-”

“You shouldn’t be moving.”

Once, Isaac would’ve taken pride in this small bout of leadership. Now it felt as chaotic, inconceivable, and dangerous as the entire night had been.

He couldn’t trust himself anymore. He stopped to question every intuition whilst trying to sound sure. If he’d still believed in himself he would’ve pulled Roy out sooner- avoiding the punch. He would’ve crashed into the office right away, stopping Jamie’s talk with the thief. Instead, his body hesitated. His steps faltered. If not a leader- reliable, sure, or safe- Isaac didn’t know who he was.

“Stay with Colin,” he repeated, thinking it would exude the confidence he once had.

Jamie acquiesced, murmuring: “Yeah, alright. I will.”

Isaac considered asking how Colin was or seeing for himself, but it didn’t feel right. There was something nervous twisting in him, something anxious and vulnerable that Isaac felt he needed to protect.

It was probably cowardice.

Jamie bowed his head and slipped back into the locker room.

With a final glance to the open doorway- showing only Colin's sneakers on the red-stained floor, Isaac stalked off. After Roy.

Even with the coat around his shoulders, Colin was cold. His skin seemed to tremble, making everything ache as the hard floor and block tried to integrate him. He knew the others were talking outside but couldn’t seem to understand much. The fog of his mind was slipping into his eyes, dulling everything around the pinpoint of his focus.

Michael told him once that chunks of people’s vision were actually made up by the brain. He’d said that it scared him, not knowing how much of his world was real and how much was his imagination. Colin didn’t quite understand that. There was nothing that could be changed about our fields of vision and wasn’t it kind of fun? It meant that- physically- everyone saw the world differently.

‘So you’re actually a blind spot,’ Colin had joked, ‘One that I’ve filled in with this really fit and brainy fella.’

‘Can’t be, love.’ Michael clinked his mug back on the countertop, smiling. ‘You look at me too much.’

Colin grinned, feeling his stomach tickle even as something uncomfortable billowed up. ‘D'you want me to stop?’

Michael tugged him close. ‘Never.’

The fluffy joy dwindled, returning Colin to his miserable state.

He would see Michael again. He had to: There was too much to talk about. Colin would be honest and vulnerable for it. He’d present all his love openly, unafraid because Michael wouldn’t hurt him. There was still time to learn trust. He could be a good thing, unashamed and alive. Real.

He still had time to exist, right?

Jamie shuffled in, ending the last murmurs slipping from the hall.

Colin slurred, “What’s happening?”

He hoped it had been a blind spot- an imagination of his miserable brain- but some gloom glinted over Jamie’s face.

“Uh,” he thought as he focused on trudging over. He sagged on the block beside Colin, who leaned his head back to watch Jamie with his fogging eyes.

Jamie gave a tight smile. “Keeley’s getting an ambulance for us.”

Colin wanted to assess it. He wanted to break syllables apart and see if he could believe Jamie, but every thought that rose drowned in the fog. It left Colin no choice: “Okay,” he breathed.

10:30 PM

Roy Kent threw open another door- the treatment room this time. Marching in, a crash shook behind him. A shatter yelled out, making Roy twist back.

The door bounced away from the wall, revealing a cracked mirror. It clung on for a moment- almost hopeful- until the pieces slid to the floor, hitting it and screaming like a dissonant windchime.

Roy’s knuckles stung. He remembered his decrepit face in Obinsanya’s mirror- twisted with hate before his fist shattered it.

He’d broken the first mirror. He’d broken another.

“FUCK-” Roy’s muscles twitched. His nails dug into his palms as his fists clenched. Everything bubbled up- a boilover seering on the stove- and Roy's hands found the treatment table. He tore it loose from the floor, upending it with a boom. He didn’t pause to pant, launching to the cabinets and tearing them open.

“Where the fuck-” He shoved the contents aside: Bandages, needles, ointments all becoming a blurred pile on the floor. Roy tore a drawer open, yanking everything out. “-are the fucking keys?!” He smashed the robbed drawer closed, opening another. Pills and bottles- useless. The next one: tape, gloves, and "More fucking bandages!" Roy tore them free, raising the pile at his feet.

Of course, there were bandages. They were in the treatment room. What kind of prat would look here for keys?

Roy stepped back, freeing his feet from the piles of medical supplies. His heavy breathing swayed him. The fury settled back, becoming an anticipating simmer.

What was he thinking, looking here? What the fuck was he doing?

“Is this about Keeley leaving?”

Roy twitched. He’d forgotten about Isaac, who’d been trailing him and silently helping with the search. Roy’d caught his studious glances sometimes, but the captain was yet to speak.

Surprise dwindling, Roy grappled with the words: Was what about Keeley? The keys? The anger? The sensitive shell clasped around his heart?

“Or about Jamie’s arm?”

The simmer rose, beginning to bubble. Roy tensed as his mind flooded with Jamie’s terrified eyes, shrilling with his pained cries.

‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ Keeley’d shrieked.

Roy didn’t know. He didn’t know.

Isaac had hit the target twice but guessed again: “Is it about me botching everything up?”

Roy’s resignation stuttered. He twisted around: “The fuck are you on about?”

Isaac stood in the doorway, broken glass at his feet. He glared like he always did, eyebrows low and eyes dark. He scoffed and accused: “You punched yourself.”

Roy huffed, angering: “No, I punched that-”

“Where the hell are you, Roy?!” Isaac exploded, voice booming as his eyes went wide. “Because you’re not fucking here!”

Roy’s skin itched, unsettled by Isaac’s outburst- irritated by his words. It was all bullshit. It was the same as what Keeley had been trying to do when they needed to stay focused. “We don’t have time for this shit-”

“Exactly,” Isaac barked. “We need to get it together and figure this out!”

“Figure what out? They’re fucking keys-”

“And we’re in a football club! We’re not gonna find them by wandering-”

“Then what do we do- HUH?!” Roy bubbled over, stepping up to Isaac to roar: “If you fucking know everything then what the fuck do we fucking do?!”

Isaac stilled, becoming closed off as his shadowed eyes lowered. He glared at the floor the way he’d done in the hall. The way he’d done the last time Roy lashed out at him. The supposed manager was shifting guilt around as though it was scarce. He was shooting his responsibilities at others because he couldn’t handle them.

It was pathetic.

“Shit.” Roy backed off- as if letting Isaac breathe again would be the same as refreshing everything. “Fuck- I’m sorry.”

The glaring dark eyes jumped up and became softer. They saddened. “No,” Isaac regretted, “You’re right. I don’t know what to do.”

Roy couldn’t help the wave of despair that washed over him. It was cruel to ask it of Isaac, but in some scared spot, Roy had hoped that his successor knew a way forward- a way out of this. But the captain’s shoulders sagged, his glare faded, and his arms went limp. He exhaled, lowering himself onto the glass-free side of the doorway. His knees were up and Isaac piled his elbows on them, supporting his head in his hands. “I don’t know shit.”

As if Roy fucking did? He was the one who kept breaking things- yelling- blaming. His body copied Isaac’s: Anger seeping down, heavy in his gut as it left the rest of Roy empty. He was unbalanced, light-headed, and found himself trudging over to sag beside Isaac.

He leaned against the cold wall, letting his head roll back so he didn’t have to look at the mess he’d made anymore. Isaac shouldn’t have to bear this burden. He shouldn’t feel defeated by his lack of an answer. After all: “We’re in this ‘cause of me.”

Isaac’s head picked up. Roy didn’t dare look. He breathed through the wrenching of his sternum. “I broke the first mirror. I set that thing free.” The heavy anger boiled back up, but it was changed. It was implosive and scared, getting stuck in his throat and making his voice shake: “I fucked up with Keeley. I fucked up with Jamie- With you and Colin. All of it’s gone to shit ‘cause of me and I don’t know how to fucking fix it.”

His eyes were welling up as if he didn’t have enough to be embarrassed about. Isaac didn’t say anything. The scared emotion that had lodged in Roy’s throat needed out, so he kept going: “We don’t even need the keys. Paramedics have helped people more stuck than this- it’s a shitty fucking gate… But if we stop looking for them, then what? What? We just keep Colin company while he fucking-”

A fist twisted Roy’s jacket and yanked him off the wall, forcing the messy room back into Roy’s eyesight. Isaac leaned in, glare threatening. “Don’t.” He hissed: “Nobody is dying tonight.”

Roy’s eyes roamed. He looked at the glass beside them, following it to the scattering of bandages, needles, boxes, and bottles. It led him around to the treatment table that lay on its side, legs pointlessly stretching out.

The fist in his jacket shook him, drawing Roy back to a frantic Isaac: Desperate and anxious. “We clear?”

Roy left trails of his messes behind. They haunted him. They shouldn’t haunt Isaac too. Roy remembered what Jamie’d helped him realise before all this: That Isaac and Colin were playing the way they had during their big fight. Something was going on. Roy had no idea what, but that didn’t change the glaring truth: Isaac could be running out of time to make peace with his best mate.

“You should go fix whatever this is with him.”

The fist in Roy’s jacket wrung tighter. Isaac’s mouth twisted down, he snarled: “Roy-”

“It’ll haunt you if-”

“I swear to fucking-”

“Isaac, he might-”

“HE’S NOT GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF ME!”

The air rang. Isaac was frozen, snarl warping his face. Roy stared. He wasn’t afraid. He was sorry. He recognised this; The anger kicking out because that was easier than what was hiding behind it.

Shame. Guilt. Fear.

Did Isaac feel them too?

As the dark eyes darted between Roy’s, Isaac’s snarl softened. He shoved Roy away before falling back against the wall with a clenched jaw and an unaimed glare. The fists he planted against his legs curled tighter. Roy looked away: back to the ruins of his own fury.

This, Roy could handle. This, he knew- better than the panicked concussion, rambling about clones. Better than the catatonic state Isaac had worn after Colin’s arm. Roy knew:

Shame. Guilt. Fear.

But: “That wasn’t your fault.”

Isaac didn’t even pause: “Yes it fucking was.”

“Bullshit,” Roy commanded. He watched his own pile of failures: exploding at Keeley, hurting Jamie, not stopping Isaac on time. Those were on him. He should’ve known better, but Isaac breaking Colin’s arm? “You couldn’t have known that-”

“I should have,” sneered the captain, voice trembling. Roy looked over to find teary eyes. “Because I keep making the same-” He banged his head against the wall, twice and spat: “-fucking mistakes- shit!"

Isaac grimaced, making Roy reach out.

He gripped the back of Isaac's neck and scolded: “Don’t open your fucking head again.” He tugged the captain forward. There was a small spatter of blood left behind, reminding Roy of the one he’d punched onto the bathroom wall. Looking at the wound, Roy found the messy butterfly bandages still clinging on but redder. At least no blood leaked.

Isaac sniffled. He was shaking under Roy’s hand, strengthening the older man’s grip to steady him. “You remember what I told you?” Roy offered, “After you punched that bigot in the stands?”

A huff of laughter soothed Isaac’s shaking. He recalled: “I gotta deal with what angers me or I’ll fuck up whatever it is I actually do care about.”

Roy grunted affirmative but his own sentiment didn’t settle how it should. It felt uncomfortable, ridiculing him as he stared at the room he’d wrecked. He retreated his damaged hand from Isaac.

“But I can’t-” Isaac’s taut voice called him: “I can’t deal with this. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Roy’s heart drummed empty. He didn’t understand this. Unlike Isaac, he knew exactly who he was: A horrible manager, a spiteful ex, a petty cripple, an ungrateful grandson, a shitty mate- Roy claimed these things. He liked them for their surety and persistence even as he hated himself for being them.

They didn’t help him now, unable to guide Isaac further. What Roy did know- what he might’ve worded sooner if he’d gotten his head out of his arse- that: “You’re a better captain than I could have ever hoped to be.”

Isaac scoffed: “Back then maybe, but now you're-”

“Bullshit,” Roy cut him off, protecting his horrid identity from a conflicting view.

His vehemence didn’t matter. Isaac was shaking his head, dismissing: “You don’t know how badly I fucked up.”

“You knew that thing wasn’t Colin,” Roy argued. “That says more about you than hurting him when you didn’t know the fucking rules.”

“What if I did know the rules?” Isaac spewed, looking over teary-eyed and determined to be blamed. “What if I made the same mistake twice?”

“Then you figure out why,” Roy commanded, ”And you don’t make it a third time.”

Isaac blinked back his tears. His determined glare shined through as his jaw set and he looked ahead. It was better- clarity, hope, determination- but Roy caught his fists curling tighter again.

Shame. Guilt.

At least the fear was gone, but Roy knew he had to do better. He had to tackle the self-blame before it devoured the passionate and joyful man he knew Isaac to be. “Mistakes don’t make us any more than success does,” Roy found himself saying, watching Isaac’s hands for any sign of relief. “It’s just that when everything’s fucked, it’s easier to see what you did wrong instead of what you did right.” There was some give in the tensed knuckles, but Roy had almost forgotten why he was looking at them. He was taken by his own words, trying to figure out where that was coming from- to figure out why. Why was it easier to blame yourself when everything was fucked? Why- when that only made it worse? Why when you knew it was the reason behind your repetitive fuck-ups?

Roy realised: “Because otherwise, we’d have to deal with the fact that we can’t control everything.”

Something uncoiled.

Keeley had an amazing opportunity for her own business. He couldn’t control that. He couldn’t take that away from her. She needed to prioritise it and that’s why he’d lost her. She made a choice. A choice that was entirely hers to make.

Breaking a mirror should never have caused this. How could he expect himself to have known that a spiteful supernatural entity lived inside? Something would’ve fallen eventually. This thing would’ve been released at some point- even if Roy had never stepped foot in the building.

Roy had pulled Isaac off the thief the moment he realised that Colin might be able to feel its pain. The arm had already broken by then. The punch after- yes, he could’ve avoided if he’d voiced his findings, but he’d been too busy getting Isaac and Jamie out of there: safe. Roy had no control over what the thing was or how much information it gave on what it could do. With what he got, hadn’t Roy done his best? He hadn’t let Isaac get hurt after that, but Jamie…

He should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have tried to fix something he didn’t understand or go at it alone. It was the excruciating mistake he’d made that night- not born from insecurity, anger or hurt over a break-up. It came from good intentions. Maybe that made it harder to forgive.

“Fuck.”

The horrid identity that secured Roy was shifting. He was by no means perfect: He’d fucked up and exploded at people who didn’t deserve it; He’d worsened Jamie’s wounds. But maybe- with what he got- he hadn’t done so bad. Maybe he had to see that and stop aiming his anger inward. Maybe this night would end well and the worst problem they'd have was that nobody would believe them.

He looked back to Isaac, remembering the task he’d set himself. The fists hadn’t quite gone, but Isaac’s hands were relaxed, curled up snugly like sleeping dogs.

They were getting somewhere.

Roy looked over his mess again. He followed it from the treatment table to the cabinets, to the piles of supplies and around to the shattered mirror- Back to the start.

'You look happy,' Keeley's fond tones whispered. Of course she'd been sincere. That's what Keeley was: Somehow honest and kind at the same time. Roy could let her go. Not just because she asked, but because he loved her.

Maybe he'd learn to love himself too.

As the pieces gathered, Roy’s mind clicked more into place. “We should collect the mirrors.”

11 PM

Roy’s plan was hasty. Isaac understood that they needed to use whatever they had, but gathering things you knew your enemy wanted- seemed tricky. It could backfire as quickly as it could save their asses.

But it was a goal- a task- a focus. Isaac grabbed onto it.

He helped Roy set the treatment table right before going out to find mirrors. When he returned- leaning two mirrors against the wall- he found Roy sweeping the bandages and bottles together. 

"What're you doing that for?" Isaac wondered.

Roy grunted: A non-answer. 

Isaac let him be, understanding the emotional exhaustion- Feeling the pressure of it on his own brain too. He moved to leave when Roy asked: "Oi, d'you know where dustpans are? Colin said you went looking for them."

"Nah, bruv," Isaac muttered. "Never found them."

Roy gave a noncommital hum and swept his pile into the corner, up against the cabinets.

Isaac lingered. The mention of Colin and dustpans bothered him. It dragged him across rough ground back to the start.

Why did he make the same mistake twice?

Roy leaned the broom against the corner and trudged by Isaac, patting him on the upper arm and moving out. "You coming?"

Isaac nodded to an empty room. He trailed after Roy, collecting mirror after mirror and hauling them back to the treatment room. At least he must've done, because suddenly the walls greeted him with his reflections.

Isaac turned around in search of another.

Why did he make the same mistake twice?

He was hurt. Maybe it truly was that simple: Isaac was hurt when he found out Colin had been keeping a secret. A huge one. It wasn’t a tiny extra nugget of personality he’d unlocked, but the fact that Colin was gay changed him. It changed the stories he’d told and the people Isaac had met.

He’d felt unbalanced, insecure. If Colin couldn’t count on him, who was he to count on Colin? Who was he to see himself as a good mate? A good captain?

His reaction had been an explosion of that: A repression blaming anyone else so he didn’t have to deal with his shame. But that caused what Isaac had originally only feared to happen: Colin lost trust. He started keeping secrets he wouldn’t have before, afraid of the reaction Isaac had shown.

So that was why: It was nothing more than the age-old loop of hurt feelings. All Isaac had to do was fix his reaction to them. He had to stop running away to protect his feelings.

When Isaac looked up, he was stationing another mirror in the maze they’d made.

He had to stop blaming others.

Isaac trudged out.

He had to stop ignoring Colin.

He headed for the locker room. Rounding the corner, apologies and explanations formed on his tongue as Isaac marched in. He found no one to receive them.

Chapter Text

10:45 PM

The locker room's atmosphere was close to clinical from the chilled air, but Colin was numbing to it. He’d become one with the room- as heavy and tied down as the benches.

Jamie was talking to him, recalling memories maybe, but Colin couldn’t seem to understand. There were words- sometimes a sentence. All Colin knew were the weird vowels that didn’t quite exist, the singing tone with its sporadic inflexions, and Jamie’s loud incredulity. Slowly though, it dulled. Colin couldn’t deduce whether it was his ears giving up or Jamie tiring. Nor did he want to know.

“Shit-” a hand clutched around Colin’s right shoulder. “Shit shit shit shit-”

Colin dragged his head up, finding Jamie. Through his blurry vision, the Welshman recognised the wide brown eyes, stuck, staring away from him.

He followed them to the doorway, adjusting to the distance and witnessing only a smudge of plain white and khaki brown. His ears twitched at the sound of keys jangling and footsteps jaunting.

The sounds faded and the colours left as the grip on Colin’s shoulder softened. It must’ve meant they were safe, but he hadn’t even processed that they’d been in danger.

“Fuck. Shit,” Jamie panicked, “How the hell did it get out? Shit. What do we do?”

The questions dizzied Colin. The room he’d grown a part of was zapping him, trying to shock him off. He slurred: “What did you see?”

“Lasso.”

The room kept sending electricity Colin’s way, but his confusion broke the circuit. How could their old gaffer be in the hall?

The hand on his shoulder left. “Stay here, yeah?” Jamie whispered, voice travelling away. Colin dragged his eyes over to find the Mancunian sneaking toward the doorway.

Colin frowned: “What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna follow it.”

The current returned: shocking Colin into a hesitant consciousness. “Jamie-” he hissed, but it didn’t matter.

Jamie’d gone.

Jumper cables attached to his spine and activated, flinching every muscle in Colin’s body. He needed to get up- go after them- but he couldn’t move his arm. Tensing even the smallest muscle sent shards of glass crawling up his veins.

A shock burnt Colin's spine. He had to follow them.

He'd need some kind of sling- anything to hold his arm still as he moved. Colin looked around, finding the dangling left sleeve of his brown coat.

That would do it. He used his teeth to free his right arm from the coat, throwing the sleeve over his shoulder and holding it in his mouth. He grabbed the left sleeve, preparing himself for the horrible part.

Colin bit down on the expensive fabric. He panted through his nose. He was still cold, but somehow his skin burned, making sweat collect on his neck and forehead.

