Chapter Text
“You good, yeah?” Roy wonders quietly.
“Hm?” Jamie’s voice is far away, even for only a sound.
“You feel okay then?”
He’s right there on Roy’s shoulder, his body melded to Roy’s on the sofa. But he feels distant even with all the contact points.
Its become habit to sit on the sofa for a bit after supper. Jamie watching his wretched reality telly while Roy reads a book. Jamie talking to the telly, and to Roy while Roy grunts along. Not really paying attention and Jamie not needing him to. Until he starts to pay attention because it’s Jamie and even if the show is bollocks, well, it’s Jamie. Typically Roy gets a few pages in before he realizes he’s just watching the telly and not reading anymore, but he maintains the image. If Jamie knows he’s given in and begun to actually watch the show, Roy will never be allowed to live it down. Nor will he ever be allowed to sit down with a book after supper.
“Hm?” Jamie hums again in response.
It’s only been since Roy realized he’s read two entire chapters without interruption that he begins to think about it. It’s been a few nights, maybe a week by now that Jamie’s been less chatty in the evening. He’s been right here tucked in against Roy, but not commenting at his typical rate.
“Jamie,” Roy keeps his voice soft, but puts a hint of demand in his tone.
Jamie sighs, his thumb against his mouth as he chews on his nail now. Roy’s got a moment here where he can’t say a word. He has to let Jamie come to it on his own.
Roy marks the page he’s on, sets the book on the table and reaches to click off the telly.
“I’s watching that,” Jamie protests but there’s no pitch to it.
“Sure,” Roy responds. He keeps his arm ‘round Jamie’s shoulders, hand stroking up and down the bare skin of his arm beyond his sleeve.
Jamie’s quiet for a moment, which rarely ever means anything good is about to come out of his mouth. Roy mentally prepares himself to talk Jamie’s confidence up. He hasn’t had any bad games of late, he’s not had any moments that stand out in Roy’s head as something he’d be beating himself up about. But it’s Jamie, and even if things have gotten on with him and his father to an extent, there’s always going to be the old voice of James Tartt in Jamie’s head, reminding him of all the ways he’s fucked up and been a disappointment.
Roy turns to press his lips to Jamie’s head. He lingers there, breathing him in and waiting for him to speak. Jamie’s fidgeting with his hem now, and Roy is part glad he can’t see his face at the moment, but part wishing he could. Jamie’s expressions tell more about him than he speaks of, even when he’s being rather open, it’s still his eyes that give Roy more information.
Roy should have noticed sooner. What a fuck up he is, he’s gone a full week before realizing Jamie’s holding something in that needs to be pried out. Fuck.
He presses his lips to Jamie’s head again, his thumb moving back and forth on Jamie’s skin.
“I don’t want you to laugh,” Jamie finally says, “when I tell you this.”
“Jamie,” Roy sighs, “I’m not much of a laugher.”
“I know, but I… you are with me, Roy.” Jamie tips his head to look up at Roy. “I make you laugh. I’m ‘appy I make you laugh, but I’m tryin’ to say that right now, I…” he tips his head forward again to shield his face from Roy’s gaze. It makes Roy want to reach out, lift his chin.
He resists the urge and agrees, “I won’t laugh.”
Jamie takes a deep breath, folding the seam of his shirt over, smoothing it out, folding it over, then shoving both hands in it. “I sometimes, um, I sometimes wear women’s wardrobe.”
Roy waits for more. He doesn’t want to push, Jamie will tell him what he wants to tell Roy and Roy will be content with that. He watches Jamie’s hand rise, push against his nose, return to his little pouch he’s made himself of his jumper. When Jamie doesn’t say anything else, Roy hums. He’s not in that touch with fashion so he’s not likely to know what of Jamie’s clothes are hemmed for women and what for men, and he’s not likely to notice or even remember were Jamie to point it out.
“Not, erm, not like drag or nothin’.”
Roy hums again and Jamie sighs. He finally turns his head to look up at Roy. His eyes are glossy, his lips pressed tight together and then released before pressing again like he’s fighting back tears. Roy nods at him, his chest gone tight at the sight, he tries to keep that fact hidden, and wear a look of support instead of concern.
Jamie changes the subject suddenly, asking Roy, “You identify as bisexual?”
Roy shrugs, “I don’t know if the labels are very important to me, I just know who I like and it doesn’t seem to matter what body they come in.”
Jamie smiles, a soft tiny thing that makes his eyes glisten. He turns away, wipes a hand across his cheek and takes a breath. The breath shakes and Roy squeezes him tighter towards his side. He wants to flatten Jamie out, lie between his legs, prop himself up on his elbows to hover over him, plant kisses along his cheeks to soak up the tears before they can fall. He knows that’s not what Jamie wants right now though, so he waits.
Jamie’s hand falls from his face, lands on Roy’s knee, gives a quick squeeze and then gets buried in his shirt once again. “You mean them as, like, the entire range of people you’ve dated?”
