Archive of Our Own

Colin's forgotten to shut his bedroom window again.

It's nothing, a minor annoyance at worst, and today it's a blessing. A little kiss of a breeze to ruffle his hair and ease him awake before his alarm can shriek in his ear. He blinks away the tendrils of sleep still clinging at the edges, and tenses up in a full body stretch before letting himself go boneless on his half of the bed.

His phone vibrates once, twice, and he scrambles for it before the alarm can start properly and fumbles with the screen until he's hit the snooze. Crisis delayed, he unlocks it and checks his messages. His recent Tweets. An errant email or two about sponsors and the like. Keeley's been on him about branding, something back home if they'll have him. He's not sure independence will pay the bills at the club, but he's ever hopeful. He starts trying to compose a response to her about some sort of deal with Lamborghini when his bedmate rolls over and startles him so bad he squawks, drops his phone on his face, and nearly gives himself a fat lip.

"Fuckin' hell," he mumbles, rubbing at his smarting face, and he leans up on one elbow long enough to look down at the mess of curls on his spare pillows, gives a single lock a playful tug, and pushes himself up and out of bed so he can get ready for training.

He shucks his sleepwear at the bathroom door, turns on the shower tap to let it heat up, and takes a leak. Could condense things, a drain's a drain after all, but a quick reach around the wall and he's hissing from the cold stream, and, well, no sense waiting around when the sound of water drives him mental when he's got the urge. Gives his sluggish hot water the time it needs to heat up properly.

Another check, and Colin nods and shakes his fingers off, satisfied with the temperature. He grabs a washcloth from the bin above his toilet and steps into the shower, holding his breath and letting it pummel the sleep away. He tips his head down and gives his face a good scrubbing. The cloth feels good on his skin, soft but not too soft, excellent brand. Real quality stuff. And the water works wonders on a knot near his left shoulder. Might've twinged something last night. Or maybe at training? He takes a deep breath and tips his head back, letting the water run over his face and chest.

Masturbate? Nah, no time. Probably not polite with a bed guest trying to sleep. He twists off the tap, wincing when it squeaks. No harm, nothing major. Between the low hum of the fan and the drip drip drip from the tap he hears a soft groan from the other room. And then nothing, comfortable white noise. A soft buzzing, buzzing "-oh fuck."

Too late, his phone alarm starts blaring from the counter. He scrambles over and turns it off but the damage is done, all present parties awake. He grabs a towel and tousles his hair, rubs at his face, and wraps it around his waist before sauntering over to lean on the doorframe. "Oi, Griff," he sing-songs. When he sits up fully, eyes squinting and hair asunder, he grins a cheeky grin and nods. "Bore da."

"Fuck off," Griff groans, and he rolls over to faceplant into Colin's recently vacated half of the bed.

"What? I'm practicing my Welsh just like you told me to."

"But so early? Hire a tutor. I'm off duty."

"It's not that early," Colin declares, and he crosses the room and drops face first onto the bed beside him. "What about breakfast? Come on, we can have coffee."

"Breakfast he says, coffee he says," he mumbles into the duvet. He lifts his head and army crawls a whole quarter meter to meet Colin face to face. " You will make me a coffee, because your fancy, complicated machine is a mystery to us common folk."

"It was free! It was a gift!" He cries out half-heartedly, jokingly, smile still bright and toothy. Griff carefully paps him on the cheek and shushes him. "I'll make coffee."

"And breakfast." ("What!") "I'm getting in the shower. I don't know why you bothered. You'll just get sweaty at training."

"It wakes me up." Griff leans up long enough to kiss him once, thoroughly done with his foolishness. And then once more before he pushes himself up off the bed and wobbles his way towards the bathroom. "I'll make a porridge,” Colin calls out after him. “It's hearty. Gives you energy."

"Soy milk," he reminds Colin, head peeking around the doorframe. Colin nods. "You're a dear."

"Can't have you all distressed and cranky," Colin agrees. He pauses in the bathroom doorway, peeking in at Griff's bare backside as he stands in front of the shower door, giving the stream a tentative feel. He pulls his own towel off and twirls it, giving Griff a good snap before re-wrapping it around himself and bolting towards the kitchen, snickering at the stream of insults tumbling from Griff's lips.

He makes the porridge, the coffee. Adds a splash of soy milk to all of it because he's paranoid about forgetting which one's the right one and catching hell for his misstep. He assembles their modest fixings on a wood tray and takes it back to the bedroom and into the bathroom proper.

He finds Griff, predictably, under the stream, eyes closed, hair a mess of flattened curls. Tentacular locks criss-crossing his forehead. Heat-stained cheeks and chest. Steamy clouds spilling out across the tile. Colin sets the tray on the counter and grabs one of the mugs of coffee, and he opens the shower door and steps inside before Griff can protest his invasion.