He had to do it. It would just be a second. Alright. Come on then. Do it. Pick it up. Fuck- c’mon, you piece of shit! Just count down, yeah? From three to one and then do it. Okay? Okay:

Three. He was trembling. His mouth was dry under his coat, making him feel dizzy- trapped. His heartbeat waved through his body, pumping blood with too little oxygen.

Two. He bit down tighter, feeling something in his jaw snap.

One. He gulped in air to hold.

Zero- He lifted it.

Down to the bone his flesh carved open, up to his shoulder, spidering across his neck. He cried out, muffled by the coat. His eyes welled up- He couldn’t see. He couldn’t fucking see- Anxious, he blinked the tears out, unblurring the bloodied bandage that failed to hide his mangled arm. He shoved the sleeve under the limb and released.

A sob rocked him. He spat out his sleeve. His skin trembled. Colin gasped air in. He cried it back out.

Electricity shot up his back.

He didn’t have time for this.

He sniffed away the tears and reached for his right sleeve- grossened by spit. Colin bent down to bring the sleeves close enough that he could tie them together with his hand and mouth.

Pulling the knot tight, he sagged back and panted, readying signals for his limbs to move. In his final procrastination, a glint caught Colin’s eye: A sharp piece of glass about as big as his hand lay beside him. They must’ve missed it while sweeping.

Maybe he didn’t think it through. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone, but… He wasn’t going to die here either.

He grabbed one of the red towels on his lap and manoeuvred it over his hand. With the muddied fabric, he picked up the shard. He studied his dagger- a handle of blood and a glistening blade.

He wasn't going to die here.

11:05 PM

Jamie snuck around the corner, finding the last flash of white and brown disappearing into the press room. As they snaked around the club, he’d been getting the idea that the disguiser was lost. It wandered around looking like Ted Lasso, entering a room, circling it and walking to the next one.

Maybe it was looking for something. But didn’t the disguiser know everything?

Jamie waited for the room-circling to end, bent around the corner and readying to pull back. No one ever came.

He hesitated, itching to see what had changed but his feet were too heavy to go. Isaac had told him to stay with Colin. Maybe he should've listened. But if he lost the disguiser now, it could wreak the same havoc as before. He’d already left Colin anyway- wasn’t that reason enough to see this through?

Jamie inhaled his final breath and forced his stone legs forward. He snuck to the door- cringing at the rustle of his clothes and the thuds under his sneakers. He pressed himself beside the entrance and peeped in- but nothing. No one. Only plastic chairs, stairs and a podium.

Jamie breathed out, light-headed. “Thank fuck,” he muttered, delighting in his continued ability to speak.

“Looking for me?”

“Shit-” Jamie jumped, flinching around in the doorway. His eyes darted until finding the sound's source. Ted Lasso stood in the opposite corner of the room, raised above the staircase and next to a door to the media booth. He had his hands in his pockets, body relaxed in the way Jamie recognised, but there was no kind twinkle in the eyes or easy smile under the ‘stache.

“I don’t know why you have to make this so difficult, Jamie.” It sounded exactly like the Texan, but the coach had never said something like that before. How had it already learned the voice- accent and all?

The Ted Lasso clone took a lazy step down. Jamie’s feet had reversed their gravity- jumping to go- to run- but there was no point in it. The disguiser could hurt him without getting anywhere near, so Jamie stayed frozen.

The disguiser pulled a hand out of his pocket, jangling as it revealed the bundle of keys. “Are these what you’re after?”

“You have them,” Jamie accused. Isaac and Roy had been looking for an hour now, but of course, the thief had taken the batch.

“Well,” the disguiser cocked his head, taking another bored step down. “Technically your coach in America held them for me. Nice fellow, innit? To give me something that can chop at ducktape?”

Jamie’s mind stuttered- first at the urban British dialect on an American accent and second at the words: “How could Coach Lasso have…”

“It’s simple, Jamie,” Ted exasperated, continuing to saunter down the stairs. “When you look in the mirror and place something in your pocket, your reflection will have it in their pocket as well. Only the connection has changed. Now, I can place things in pockets too. Now," it gloated, "I’m in charge.”

“You’ve said. But then,” Jamie thought aloud: “How come we only share pockets and look like you? Why don’t we have to fucking... copy you too?”

A grin lopsided the moustache. The eyes glistened. Jamie itched under it, foreboding brushing up the hairs on his arms.

Ted Lasso was approaching the bottom of the staircase- only three treads left. “You can have the keys,” he ignored Jamie’s question, taking another step down. “All I want are the mirrors.”

“To break ‘m, yeah?” Jamie doubted, “Why?”

“Christ, you’re dim.”

“Oi, fuck off.”

“I’ve told you already, Jamie,” the disguiser frustrated, stepping on the penultimate tread and spewing: “Breaking the mirrors frees me. They release memories- control. I’ve been shattered across those reflections for so long that I’ve forgotten who I was. Who I am. I want to be real again- make my own choices, live my own life.” The disguiser took the final step, landing on level with Jamie. “I want to be free of my father.”

Colin had lost Jamie. The agony of his arm had calmed again, but only to have tensed across his shoulders and torso- up his neck.

He was dizzy and heavy. There was some kind of sound, maddening. It followed him everywhere- it was like a ticking. A plink? Or some sort of wet patter?

There it was again- Colin spun around but saw nothing. He couldn’t quite see anything. The world continued its natural spin but forgot to take him along, making him drown into the floors and walls. Colin pressed himself off, trying to stay a part of the planet-

There was that fucking pattering again. What was it? Where was it? And where the fuck was Jamie?

“Colin!”

His mind rung as he spun to find a blurry figure jogging to him. “The fuck are you-”

Patter.

Colin tensed, adrenaline shaking his sleeping mind and forcing his body rigid. His arm stretched out and he threatened with his shard of glass. “Don’t!” was all he could say.

The figure braked to a hesitant walk. Colin thought he saw the blurry silhouette hold out their hands. “Hey, alright- it’s just me, bruv. Put that down.”

Colin’s outstretched arm weakened. There was no mistaking it: “Isaac?”

“Yeah, mate.”

Patter.

“What is that fucking sound?!” Colin flinched, weaponed hand going rigid again as the noise taunted him.

“It’s your arm,” Isaac explained, voice rough. “Your blood’s dripping on the floor.”

Colin furrowed his brow. He looked down to his arm, wrapped in white bandages and supported by his hastily tied coat. All of it was unable to hide the sickening bent.

Patter. Colin tried to focus his eyes further. He saw it: On the grey floor red dots had collected. In the corner of his eye, he caught another. Colin followed them as they blurred, up to the captain’s fuzzy red and black Air Jordans.

“You don’t remember?”

The worried tightness of Isaac’s question stirred Colin. He tried to read the captain's expression, only to remain disappointed by his eyesight. Maybe that was why Colin didn’t trust it: Why his glass dagger stayed sharp and aimed. He wasn't going to die here.

“No,” Colin said. “I remember.”

“Then put that-”

“How do I know you’re you?”

Jamie’s confusion only seemed to grow with every new bit of information. “Your…”

“He was like yours,” Lasso murmured. The oozing confidence fell away, replaced by a more familiar Texan sincerity. “It’s why we’re the same. I was trying to tell you.”

It wasn’t the feeling after all. In the office- the taunting image of Jamie’s dad hadn’t been about the hollow ache. They were the same because of their fathers.

“He beat me every fucking day. Sometimes his belt, sometimes his fists- sometimes he couldn’t be bothered so he threw a plate- a glass- a knife.” Bitterness twisted Ted’s kind tones, deepening them. His face warped, lips close to a snarl and eyes wild. “As long as I was scared, he was satisfied.”

The disguiser huffed, releasing some intensity, down to the ghost of a sneer. “I knew they were drafting- I knew there’d be no fucking football team, but my dad believed their bullshit posters. He let me go.”

The disguiser laughed suddenly- Jamie flinched, itching back. Lasso turned to him, wild eyes glassy as his false grin widened, baring teeth. Hysterical, he cheered: “I joined a fucking war to get away from him.”

Jamie could feel everything slipping beyond them. He was stuck, anxiously watching and waiting for the hit to come. Bitter rants always ended with blood.

The disguiser seemed to notice, brown eyes roaming over Jamie. The mania dialled back as Lasso looked to the ground, taking a moment to breathe. His eyes didn’t seem to register the floor, focused and gone as if the carpet had sucked him into an optical illusion. He shook his head at it, damning: “But the army’s all the same. They control you,” the disguiser looked up, gaze heavy. “They beat you when you don’t listen.”

“No- No, you need to listen, Jamie.’

‘First thing you need is discipline. Rules.’

‘Look at me.’

‘Listen to me!”

All the commands were shattered across his mates' voices, but Jamie recognised it now: The need for control and punishment.

“My dad hung himself while I was away,” the thing reminisced, calm. Nostalgic. “I knew I couldn’t let myself die. He’d be there- in Hell. So I deserted. I ran for my fucking life- my freedom.”

The calm glow fell away, leaving emptiness. With a bored tone, the disguiser told him: “I got snatched in a bear trap and my screams led them to me. General Ashford told the soldiers to kick their frustration out until my mum could no longer recognise me. They didn’t know she couldn’t already,” he huffed a wry laugh. “She left before I could walk.”

“It took forever to die. I just kept thinking- not my dad, nowhere with him, please. I thought about the only time in my life when I was free: In this fucking football club. When I’d finally left my father behind and before I knew what war meant. The soldiers kept kicking and I felt myself shatter. I was launched into some kind of limbo- too fractured to understand,” the anger rose again, tightening the words. He stepped closer- “I was forced to copy fucking footballers for a century.”

Jamie stepped back, halfway out the door. His knees shook, muscles flinching. His heart was pumping blood away from his brain, leaving his his mind empty and his body overheating. His shoulder pulsed, reminding him of what this faceless thing would do. He should've listened to Isaac and stayed in the locker room. He should've thought this through.

The anger stuttered and suddenly Ted smiled, calm and subtle. “But then you lot released me. All I want is to be free, Jamie," he reasoned. "You understand that, don’t you?”

It was silent, sharp as though Colin had thrown the glass dagger and hit Isaac in the neck. A warped vulnerability grunted: “It’s me, bruv.”

Colin's chest clenched up. He couldn’t afford to get this wrong. “How do I know?”

The stuttering silence returned. Colin felt his legs tremble as his vision darkened.

Patter.

His blood was draining. That made sense. It explained why he was swaying.

“Wait- hey, see this?” Isaac held up a hand, a white stripe crossing over the palm. “See it’s on my right side. If I were the thief it would be on the left.”

His surety was convincing but the proof- even confidently presented- didn’t tell Colin anything. “I can’t remember which side.”

Isaac begged, “Trust me.”

Colin’s trembling legs gave out. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall.

“Colin-” the figure stepped closer, forcing the glass weapon higher. Isaac froze. There was some kind of war unfolding on his face, too blurry for Colin to decipher.

Patter.

He was draining. He still had to talk to Michael. He had to become someone real- someone good. “I can’t die here.”

Isaac inched a step closer. “You’re not going to-”

“Then back off!” Colin shuffled away, desperate and clutching at the wall. “I have to… I have to find Jamie.”

“Listen to me, bruv. I know you don’t trust me, yeah? You have every fucking right not to, ‘cause I fucked up. Alright? I fucked up.”

Colin’s feet stayed even as his weapon held up its threat.

Isaac wasn’t deterred: “I’m sorry.” He stepped closer. Colin didn’t step away. He wasn’t sure why. His body had become familiar with turmoil, but it had been a while since that excruciation had circled around his stomach, lacing it with something strong enough to battle the acid.

“Fuck, Colin- I’m so fucking sorry,” Isaac vowed, voice watery. “I shut you out ‘cause I was hurt that you lied, but now I know why you did.” Isaac inched closer. “I should’ve talked to you.”

Colin hadn’t the space to respond. He was too busy trying to figure out what was happening and what it meant. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted this to be the real Isaac. It was all messy, troubling his airway and spinning his mind.

“I should’ve just fucking talked to you,” Isaac angered, “but I didn’t ‘cause I’m a shit captain and a shit mate. I know that now, yeah?”

Patter.

Colin’s weaponised arm was straining. He was sinking down the wall. Black spots melted into his fuzzy sight. Or maybe he’d closed his eyes.

“But you have to put down that glass or cut me with it ‘cause you’re going to collapse and I’m not going to let you,” Isaac commanded from some faraway place, beyond the darkness. “Alright?”

“Okay.” Colin dropped his arm, glass clattering to the floor along with another patter. His legs shook, unsteady, as footsteps rushed to him. Stable hands gripped his right side. For a moment, Colin revelled in the stillness. He was floating, undisturbed by the spinning of the earth. The steadying hands slid him down the wall to settle gently on the floor.

Back on the planet, his dizziness swung around again- once, twice, but as the dark spots leaked away, his nausea settled. Colin blinked, trying and failing to lose the fog that persisted in his eyes.

Colin followed the hands that had helped him, up to Isaac. His best mate was close enough to see through the blur: The furrowed brow, tight lips, and unyielding gaze.

“Isaac?” called a deep voice down the hall. “They’re not this way!”

Colin didn’t bother to turn to the sounds with his strained neck and useless eyes. Isaac did, spinning back to answer: “Roy!”

“Shit-” footsteps thundered over. “The fuck happened?”

Colin registered a hand on his right elbow as it tightened. “We need to get him somewhere safe.”

“Where’s Jamie?” Another figure knelt by Colin.

“Roy, we have to-”

“We’re taking him with us.” A new hand appeared on Colin’s shoulder. The one that had laid on his elbow let go to grab the wrist of the newcomer.

“Look at him,” Isaac grunted. “We can’t-”

“I’m not letting anyone out of my sight again.”

“He shouldn’t be-”

“I know, but we’ve been splitting up all over the fucking place and it’s only made it easier for that thing to fuck with us.”

Isaac glared. He didn’t say anything back.

“Listen,” Roy pressed: “We find Jamie and we stick together. Alright?”

Isaac's glare held, but Colin knew that was how he focused on his thoughts. Roy met the gaze- eyes just as stubborn and strong- until Isaac nodded. “Alright, gaffer.”

11:15 PM

Jamie wasn’t sure what freedom meant. There was some form of freedom that he'd gained when he decided to stop answering his father’s calls, but it remained surrounded by prison bars. He’d move about and knock against them, reminding him endlessly of the ways his dad had shaped him. The disguiser’s story was nothing more than another metal bar. Even if Jamie could conjure his own images to it, that didn't mean they were the same. They might share fears and bruises, but Jamie wouldn't forget about all the shit this thing had pulled. All the arms it had broken and knives it had twisted.

They weren't the same.

"Aren't you supposed to know everything?" Jamie wormed around another appeal. "D'you honestly want me to believe you can't find them yourself?"

“Stop cocking about,” Lasso's knock-off frustrated. He'd sauntered closer during their stand-off, only two arm's lengths away. “I can see that the mirrors are together- I’m still a part of them- but I don’t know the fucking layout of this place. Tell me and I’ll give you the keys. You and the others can leave, get help, if you just tell me the way to that room.”

It enticed Jamie. He might have given the answer if he’d known it. As it was, he’d only seen Isaac and Roy collecting the mirrors- passing by the locker room with another and another- but Jamie hadn’t cared where they were gathered. Why would he? Everything had been sorted with the disguiser tied up and Keeley getting an ambulance.

Fuck, he hoped she was alright.

“We don’t need your keys,” Jamie bluffed, “We found the backup already.”

The thing’s eyes narrowed. Jamie couldn’t tell if it was out of scepticism or frustration. Lasso sighed and looked down at the key bunch in his grasp. He readjusted it, taking his palm through the ring and pushing his fingers between the metal hangers. He made a fist, keys sticking out like spikes. He intoned, dangerously bored: “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Jamie’s ears shrilled and electrocuted across his body. It hit his legs, shaking him. Jamie’s shoulder pounded, pulsing down his arm. He dazed in his nausea, pretending that Roy stood by the podium beside them. The coach flipped Jamie off, a familiar sign. The Mancunian swallowed it all down and sneered. “Bit late for that, innit?”

Lasso sighed- lackadaisical- and started to move when a distant “Jamie?!” flitted through the doorway.

Everything froze.

Jamie's heart struck up, blocking his airpipe and Lasso's eyes went wild. They became harsh, warning, but Jamie'd already made his decision: “HERE!” he screamed.

The thing jumped, launching forward and snatching Jamie’s slingless arm- yanking on it.

“Jamie!” It was closer now, but too far away to stop him from being twisted around as keys dug into his neck. Jamie ripped his left arm free of the disguiser’s vice. He reached up, latching around the spiked hand and pulling. Under his strain, the keys started to give way- But a clamp on his dislocated shoulder broke him.

“Where are you?!”

Jamie cried out as the weight on his shoulder pressed down- scalding him and sending the cramped agony crawling across his arm and torso. He shut his eyes, trembling. He kept hold of the wrist, squeezing it as if it was offered to help- not threaten more hurt.

“JAMIE!” roared out as footsteps thundered. Whether they were close, Jamie couldn’t tell. He was too busy sensing every slight twitch of the hand pressing his pulsing shoulder, shooting across him.

The footsteps stopped, replaced by a growl from the only person Jamie knew who growled: “Let him go.”

Jamie felt himself being pulled back. The steel keys dug deeper into his neck, bruising their prints into Jamie’s skin. Behind his ear came a tense: “Tell me where the mirrors are.”

“Treatment room- let him go.”

“Where is that?”

“Are you fucking serious? I told you where they are, now let him go.”

“Fuck,” joined another voice along with a chorus of shuffling and heavy footsteps.

Jamie’s shoulder scalded as the hand tightened, making his knees shake and head spin. Tears slipped through his tightly shut eyelids. Behind him sneered: “Directions.”

“Down the hall on your right.”

“Thank you.”

The pressure released, letting Jamie breathe. The cold keys disappeared from his neck, leaving stinging imitations as a hand dug into his back. He was shoved forward.

“Shit-” Hands caught him. Footsteps clattered by- out the door- but Jamie didn’t care. He panted away his exhaustion as the pain centred again: a pulsing heat that convinced him his right shoulder had swollen up to his ear.

“Hey- hey,” Jamie was being set down on his knees, held up by a steady hand around his upper left arm. “Jamie? You alright?”

“Fuck no,” Jamie sobbed, finally blinking his eyes open as his tears trickled down. Roy’s concerned frown was blurry but familiar and somehow calming. A new hand settled on the back of Jamie’s neck, strong and cool- shaking the illusion that his shoulder had ballooned up against his ear.

Roy’s eyes flickered beside Jamie, where the owner of the new hand had squatted down. Isaac offered a confident glare back to Roy.

Jamie felt safe surrounded by them, letting his body pulse as he waited for the shocks to settle. He shouldn’t have followed the disguiser. He should’ve stayed in the locker room with-

“Shit,” Jamie sniffed, shifting to push himself up, “Colin’s still-”

“Right here,” murmured a hoarse voice. Isaac twisted around and Jamie followed the eyes. Colin sat against the first row of chairs in the press room, looking just as miserable and drained as Jamie felt.

The hands on his arm and neck guided Jamie's stress down. It felt as if it was all over. As if at any moment, Keeley- rainswept but unhurt- would burst through the door with paramedics and painkillers.

But nothing happened.

Jamie let his tears flow and his body ache, succumbing to it because he knew he’d have to suppress it again soon. “What do we do now?” he worried, voice shaking.

Above him looks were being shared, strong enough to leave soothing streaks in the air. “Nothing,” Roy said eventually, dropping his eyes to Jamie. “Let that thing break the mirrors. We’ve fought enough.”

Jamie wished he didn’t understand what he'd learned. He wished he could just give in and go home, but “We can’t." His words rung confident, even on his shaky voice. "The mirrors make him stronger- give him more control.” He remembered the grin at his only unanswered question: ‘How come we only share pockets and look like you? Why don’t we have to fucking copy you too?’

Jamie feared: “I think he wants to control us entirely.”

Chapter Text

10:15 PM

It was unbearable. The wind whipped, determined to trip and to deafen Keeley. The rain barraged, unforgiving. Even as her skin froze numb, the water pellets would sting her everywhere like the flick of a thousand rubber bands.