Roy has to pause a moment and not go with his first instinct to shake Jamie, knock some sense into him and tell him that it’s Jamie and it’s only Jamie. It’s only been Jamie for much longer than Roy has ever admitted to anyone - including Jamie himself - but it seems it’s been long enough by now that the pretty little prick should get it. Instead Roy admits quietly, “No. I mean they as in you. Jamie, you’re all that matters.”
Jamie’s exhale this time is a near cry, cloudy with emotion that Roy can’t quite understand. He’s not told Jamie in so many words that he loves him. He probably should, but since Roy has shit luck with love, he figures this thing they’ve had going for over a year now is good, it’s good and it’s everything and more than good. Jamie hasn’t exactly moved in, but he’s here nearly every night, has his own wardrobe in Roy’s bedroom. Has his own shelf of posh prickish beauty products in Roy’s washroom. His smelly trainers are on the mat beside Roy’s smelly trainers, his dirty laundry is in the bin with Roy’s dirty laundry. Sometimes Roy catches Jamie in one of his shirts and he doesn’t bother saying anything to him, because its fucking sexy is why.
“Love,” Roy starts, careful not to be too careful. If he’s too much with Jamie when Jamie is stuck in his head, then Jamie will get even more distant, walk out and spend the night at his flat, saying he needs some time alone. Roy’s always respected that, knows now after spending a lot of fucking hours in Doctor Sharon’s chair that when people walk away, it doesn’t mean they’re gone for good. Abandonment issues or some fucking thing. This isn’t about Roy though. “Jamie, Love, look at me please?”
Jamie takes another deep breath, a soft sound breaks past his lips and his hands rise up to wipe at his cheeks. Roy can feel his ribs holding in like he can force a rhythm on himself if he doesn’t allow full breaths out.
Jamie doesn’t turn to look up, so Roy continues anyhow, “Jamie, I love you. I know I don’t say it. I hoped you knew by me showing it, but if you need to hear it, I can work on saying it.”
Jamie’s sigh this time sounds almost like a laugh and he wipes across his cheeks once more before he finally tips his head to look up at Roy. Admitting, “I know, I know you love me. I love you, yeah?”
Roy hums, leaning down to kiss Jamie’s forehead. He doesn’t stay there, though he wants to, there’s some lingering stiffness in Jamie’s entire body that’s telling Roy he’s not done. He hasn’t told him the full thing he wanted to tell him tonight, or possibly didn’t want to tell him at all but Roy couldn’t handle the quiet anymore so he’s asked and now Jamie has to consider just how much he wants to tell Roy.
“What I’m tryin’ to say, or I think I’m tryin’ to say, Roy.” Jamie’s voice is so soft and small that Roy’s head is going to a million places, each one worse than the one before. Jamie’s been cheating, he’s got a whole secret life elsewhere, he’s got a wife, he’s got children, he’s got cancer, he’s going to the moon. He’s dying. He’s leaving. Roy’s head has gotten rather panicked and his heart has gone mad in his chest, pounding hard at his ribs and rushing through his ears. Roy clears his throat, but it doesn’t seem to help. He can’t swallow and he can’t see straight anymore. He’d like to close his eyes and pretend nothing is happening. But Jamie is still looking at him and he at the very least owes him eye contact. If he’s leaving or dying, then he at the very least can announce it while looking directly at Roy.
“I don’t know if labels matter to me neither, but I… I’m something else in me ‘ead, ya know what I mean?”
Roy is quiet for possibly too long, because by the time he can even get those words of Jamie’s past the rushing in his ears, over and around the panicked voices in his head accusing Jamie of the worst; Jamie’s already looked away again.
Roy’s fingers have gone numb against Jamie’s arm, he only realizes when a wave of feeling returns to his extremities. “I’m holding you too tightly,” Roy hears himself say. In way of an apology for this moment, but Jamie must take it in some other way because he’s suddenly sitting straight up and turning to face Roy.
“What?”
Roy lifts his hand that was just wrapped ‘round Jamie’s shoulders in lieu of an explanation. He looks down to Jamie’s arm and his stomach churns when he indeed sees a red mark in the shape of Roy’s hand. Roy jolts to his feet and makes his way to the kitchen, splashing water on his face, taking a few palmfuls from his hand but barely swallowing a drop past his panic constricted throat.
“Roy?” Jamie sounds as though he’s standing in the doorway.
Roy puts one hand up with a wait a moment finger out to acknowledge his presence but stop him from coming any nearer. Roy fights the urge to fill up the basin and shove his head under until his lungs burst. He does one of the breathing things Dr Sharon taught him, which he still thinks are fucking stupid, but he does it anyway because it’s that or completely lose whatever grasp on reality he had left, and quite possibly lose Jamie in the process. If he hasn’t lost him already.
In his head, he tells Jamie, “Please don’t leave me yet, give me more time, I’m working on being better, and I’m making progress. I’m not good enough for you, but I’m trying.”
That’s not what comes out of his mouth though. His voice is gruff as he wonders, “You leaving me then?”