“Coffee,” he says, and he offers Griff the mug. He blinks, blinks twice, and accepts the mug without questioning Colin’s antics. “S’good, right?”

“You’re spoiling me,” Griff declares, almost proudly, and he takes another sip. “You’re in the shower again.”

“Hated to interrupt.”

“You’re towel’s getting all wet.”

“That’s a towel’s job,” Colin teases. Griff gives him a gentle kick to the ankle, and uses the motion to step closer.

“Thought you had training.”

“Eventually,” Colin shrugs. He tugs on one of Griff's curls. Snakes it around his pointer and releases it, watching it splat against his cheek. “You could come watch, you know. Get a tour of the club.”

“You’ve said this several times. I’m afraid it’s still a pass for me. Schoolwork, you know.”

“You’d rather do schoolwork?”

“I really would.”

“Haven’t rubbed off on you I guess.”

“Not even a little,” Griff admits. He takes a gulp of coffee and sets the mug on one of the little shampoo shelves built into the side of the shower. “Football doesn’t excite me, I’m afraid.”

“Pity.”

“But I’m excited to see you play,” Griff amends. He trails a wet finger down Colin's chest and loosens the knot on his towel. "Is there time before you have to go?"

"Dunno," he shrugs. "Ten minutes maybe?"

"Plenty," Griff says.

"Rude."

"Considerate," Griff chides him. "Can't have you all worn out before training."

-

Colin is late.

Not terribly. Not horribly. But enough that he maybe, possibly, does a bit of reckless driving in the car he, to this day, can not truly handle. In a dramatic telling on a much later day he'll claim he was out the driver's side door before the car was even stopped, but in reality he parks a bit hastily in one of the few remaining spots and hightails it inside to the locker room just as Coach Ted is stepping through his office door to address the team.

Their eyes meet, Colin's a full on boggle, Ted a quiet bemusement, and he scurries over to his cubby and starts shucking off his street clothes while Ted gets underway.

"Glad to see all your bright and eager faces today," he says, eyes trailing after the wayward player. "Been awhile. Hope you all enjoyed our little break, I know I did. But it's always great to be back here. And we've got ourselves a hell of a match this Saturday. Now, I don't want to bog us down with anything we don't already know, cause if I've learned anything from all the studying I did not do in high school, it's that you don't learn a darn thing trying to cram at the last minute, especially after vacation."

"So," Jamie pipes up, Colin glances at him from under his elbow as he bends down to tie his shoe, "we're doin' what, exactly?"

"Fundamentals," Roy comes out roaring, well, the usual roar. Not the angry roar. “And if any of you twats pretend you don’t know what a fucking pass is I’ll kick you into next week myself!”

"Warmups," Beard tacks on cheerily as he also emerges from the office. "Let's go!"

And then there were two. Colin and Ted, the latter watching the former struggle into his hoodie and stuff his hand up his shirt to apply some deodorant. In that order. He's a tad flustered.

"All good, Colin?"

"All good, yeah. Yes coach." He chucks his deodorant into his cubby without looking, or checking to see where it lands. "You?"

"Well, I'm mighty fine, thank you." He smirks, a knowing thing. "Now, I love a pleasantry exchange as much as the next gentleman, but why don't you go on out there and get warmed up. Don't want you pulling a hammy."

"Right! Yes," he chuckles under his breath and starts speed walking towards the pitch. He misses the curious tilt of Ted’s chin as he passes. He barely registers the team’s faces as he joins the group out on the pitch and starts warming up his muscles.

“Late night?” Isaac gives him a nudge, teasing, probing, and Colin only smirks. It tells him enough without telling him anything, and he gets a congratulatory little whoop before they’re sent on a warm up jog around the perimeter. It clears his head, strips away the hustle and stress of driving too fast to get to his training on time. By lap two he's breathing evenly, though his legs are a tad jiggly.

"Dani, Jamie, split off after the next lap for kick drills!" Ted shouts. "Let’s get those hips warmed up!"

"Bet you're all warmed up," Isaac goads him. He chuckles, nods, and remembers the shower. And the night prior, when Griff didn't bother unpacking before jumping him. A feat, given his inclination towards neatness. "Come on, then. Tell us a story."

"Nope, no way," Colin runs a bit faster to make Isaac catch up to him. "I've sworn my silence!"

"Shy, is she?"

"Uh huh, yeah, something like that," Colin says, hiding his wince.

"Or she's embarrassed," Jamie razzes him as he passes on the inside. "Couldn't land an ace. Had to settle for a left wing."

"Fuck off!" Colin laughs, cackling when Jamie waggles his tongue and splits for the center of the field.