It was hard to tell where she was going. She couldn’t keep her eyes open with the attacking gale and anytime she forced herself to take a peak, her familiar Richmond was curtained by thick rain.

She forced her legs forward, determined because there was nothing else she could afford to be. The brick wall she’d been following ended, curling away from her. As she stepped into the open space, the currents changed. Wind swooped in from her right, stumbling her. Hair whacked her in the face and the healing wound on her forehead panged again. The air Keeley was breathing stole away, taken too fast by the wind for her to access its oxygen. Her chest expanded with nothing but the begging of her lungs. Her head twirled light, the wall had abandoned her, the wind roared- blinded her, currents strangled around her neck.

She’d heard it: The clang of a roof tile clawing free. The shrill screech as it dragged across its friends. It had all been clouded in the roar of the wind, the pelting of the rain and the panic of her heart- but it had been there.

Before it struck her across the back.

She hadn't noticed the world spin until the stone pavement hit her, imploding her begging lungs. The roof tile crushed her back, pushing on the tender ribs that it had struck.

She choked on the fall. Her ears rung from the wind whistle and the rain's patter. Her body stung everywhere as the gales continued to tear over her, bringing angry dust to sand off her skin. Everything warped and twisted and hurt. She just needed a second of relief- a breath- shelter- warmth- out- She needed out- she needed out- she needed...

To breathe.

That’s what she’d told Colin to do. That’s what she needed to do now. As she dragged air through her nose, expanding her grateful lungs, she found the winds less turbulent so close to the ground. The full breath dizzied her wonderfully.

Head cooled by the oxygen, Keeley focused her pain. The stinging pulled back and collected: her panging forehead, stabbing ribs, prickling palms, and burning knees. Continuing her careful breathing, Keeley pushed the roof tile off her, hearing the clay clatter to the ground.

She rolled to give herself a once-over: Forehead wasn’t bleeding, palms were scratched, knees might be too, and her ribs-

“Shit-” She fell back as her chest contracted. She tried to continue breathing but every twitch of her lungs shot through her. A hitch of panic forced a whimper out.

She needed to breathe. Smaller, careful breaths appeased the pain. Keeley calmed.

She needed a destination. A place that wasn’t too far and would be sure to get an ambulance to the club. Laying on the floor, she looked around and tried to make out what she could under a protective arm.

Cars were lined by her. Up and down the street, Keeley could only see grey rain and trash tearing down the cement. She flickered her eyes around to find a street name on the brick wall she’d been following: ‘HARTLEY ROAD’.

It sprung out at her, jumping with her heart. Hartley had been an old Richmond Football legend and the road nearby the club had been named after him as a tribute. It was a piece of history Keeley’d recalled earlier that night as well.

Rebecca’d shared an address in case she went missing before the morning.

If the date went well enough to stretch the night, Rebecca could be Keeley’s plan. She was rich, well-known, and assertive. She had a car that wasn’t stuck behind a gate. She’d believe Keeley and stick her neck out for the team. She was their best hope.

Numb fingers reached for her pocket, relieved when Keeley found her phone. Anxiously, she opened the notes app: 11 Hartley Rd.

Keeley pocketed the drenching device and pushed herself onto her side. She glared down the fogged grey street. Number 11 shouldn't be far. If she stayed low, the wind couldn't knock her over. Even if it did, she wouldn't have as far to fall. Lower, she should be able to breathe.

Number 11 couldn't be far.

11:20 PM

They let Jamie’s theory float like childless water wings in the deep end. Potentially harmless but sickening- consuming until someone dared to look over the edge, down to the pool floor.

Roy’d thought he was done. He’d thought he’d gotten his people together and safe. As much as he could anyway with Keeley- too far- ploughing through the storm. Roy didn’t care about stopping an entity. Some unfulfilled ghost-hunters with saviour complexes could do it, running down the moment any of this would trend on TikTok. Roy’d let them at it. He’d walk away. He craved to. If only it wasn’t wearing Ted Lasso’s face- Keeley’s kind eyes, Jamie’s cocky grin, Isaac’s glare, Colin’s youth- Roy’s anger.

That thing wanted to control it all- steal and break- more than it already had. If Jamie was right.

Roy pleaded: “How sure are you?”

Jamie squeezed his watery eyes shut and let his head hang. “I don’t fucking know-”

“Jamie.” Roy hated himself for it, but he refused the lad any respite. He bent low, requesting attention and demanded: “How sure?”

“I don’t-” Jamie cut his whine off. He shook his head, brows scrunched as he forced in a breath. He opened his eyes- tears rolling- and picked his head up. His pained gaze was levelled: weary and confident. “He was sure.”

‘It,’ Roy itched to correct. He wanted to cram this thing in nonhumanity- pretend that its certainty was as dismissable as an un-updated software’s- but why lie now?

“Fuck,” Isaac worded for all of them.

10:30 PM

The doorbell pressed with no resistance. It was alien to Keeley, panting from the clawing she'd done to get there. The awkward crouch she’d been holding moulded her stressed shoulders and back together. Her ribs pulsed hot and consuming- the roof tile keeping its pressure even when Keeley was sure she'd pushed it off and left it behind. Her clothes clung to her skin- raw and too numb to still be there. Her ponytail swatted her across the face. She’d considered tearing it out, but couldn’t afford moving the strained arms that protected her eyes from the gales.

As she let go and dropped her heavy arm, the button flaunted its energy by starting a cheery tune. Keeley's ears perked up, telling her how numb they'd grown to the constant whoosh that the wind screamed at her. Her eyes stung as she listened. The melodic doorbell was enchanting. A happy and lively song that told her someone was coming. That she wasn't alone. That nothing was lost.

The door nudged open.

“Rebecca!” she cried through, slamming a hand to the door and barreling in.

“Jesus-” The torso in her way jumped back. The voice was too low to be Rebecca’s, but Keeley didn’t care anymore. She needed to be shielded. She needed some warmth. She needed out. With no wind resistance, Keeley’s entrenched push forward toppled her over. She shut her eyes as a floor clattered against her hands and knees.

“Are you alright?” worried the man’s voice, hovering over her pulsing back.

“Oh my god-” Heels clacked. “Keeley?”

She blinked her bleary eyes open, finding a wooden floor and a pair of silver Louboutin pumps rushing over.

Rebecca crouched as a warm hand stilled Keeley’s trembling shoulder. “Hey?”

“You know her?”

“Close the door,” Rebecca ignored. “And get a towel.” Gentle hands pulled the sticking clumps of wet hair from Keeley’s numb cheeks and forehead.

The door clicked shut, reducing the outside horror to an airy hum. A pair of clean brown dress shoes shuffled around the heels, leaving to thud up some stairs.

“Keeley?” Rebecca arched her neck, platinum hair creeping into Keeley’s eye line. The older woman froze as her thumb hovered around the wound on Keeley’s forehead. “What the hell happened?”

“Ambulance,” tumbled- shivered- from her lips.

“Okay,” Rebecca worried, hands leaving Keeley to fumble around. “Oh fuck this pocket sexism- Lucas!”

“Yeah, love?!”

“Call an ambulance!” The hands found Keeley again, guiding her to sit back. “Where are you hurt?”

Keeley shook her head. She let herself be set back on her knees, sagging into the floor and moving to lean her weight against the wall. Her back pulsed, stopping her. A tremor ran up her arms with the tension and her whole body prickled.

An arm folded over her tired shoulders and Keeley collapsed against it- grateful for how it kept her ribs off the wall. A hand on her upper arm quieted her goosebumps as a shoulder pressed under her head, taking its weight. Keeley slumped. Another hand soothed against her cheek, warm and kind friction- the opposite of the winds. Keeley melted into it. She wanted to sob. Sleep. God- she wanted to feel her ears, nose, cheeks, toes, fingers and skin again.

But she didn’t have the time: “Ambulance-”

“I know-”

“Not for me,” she panted.

“Yes for you,” Rebecca argued. “You’re freezing.”

Footsteps thundered down to them and something warm and soft was manoeuvred around Keeley.

“No,” Keeley huffed through. Her ears picked up another melody: beep- beep- beep, followed by a ring. “No- Colin, Jamie, Isaac, Roy,” her voice shook. “The club, they need-”

“Emergen–’ the phone crackled. ‘Ich service do — require?”

The man stepped around them, angling the phone to the door and causing the crackle to ease. He said: “Ambulance.”

“Not for me,” Keeley pleaded.

“I’ll connect you.”

“Keeley,” Rebecca cut through. “What happened?”

“There's- I…” she stuttered. She couldn’t explain what had happened- what was still happening. No one would believe her and they’d only end up wheeling her to hospital quicker. The fuel lines in her mind had frozen, unable to conjure even a white lie.

“Ambulance services, where are you calling from?”

“Richmond,” the man answered, “11 Hart-”

“Rebecca, please-” Keeley begged, finally lifting her head to plead with her friend. “They’ll die.”

Rebecca's green eyes were wide and worried, eyebrows arching a deep frown and lips parted, stammering over her decision.

“Sir?”

“Love?”

“...hello?”

Rebecca glanced up at him. He asked: “What do you want me to do?”

“Sir?”

The green studying gaze washed back over Keeley, concerned but trusting. Rebecca held out her hand: “Give me the phone.”

“What’s your location, sir?”

Rebecca offered an assuring smile as the device was laid in her hand. She put it to her ear and drew Keeley close, warm arms holding her steady. “Nelson Road Stadium.”

11:30 PM

The glittering of glass hitting the floor wearied Isaac. He knew the chimes by now, but the repetitive fear of them didn’t make him paranoid. It made him wise. Wise enough to know that any change was significant.

He stopped short, pulling Colin’s arm tighter across his shoulders so his injured mate wouldn’t fold over. “Wait,” he hissed ahead.

Roy looked back, tapping Jamie to stop him as well. The Mancunian insisted on walking by himself: A slow and pained shuffle that Roy kept a close hover on. The duo gave Isaac attentive but impatient looks. He understood- what with the doorway so near- but that only made Isaac's finding more nerve-wracking.

“It stopped,” he explained.

Eyes shifted to the side as if that would lengthen their ears, but by the forming frowns Isaac could tell they’d clocked the eerie silence.

Roy agreed: “Something’s changed.”

A hoarse voice by Isaac’s shoulder feared for them both: “He broke them all?”

“No,” Jamie refused, frown low but eyes wide. He swung around, “No- he can’t have.” He marched off- invigorating the rest of them. Roy ran up, hissing “Jamie-” as Isaac pushed himself and Colin as quickly as they could go, “Fuck.”

The quiet treatment room inched closer, dragging Isaac’s wisdom back down to paranoia. His heart pulsed, vibrating a tone so low it could be the flatline beep clogging his ears.

Jamie’s pushed himself- staggering- in front of the opening. Roy was at his elbow as they turned toward the room and stopped. They stared.

Isaac cut his legs through the invisible water that slowed them, bringing the treatment room into vision. He saw boring grey mirror frames littered with the few shards that clung on. The floor glittered with pieces, bouncing Isaac's eye line up to the white ceiling grid. He dragged himself further- closer- finally freeing his vision:

Frames lined the walls and surrounded the now-obscured treatment table. It all looked how Isaac had left it, including the broom by the cabinets Roy had used to sweep the mess from his outburst aside. The work had been made pointless by a row of shattered mirrors to the left. The glass trail led into their mirror maze, ending in the corner- at Ted Lasso's feet. The thief stood bowed, facing away from its destruction. It clutched its red knuckles in its hand, face twisted- Scrunched. Wincing.

Pained.

Isaac’s forceful push knocked into Roy’s side, a noisy thud. The thief flinched up. The wince drained back, replaced by a sneer.

“You think this will stop me?” it growled. The thief uncoiled, raising its chin and squaring its shoulders. “I’m not afraid of pain,” it threatened, releasing its bleeding hand to swing it back.

“Don’t!” roared Roy, launching in as Lasso grew a dead smile. It threw forward, burrowing its fist into the tall mirror leaning against the short end of the treatment table. The frame bounced- imploding and cracking before bursting out. Roy threw up his arm as the sharp glitter twirled in the air. He recoiled, hunching in on himself while the glass rained down.

The thief’s grin faltered, flinching as shards tore over its skin and aimed for its eyes. It pulled back and covered up- a stark contrast to the invincible elation Isaac had come to expect. The rain hit the floor, sliding and screeching out to Isaac’s feet, where it stopped.

It stopped.

Isaac dragged his gaze up to the eye of the hurricane. Roy uncoiled- dislodging tiny shards down to its friends- while the thief watched with wild eyes. The smile had twisted into a grimace as blood crawled down its fingertips. Ted’s fingertips.

“I’ll fucking-” Roy launched, but the thief jerked back and turned, angling itself to punch the final unbroken mirror against the left wall.

“Wait!” Jamie drew in, burrowing a hand in the shoulder of Roy’s jacket and pulling the manager still. The thief froze, looking back. “You wanted me to listen to you, yeah?” Jamie negotiated.

The thief studied him, unflinching.

“Well, I did. Alright? I listened.”

Isaac couldn't tell if Jamie was stalling or extending some sort of thorned olive branch. Either way, his skin crawled. He nudged forward, noticing the weight on his shoulders ease. Glancing over, he found Colin shifting against the doorway, eyes alert and communicative. His wince shared his unease, offering Isaac the ability to jump in.

Isaac gave the slightest nod.

“You want to be free,” Jamie stated, calling Isaac’s attention back. “You’re afraid to die-”

“I’m not fucking afraid!” The thief stepped closer, pulling its fist away from the mirror to gesture at them. Isaac tensed, feet digging into the ground in case he would have to launch in front of Jamie. Not that Roy wasn't closer and preparing to do the same.

A shaky exhale was all Jamie gave away of his own unease, challenging: “Of your dad?” Isaac's feet twitched. Jamie wasn't stalling. The striker knew things Isaac didn't, making it impossible for the captain to estimate what would happen.

"Yeah," Jamie grieved, simple and resigned. "You are.”

Isaac clamped up, readying- but no explosion came. No jump, no roar, no shatter. There wasn't even a twitch in the stolen face.

“You want to be free,” Jamie ran with the silence. “You want control, yeah? But trust me- you won’t get that by taking it away from someone else.”

The unnerving nothing continued, making Isaac’s stomach coil in on itself. His adrenaline had nowhere to go, jumping on his heart to pass the time- Until the thief huffed. It was small and humourless. It made the adrenaline smash down into Isaac’s drumming heart, sinking it. “I was wrong about you,” the thief said. It shook its head, cocked grin under disappointed brown eyes. “We’re not the same.”

The thief jerked around, arm coming up- bloody fist bared.

“Wait-”

Roy launched past Jamie as the thief’s fist started its swing.

Isaac ducked free from Colin’s arm, running in. He jumped around Jamie, sprinting to join Roy- but they were too late.

The mirror shook. Glass splintered and fell.

Roy and Isaac kept to their momentum, feet clattering on the floor with the pieces. They flung around the thief, each grabbing an arm and hoisting it back with all their might.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” it taunted. Isaac ignored it, yanking and feeling Roy do the same. With their movement, the newly shattered mirror jerked along.

“He’s got something!” Colin called as a lonely crack slicked through the room. The mirror fell.

Isaac didn't spend time understanding any of it, pulling the thief back another step.

“What if he’s with his son?” their captive chatted. A flicker of light glinted. Isaac looked down to find his own wild eyes staring back. Blood leaked by the far end of the reflection, crawling from under a closed hand that pointed the rugged piece at Ted’s neck. “Would little Henry ever recover from seeing his daddy get mangled by thin air?”

Isaac froze, the chill running up his spine to his neck to the open wound on his head.

“Go on then," the thief bored, “Let me go. We all know how this game goes by now, don't we?”

Isaac dug his fingers into the arm he held. This thing could feel it now. Could Ted? Isaac forced his tensed hands open, hating himself for it- knowing he’d hate himself just as much for not doing it.

He prepared to let go and pull back- try again, try better- when a hand whisked by his ear. Isaac flinched, turning his head to find that an arm had run through the opening between his and the thief’s necks. The uncut hand wrapped around the shard- adding new blood- and shoved it away from Ted’s neck.

“Hold him!” Jamie pleaded, right behind them.

Isaac's hands dug back in, determined. The thief twisted in their grip, but they kept it steady until it gave up its fight. The contorting disappeared for a tremor and Isaac grinned.

No one was going to die tonight.

He revelled in it- until he caught the source of the tremble.

Grinning, the thief had redistributed its strength. He quit fighting Isaac and Roy, focussing on Jamie’s single outstretched arm. The glass shard vibrated, pulling back toward Ted’s neck. Both hands that grasped around it had gone white, blood curling around to their wrists.

“I can’t-” Jamie grunted, “Fuck!”

All Isaac's relief melted. If this had been their first fight, they would've won it. Jamie would still have had all his strength- all his arms. But he didn't, so the shard kept moving. It pointed up, halfway there. Isaac hesitated. He didn’t dare let go of the thief. Shoving it forward could have the shard pierce their old gaffer in the eye. Yanking it back would collapse them onto Jamie- his shoulder.

The shard was turning in, pointing at Ted’s nose now. “I can’t-” Jamie strained.

“You got him,” Roy grunted- hopeful and supportive. But wrong.

The point trembled under Ted’s chin. New sneakers appeared on the floor in front of Isaac, red dots littering the white shoes.

“Colin,” Isaac relieved- and warned. The prat could barely fucking stand yet there it was: A third hand clasping around the top of the glass, already pale from blood-loss and Welshness. The shard yanked the other way.

The thief snarled, “Fucking-” He started to contort in their arms again.

“Take it,” Jamie ordered.

Colin hesitated, grunting through clenched teeth: “But I’ll cut you.”

“Mate,” Jamie puffed. “We might lose our arms tonight, remember?”

A half-humoured huff jumped from Colin. “No point in fucking about,” he recited as if it was a famous song lyric Isaac should've known.

“Thanks for the advice," interrupted an American accent, turning British to taunt: “Love.” The thief smiled again, gaze jumping gleefully from the glass shard to Colin.

Dread pooled quickly enough to precede what it warned of but- despite its timing- Isaac was left helpless. He could only watch as the thief let the shard go.

The room tipped over.

Jamie rocked forward, knocking against Isaac- unbalancing them as he cried out. Colin flung back. Already unsteady, the extra momentum sent him stumbling, eyes wide. The arm Isaac had been grasping wrenched free. He fumbled trying to find it again but it was gone. A crack-thud-crash pulled him back ahead, catching the last glimpse of Colin landing by a mirror as its pieces rained down.

Isaac stared.

The reflective glitter settled in Colin’s brown hair, on his bandaged arm, and the folds of his red-ruined clothes. He groaned before his eyes fell shut and his body went limp.

Isaac might’ve shouted something. Had he tried to walk over? Other than fear icing his lungs, had he felt something more damning? Guilt? Shame?

Grief?

Isaac had snagged, forgetting what he was doing until the arm he’d been fumbling for shoved him in the chest.

He flailed back, foot catching on something that sent a shock up his ankle. Isaac pulled it back- needing it to keep himself from falling. A mirror that had leaned against the treatment table roped along and toppled forward. Isaac rushed to catch it, but only felt air woosh by his hand as the frame boomed on its face, undertoned by a dooming crack and tinkle.

Isaac tore his eyes from the down-faced frame, darting to the thing most affected by it. The thief stood by the corner of the treatment table with its back to Colin. Roy faced the thing, glare tough but keeping a distance. His arm was half-heartedly stretched out and reaching back, leading Isaac’s eye to Jamie. Their youngest hunched over by the doorway. A cringing claw-like hand hovered over his shoulder as his face contorted, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. He was forcing breaths in and out, so strained it sounded more like an endless stuttering wince.

For the first time that night, Isaac wasn’t only afraid of his lack of direction- his helplessness. More than anything, he was terrified of the way in which the wind whipped. They’d clawed against the tempest for every small step forward, but they always woke up broken at the bottom of the cliff. He’d thought there’d been progress with the times they got up and climbed. There hadn’t been. They were miles below where they’d started and all their clambering did was give them another chance to fall. Another place to break.