“What?” Jamie responds, shock in his tone but Roy can’t turn to face him just yet. “The fuck you on about? I’m not goin’ nowhere. Not ‘less you make me, Roy…”
“Jamie,” Roy cuts him off, “I just left a fucking handprint on your arm. You can’t just…”
“What the fuck, Roy? It ain’t like it’s gonna bruise, you was just ‘olding on. You wasn’t bein’ a prick or nothin’. You didn’t mean to.”
“That’s exactly what I fucking mean, Jamie.” Roy spins to face him. The movement too quick for both of them. Jamie was walking towards Roy, but the instant Roy turns around, he flinches and Roy takes steps sideways to put more distance between them again. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on.”
Jamie’s eyes track Roy as he moves to the farthest away corner of the room, nearly bolting out the door so he can close it and keep himself on the other side of it so he never touches Jamie again.
Jamie slowly puts both his hands up between them. His cheeks are flushed from crying, his eyes misty and his lips parted in a small o as he takes in all the cues Roy is giving him. Fucking fuck, Jamie is so fucking beautiful and Roy hates himself so fucking much right now for leaving an unwanted mark on his body.
“Roy,” Jamie starts with a steady voice, “I think we’re both panickin’ over two very different things, yeah? I’m tryin’a tell ya, somethin’ I don’t ‘ave the words for, but it ain’t about leavin’. I’m not leavin’ ya, and I’d appreciate if you’d never tell me again that I should.”
“Jamie, I…”
“Shh, Roy. I like bein’ ‘eld tight. When it’s you’s doin’ it, yeah? I’m not leavin’ ya,” Jamie repeats, “but what I’m tryin’a say, it’s somethin’ might make you want to leave me, so just…”
“Nothing,” Roy interrupts, his voice crusty. He clears his throat, holds Jamie’s eye contact as he tells him, “Nothing could make me want to leave you.”
It must sound stronger in Jamie’s ears than it does in Roy’s because as much as he means it, and as much as he wants it to be the strongest thing he’s said his entire fucking life, it doesn’t sound that way to him. But it gets a tiny lift of a smile from Jamie’s lips and his shoulders soften just a bit. He sets his hands down on the island counter, his focus shifting from Roy’s eyes to his lips, his chest. They stay there a moment as Jamie inhales, holds it, then exhales as his focus rises once more to meet Roy’s.
“I’m not sure I’m always a boy.” Jamie’s voice exits quickly, the words getting softer as the statement comes to a close.
Roy pauses before he speaks, but he’s certain his eyebrows have already reflexively responded because Jamie’s cheeks flush and he looks away. His shoulders crumble in on himself and his hand rises to chew on his thumbnail again.
Roy only pauses because he wants to get this right. Not get Jamie’s statement right, he already knows that, Jamie is Jamie, not someone that can be a checkmark in a box somewhere where nearly everyone else exists. Jamie is his own person, he’s something other than the norm and everyone who’s ever spent time with him knows it. Fuck, not even spent time, but simply watched him on the telly. It’s not Jamie’s statement that Roy wants to get right, it’s his own response.
He’s not quick enough, Jamie admitting, “I’m not always a girl or nothin’ either. I’m just…”
“Jamie,” Roy finishes.
Jamie looks up at him, his brows lifted, lips pursed like he’s waiting for Roy to tell him more than that. Roy takes a few steps closer, his hand that he left a print on Jamie with is shaking so he tucks it into his pocket but doesn’t allow himself to cross his arms over his chest. He needs to remain open.
“But you’re not just Jamie.” Roy steps ‘round the kitchen island and Jamie matches his motion to meet him partway. The instant he can reach him, he leans their foreheads together and takes a deep breath of the scent of Jamie. With the hand that’s not marked into Jamie’s flesh, Roy slides up Jamie’s arm, over his shoulder and rests his palm against the back of his neck. “You’re a billion beautiful fucking things, Jamie, and I’d never leave you for any of them.”
Jamie laughs a soft relieved sound that pitches into a cry as he buries his face in Roy’s neck. There’s much more to it than that, but Roy needs to let Jamie find the words, he can’t put them in his mouth for him. He knows them, he thinks he knows them. He’s fairly certain Jamie is trying to tell him he’s genderfluid or nonbinary, but Roy’s not going to put those labels in his head and make him narrow down his field of vision to what Roy thinks based off the things he’s heard discussed at yoga nights or the club when they go.
Jamie’s got one hand gripped tight in the back of Roy’s shirt and the other sliding down Roy’s wrist to drag Roy’s hand from his pocket and lace their fingers together. Roy lifts the bundle of their hands to his lips, kisses each of Jamie’s beautiful fucking fingers as he waits for Jamie’s breath to even out. Then he prods, “Your women’s wardrobe? These some things you’d like to wear in front of me?”
Jamie nods, his breath chokes off but the true crying seems to be done for now. It’s only the aftermath of it still taking his rhythm.
“I’d like that,” Roy tells him, kissing the side of his head, down the parts of his face he can reach without pushing Jamie out of his safe space he’s found in Roy’s neck. Roy presses his hand flat against the small of Jamie’s back and closes the last of the distance between their bodies. Propping his chin on Jamie’s shoulder to admit, “I’d really fucking love that, Jamie.”