He felt nauseous thinking it. He felt nauseous for his stone feet, scared of his missteps and their damage- their inevitability.

‘We all know how this game goes by now, don’t we?’

The thief cocked its head with eyebrows raised condescendingly- smugness returning as if it had never slipped.

“Don’t fucking move,” Roy warned, arguing with the consequences that haunted the thief’s glee.

The Ted Lasso costume huffed a laugh and shrugged. With wide joy, it took in the room- from Colin’s limpness to Jamie’s tension. From Isaac’s defeat to Roy’s desperation. It humoured: “An’ oo’s gunna stop meh?”

The question died as it went. All joy drained from the thief’s stolen face. “An’ oo’s gunna stop meh,” it repeated, desperate but his voice remained younger than Ted’s, lacking any swing or drawl. The sentence was flat and lazy within the thief’s mouth. The words mixed- not by elongated song, but by Britishly cut letters.

“An’ oo’s gunna… An’ oo- The fuck?!”

“What’s happening?” Jamie panted, slurring. Isaac couldn’t answer him, too busy processing the unnerving change to identify its implications.

“No,” the thief spat, rough British persisting. “This isn’t supposed to-” It twisted around, lunging for another mirror and yanking it off the treatment table. The frame fell smoothly, shattering as it crashed onto the floor. The thief didn't seem to care as it reached for the next, tearing it down. “I’m supposed to be stronger,” it raged with its new voice.

Isaac itched as the thief moved to grab another mirror. He should be sprinting. They'd come to stop any more glass from breaking, but Isaac was hesitant. He was wise enough to know any change was significant and the thief's pain and voice? Those weren't significant. They were crucial. They wrong-footed him but he couldn’t figure out how or by who. It left him him frozen, uttering: “Roy?”

The gaffer's silence agreed, leaving everything afloat. The rules they’d been forced to learn had exceptions- causations and nuances they’d never had the chance to understand. How could they make the right call when they didn’t understand the numbers?

Another mirror clashed on its face, shuttering through them. Roy jolted: “Just grab him!”

Isaac started with the purpose. He launched around the right of the treatment table while Roy went around the left, trapping the thief between them.

The snarling Lasso picked a small circular frame off the table. It swung around and hurled the mirror into a long one that leaned against the wall.

Isaac lunged when Roy did, but as the pieces rained down- clattering and sliding atop the others- Ted Lasso disappeared. The thief's new voice cried out.

Isaac braked, stumbling on the shards and watching wide-eyed as a second Jamie hunched over. The thief fell back against the treatment table, pale and trembling.

Isaac glanced at Roy on the other side of the thief. The manager’s glare had gone, dissolving into wide confusion and worry.

“No- no no no no,” the thing panted, wincing. “This isn’t supposed to fucking happen,” it spat, determination sharpening his pained eyes into a glare. It reached behind it, swiping another two mirrors off the table.

Isaac and Roy were stuck again- too afraid to go near the thief in case they worsened Jamie’s injuries.

“Not fun now, innit?” barbed the striker. His voice wasn’t where Isaac expected it: Behind Roy, Jamie was knelt by Colin, hand scrunched in the shoulder of their unconscious mate's sweater.

A thrill ran through the thief- so forceful Isaac could see it, dragging up a protective instinct this thing didn’t deserve. It wasn't getting stronger. With half the room’s mirrors broken, it should already be able to control them like Jamie’d feared, right? So why was the opposite happening? And above all, were the answers to those more important than nudging Roy from his focused haze, grabbing Colin and Jamie and leaving this godawful night behind?

“Oh, fuck…”

Isaac searched for the muttered revelation, finding it in Roy’s suspicious calm. His eyes darted around, seemingly piecing the glass on the floor together while Isaac still debated the point of it.

“Roy?” he pushed the gaffer.

“It-” Roy started- falsely. He huffed something away, before reigniting: “He. He’s got it wrong.”

The disguiser’s head shot up. Roy didn’t even glance at it, rushing through Isaac’s confusion with an epiphanic panic: “Breaking the mirrors doesn’t make him stronger- or give him control.” He looked at their subject- their puzzle- their tormentor. On Roy's studying gaze, Isaac didn't recognise the pity or protectiveness he was guilty of himself. Roy didn’t look pleased either- no schadenfreude or relief. No hope- not quite. There was only this calm understanding Isaac couldn’t grasp that softened Roy as he announced: “It makes him more human.”

His eyebrows scrunched together as Isaac followed the topic to its source: A shivering, confused, and hurting mess- desperate, scared, and human. At least it would’ve been- if only Isaac shifting his eyes to the right didn’t greet him with the exact same person. “Are you seeing the same fucking thing I am?”

“He looks like us,” Roy continued, “that’s how all this started. He copied our sentences, used our voices to speak for himself, remembered our lives- our shit- before remembering its own. Now it-” Roy braked again, correcting: “he can feel pain. He's copying our pain- like he copied our voices. This new voice? I fucking bet you it's his.”

It was insane.

It made sense.

“You’re saying…”

Roy nodded. He reached to the shivering disguiser, who ground his teeth. His stolen eyes were Jamie's brown, wide and wild. "You don't know what you're talking about," he lashed out. "Fuck my voice- if you hurt me, you still hurt him."

"Roy?" Jamie's voice flickered through, quiet with question but not distrust. Isaac watched with a similar perplexion as Roy's hand passed the disguiser, dimming the desperate sneer with worry. From the treatment table, the gaffer picked up a laptop-sized mirror with a black frame. Isaac recognised it as one that had hung in Keeley's old office.

“We're releasing him," Roy said simply.

The thief scoffed, but the shifting of his eyes betrayed his nerves. Isaac wondered what human face would attach itself to the cruelty of that night. He couldn't quite find it in himself to believe that some boy- whoever it was behind the young London accent- could hurt them like this. Would hurt them like this. The facelessness was easier. All this should have been caused by something bigger than them. Something more complicated.

Isaac irked: “What if he’s pretending? What if this is another fucking trick?”

The clone between them stilled. His eyes darted between Roy, Isaac and the mirror, tremors shaking him. He was quiet except for his hitching breath. There was no taunt, no jeer, no laugh, no anger- only anxious silence.

Isaac looked to Roy, finding the gaffer’s eyes settled with the same conclusion: The thief had lost his upper hand. He was as confused as them, fumbling for understanding and dropping his smugness on the way. How could he manipulate them when he didn’t know what he wanted?

With a determined arch to his eyebrows, Roy raised the mirror high. He glinted with curiosity as if the sound was still new and not the equivalent of a Coldplay song on Radio 1.

He let go.

Every eye in the room trailed the mirror's descent. The frame's corner whacked onto the floor, sending a splinter spidering up the reflection. It tilted back, broken pieces jumping as the frame thudded onto the floor.

Keeley stood in the room. She was hunched against the treatment table, hitched breath slowly easing. She looked different: A wine-red beanie hid her ears and accentuated her flushed cheeks and nose. Her drenched hair was down in a braid, most of it trapped in the collar of a long grey winter coat.

She was alright. The clothes- she must’ve found someone. She might’ve found a signal. She might’ve saved their lives.

Roy’s eyes softened as he gazed at Keeley’s clone. He concluded: “We need to break the mirrors.”

10:45 PM

“No,” Rebecca refused, twisting a scarf around her neck as they stood in the narrow hallway. “You’re coming with me.”

“There’s no point,” Keeley argued, tugging on the black gloves she’d been handed. “I know you can convince them it’s serious enough to risk the weather- you don’t need me there.”

“I do- I need you somewhere safe and warm,” Rebecca tugged a thick coat on, “with sterile bandages and hot packs.”

Keeley sighed. She’d warmed up, shivers finally relenting and all senses returned. She was wrapped in a long grey winter coat, double socks crammed into Thursday boots, and a red beanie protected her ears and forehead. She was ready for this.

“Rebecca.”

“No.” Her old boss was clammed up, chin high and stance strong. Her jaw was tense and her eyes were glassy, betraying any confidence.

“I can handle it out there,” Keeley assured, gesturing to her attire. “Especially with all this.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s caused all these broken arms and fucking concussions- How can I let you go back?”

Keeley felt a sombre smile lighten her face. How did she always find herself convincing people to let her go? She was grateful to be so loved. She was grateful to respect herself just as much. “Because I make my own choices.”

Rebecca’s eyes softened. She stood there, studying Keeley with a deep frown. “Wait,” she stated suddenly, turning away and marching to the living room.

Keeley wondered if this was her last chance to run before Rebecca would return with cuffs and drag her to hospital anyway. The thought irked at the sound of jangling until Rebecca reappeared with a ring, full of keys. “I keep them in my purse,” she offered, joking: "And since you're headed back you may as well clear away the glass I knocked over in my office."

Keeley felt her eyes well up. She was wrapped up, all warm, and being handed another crucial tool. “Thank you,” she almost blubbered. She stepped closer as Rebecca did and they wrapped each other up even tighter.

“Take care of yourself,” Rebecca pleaded. “I love you.”

Keeley squeezed tighter. “I love you too, babes.”

They pulled apart, slow and reluctant. They fixed their rumpled coats and offered each other a sure nod. Keeley knew to rely on Rebecca, but it still surprised her how much she could.

Keeley opened the door, bringing back the dreaded howling of the wind. Unafraid, she stepped out. The wind pushed at her, cutting across her cheeks, but Keeley ducked low and kept breathing. She started her path, throwing over her shoulder: “Bye, Lucas!”

“...Bye?”

Chapter Text

11:45 PM

“We need to break the mirrors.”

Jamie’s relief wrenched back as Keeley’s sudden appearance warped. The quiet worry on the stolen face gave way to stress and with a voice too deep to suit the disguiser's new costume, he panicked: “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Who the fuck does?” Roy shot back, old nihilistic humour returning to his gruffness. “Isaac-”

“On it,” the captain turned, standing at the edge of the diagonal divide they’d made in the room. Jamie found himself crouched in the corner of the shattered side while Isaac stood by the cabinets, launching to the half that shined with clean reflections. He reached for the first one by the cabinet when-

“Don’t!” rumbled from the disguiser's sneer. It flung at Isaac. Roy jerked after him- too slow.

The disguiser rammed into Isaac, sending them toppling forward. Isaac’s reach for the mirror had them launching into it- shattering it. They fell with the glass, desperate limbs striking out and catching the broom by the cabinets. Jamie winced and Roy rushed as the broom shifted into a diagonal fall forward. It shot down- seesawing over Isaac and the disguiser’s struggle- to send the handle slamming down. It nicked low at the mirror against the short end of the table, pushing it.

Roy jumped into the fray. He moved to pull Keeley’s copy up- off of Isaac- but as he grabbed the stolen arms, the disguiser flinched and yelled out. Roy jerked back, hands away.

Jamie rose. He tried to see what had happened to Isaac- to Keeley- but a crack pulled him back to the mirrors. The broom clattered to the ground as the mirror it had clipped tilted forward. Jamie winced, dreading- not yet used to their changed position. The tilt was slow and dooming, creaking toward the mirror that leaned against the wall opposite.

“Fuck!” the disguiser cried out as the two mirrors kissed and rained their reflective guts onto each other and the floor.

Jamie’s eyes darted back to Isaac and Keeley, only to find her gone.

Isaac was stuck in the corner, face scrunched and shoulder pressed against the cabinets. His neck was tense, bent by the frame that had pushed flat against the wall. Jamie felt a sting pierce through his gut, remembering the rugged shape of the wound that sliced through Isaac’s slick haircut.

The captain had a hand squeezed around the disguiser's upper arm and laid his forearm across the front of the thief’s shoulders, holding the man up. The disguiser gave a whimper and a groan as his head fell limp.

“Shit-” Jamie spun around, back to the real Colin. Small cuts drew on his right arm, letting little red droplets well up. Jamie crouched down, clamping his hand around the scratches. It seemed futile- too little blood to matter, but Colin couldn’t afford to lose a millimetre more. Jamie startled at the cold skin, aching for a drum- a pulse of blood- anything alive.

The Welshman’s breath stuttered. Jamie’s exhale was elated as a frown pulled at Colin's brows.

“Isaac- you alright?” Roy worried. Jamie glanced over to find the gaffer hovering over the now-slumped thief.

What did that mean? The disguiser wasn’t copying them- only their wounds and their pain. If it fell unconscious feeling Colin’s, what did that mean?

Jamie held on a little tighter.

Isaac forced a breath out and in. His eyes darted from the disguiser slumped over him to the glass around him to the cabinets beside him and landed- stressed- on Roy. He ground out: “Can't roll him.”

Jamie frowned, searching the image until the predicament clicked: The limp disguiser was kept from the glass by Isaac, who was pressed against the cabinets- unable to move to his right. He could roll the disguiser to his left, but that would land the reflection on his right side. Colin’s left side. Colin’s splintered side.

“Shit-” Roy thought aloud, pulling back even more. His sneakers crunched the glass as he turned away.

Jamie watched the gaffer retreat, dumb-founded. Isaac’s eyes were glassy, his face scrunched in a wounded grimace and his arms trembled. He’d taken another hit. Was his head bleeding again? Was his concussion banged back into his mind? Was there glass impaling him?

As Roy approached, Jamie baffled: “What are you doing?”

“I’m fucking ending this,” Roy growled. He walked to the table and swept his arm across- sending all the smaller mirrors to the short end and tumbling in a chiming heap to the floor. Jamie jumped back from the shards that slid out.

Roy didn’t care- stepping right onto the sharp pile to walk around the treatment table, facing the last five unbroken mirrors: Two thin tall ones leaning against the treatment table and three in the corner opposite Jamie’s.

He glanced back to Isaac, finding the captain going red. Jamie winced at Colin but had to let go to rush over, picking the broom off the floor.

“What are you-” Isaac strained, words caught in his hitching breath.

One-handed, Jamie clumsily brought the broom around, thudding it beside Isaac. He pulled, sweeping all the shards back and leaving a clear and safe space.

Isaac didn’t move his head, trying to roll his eyes out of their socket to look at Jamie’s work. He looked back, glistening with sweat. “I still can’t-”

“I know,” Jamie said, ditching the broom onto the floor again. “But-”

A grunt and crash roared through him. As expected: Colin’s copy disappeared. It was replaced by an unconscious Isaac.

“Now you can,” Jamie explained, before sickening. On the disguiser’s head, he could see the wound on Isaac’s. Blood was curling up fast- as if coming up for air- and around the gash stretched purple and black marks, like discoloured clouds around a dark red sunset.

Isaac coughed relief as he carefully rolled his reflection onto the now-clear floor space. He ground his teeth together and nudged his head off the wall, wincing. “Shit.”

Jamie extended his arm. Once Isaac blinked his scrunched eyes open, they fell to the hand. He clapped around Jamie’s wrist and Jamie grasped him back, pulling the captain up. Another crash had them spinning around.

One mirror against the wall creaked forward, impaled by another and abandoning all their pieces. Jamie’s eye was brought to the absence of unbroken mirrors leaning against the table. Craning his neck, he found a frame face down on the floor. Roy stood on it, arms out to the impaled mirror and breathless. Only two mirrors remained.

Roy turned back, dropping his hands and revealing an ever-persisting glare on his face- but it was softer. “You alright?” he nodded at Isaac.

Isaac inhaled to answer but was silenced by a groan. The room turned to it, finding the disguiser on the floor- no longer dressed as Isaac, but as Roy.

“Go-” Isaac commanded, eyes on Roy as his hands nudged Jamie.

Jamie turned back to check on Colin as Roy marched for the final two mirrors.

The hands nudging Jamie flinched back. A rush of air winded by, a sickening ‘pop’ stilled the air, a yell shot out and was ended by a dead thud.

Jamie jumped away and spun around, finding Isaac groaning on the floor. Roy’s copy looked feral- teeth bared, eyes wide- He was propped up on an elbow, hand stretched out and clawed around Isaac’s ankle.

“Fuck!” Isaac burst, curling up to his ankle. The disguiser let go and heaved himself up. Jamie locked anxious eyes with Roy.

The disguiser elated in their surprise, turning and kicking away the mirrors that blocked the space between the wall and the table. The crash started them: Roy ran for the last mirrors and Jamie dashed forward, going around the other end of the table to help.

With the disguiser shortcut, he stepped out in front of Roy, blocking the way to the final two mirrors.

Roy lashed forward, the disguiser responded- bending low and tackling. Jamie jumped back as the Roys landed by him, in front of the doorway.

Jamie hesitated again, watching as the disguiser held Roy down and swung-

The punch threw Roy to the side. The disguiser was already raising his fist for another, but he winced and hunched, keeping his attack hovering. His other hand reached up, gently laying on his own lips and coming back red.

Blood coated Roy’s teeth as he looked up at the disguiser with a grin. “Jamie,” he gloated, ”Mirrors.”

His muscles pulsed and Jamie was moving. His legs pushed him to the last two unshattered reflections against the wall. They looked back, showing Jamie his swollen red shoulder. The point of his collarbone stuck out, skin stretching around it from which hung the rounding of his shoulder. His palm bled down his fingers. His eyes were dark and tired, but desperate. He pushed forward, until a claw snatched onto his upper arm, jostling his shoulder. He froze before the pain could kill him.

Shaking, Jamie looked down at two Roys. A snarl spread on the one closest as nails pierced Jamie’s skin, intent glistening joyfully in his eyes.

“No you fucking don’t,” sneered the second Roy from the floor, not glistening in his expression but in his hand. Jamie watched a shard come up and settle under the disguiser’s chin. Roy’s chin.

“Let him go.”

The nails in Jamie’s arm pulsed hot, dull heat leaking and prickling down to his hand.

The disguiser’s joyful intent held strong, eyeing Jamie but directing his smugness back. “You won’t do it.”

“Why not?” Roy grunted. “Don't you think you’re human enough to die with me?”

Jamie’s gaze flinched to Roy. Where the disguiser sparkled with anticipation, Roy was dimmed with calculation- determination.

“Roy-” strained a voice behind Jamie. He could hear Isaac moving, glass sliding and clothes shuffling, but Jamie was stuck staring at Roy’s threat.

“Everything’s fucked,” their new gaffer grieved. His gaze was wide and heavy, frown not taut how it was supposed to be, but soft and sombre. “Everything’s fucked and it’s easy to see what we did wrong.”

“Roy,” Jamie stressed. His ringing ears recalled the dull crunch that had cried from Roy’s fist, burying into the bathroom wall. “Roy, don’t be thick-”

Isaac demanded: “Put that-”

“But we’ve figured it out now,” Roy shot through, eyes darting to the side. “We know the rules.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Isaac clapped back, voice clambering around somewhere behind Jamie.

“Isaac- Listen to me,” Roy pleaded- demanded. “We know the rules now, yeah?”

Jamie’s arm was going numb. It drummed with his heart as he kept it as still as he could, afraid that any movement would jerk on his shoulder or worse: Rock the disguiser forward, squelching through the glass. His heavy mind remembered what he’d wished hours ago, standing outside the bathroom with a gleeful disguiser: ‘Goddamnit Roy, for once don’t use your fucking fists. Don’t make me watch this.’

“No one’s gonna die tonight,” tumbled from Jamie’s lips, hiding in the air of his shaky exhale. It was a mantra- a prayer that promised nothing but the fear and hope that had created it.

Roy glanced at him. For the moment that his eyes struck, their determination leaked with sorrow. Roy faltered on his words, rueful but resolved: “We gotta stop making the same mistakes.”

Fuck this- fuck all of it. Jamie's shoulder seared and just to end the pain he was considering pulling it out forever. Colin was lying in a corner- bleeding away. Isaac’s head had opened again and from the ‘pop’ that had pierced the air, Jamie doubted he could walk. Keeley was fuck knows where- hurt from the disguiser’s attack. And Roy was going to sacrifice himself.

For what?

“Alright- alright,” a second Roy rambled: “Don’t, yeah? I’ll let him go.” The clutch on Jamie’s arm softened, nails leaving ghost pressure and marks. “If you stop breaking anything more, I swear I won’t hurt anyone else. Alright?”

And Jamie remembered. He remembered the pitiful asshole that had brought them here, covered in broken reflections and blood. Jamie turned to him. The smugness had slowly been tearing since they’d entered the treatment room and now it had gone. The disguiser was scared. His stolen face was alert and his voice shuddered, anxious. He’d lost control.

Jamie wanted to feel for him. He wanted to believe this is what change could look like, but that chance had already been given and punched away. Jamie was beyond caring.

As for Roy: He would just have to live with the bruise because no one was going to die tonight.

Jamie shot his loathing eyes at the disguiser, sneering: “Fuck you.” He picked up his leg, held onto his captive arm and kicked. The base of his foot caught ribs as the nails tried to dig in again, but it was too late: Roy’s double shot back. His gaze was wide and betrayed, hands out and fumbling- but before it hit the floor, Jamie’s ears cringed at chaos.

Beside him, he heard a scratch- a sweep across the wall. The corners of his eyes saw his final reflections tilt forward. The disguiser thudded on the floor while the room chimed one last time: The final crash and tinkle of shattered glass.

Jamie spun to it. Isaac was hunched against the wall, one foot hovering and arms stretched out to hold the broom by its bristles. The handle jumped on the corner of a down-faced frame before Isaac let the broom clatter to the floor- like he’d done the last two mirrors. He was panting, raising an unamused- amused eyebrow, relieved gaze going past Jamie.

Confused, he went to follow, but his eyes were caught halfway by a new person in the room.

Or at least: a new appearance.

The disguiser looked up at him from the floor, amber eyes stuck on betrayed. He had fluffy brown hair- much like Jamie’s own- and for a moment he thought he was looking at himself again, but he couldn’t be. There wasn’t a sling made of towels, no eyebrow slit, and no colourful clothes. The pale boy on the floor wore muffled green and had a rugged scar from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his right ear. He was covered in dust- as though Jamie found him in the attic, having forgotten he existed.

“It’s you.”

11:50 PM

It had been four hours since Keeley had seen him in this exact room, but there was no doubt: On the floor sat the outlier soldier from the photograph, weary and scarred.

At her revelation, the room turned.

“Keeley?” someone wondered.

“What’s going on?” She threw her gloves to the floor, tore her beanie off and freed her braid with her other hand, shuddering at the sudden pain that shot from her elbow. “The fuck…”

Jamie helped Roy up as Isaac slumped against the wall and… “Shit-” Keeley’s throat went dry. Colin sat sagged, limp against a broken mirror- a part of the glistening sculpture.

She rushed over, ignoring the constant ache that had invested her ribs. She crunched glass to crouch by him. She heard someone else painfully work their way over as she placed a careful hand against Colin’s forehead.

He was freezing. He was clammy. His lips tinged blue and Keeley couldn’t hear or see him breathe. She didn’t either, but her body sprung with life: skin working up goosebumps, head spinning, knees shaking.

She picked up his unfractured arm, finding it littered with small cuts. She clamped her fingers around his wrist and waited.

Black and red Air Jordans limped to her, shuffling against the wall. They stopped beside Colin. Keeley couldn’t look up at Isaac, placing her fingers differently because she was wrong. She had to be wrong.

“He was still…” Jamie hesitated from across the room, feet shuffling and voice shaky. “A second ago, I swear he was still-”

“Here!” Keeley elated. A dull weary drum nudged under her fingertips. “He’s gonna be alright- Rebecca’s getting an ambulance.” She glimpsed up at the grim man leaning against the wall beside them. She vowed: “He’s gonna be alright.”

Isaac’s tension didn’t ease. He didn’t wash over with relief, instead staring down with a heavy gaze, half-lidded eyes and a furrowed brow. He blinked slowly, processing it seemed. Keeley wondered at his concussion. Was it affecting him after all? He held out the foot he’d been staying off of and lowered down. He slumped on the floor beside Colin, watching Keeley softly. He reached out and squeezed her wrist. He rasped, “Thank you.”

Her sight went blurry. She couldn’t tell from what. Fear? Relief? Sadness? Joy? It didn’t matter. Her stomach was full with the surge and on her face blossomed a smile while her eyes welled up. She reached around and squeezed Isaac’s wrist back.

He steeled, he softened, he smiled- small and weary, but calm. Settled.

She sat for a moment in Isaac’s conclusion, wishing she could stay but as their little embrace faded, Keeley moved to get up. Isaac paused her, hushing: “He knows something we don’t.” The captain's gaze flickered beyond her. He damned, “I can see it from here.”

Keeley adopted the information without any instinct or need to verify. She offered Isaac a nod and Colin an assuring glance he couldn’t see. She got up.

This wasn’t over yet.

Turning away, she found Jamie’s young gaze flickering from Isaac and Colin up to her. Next to him, she saw Roy’s back. He stood with his arms crossed, guarding the strange soldier that remained on the floor.

“Tell me,” she commanded, stepping up beside Jamie.

“Breaking the mirrors freed him,” Roy gruffed.

Keeley watched the soldier. He sat propped up on his elbows, legs laying clumsily but bent at the knee- ready to jump up. His eyes were narrow as he studied them and followed their conversation around the room. His quietness gnawed at Keeley, bubbling Isaac’s wisdom. She checked: “You broke all of them?”

“Well yeah,” Jamie duh’ed, kicking at some shards by his feet as Roy grunted affirmative.

“You’re sure?”

“They got them, alright?” the soldier frustrated. “What were you expecting? That I’d just disappear?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Jamie derided while Keeley and Roy locked knowing glances.

They definitely didn’t get them all. Not when the disguiser was so eager to have them move on from the notion.

Keeley gave the smallest twitch, tilting her head to Roy and asking what they might’ve missed. Roy's eyes narrowed, pensive but he was interrupted.

“Are you going to kill me then?” The soldier pushed himself up off his elbows. “I’m still here, so either you kill me,” he lingered, studying them all with pretentious morality before suggesting: “Or you let me go.”

Roy scoffed and Keeley couldn’t help but glare a similar disdain.

The soldier wasn’t deterred: “All I want is to be free and you know that so just-”

“Let you go?” Jamie finished, voice dark and small. Keeley shifted at his tone, finding a dreadful and weary sag to Jamie’s youth. His gaze was unforgiving, beaten into place.

Keeley felt the air around the soldier warp, the calm starting to jitter as he rambled: “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it, but I won’t hurt anyone else- I can’t. I’m stuck looking and sounding like this, so there’s nothing I can do to hurt any of you again.”

“More.”

“What?”

Jamie grunted: “There’s nothing you can do to hurt us more.”

“Sure,” the soldier huffed, “That.” He sat up, leaning his elbows against his knees and sneering at them through his frown. “But you do know you can’t kill me from all the way up there, right?”

Keeley twitched as her mind tickled.

Rebecca carried keys in her purse because she locked her office every day.

The office upstairs.

The same office Keeley had sat in that afternoon.

She had to step over a dustpan filled with glass shards to get to the white couch. It must’ve been a long day. Keeley planted her purse on the coffee table, catching her reflection in Rebecca's tall mirror. Her blonde hair was messier than she'd had it in the morning. Her smile looked tired. Her posture, insecure.

She'd had a long day too.

She whipped around to Roy, who was already watching her curiously. He wouldn’t have found Rebecca’s tall mirror, locked behind a door Keeley now had the keys to.

She reached into her pocket, feeling the cold, rugged metal meet her fingertips. She froze from the chill, retreating. Keeley darted her eyes to the soldier, ensuring he didn’t see what she was up to.

He might not know where the final mirror was but Keeley wouldn’t risk it. All she had to go off was the soldier’s anxious interjection when they voiced the possibility of unbroken reflections, meaning there was one. If he did know that the tall mirror upstairs was guarded by a lock, Keeley reaching for keys would give away her hand- make her a threat.

She kept her knees locked and she settled for shallow breaths, staying as still as possible. All she needed to do was hold the keys quiet so she could get away without suspicion.

Pressing her fingers against the fabric, Keeley nudged under the first slim piece of metal. It vibrated, scratching across the key underneath it.

The soldier’s gaze didn’t shoot to her, glowing and glowering at Jamie. Storm Agatha clattered outside.

“Maybe we’re not as high up as you think we are.”

The soldier stiffened.

Keeley tore her eyes to Jamie. A line like that he could’ve snarked, but he hadn’t. He’d kept his tone low, intentional. In her epiphany, Keeley’d forgotten the thread of the conversation, but Jamie’s insinuation was as clear as it was horrifying.

It asked a question Keeley didn’t want to consider, readying her hand under another key.

Would breaking that mirror upstairs kill the soldier?

Keeley fidgeted the second key up.

Was he even alive? The brown-haired boy could be a reflection of consciousness, as alive as an AI, but no one would know. No one could know. Just like no one knew what shattering the final mirror would do.

Did that uncertainty make it better than plunging a shard of glass into the soldier’s neck?

A third key settled on the pads of Keeley’s fingers. She stopped.

She didn’t want to kill anyone. Despite his threat, Jamie didn’t either- she was sure. He was just hurting and weary. Keeley was too, forcing her rationality to heave her back and fight that easy ignorance. She wanted to go upstairs and break that mirror, pretending it was due diligence- pretending she didn’t crave for it to dissolve the soldier- pretending she didn’t think it would. But she’d be lying and she'd never forgive herself for it. She withdrew her hand from her pocket-

The three keys clinked against the rest.

The room- reeling from Jamie’s threat- snapped. Keeley’s gaze darted to the soldier. Their eyes locked onto each other, both wide. Both horrified.

She felt his jump before his knees cracked and Keeley spun for the door. She sprinted- thinking only of the crack of bones, the popping of shoulders and the dripping of blood. One foot on the threshold was as far as she got before a block collided with her ribs. She crashed onto the stone floor, breathless. Her body trembled. The ache in her ribs scalded and shot out as weight pressed on her ribs.

“Fucking bitch!” Tightness clamped over Keeley’s wrists and her arms were pulled up. The fluorescent tubes above her were beginning to spot, sending out darkness instead of glaring white.

“Keeley-” the weight flung off her, rolling her as she curled in. Laying on her side, Keeley’s airways finally relented. She tugged breath in, feeling it ice the heat in her chest. The dark spots melted and Keeley blinked to find the soldier on the floor with Roy holding him down.

“Go!” Roy begged, feeling his hands tremble around the soldier’s as they wrestled. Their once faceless tormentor snarled at him, twisting his amber eyes. He gritted his teeth and wrenched to the side, pulling Roy’s clamped fists along. The coach fumbled- trying to stay up- and was stuck watching as an elbow came up and swung across.

Roy flung to the side, bruised cheek exploding. His hands flinched away, protecting his bursting skull. A fist buried into his gut. Reeling, Roy was shoved aside and discarded onto the floor, coughing and bursting for breath. Desperate footsteps clawed away.

In the distance somewhere, Roy hoped he heard someone clattering up the stairs.

“Shit!” the soldier spat as the clawing footsteps were broken by a heavy thud.

Jamie retracted his foot from the hall as shards stung their way up his shin. The soldier snarled from the floor, already pushing up. He crawled as he slowly righted himself- launching after Keeley. “Fuck-” Jamie gave chase, but every step he took bounced his shoulder, pulling on the weak bone and stretched skin. The soldier disappeared around the corner, thundering up the stairs as air blew by Jamie.

Roy fought against the hall, shooting himself to the stairs. He swung around the baluster and took the steps two- three at a time.

A familiar old ache struggled up from his knee. He never gave in, ploughing through and yanked on by Keeley’s yell:

“Fuck!” She was flung forward- a hand in her neck and a knee on her calf. The keys went flying as she planted her elbows to protect her stabbing ribs from the floor. She heard the metal slide away and jangle to a stop against Rebecca’s door. The angry grip on the base of her neck shoved her down- into her scraped elbows. The soldier launched up, scrambling forward but Keeley struck out, catching a heavy green boot in her hand.

The soldier stumbled as Keeley heaved.

Thundering footsteps cluttered behind her, along with Roy's panting.

“Keys!” she panicked as the boot tore the skin off her fingers to wrench free. Roy jumped over her and collided with the soldier’s back, launching them into the wall. Keeley didn’t stay to watch, pushing up and scrambling for the keys.

She snatched them off the floor with shaking hands, twisting through the bunch for the one she needed: Nickel silver with a round open head and long blade. A claw latched out- Keeley flinched away. The hand was dragged back. She glimpsed Roy’s desperate eyes before an elbow snatched him to the side. Keeley found the right key and jammed it into the lock.

It clicked open.

“NO-” the soldier wrung in Roy’s grip and lashed out again, catching Roy in his gut again and sending him to the side. Roy dug his nails in, trying to catch the retreating body, but only managed to collect skin.

He fell against the wall, eyes spinning as he tried to watch Keeley fling the door open. The soldier grabbed her. She yelled out and kicked, catching a shin and tumbling them into Rebecca’s office.

Roy set his bloody teeth and ground away his aches and nausea, shoving off the wall. He shouldered the doorway on his desperate crash in, using it to keep himself from toppling onto Keeley.

She’d landed on her side next to the coffee table- the soldier on top of it, just at the edge. He rolled off, landing on top of Keeley and straddling her fighting limbs to the floor.

Roy surged to her- stopped by Keeley’s command: “The mirror!”

He listened- eyes jumping around the room. Leaning against the wall to his right, he found the tall reflection, framed by a royal blue. He dashed for it.

The soldier let Keeley go. Contorted with vicious desperation, he lunged.

Roy yanked the mirror off the wall, letting gravity pull it to its doom.

The soldier reached out, claws going gentle to catch his own life.

Keeley knew he’d catch it.

She saw nothing but the unrelenting hate warping the young soldier’s face. She heard nothing but Roy’s hitched and broken breath. She felt nothing but the panic and aches that wrenched through her body. She tasted metal and she smelled iron and she thought:

‘I know when to end things.’

The soldier thudded on his stomach as he caught the mirror, hovering it above him just as Keeley found a metal handle by the coffee table: A dustpan holding the remains of a broken glass.

Keeley clamped around it and rolled on her stomach- imploding her panging ribs. She slid it across, under her chin, and smashed it into the mirror the soldier held up for her.

“NO-” he roared, reaching an arm out to stop the glass. It cut over him, drawing thin red lines like the floor of the locker room. Only the dustpan hit the arm and fell away, but with Keeley's force, the glass shards pointed and struck.

The transparent pieces hit their reflections, spidering across the mirror. The crack chimed as the new shards broke free and followed their makers to the floor.

Keeley darted her eyes to the soldier but found only dust. The broken glass trickled before the mirror frame thudded down and hid it all.

12 PM

Jamie limped for the open doorway, finding a scattering of dust leading up to a down-faced mirror frame. Keeley gingerly pushed herself off her stomach, panting. Roy- face bloody and red- fell back against the wall.

Somewhere in the distance- between the pouring and the clattering of the storm- Jamie heard sirens. Keeley froze, head picking up as she glimmered- with hope Jamie thought, or maybe pride. He didn't care: Too lost in his swell of fresh relief.

No one was going to die tonight.

Roy spat blood on the floor and grinned: “Tell Isaac we found the fucking dustpan.”

Chapter Text

4 PM

He hadn't died.

Even better than that, Colin was awake. He was lying in a hospital bed, casted arm soothed by painkillers and the other holding a rehydrating IV. Before that, he’d laid on an operating table, drugged out so he could be opened up and realigned. Before that, he'd been strapped to a stretcher, muzzled by an oxygen mask and needled for a blood transfusion.

It seemed too crazy and it seemed too simple, but at least it seemed over.

“Here are your belongings,” the nurse said, placing the five plastic bags on the table by the wall between the two rows of beds. “There are some forms down by the reception that you’ll need to fill out before we release you. If you prefer, I can also have them brought up here.”

“We’re fine to go down,” Keeley answered for Jamie and Roy too.

Colin glanced at Isaac in the bed beside him. They had to stay another night because concussions and severe blood loss needed extra monitoring. At least they weren't alone.

The captain had his ankle in a brace and two crutches leaned against his bed. A square bandage stuck to the back of his head, hiding the stitches and the shave the doctors had subjected him to. Colin was preparing to sympathise with a month-long series of hair complaints.

As the nurse smiled and walked out, Roy dropped Isaac’s and Colin’s respective bags on the foot of their beds. The gaffer had a swollen face, purple and blue spotting all over. His lip was split and a small cut spliced his cheekbone. He’d shown Jamie’s shoeprint on his chest and the fist mark beside it, but luckily none of the bruising went deeper than his skin.

Keeley wasn't as fortunate. She picked up her bag and followed Roy out the door, taking slow and calculated steps. Her bruised ribs were wrapped and she had been given a box of stronger painkillers so she wouldn’t overdose on ibuprofen. She had another bruise: A patch on her elbow, tinting a tad darker than her skin and shaped sickeningly like a hand. At least the cut on her forehead hadn’t required stitches.

“Hold on,” Jamie complained, snatching his bag and following suit. He wore a navy blue sling- a type Colin hadn't seen before. It was a strap that held his right hand, went over his left shoulder, came across his back and hooked around his right elbow. The shoulder didn't hang from his clavicle anymore, but didn't look much better either. It was blue and black, swollen as if trying to grow a brain.

As the door fell shut, leaving the three beds on the other side of the room empty, Colin tugged his plastic bag onto his lap. His green sweater was on top, neatly folded as though the big brown blots were in fashion. Using his teeth he undid the seal, peering in at his coat and jeans. Pushing the clothes aside he found his keys, wallet and phone. Grimacing at its cracked screen, he pressed the home button.

“Fucking hell…” The picture of his car was completely obscured by boxes: seventy one WhatsApp messages, missed calls, Snapchats, Instagram posts, dm’s, emails and... Voicemails?

“What?” Isaac murmured.

“Who the fuck still leaves voicemails?” Colin wondered aloud. He opened his phone to see that fifty nine of the WhatsApp notifcations were from Michael. His thumb jittered and he became claustrophobically aware of the IV needle in his arm. With the rattle between his ears, it was impossible to figure out in what scenario Michael would've texted him so much.

“People too old or too drunk or too sad to hang up.”

Colin thought he heard words, but they didn’t seem to store anywhere or mean anything. He pressed Michael’s name.

Missed call

Deleted message

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Deleted message

Missed call

Deleted message

Deleted message

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Deleted message

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Colin scrolled but it didn’t end. He swiped but it didn’t end. He raked viciously until the screen finally bounced on the bottom of the wall:

Deleted message

Deleted message

I’m sorry. I got too drunk last night and there are some things I’m no good at that I should’ve talked to you about. I get if you’re angry or upset with how distant I’ve been and I'm sorry. Can we talk about it?

Or at least let me know you’re ok

I’m sorry if it’s selfish

The storm just scared me

Colin stared at the proof that their break-up had been the soldier’s taunt after all. How come it didn't wash him with relief? His breath clogged his throat as he pressed the textbox and started to type:

I’m

At the hospital receiving nutrition from a plastic bag. He hovered over the ‘o’ and the ‘k’, so conveniently above each other on the keyboard that even one-handed he could easily tap them.

“Bruv? You alright?”

Colin dragged his eyes from his stuttering message. Isaac was frowning at him, eyes noting Colin's hovering fingers and worried expression.

Sure, Colin was alright, but only in the sense that he wasn’t dead- which he well could’ve been. Relatively, he was doing fine but saying he was doing okay would be lying. 

“Is a message with ‘I’m okay considering everything’ more or less worrying than just sending ‘I’m alive’?”

Isaac's eyes narrowed, thinking shortly enough that maybe he had the information stored somewhere and wasn’t deducing it on the spot. “The first one is more worrying and can come across as accusative. The second has an unserious tone,” he stated before his reassuring confidence dimmed. Quieter, he asked: “Michael?”

Colin nodded. “Then what do I send him?”

Isaac smirked a little. “Nothing,” he stated, ditching his plastic bag and swinging his legs off his bed. He reached for his crutches, advising: “You call him.”

Colin's ears imitated Michael’s voice. It was soothing, then stressful. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” Isaac put his hands through the cuffs of the crutches.

“Boyo, your leg is-”

“Fucking lazy.” He pushed off the bed. “Doctor said I gotta keep moving, mate.”

Colin didn’t have to know body science to see that Isaac was giving him privacy. “You really don’t have to.”

Isaac focused on swinging himself between his crutches, making his way to the door without hesitation.

“I can just text him,” Colin tried, “It can wait.”

Isaac clattered over the threshold and threw over his shoulder: “Call him!” He disappeared into the hall.

Colin sighed and fell onto the hospital’s hefty pillow. He begged the ceiling to stop coming down on him and the floor to let him sink through. He wanted to do this. He needed to know what was going on with Michael- whether he was okay- but how would he explain everything that happened? What if Michael did want to break up? What would Colin say? ‘I’m alright considering everything’?

Letting his frustrated head lie, Colin forced the phone up and back into his view. He lingered over the call button, gravity trying to press the sensing screen into his thumb.

Voicemails, Colin remembered. It must’ve been Micheal that left those voicemails. Surely if he wanted to break up he’d mention it in his drunk messages, right?

He should’ve thought about it longer than he did. He should've considered whether Michael wanted him to hear those voicemails- but before he could think to, he was guessing his passcode and pressing the phone to his ear.

You have- three- new messages. First message:

The automation cut off, replaced by clumsy, intimate shuffling and a long breath.

‘Colin… Love?’ Michael’s recording scraped. He sounded hoarse and his usual enunciation started to slur. ‘I lied to you. I could’ve made it home for dinner but I just didn’t.’ Colin closed his eyes, trying to hear something other than static. Maybe a reason or an accusation, but when Michael’s slur finally returned, he stated: ‘They kicked me out of the bar before the storm got worse. I’m at home-’ A muffled inhale broke his words. Colin thought he was about to be asked over, but found the message only consisted of statements. ‘Happy anniversary,’ Michael whispered, ‘I love you.’

A click broke off the static and the heavy alcoholic breaths Colin could smell through the phone.

To delete this message, press one.

To save this message, press two.

To replay this message, press three.

Colin hovered. Hating that he had to decide something like that when all he wanted to do was hear the next one. He tapped two- keep Michael’s admission of love- and returned the phone to his ear.

Message saved. Next message:

‘Colin!’ Michael burst, voice swinging and happy. ‘You should be here, Col! I was being dumb because I thought you were one of those guys who supepper- supper- surp pressed themselves for so long that when they say they love me they just mean that I'm a pretty secret. And I do make a pretty pretty secret,’ Michael giggled at himself as Colin wracked with guilt, stomach rolling. ‘I was yours too. A pretty pretty secret. Shhh.’

Through Michael’s snickers, Colin pulled his knees up and hunched himself over them, trying to soothe his nausea.

‘But so- I thought you wouldn't like the big gay celebrations. Nobody before you did- they got so mad. Colin, they got so mad…’ Michael’s voice had gone soft, moved away from the phone and Colin wished he'd come closer again. He wished he'd been there and told Michael something beautiful and happy. Something soothing and true.

‘I have a secret, love,’ Michael hushed. ‘My type: I like closeted jocks. You’re all so fit and bigger than life but also so small and scared. You’re all so scared, Col. And I love pulling at fear. I love taking it away. Maybe it's wrong- Maybe it's a fixing people complex- I don't know. But there's something so amazing in seeing someone become real. You're real.' Michael grieved, 'You're real-er than me.’

Colin sat still, heart knocking on his frozen lungs.

‘I think sometimes,' Michael sniffed. The phone rustled. He whispered: 'I think maybe I’m scared and small too.’

Click.

To delete this message, press one.

To save this message…

Colin let his arm fall to the bed, automation muffling into the mattress. He dropped his head onto his knee, groaning out the guilt that worked to vomit out all his organs. Michael had been pulling away. He was hurting. He was struggling, but Colin was so occupied with blaming himself that he hadn't been there. Of course, he wasn't the only one with insecurities and shitty past relationships and homophobia and fear.

He’d been unfair, comparing Micheal to the tenacity and surety of the sea. He was a person, not unscarred by life, love, and people. They'd been relying on his confidence for too much and now…

Muffled against the sheets the robotic voice repeated itself, impatient. Colin remembered that there was a final message. He swallowed away his organs, trying to get them out of his throat. They went down but sat uncomfortably. It was good enough. He picked the phone from the bed and pressed one.

To confirm press one. To save-

Colin pressed one. That confession was Michael’s to have, not Colin's.

Message deleted. Next message:

Rain clattered through the line. Colin shut his eyes as he waited for Michael’s voice.

‘Colin?’ The rain poured. ‘Did you pick up?’

His question slurred together, a hoarse high pitch shaking it.

‘I don't know where you are but it's really bad out there and the longer you don't answer me-’ Michael’s voice went taut and broke. By the shots of exhales and inhales, Colin knew he was crying. He sniffed: ‘The longer you don't answer me, the more I imagine.’

‘Like: Did you go somewhere with that fucking car? Was the storm enough to make you fully lose control of it? Are you somewhere hanging over your steering wheel and bleeding into your lap? Did the lightning get you? Or the wind? Are you just at home and angry at me? Please tell me you're at home and angry at me,’ Michael disappeared in a hush of hiccuping sobs.

All Colin could do was sit there. He sweated under the sounds, body burning and compressing for the landfill where he belonged for this alone.

The cries eased. Colin listened to the millions of raindrops land and break, afraid to move until Michael spoke again, raspy and small:

‘When the thunder got so loud that my ears rang, there was this… this second of silence before I could hear the rain again, you know? And all I could think was if you were here, I’d still hear you. Like… Like my phone could block you out and work can and a wall can and my brain can, but thunder couldn't. My ears couldn't. Except I didn't hear you. I didn't hear you, Col. I didn't hear anything at all. And… don't cut me off, please pho-’

Click.

To delete this message, press-

Colin hung up the phone.

He couldn't afford to be insecure about the two of them anymore. Not for everything. Sometimes he had to be the sea that Micheal could crash into. He could steady them if only he let go and trusted Micheal's love for what he should know it to be:

True.

He returned to Michael's contact and pressed call.

After signing all the forms, Roy put on the clothes Rebecca’d brought. He sent her a mental thanks when the grey sweatpants didn’t float above his ankles but met the laces on his sneakers. The white shirt was plain- which Roy appreciated, but it still wasn’t black- which made him itchy.

His face pulsed and his fists were fucked. His knuckles were littered with cuts and scrapes. Blue wormed over his middle finger, from between the lowest knuckles up to the middle bend where it faded in a purple circle. Closing his fist sent dull stings down the lengths of his fingers. For some reason, he enjoyed seeking it out. 

He waved the intensity off his hand and looked ahead. Toward him in the hall swung a sturdy figure hanging off crutches. Roy narrowed his eyes and as they neared, he burst: “The fuck are you doing walking around?”

Several nurses in the hall flinched and sighed at Roy while Isaac slowed and shrugged. “Good for me, innit?”

Roy glowered. Isaac wasn’t all wrong. Any footballer knew movement was important for injury recovery, but after all the shit they’d gone through, Isaac’s ankle was the last thing that needed accommodation. Especially when he must still be reeling from his concussion. “We’re going back,” Roy announced and glared at Isaac to turn around.

“Can’t,” Isaac stayed. “Colin’s talking to Michael and with the IV he can’t really-”

“Then sit,” Roy suffered, pointing at a row of mint-coloured plastic chairs that were attached to the wall by a metal snake.

Isaac grumbled while he did as he was told, leaning the crutches against the wall beside him. Roy dropped into an adjoining chair, having nowhere else to go and deciding that Isaac needed looking after. The plastic was hard and bulged under his weight- much like the blue chairs that loomed over the Dog Track.

“How’s your head?”

“Annoying.”

“The light bothering you?”

“Only when I close my eyes and remember how great darkness is.”

“Then close your eyes.”

“No. I’ll fall asleep.”

“Alright-” Roy pushed up. “I’m taking you back to the beds.”

Not even Isaac's half-lidded eyes moved at the command.

Roy might've shaken him if it weren't for the concussion. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m going to," Isaac groaned. "But he needs a second and I’m trying to respect his privacy, innit.” His words were as stubborn as his frozen body, sagged so far down that the plastic chair looked comfortable.

Roy gave in. He returned to his seat, feeling it awkwardly press back even as it bulged. It wasn't anything near comfortable, so Roy chalked Isaac's resistance to moving onto something else: “You and Colin still arsing about then?”

“No, we’re good,” Isaac’s voice droned, before muttering: “I think.”

Roy leaned back and turned to Isaac. He waited, trying to give him space. The captain looked back, blankly. Roy raised his eyebrows, growing impatient. Isaac frowned.

“Fucking,” Roy frustrated, waving his hand, “talk about it- Jesus.” He wished Ted would come back and take all this over again.

Isaac’s frown smoothed. He shrugged. “I just did what you said, yeah? I figured out where I fucked up and apologized and shit.”

Roy grunted, grateful that Isaac didn’t reject him. “But?”

Isaac fidgeted, pulling himself up in the seat. He looked down the hall, away from Roy. He dragged his shoulders up and sighed. “I’m still a piece of shit.”

Fucking great. Isaac had been one of the few of them with a healthy self-image and now he’d fallen to Roy’s level. The manager rolled with his dread and incredulity, knowing that arguing on behalf of them would only frustrate Isaac. He stuck to practicalities: “Is he pissed at you?”

“No, but he should be.”

“Fucking why?” Roy burst, his assessment immediately becoming moot as his incredulity argued. “Don't you remember all the shit that happened and everything you did to get us out of there?”

Isaac spun around and glared. “I didn’t do-”

“You’re the one who figured out that there was a shapeshifter. You understood everything I asked of you from the fucking signal to my bullshit speech in the treatment room. You got up from the floor and duck-taped that asshole to a chair. You stopped Colin’s bleeding. You saw when I lost my shit and you stood up to me about it- Jesus, Isaac. You did everything you could to get us out of there until you couldn’t fucking stand anymore. This is the kind of shit I’m talking about when I say I could never be the captain you-”

“I’m not. I’m shit mate and I’m a shit captain. I’m fucking…” Isaac shook his head at himself, murmuring at the floor, “I don’t know what I am.”

“You don’t think I painted a pretty good fucking picture?”

“It was bullshit,” Isaac scoffed. “It’s easy to just name the good stuff we did when-”

“Is it? Is it fucking easy? ‘Cause then we sure as fuck don’t do it a lot.” Roy saw the words bounce off Isaac’s ears and land on his shoulders- as if those weren’t burdened enough. He slumped under the weight, not wearing it proudly like he used to.

Roy didn’t know the situation and for the first time, he felt like he wanted to. He wanted to know what lost Isaac the certainty that Roy’d never quite managed for himself. But Isaac had made it pretty clear that it wasn’t so much the mistake as it was the reoffending.

Maybe there were no practicalities here that Roy could stick to. Maybe he had to rely on his incredulity and dread. After all, he knew the feeling he was playing against.

“We all lose things.” It spilled and Roy thought he’d hate himself more for it. Instead, he liked the taste- the spicy strength of the words he’d been haunted with, expelled by his own tongue. “But we find things all the time too. We think that our lives are short but it’s enough fucking time to always be changing.”

He thought about his grandfather. He thought about his career. He thought about Keeley.

“Like when you’ve lost something? It also means there’s something to find. When you’ve grown as a person, it means there used to be mistakes and that there’s room for them again. There has to be fucking room for them again because if you can’t keep going between mistakes and growth, you’ll get stuck. That’s just how it is. We barely get to control anything but we do have this back-and-forth-changing bullshit. And if you’re afraid to go one way, you can’t go the other way either. You’d be stuck, standing there and that sounds boring as shit.”

He studied Isaac’s hesitant glancing, finding insecurity where it didn’t belong. “If you don’t know who you are, Isaac, then there’s only one fucking way to go.”

“I won’t like what I find.”

Roy scoffed: “Yeah, you fucking will.”

“And if I don’t?” Isaac insisted and Roy couldn’t fault him for the fear. Being stuck was safer than being lost. The unmoving fatalism had a tough shell whereas the sincere wandering was left open and fragile.

Roy peeled at his own shell, finding the sore spots in his body: The depth of his stomach, the back of his mind, the knuckles of his fists. It was all littered with inconsolable aching and simmering hatred. He imagined them settling, loving and safe like the deep colour of his eyes, the strong heels of his feet, and open palms of his hands. He told Isaac: “Only one fucking way to go.”

“Hey,” Michael answered, voice filled with breathy relief and quieting embarrassment.

“I love you,” tumbled from Colin. He cringed at himself but figured with an awkward start, he might as well commit: “I’m sorry that I didn't ask you why you were pulling away. I didn't ask if you were okay or if you wanted to talk about it. I just assumed that you were pulling away from me and that I should let you. I was so busy letting you leave me and being insecure that I never thought maybe you’re scared too. Maybe no one fucking knows how to trust someone and be in love and celebrate anniversaries. Maybe not even straight people- let alone us. I really fucking love you, Michael and I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I didn’t believe that you love me. I’m sorry I didn't talk to you. I’m sorry that I ever thought you were one of those cowards who ghost instead of break up. I'm sorry I didn't plan something for our anniversary. I’m sorry that I couldn't pick up last night and I…” His words stuttered, mind empty. “That's as far as I thought, but if you give me a second I'm sure I’ll realise more.”

“Shit...” groaned over the phone. In the confusion, Colin’s mind lost its search for decelerations, apologies, and realisations. A sleepy, embarrassed and hungover Michael murmured: “I forgot about the voicemails.”

Colin flushed, guilty and a bit giddy at having heard Michael ramble in such a vulnerable state. “Yeah,” he admitted, “the voicemails.”

Michael gave a hum that morphed into a groan. “Can I come over? It's weird to talk about this over the phone.”

“Oh, I’m…” Colin watched his IV snake from his arm to the bag. “I’m not home.”

“Don't tell me that Lambo-”

“It’s a Noble and it wasn’t, okay?” Colin argued, waking from his guilty hush. “It's not always the-”

“It will be. One day. The car or a concussion from your insane job or a weight falling on your-”

“I doubt you saw this one coming.”

The phone consumed Colin’s words, leaving nothing but anxious silence. He shouldn’t have said that.

Michael finally broke the air as worried as Colin had feared: “Where are you?”

Colin dropped his head and apologised: “Thamesview Hospital.”

“Fucking hell, Col-” Movement blew against the phone. “Are you alright? Will they let me in to see you?”

“I think so,” Colin answered both questions.

“I'll be there in twenty.”

Through the hospital’s shit wifi and Zoom’s shit quality, crackled: “Stop me if you disagree.”

“I will,” Jamie duh’ed, priding himself on his complexity as Dr Sharon leaned into the screen. She’d contacted all of them to offer her services at some point that morning- probably prompted by Rebecca- and Jamie figured he’d give it a go as Colin had suggested. Partially because there was a shit-load to talk about now. At least he'd thought so, but once Jamie found a plastic chair in a quiet hallway and joined the call, he didn’t so much as mention the night before.

“Sometimes our bodies learn to expect pain,” dr Sharon stated. “They can learn that others will hurt them and worry themselves sick over it.” She studied him. Jamie stared back, drumming his foot on the grey stone floor. “You’ve spent a lot of time getting hurt, Jamie.”

He hid from her eyes, shifting his gaze to the bandage covering the palm that held the phone up. It got her sincerity to wash off a bit. She gave him the time and even let him pretend he was just moving his eyes around to think.

Dr Sharon continued: “You taught yourself to hit first and hit harder to avoid and manage that pain. Then you spent a great deal of time letting go of that instinct, taking away the one thing that helped you handle your body’s fear.”

“I’m not afraid,” he interjected. The disconnect of her words had cleared away all the sincerity and made it easy for him to face her again.

Dr. Sharon didn’t look surprised, as calm and in control as ever. She nodded and asked: “What do you feel?”

“Nothing,” Jamie brushed off, trying to hide how true the supposed dismissal was. “But I know that no one around me is trying to hurt me anymore, so why would my body even be… afraid?” he judged the word, not liking the way it clung to his hollowed heart.

Dr Sharon hummed as she nodded. She offered: “Your eyes can be quicker to see something than your body is to trust it.”

Jamie frowned at her.

She watched him before drawing in a breath and going back some steps to ask him: ”What does fear mean to you?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie shrugged, not caring where they were headed because it felt like the wrong path. Dr Sharon stayed silent, making him answer: “Like some girl getting chased by a guy with a chainsaw and she’s all screaming and crying, innit?”

“That’s a type of fear, yes,” she agreed. “And what would the girl look like if she was chased by the guy and the chainsaw every day?”

Jamie huffed a laugh at the ridiculous scenario. He amused: “Probably more- I don’t know- used to it.”

“Do you think she’s no longer afraid?”

Jamie’s stubborn heart stuttered. The direction of dr Sharon’s questions loomed over him in not an entirely unpleasant way. “I guess she’d still be afraid.”

“And if the guy stopped?” Dr Sharon suggested. “How would she feel then?”

Jamie frowned at her, duh’ing: “Happy.”

“What if her body hasn’t realised that the guy has stopped chasing her?” She tilted her head a little, eyes studying him again. She rounded out her thought: “If her body prepared to run for her life every day for no reason, how do you think she would feel?”

A twirl of nausea was somewhere in Jamie’s stomach. He felt feverish but knew it to be nothing more than someone’s burning gaze, seeing right through him. He answered: “Tired.”

Dr Sharon’s studying gaze blinked into softening as she righted her head. “Are you tired, Jamie?”

Jamie’s reliable voice failed him. All he could do was nod.

Keeley changed into the hoodie and sweatpants Rebecca had left at the reception that morning. They were pink and soft and the twelve hours Keeley had slept were suddenly too few. She didn’t bother unknotting her braid, frail and frizzy from the storm, the fight, and the hospital stay. She washed her face with the cool water from the tap. Her makeup had sagged under her eyes but wasn’t moved by her removal attempt and Keeley didn’t care to keep it up. She was tired, so she might as well look it.

Closing the tap, Keeley dried her face on her sleeve. Bending with her knees so her ribs wouldn’t complain, she picked up the plastic bag from the hospital and fished out her phone. She shot Rebecca a thank you and an update on everyone. The club owner responded immediately:

Thank god! Can I come pick you up?

And do the others fit the clothes I brought?

Keeley texted back, throwing her plastic bag into Rebecca’s big shopping one. She walked out of the bathroom.

The receptionist only just gave us your bag

But Roy’s changing so we’ll see

And yes pls!!

She pocketed her phone and rounded the corner to their private ward. Colin was sitting, propped on his unbroken elbow, eyes wide, and neck craning to see her come in.

He deflated. “Oh thank god,” he fell onto his pillow, looking at the recipient of his gratitude high above.

Keeley let out a little chuckle at his odd greeting. She ditched the bag at the foot of Roy’s bed- nearest to the door- and walked to Isaac’s.

“Waiting for someone?” she deduced as she sat on the edge of the captain’s bed to face Colin, who hummed in response.

He turned on his pillow, from god to her and daunted: “Michael’s coming.”

“Michael? I thought he-”

“Wasn’t him.” Colin watched her, seemingly satisfied with his elaboration. Keeley’s mind was wading through mud and the longer she thought the more it seemed like the mud was actually quicksand. Colin pulled her out: “Michael was at a bar leaving me drunk voicemails saying how much he loves me while I was being dumped by-”

“The soldier,” Keeley grimaced.

Dead-eyed, Colin confirmed: “The soldier…”

Heart heavy, Keeley turned to dump her beaten body entirely onto Isaac’s bed. She looked at the ceiling- a grey grid with gross creme-coloured tiles in between. The club had the same ceiling set-up. It was probably the cheapest for bigger buildings. KBPR’s office was sheltered under it too, but the grid and tiles were a clean white. Jack had wanted to take it out and get a proper ceiling, but Keeley didn’t care to wait for pointless construction to get going with her company. She figured eventually Jack would’ve done it anyway.

Their break-up had stung Keeley, leaving a red spot she’d forget not to itch. If she’d gone through that and woken the next morning to find it hadn’t been real, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The spot was there and now pointlessly so. “I can’t decide if the break-up being fake is better or worse.”

“Better,” Colin disagreed, voice lilting with his fondness, “Definitely better.”

Keeley turned to Colin, who was gazing at the ceiling, a small smile softening his bruised cheekbone. “Then why are you so nervous that he’s coming?”

“Because I’m supposed to be…” Colin looked at her, fondness puzzling. “I have to be confident and I don’t know if I can.”

Keeley frowned at him. She couldn’t decide if it was her slow mind failing her again or if Colin had sincerely stopped making sense.

“I have some,” he stumbled to explain. “Sometimes I have trouble believing that someone could- that someone like Michael could…”

Keeley already knew what he was getting at. She hadn't forgotten his resigned admission, so decided to let him fumble and hope he would say something different.

“It’s just so fucked: I doubted Michael and didn’t trust him enough that I believed all the nasty shit the soldier told me. I should’ve at least been worried about him. There was barely a second where I thought: ‘Maybe something is going on with Michael that’s making him act weird’. I just immediately made it about myself and how he’d be right to leave me.”

It sounded different, but Keeley knew it wasn’t. “Because you’re unloveable.”

Ears red, Colin scrunched up his nose and looked away. Though cringing at himself, he didn’t correct her.

Shame had quickly become familiar on Colin. For all the time she’d known him, he’d seemed clueless and impulsive, but maybe that was something he’d calculated to be. He was a body of contradictions: He drove an idiotic car but also kept a close eye on any developments in Welsh politics. His eyes held a blank innocence as he voiced whatever shot into his brain but he also knew and formed opinions on an impressive amount of art history. He had a habit of happily oversharing but managed to remain a closeted footballer for years. Until he impulsively kissed his fella on a football pitch. Whatever he presented as, he loved to refute, but somehow it still surprised Keeley. He looked confident and settled with who he was, but actually, he was just as insecure and ashamed as Roy.

Roy…

Maybe Keeley knew more about all this than she first thought.

“It’s hard when someone doesn’t believe you love them,” she recalled. “Especially when it doesn’t work out and there’s nothing you can do while they watch you with this wounded… ‘I fucking knew it’ look in their eyes. And that comes around so often and so quickly and every time they get so hurt.”

‘It changes how I fucking feel!’ Roy’d screamed through the storm. He’d stood so close and though veiled by the angry streaks of rain, he’d worn that look. That look he’d had when they broke up.

Colin eyeballed her, redness cooling and gaze sympathetic. “Are they still hurt?”

Keeley tugged her lips up, trying to soften the burden of her memory-filled eyes.

Roy leaned into her hand, broken gaze begging over Keeley and raising her goosebumps like the storm couldn't. He laid his own cold hand atop of hers. He looked comfortable there. As if the wind wasn’t twisting their clothes and the rain wasn’t stinging their eyes.

“I think he’s still… working through it. But our shit is out there now and that makes it so much easier to see him around. I don’t feel this burden to prove that I care about him and that I always meant well. That he’s a good person who doesn’t deserve to get hurt or left. Now that I no longer have to prove to him that how it worked out hurt me too, it feels like we both lost something. It feels less lonely.”

“Good.” Colin was smiling gently at her, clearly not reflecting any of what she was saying back onto his own life. He grinned a little more, sparkling as he quipped: “Good ‘cause I don’t wanna be running extra drills over this.”

A chuckle tickled Keeley. She may as well have said Roy’s name it seemed. Colin contented with her laugh, radiant with pride like a younger sibling who was labelled cool by an older one. As sweet and simple as it seemed, Keeley did want him to hear what she was saying.

“Colin,” she settled him. “You want to trust Michael? Be confident in your relationship? Maybe you need to see that you’re a good person so when he treats you like one it doesn’t feel full of shit.”

Colin’s little burst of pride fell away even as his smile stayed, warping ruefully. “Where would I even start?”

She’d have awe’ed him if that wouldn’t likely result in his face turning bright red as he shut off. “Right now,” she answered, “you start by cutting yourself some slack and not trying to take on some big role you don’t feel fit for. The both of you can just be a mess sometimes, ya know? And you don’t need confidence or indestructible trust to cuddle a couple of nights away from all this mad shit.”

Fondness returned to Colin’s rue. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Keeley chirped. She remembered how she’d done the same with Roy when he’d injured his knee and lost his career. He’d been so scared to have her there, already vulnerable enough without feeling the need to measure up to something he’d imagined Keeley wanted. Once he'd let go of that, he stayed with her.

At some point that weekend, she'd come home with strawberries and chocolate. She'd announced that they needed to celebrate the gravestone on Roy’s diet. He’d been on her couch, injured leg stretched out as he’d gazed at her so openly. So unabashedly full of love. “And while you’re at it,” Keeley told Colin, “make sure that when you do believe that you’re loved, you give Michael that giddy ‘I could’ve known’ look too.”

Isaac hauled himself through the hall, certain that his eyes were open but not seeing much. After he almost sagged out of the plastic chair, Roy convinced him that Colin would be done with his call by now and that they should go back.

Rounding the doorway into their ward, Isaac found that Roy was right: Colin’s phone was nowhere in sight as the Welshman stared at their entrance.

Isaac had only a moment to stress before Colin relaxed and offered a smile. Isaac gave a slow nod back- maybe a grunt? He couldn’t quite say but he was sure there was some kind of acknowledgement before he drifted to his bed.

He hit a rock.

Keeley was lying where Isaac was planning to. His brain comprehended this- he thought- but then where was he supposed to lie?

A hand patted his shoulder. “Take mine and sleep,” Roy grunted.

That was fine. Isaac manoeuvred his crutches around and started for Roy’s bed- the one opposite his own.

“You alright, boyo?” Colin worried.

Isaac found the bed and plonked down. He let the crutches hang around his arm as he took a moment to enjoy sitting. His mind floated to the ceiling, happy like the colourful balloons at the hospital gift shop. He readied his energy to curse about his concussions when something louder marched in.

“Hey,” Keeley greeted, “Where’d you disappear off to?”

Isaac twisted his neck to find Jamie walking by. The Mancunian waved his phone: “Talking to dr Sharon.” He walked past Isaac and the empty bed beside him, dropping onto the furthest one by the window.

“How do you feel?” Keeley asked him. Isaac wanted to stay twisted around to read Jamie’s reaction, but the plastic digging into his arms moved. Isaac found his crutches being tugged away by Roy, who leaned them against the bed. “Sleep.”

Isaac hummed and nodded, dropping his upper body and dragging his legs against gravity to roll onto the bed. He closed his eyes just as Jamie worried: “D’you guys think we did the right thing? Getting rid of the soldier?”

“Fuck that,” Roy reflexed, “D’you not remember what your arm looked like?”

“I can still fucking feel it, but…” Isaac didn’t need to open his eyes to see how small Jamie'd made himself on the bed, backlighted by the sun streaming in. “Like- I get that he’s supposed to be dead, yeah? But he never really got to live either.”

The room sat with it. The empty left Isaac only the footsteps from the hallway, muffled conversations, and some distant beeping to analyse. That was, apart from Jamie’s question itself. But Isaac knew where he stood and he was way too tired to be nuanced about it:

Fuck that thief and everything he wanted, everything he’d gone through, and everything he put them through. Fuck all the cruelty he’d sold them. Fuck the sound of mirrors shattering. Fuck the smell of blood. Isaac was glad all of it was done.

But the room around him was silent. He swam out the tide, clawing back to consciousness to guide everyone to sense when quietly, Keeley mourned: “We played God.”

Roy objected: “He wanted to be God.”

“And a shit one at that,” vibrated Isaac’s chest. He should’ve known Roy would see it the same way, so he let himself dwindle back into the ocean.

“He was just running from something,” Jamie argued. “Even when he couldn’t be sure if that thing existed, he was scared.” His voice quieted. Sounding almost like he was pouting, Jamie muttered: “He could’ve become better.”

“Yeah,” Keeley breathed too quickly. “Maybe.”

The ocean dried up and spat him out. Isaac opened his eyes. He found Roy loitering by the doorway, glare pensive.

‘Only one fucking way to go,’ rang through the hospital halls, striking the manager in the back.

If they were allowed to walk roads up and down- change and grow- Why wasn’t the soldier? How could it be okay that they took that chance away when the thief barely had the time to try?

Roy answered: “He’d have killed us long before that.”

Isaac watched Roy's surety. The manager had taken the hit of his own words- his own beliefs- and didn't so much as stumble. And he shouldn't have. He was right.

Isaac’s eyes drifted shut.

Blood-coated plastic bag in hand, face swollen with bruises, and borrowed clothes itching, Roy felt like he was walking out of a precinct. He was glad not to trudge it alone, bordered by Keeley and Jamie. He wondered when they would be making the trip to the police.

Whether they’d be making one.

The press would be on them for answers. As would their families and friends- the fucking team- but was being honest worth sounding insane?

Was it beyond sounding? Had they actually all gone insane?

For now, at least, Roy was happy to blame the storm or some gas leak or the moon and move on- walk out of the hospital.

“Fuck,” Jamie sighed on his right, “I’m so excited to go back to sleep.”

Roy hummed along, seeing his beautiful bed shine, so soft and odourless.

They reached the glass revolving door, Keeley and Jamie going in the first and leaving Roy to take the next. He watched them through the glass, shuffling behind the slow door and hearing the muffled tones of their relieved conversation.

Roy didn’t feel nauseous. His heart didn’t twist. His anger didn’t bubble. He felt melancholic or maybe nostalgic as the two of them stepped out into the cool natural light and the wind lifted their hair in the same wave. He wasn’t relieved or even caught out when they slowed and turned back, waiting for him. Of course, they waited for him.

A chill wafted through the opening as the door continued to rotate. Roy stepped out, hair and cheeks tickled by the wind. The entrance murmured with people, cars coming into the parking lot or dropping people off.

“It’s cold, innit?” Jamie greeted.

“It’s England,” Roy answered.

“It’s refreshing,” Keeley calmed.

It was so ridiculously ordinary that Roy wanted to laugh and sob and curse and sing.

Keeley picked her phone from her pocket, announcing: “Rebecca’s almost here.”

“Oh yeah-” Jamie inflected like that was something he’d forgotten to remember. “Hold on.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed something. Stepping away and pressing the device to his ear, Jamie stared off at the spacious parking lot beside the tall square stone that held the hospital.

Roy sauntered on, out of the door’s way and toward the kerb that curled by the pick-up and drop-off zone. Keeley joined him, striding around puddles together. She was quiet and Roy wanted to blame exhaustion but he knew she’d been her warm brand of talkative not an hour ago.

Jamie’s odd inflexions started up somewhere behind them.

‘He could’ve become better.’

‘Yeah,’ Keeley’d breathed, frowning at the hospital sheets, ‘Maybe.’

She was frowning still. Roy nudged her with his elbow. “Don’t feel bad for ending that motherfucker.”

She huffed and looked at him, frown deepening. “‘Course I feel bad.”

"Fuck that." Roy stopped her by stopping himself. She pivoted to face him as he baffled: “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” she seemingly agreed, but her patient eyes told Roy it wasn’t so simple. “It being the right thing just isn’t enough to feel good about it. Not yet, anyway.”

Roy’s instinct was not to understand her. What could make someone feel better than doing the right thing? But there was a naivety in that sentiment that he’d been through too much to support. Instead, he shut his mouth and followed her to the pick-up point.

She slowed, toeing the kerb. Beside them, a grey lady in a wheelchair was rolled to a silver Toyato Prius. A blonde twenty-something-year-old woman walked around and held the door open with her ankle. She manoeuvred the old lady into the passenger’s seat. It was practiced and clumsy and once done, the blonde cracked her back.

“You ready to leave this dreaded place, moppy?” she panted and cheered the old lady, who chuckled. “Oh, yes. I’m not dying here- no, no. Not me, dear.”

The blonde laughed as she bent back down and fought the wheelchair into folding. She picked it up and limped with it to the boot. She shoved it away and smashed the boot shut. With a hand on the tailgate, she paused and closed her eyes, shoulders and smile dropping. She inhaled through her nose.

The grey lady fiddled with her seat belt, grin keeping.

The blonde blew the air out of her mouth, eyes opening brightly and pose repolishing. She strode to the driver’s seat.

Through the car’s windshield, Roy watched them chatter before the two women stuck a middle finger at the grey building and lurched off.

He stuck his cold hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and followed the Toyota’s retreat. “Thanks for looking out for us,” he said to the blonde beside him. “Bandaging us up, getting help, coming back, killing that soldier and- fuck, everything.” The Prius had disappeared around the corner, but Roy looked anyway. “Thank you.”

An elbow nudged his and Roy obliged. Keeley looked up at him, glowing like she was supposed to. She had a playful twist to her smile as she half-teased: “Thanks for letting me.”

Roy shrugged, trying to move the nervous rock rattling in his lungs. “It was the right thing to do.” As he said it, he thought maybe he did understand what she’d told him about right things and feeling good.

Last night, when he’d been stuck behind the gate and forced to watch her disappear in the rain, he’d cried. Not for long. Not dramatically. But back inside, he’d dragged the fragility around with him: As sticky, frustrating and heavy as his drenched clothes.

Maybe it was the talk he’d had with Isaac after. Maybe it was because they were all going to be okay. Or maybe it was the refreshing England air, but Roy didn’t feel like crying anymore. He felt fragile but cherished. He felt good.

Arms reached under his elbows and wrapped around his back. Keeley pressed close, ear against his chest and head under Roy’s chin. He retracted his still cold hands from his pockets and surrounded her, arms circling her shoulders to avoid her bruised back. He pulled her close as the wind brushed around them.

He wanted to say ‘I love you’ but he thought she knew. All voicing it would do was make her nudge away and doubt whether he’d let her go.

But as he saw a black Rolls Royce pull up, he did exactly that. Keeley's arms hesitated, until she followed his eyes to the road.

The menacing black car was usually driven by a suit-wearing chauffeur but today the driver’s door opened to reveal a club owner. “Jesus, you two look like shit.”

“Rebecca-” Keeley cheered and the two of them met by the car grill to envelop each other.

Roy glanced over as Jamie joined him on the kerb, pocketing his phone.

“Alright, get in- sit down,” Rebecca fussed over Keeley, who happily walked to the passenger’s side. The club owner stayed by the hood to ask: “Do you two need a lift?”

Roy declined: “My sister’s on her way.”

“Jamie?”

“Ah nah, don’t worry,” he told his boss. “Called me dad.”

Roy spun on him, but Jamie glowed with mischievous pride and any worry settled right back down. “Prick.”

“Not funny,” Keeley grinned, letting go of the door handle to smack Jamie across his good arm. Jamie beamed at her and Keeley grinned. She swung an elbow over his good shoulder to hold him. Jamie curled his arm across her upper back and settled his chin by her neck. “Get home safe,” she told him before letting go and extending to Roy: “You too.”

“You first,” Jamie answered for them and they stepped back as Keeley carefully lowered herself into the seat. She and Rebecca waved and the black car followed the bend back to the road.

“Uncle Roy!” came from the other direction. A red family-sized Honda drove up with a blonde girl waving out the window of the passenger side.

The car stopped in front of them and Roy stepped forward just as Phoebe threw off her seatbelt. He leaned in and she leapt up.

“Come here,” Roy whooped as she hugged him through the window frame. He hoisted her out of the car and she giggled in his ear as he swung her around.

It hurt like hell, but he didn't give a shit.

He set her down on the pavement and she grimaced at him. “You look really ugly.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t fight.” A car door smashed shut behind him. “Next time you get hurt you do it when I’m working,” his sister commanded, marching over with a strict look. The moment she could reach him though, she engulfed him in a hug too. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Roy grunted as they hugged. “But I’m fine.”

She moved back, holding him by his shoulders to look over the bruises on his face.

“Really,” he assured.

“If Dr. Herald gave you any scans I want to see them too.”

“That nurse friend of yours already looked them over.”

“What did she say?”

“That I'm fine.”

“Okay then,” she gave a small smile and squeezed his arms. “Let’s get you home.” She turned back to the car. “Come on, Phoebe.”

A little hand took Roy’s. “Because you're sick, you have to sit in the front.”

“Yeah- I was going to sit in the fucking front.”

He glanced to see if his cursing had been caught, but Phoebe was beaming up at him so he figured he’d gotten away with it. Or more likely she was letting him have it.

She twirled and hopped into the back seat as Roy reached for the passenger’s door handle.

“See you,” Jamie bid behind him, making Roy twist back.

The Mancunian was already trudging away.

“The fuck are you going?” Roy spat.

Jamie pivoted back, duh’ing: “To wait for my mum.”

Roy stared at the dimwit. “It’s a four-hour drive from Manchester.”

“Which is why I was gonna sit down.”

“Get in the car, dickhead.”

“But mum’s already-”

“Tell her to pick you up from my place.” Roy opened his door and sat down.

“Jamie’s coming?” excited from the back seat.

“Yeah, Jamie’s coming.” Roy pulled his door shut and as expected, an unapologetic footballer dropped onto the back seat.

As the car pulled away, Phoebe greeted: “What happened to your arm?”

“Your uncle tried to play doctor,” Jamie quipped and Roy could hear the tongue in his cheek.

Roy clenched his pained jaw as he watched the road move around them. It was fine. They were fine. He hadn't done any long-term damage. He’d only put Jamie through hell because he'd been ignorant and daft.

“He’s not very good at that,” Phoebe agreed, voice grimacing. “One time he put the stethoscope on my heart and just said: ‘You’re dead.’”

A small gleeful huff came from behind Roy’s headrest. In the side mirror, he saw the outside of the backseat window. Richmond’s stone houses blended in the reflection, letting only Jamie’s outline through.

They were fine, Roy reminded himself. They were out.

“But it’s okay,” Phoebe continued. “He’s good at other stuff.”

Jamie nodded, “That’s true.”

“He’s good at playing house,” Phoebe chatted, “and playing princess and dragons. And restaurant and superhero and firefighter-”

“You ever play manager with him?”

Roy let his pounding jaw go. He thought he saw Jamie look back through the mirrors, but that could've been a window reflecting the sun. Roy didn't move in any case, awaiting Jamie’s intention.

Phoebe perplexed: “No.”

“Well he’s good at that one too.”

"Prick," Roy murmured, but he couldn't help looking to the road ahead and loving it, easing for the rest of the way. They were out. They were fine. Roy had gone around thanking the people that got them there and maybe Jamie had a point. Maybe he belonged on that list too.

Colin had already gotten his heart hammering twice for nothing so when he heard footsteps approaching the room again, he decided that his dizzying heartbeat was being dramatic.

Michael turned the corner and froze.

Even hungover and rushed he dressed neat. He wore clean black jeans, white sneakers with the laces untied, and a navy crewneck. He stood small, looking uncomfortable, and squinted a little, accentuating the bags under his eyes.

“Coli-”

“Shh,” he bobbed his head at Isaac’s sleeping form. The fucker hadn’t even gotten under the covers before he conked out and he deserved to sleep through the headache he must have.

Micheal followed the nod and furrowed his brows at Isaac. He turned it onto Colin. The squint had gone, pulling his eyes down and open as they roamed over the bed: from the bandaged arm to the IV line to the plastic bag and the scrubs. He looked sombre and Colin felt a hot flush curl from his cheeks up his earlobes. He’d felt guilty before, but now he felt ugly and demanding. He felt cruel. He lowered his head, trying to hide from the burn and watching his hands fidget with the sheets.

His brain pulsed with his heart when sure thuds picked up and neared him.

His hands stopped fidgeting as the approach built. He dared a glance up as Michael took his final step. Warm hands cupped Colin’s flushed face, asking him not to duck away again as Michael leaned in. His dark eyes were still down but maybe Colin had misread the sombre. From so close, Michael looked relieved more than he did sad; He looked worried, not defeated; He looked with love, not grief. Let alone with blame.

Colin felt him inhale and watched him falter, but Michael didn’t have to say anything. Tilting his chin and leaning closer, Colin closed his eyes and met Michael’s lips- or maybe Michael met his. It was hard to tell and hardly mattered as they kissed, relieved and exhausted- familiar and sweet.

Even as they fell away, they tilted and rested their foreheads against each other, sharing air.

“I love you too,” Micheal whispered. “Over the phone, I never told you that I love you too.”

Colin glowed, giddy. He thought about what Keeley'd told him but so close, he couldn’t give Michael any kind of look without going cross-eyed. He smiled instead and whispered back: “I know.”

10 PM

Isaac had woken up thrice already and he’d regretted it more each time. Everything bonked and bounced as if the people upstairs were having a fratbro party. Their horrible and repetitive music shook the room and their lights flashed through the holes in the ceiling to stab Isaac. Unconsciousness would be a kindness but he was irrefutably and hopelessly awake. He groaned at his predicament.

“You alright?”

“Jesus bruv-” Isaac sprung up, hushing back to Colin: “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” amused back. Isaac blew the panic out as he looked for Colin in the dark. He was lying on his side in the bed across the room, making Isaac spin for a moment.

Right. He’d slept in Roy’s bed.

But that didn't explain why Colin was suddenly such a great hunchback. Glaring, Isaac picked the grainy pixels apart, finding that the spot wasn't attached to Colin. It was another head.

It had worked out with Michael then. Isaac whispered: “He was allowed to stay past visiting hours?”

“I guess.” Colin smirked through the dark: “We’re rich and gay so they were probably too afraid of a lawsuit to kick him out.”

A grin widened Isaac’s face.

“How’s your head?”

“Better,” Isaac admitted. The party upstairs was drying out as the frat bros started to drop from alcohol poisoning. “I’m pretty sick of sleeping though.”

“Me too,” Colin’s voice flickered through his whisper as he groaned, “I’m sick of this room.”

A humm and a shuffle froze the both of them. Isaac watched the sheets behind Colin move up and down.

Quieter, Colin enunciated: “Wanna walk around? They told me I’m allowed now.”

“Yeah,” Isaac hushed, already reaching for his crutches.

“Shit- your ankle. Sorry, I forgot.”

Isaac didn't care, pulling his legs over the side of his bed and readying the crutches. “We can just go to one of the chairs in the hallway. They’re not fucking comfortable but at least they’re not here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, bruv.”

Their whispers were pointless. Isaac hopped into his crutches. They groaned. Colin rolled the wheely pole holding the IV bag. It screeched. The Welshman tip-toed as if it would change anything and Isaac gently planted the crutches, as if they didn't creak when he swung his weight between them.

“Be careful,” murmured drowsily behind them.

Colin gave Isaac a wide-eyed glance before pointlessly whispering: “We will.”

Michael hummed. “K.”

Biting on his laughter, Isaac creaked the rest of his way out of the room, followed closely by Colin’s squeaky wheel.

The hallway was bright. The white tubes on the ceiling bounced across every surface and hit Isaac in the face. Doctors and nurses were marching by as janitors rolled their carts and Isaac started to doubt whether it was night time at all.

He lowered his head, protecting his eyes from the main attack and squinting against the million small ones.

Colin’s squeaky wheel caught up and Isaac glimpsed to find him blinking from a scrunch to squint too. “Maybe we should go back.”

Isaac barked a laugh, already heading down the hall. He held his head firmly down, pretending to be focused on planting his crutches right. He watched them swing into his eyeline and fall back to be replaced by his leg, which fell back, replaced by the sticks. Beside his swinging was a constant: three wheels holding up a pole.

“You and Michael alright then?” Isaac checked, guiltily curious about what problems they'd been having.

“Yeah,” Colin chirped. “We're already planning a redo for our anniversary. Apparently I’m not the only one who’s got some… problems.”

No shit, Isaac might’ve laughed once. Right now though, he was too anxious. He prepared himself to extend a question he never used to word out to Colin before. A question that was once a given. “What happened?”

Colin didn't even hesitate. “We haven't talked about it much, but he left me some voicemails.” The Welshman talked and Isaac asked more and by the time they found some plastic chairs to sit in, Isaac had forgotten that the light hurt.

“So yeah,” Colin finished. “I should’ve just talked to him.”

Isaac huffed: “I could’ve told you that.”

The brunette smirked, raising his eyebrows.

“Do as I say,” Isaac acquiesced, “not as I fuck up.”

“Yeah, well,” Colin sat back, leaning against the wall, “Can’t judge you for it now, innit?”

“Nah, mate. Go through his phone twice and then we’ll talk.”

A chuckle soothed from Colin and Isaac thought he’d feel the light humour calmly, but it was warped and itchy. He shuffled in his seat, trying to get his joke to sit comfortably like it should.

Colin was watching his fidget and Isaac stared him down, refusing to admit he was feeling anything different than he should.

“You’re full of shit, you know?”

Isaac’s eyebrows jumped with surprise even as his heart sunk with guilt, dread and shame.

“What you said at the club?” Colin continued, “You’re a fucking amazing captain. Best I’ve ever had. Best any of the team’s had.”

A consolation prize, Isaac was being handed. He reckoned he was feeling the appropriate amount of shame. He didn't deserve even this pretty lie. “But I’m a shit mate.”

Colin frowned. “I don’t know about that.” He argued, “I get why you reacted the way you did.”

“That doesn’t make it alright,” Isaac dismissed. “And it’s not just that anymore, innit? It’s also the phone thing and getting angry- after I fucking ignored you- that you don’t trust me. And shit, you’re probably right not to.”

Colin was squinting again, but at him. “It’s fine,” he shook his head and asserted: “We’re good.”

Isaac glared, remembering Colin- bleeding on the floor of the locker room- admitting he was just waiting to be ignored again. That was anything but ‘good’ and what kind of ‘good’-ness had taken place between then and now to turn that tide? Isaac only remembered chaos and pain.

“Um,” Colin caught Isaac glitching. “It’s like- Big whoop, innit?” he tried to imitate their old gaffer, but grimaced at himself and gave up. “After all the shit we just survived, honestly Isaac- I don’t think there’s anybody I trust more than you right now.”

The chair got more uncomfortable. This wasn't a consolation prize, Isaac realised. He was getting first place when everyone knew he'd cheated.

“I know you, boyo. You take shit seriously- too seriously sometimes. I knew you wouldn’t ignore me again, but I couldn’t help… thinking it. I didn’t believe it but couldn’t shake it either- I don’t know,” Colin sighed. He wiped his thumb over the edge of his cast, up and down. “But you didn’t ignore me again, so now I kind of,” he smiled and baffled at himself: “feel better about that?” He aimed his happy confusion at Isaac as if he’d have any better idea how it all worked.

His blank glare must’ve translated because Colin kept going. “Like: I know after this you won’t go through my phone or take it- you might not even fucking look at it- because this stuff is important to you. I think with the ignoring, you just hadn’t had the chance to show me you’d changed yet, so I stayed on edge until you did. Which you always do.”

The unsure rambling was the final filter, keeping them floating above complete sincerity, but when Colin spoke again, he wasn’t unsure at all. “If anyone’s apologies actually mean shit, they’re yours, Isaac. Everyone knows that. It’s why you can’t really be a shit captain or a shit mate- not for long anyway. You’ve got too much integrity, boyo.”

It was stupidly easy to take Colin’s word for it, straight down to his heart. Maybe that was because Isaac trusted him or maybe because Colin was the last person who should be singing the captain’s praises and yet. In any case, it had Isaac running on his road. There was only one fucking way to go and suddenly he could see colours at the end. They were all muddled together, indiscernible. They were confusing and a little ugly- but like a children’s drawing, they were also sincere and stubborn. They were hopeful.

“So we’re good,” Colin concluded, a little glassy-eyed as he pointed at Isaac to playfully scold: “And I fucking love you, matey.”

The hospital went blurry. “Get that out of here,” Isaac pushed Colin’s pointing hand away and flung forward, clutching around his best mate. “I love you too, bruv,” Isaac got out before his throat closed up and the whole ordeal shook out of his body.

“Shit,” he heard Colin’s voice go taut as an arm wrapped around Isaac and held him tight. They cried together as they’d done to plenty of romance movies, but somehow weeping into each other’s shoulders felt simpler. It felt free while the movies remained bashful. It felt instinctive while the movies felt planned. He’d never have expected it, but now he couldn’t imagine anything else.

Fuck, he’d needed this.

One Week Later

Sitting in the plastic chairs around the Dog Track felt odd to Jamie. He wore his sling- like Colin did his cast and Isaac did his ankle brace- but in a couple days, Jamie’d be starting physical therapy. Two weeks after that he would gradually rejoin training.

He couldn’t fucking wait.

On Jamie’s right, Keeley glanced at her phone before tucking it away again. “I thought training started at nine?”

“It does,” Jamie murmured, sagging lower in the chair to plant his feet against the railing that faced the front row of the stadium seats. “He’s probably speeching in the locker room.”

“Oh yeah…” Colin breathed from Jamie’s left.

Keeley baffled: “Speeching?”

From Colin’s other side, Isaac stated: “Ever since coach Lasso, it’s custom to speech.”

It was odd the things Ted left behind. There was a grandiosity and joy to things Jamie never used to note but now he'd be offended if anyone skipped those rituals.

Colin worried: “Should we have been down there for that?”

“Nah, mate,” Jamie dismissed. “Better surprise like this, innit?”

“And it ain’t for us,” Isaac added, captain voice explaining: “The team needs to feel comfortable asking questions and shit about how it’s gonna work without the three of us playing.”

Frowning, Jamie pushed against the railing to slide up and look over at Isaac. “I thought he’d asked Nate to make a box for that?”

Colin’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Isaac hummed, glare pensive as he took Jamie’s information aboard. He concluded: “It’ll probably work this time around.”

“Yeah,” Jamie smirked, sitting back again. “Nobody’d dare call Roy a wanker.”

A low rumble drew all of them to the right.

“Is that…” Keeley sat up.

Jamie put his feet down. He felt the vibrations shake the soles of his sneakers. “Has to be.”

All- except Isaac- rose with the rumble as it approached, voluming into a roar and thundering footsteps.

Colin murmured: “Must’ve been a good speech.”

The roar broke from its echo, flying through the air as a beehive of blue players burst from the tunnel.

“Let’s fucking go!” Isaac hollered, cueing Jamie, Colin and Keeley. They stomped on the floor, yelled, clapped and whistled.

The team spun. They silenced. They recognised:

“Amigos!”

The roar picked up, hollering as the blue wave rushed the stadium seats. The players pulled themselves up on the railing and each other to fist-bump the four of them, grinning and cheering.

“Didn’t get rid of me yet!” Jamie grinned down at them.

Sam dapped Jamie but held on to pull himself further up. “Here for Roy?” he yelled through the holler.

“Yeah, mate. You didn’t think I’d miss training with Kent as my gaffer, did ya?”

Sam laughed as he lowered back down, letting other people greet Jamie.

Just as a beaming Dani let Jamie go from his enthusiastic hug, the stadium rang:

“WHISTLE!”

Laughing the team said their last hello’s and rushed back onto the pitch, river flowing around a rock. Roy Kent stood tall, wearing his black joggers and greyhound shirt with the red lines. He glared at the four of them, chin high and eyes amused.

“Roy Kent, Roy Kent,” Jamie started and the three around him quickly joined in: “He’s here, he’s there, he’s every fucking where! Roy Kent, Roy Kent…”

The manager’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head at them. Undeterred, the chant flowed into surround sound. The team gathered sweetly behind Roy joined in: “He’s here, he’s there, he’s every fucking where!”

“Alright,” he turned to them. “Get running!”

The team zipped it. Still beaming, they started jogging along the outer lines of the pitch. Jamie grinned at them as he fell back into his chair. Once the sea of blue was halfway around, their manager nodded and turned, walking to the steps on Jamie’s left.

“That chant makes no more fucking sense these days,” he grumbled as he clambered up to them.

“Looking good, coach,” Isaac ignored, hand-slapping and fist-bumping Roy from his seat. The captain had a point: the swelling and bruising had gone way down, leaving the manager with only a few yellow marks and some scabbing cuts.

Colin smirked at the field. “It’s kinda nice to just sit here and watch them run.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agreed, watching the cloud of blue follow the white line around the green. “I get why people become coaches now.”

Roy scoffed. “Give it a week and you’ll miss it.”

“I already do.” It was a preview for Jamie, sitting at home and popping painkillers. He knew plenty of football careers ended like that and it scared him. He’d gone from training almost every day to sleeping through them. He’d thought stopping the excessive running and workouts would spare him energy but he’d never felt this lethargic before. It wasn’t just the doom or the lack of energy, though. There was something about fibres stitching grass to a pitch. There was something about the studs on his boots. There was something about a ball and the youthful triviality of kicking it to your mates and into a net. At its simplest, football was unabashedly and un-politically and unequivocally fun. “Not just a game, innit?”

Roy paused as Jamie took the easy conversation and tumbled it down a cliff’s edge without letting anyone know but the two of them. He hadn’t quite meant to do it, but couldn’t regret it either.

Jamie talked to Dr. Sharon twice since that night and the coiled numbness that had settled in his gut was unfurling. He wasn't surprised that football was the first to roll past the barrier, back to his heart.

Roy took the information in and shifted on his feet. His shoulders relaxed as he gave Jamie a knowing look and a relieved nod.

“So what did you tell them?” Keeley lifted them back up the cliff.

Roy blinked as he found his footing. His eyes lit up. “That it’s fucking good to be back.”

After some more loops, Roy ended the team’s warm-up and went down to the pitch to start training. At first, it was panicked and messy like last time, but slowly Roy and Beard got some structure into the team. The manager had even asked Isaac to come down and offer his opinion, which the captain jumped to- as much as he could.

Keeley’d wandered off too, leaving Jamie and Colin in the stands. They watched Roy split the players up for a match.

“Nah, she had to go back to Manchester for work.”

“What does she do?” Colin wondered.

Jamie pressed his lips together, eyebrows wrinkling his forehead as he realised: “I don’t fucking know.”

“You don’t know what your mum does for work?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Colin duh’ed, priding: ”She teaches Welsh.”

“So English," Jamie corrected.

Colin froze. He rotated in his seat. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

Jamie let his smirk shine with mischief as he rewarded himself with Colin’s horrified expression.

The Welshman relaxed, smiling a little as he shook his head at Jamie. “Jesus, I thought I was going to have to kill you.”

Jamie laughed. “Ah rude- After what we just survived?” He turned back to the pitch, watching Dani dribble past Kukoč, only to be stopped by Reynolds.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah.” Paul took the ball and passed it to Kyle, who was covered by Moe and Richard. Declan and Robbie tried to walk themselves free but it didn’t matter. Kyle was stuck.

“Why’d you…” Colin murmured and gave up, pulling Jamie away from the match. The Welshman was still watching Kyle, whose name got called from all over the pitch. “In the hospital, you asked…”

“Whether we did the right thing,” Jamie filled in for him, eager to find out what Colin was hesitant but also spearheading to drag up.

“Yeah,” Colin breathed, eyes shifting as the match continued moving about. “Why’d you ask that?”

Jamie duh’ed: “Cause I wanted to know whether we did the right-”

“I got that,” Colin huffed, smile hesitant and short. “I meant: All that shit about you and the soldier being the same and then you ask something like that? Right after you talked to Dr Sharon? I just- What’s going on, boyo? Is this about that…” He gestured at his chest as if that was supposed to mean something to Jamie, before giving up. He finally looked over, half-grimacing, and asked: “About what you told me?”

Jamie shrugged. “I guess.” None of Colin’s rambling questions really meant much to Jamie, but he didn’t need much guidance to share. “Turns out I was wrong.” He huffed a laugh at himself, turning back to the pitch. Kyle must’ve managed to pass back because the team still had the ball and was knocking it about the defence, searching for a way forward. “My dad still bothers me.”

“No shit.”

Jamie judged Colin’s sudden bluntness. The Welshman looked back, eyes wide with innocence. It would be a neat trick to get out of stuff if only Colin hadn’t meant it.

Jamie appreciated the unexpected brashness and rolled with it: “It’s just fucking annoying, yeah? I’m sick of him, but here I am, still talking about that piece of shit. It’s like everything about me, he made. It doesn’t matter that I don’t talk to him, don’t see him, don’t go near him, because he’s still controlling me.” On the pitch, Jan got the ball over the halfway line to Robbie. “And then that soldier- stuck the way he was ‘cause of his dad- and hurting people, you know? I just couldn’t help thinking: Did I avoid that?” Robbie dribbled to the goal but was quickly intercepted by Moe. “Or is that where I’m headed?”

Moe passed the ball back to Thierry. The game slowed again as it was now the other team's turn to look for a way forward.

Jamie could only remember seeing his grandfather once. His dad had been angry all day, snapping at everyone, cursing between every two words, and honking at every car. Jamie’d sat tight, trying to stay out of his dad’s way and fearing that his grandda wouldn’t know to do the same. But once the car doors opened, everything warped. His dad was subdued and polite, laughing at his own stupidity with the old man on the lawn. The one with grey hair and laugh lines like Jamie’s father's. The cruel and sad kind.

“I reckon you're good.” Colin pulled him back to the match where Richard was stopped by Paul. Once again Reynolds took the ball.

Jamie turned away to study Colin, trying to figure out whether he was being simple. Colin was already watching him, still looking innocently blank. He explained: “Dr Sharon told me that the shit that happens to us when we're little has a way of sticking. Everyone starts somewhere with something, you know? But she says that once you see which behaviours you’re taught and how, you can learn to change them and stop feeling powerless over who you are. So yeah. If you’re wondering about it, you’ve probably already avoided becoming what the soldier did.”

Jamie thought back to his dad’s and granddad’s similar wrinkles. Had they never looked in the mirror and recognised them? Jamie even saw them on himself sometimes. He hoped what Colin- or Dr. Sharon- said was true and that it was a good thing. That it meant Jamie was different from his ancestors, not doomed to be the same.

Jamie caught on to a detail: “You’re also talking to Dr. Sharon?”

“Yeah.” Colin stated: “I don’t want what happened with Michael to happen again, so I gotta figure out why I feel like a piece of shit and stop to avoid doubting him for no reason.”

“So you just like…” Jamie baffled, “Sit in a room and name shit you like about yourself?”

Colin scrunched his nose and looked away. “Fuck- I hope not.”

Jamie stared, completely bewildered by Colin’s issue. “I'll do that then and you can do my shit.”

“What exactly is that then?” Colin looked back, enticed by the offer. 

“Finding and dealing with trauma that got stuck in your body.”

“How does that go?”

“You think of a memory and put yourself back there to see what you were feeling.” Jamie noted that he should bring up meeting his grandfather in his next session. “And then you work through that.” He said it simply, but he wasn’t sure how that part worked yet. So far, they’d only been discovering what kind of feelings he was dealing with.

Colin returned to the match. “I’ll keep mine thanks.”

Jamie couldn’t help his laugh.

“What?” Colin betrayed.

The striker chuckled on, explaining: “Fact that you don't wanna do it, means you’ve got some shit to work through.”

“Piss off,” Colin grinned and defended, “Who doesn't?”

“Fair enough.” Jamie snickered out the last of his humour, tuning back into the match. The ball had returned to Kyle, but this time he was free. He kicked it forward to Declan who sprinted for the goal. Roy, Beard, Nate and Isaac cheered him on from the sideline. Thierry started his dive to intercept, but Declan snuck the ball to Robbie, who tapped it in.

“Let’s go, boyos!” Colin cheered along with the team.

A whistle and applause had Jamie twisting around to find Keeley and Rebecca hanging out of the big office's window. Jamie grinned at them. He was pretty sure those were wine glasses in their hands before noon on a Tuesday and that the crumpled napkins weren't for any kind of food.

Colin was probably right. Everyone had their shit to work through. He knew for sure that the five of them were just handed a brand-new bag full of it to try and fit into their overstuffed car boots. Even though everyone thought they’d ended up in the hospital after a bad bender, their experiences were still treated with respect. Their traumas were real after all. They got nauseous watching videos of themselves. They were uncomfortable with anyone dressed too symmetrically. They hated impressions, feared storms, and jumped every time a glass broke.

More than anything though, they treated their reflections differently. Mirrors no longer felt personal. It felt like another person stared back- one that deserved to be seen and taken care of. So that’s what they did.