"He's jealous, I'll bet," Isaac says, flooding Colin with a sense of confusion, and then a sense of pride. "He's out there single as hell, and you're a kept man showing up late to practice."

"Yeah? Yeah," Colin nods to himself. "I'm something to be jealous of."

Dr Stone would be proud. He'll have to call her later.

He eases into the next lap, letting his body go into autopilot as he rounds the corner. It lets him drift away mentally, replaying events better left in the bedroom. Tonight there'll be time for takeout and movies, and sex when they get bored of pretending they're interested in the movies. Tomorrow, another training session. Saturday the match, then the show, and a reservation he'll not miss if he has any sense left. Or was it the reservation, then the show? The match is definitely first, he remembers that -

Colin doesn't register the impact of a ball at the side of his head, doesn't hear the smack or the chorus of ohs from his team. He drops like a pile of bricks into a dark hole.

-

"Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph not again!"

"Easy, Dani! He's moving. He'll be alright. Gotta shake off the dizzys, give him some space."

"Good thing it's warmups," Jamie adds unhelpfully, and he scoffs when he doesn't receive recognition for his intelligent observation. "Because he didn't kick as hard! He's not out there blasting it at full strength on the first go!" 

Colin blinks up at Ted, at the open concern as he kneels over his ragdolled body. He lifts an arm, then another, but Ted puts a hand in his chest when he moves to right himself.

"Hold on there, eager beaver. A head injury is nothing to sneeze at. Give us a wiggle, fingers, toes, the whole shebang.” Colin does, at least he thinks he does, and Ted nods, satisfied with the display. “Good start. Great start. Somebody, why don't you get him some water - oh, thank you Dani," he trails off when Dani takes off at a full sprint. "Okay, Q and A time, what day is it?"

"Thursday? Or is it Wednesday? I don't think I knew this morning, coach." He winces and taps a finger against the side of his head, hissing when it's a bit tender. "It's training day."

"Shoot, nobody ever tells you what that answer means. Well, that's alright. Confusion can be cognizant with the right context. For your future reference, it is Wednesday. Now, anything blurry? Headache?"

"He got whacked in the head with a ball ," Jamie points out.

"Think it popped my jaw," Colin grimaces. He rubs just below his ear and opens and shuts his mouth a few times. This time when he tries to sit up Coach doesn't stop him. There are a few sporadic claps and Isaac's hand reaching out for him, tugging him up to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles. "I think I'm alright, coach. Really."

"Well, let's get you inside and get you an ice pack. Everybody, why don’t you get back to warmups. Roy and Beard’ll hold down the fort till we get back.”

-

“And really, I think we can call this one my bad,” Ted continues as they near the locker room. “Kick drills while people are still finishing laps? I sent you all out there like a row of ducks at a carnival, just begging one of our boys to knock you over for a slide whistle, or whatever you get these days. Poop emojis, I don’t know. Kids are funny things.”

“Oh, well, I think I’ll live,” he jokes, and winces when it twinges the sore spot of his jaw.

“Glad to hear it. And Dani is too. He was running so fast I swear he broke the sound barrier running to get you a water bottle.” He holds the door to the locker room open and motions for Colin to sit on the square in the middle. Ted busies himself with pulling out the first aid kit and popping one of those single use ice packs, giving it a good shake while he finds a clean hand towel to wrap it in. “We’ll get this on there, keep the swelling down. There you go, that should keep it from getting real puffy.”

“Thanks coach.”

“Gotta take care of those noggins out there. It’s wild, seeing you boys doing headers left and right without any helmet. You’re sure you’re still feeling alright? I’d be more than happy to drive you over to the hospital and get you checked out properly.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” he chuckles weakly. “Bit of a bruised temple, and my pride. Mostly my pride.”

"There's no reason to be a hero. I'd rather you sat out the first match back than make something worse."

"Oh, no that's alright, really. I don't need to sit one out, coach. In fact," he hops up, and regrets it because he does, in fact, get a touch dizzy from the abrupt change, and has to sit back down, "okay, that doesn't count. I'm sure I'll be fine by Saturday."

"I’m not loving all this dizziness you’ve got going on. I really think you should see the doctor."

"Okay, but do I really need to?"

"Darn it, Colin!" Ted explains, exasperated. “What is so gosh dang important about this game that it’s worth sacrificing your skull?”

“I, my uh,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I have a friend in town. Supposed to watch me play.”

Ted settles down immediately, and gets a knowing look. “A friend, huh?”

The look is lost to Colin, as he’s focused on the dirt that’s found its way under his nails. “He’s busy most games. Seems a bit rude, getting benched for an injury the one time he’s free.”

"This explains why you got here two seconds before the tardy bell."

"Yeah, uh," he chuckles, "breakfast, you know."

"Most important meal," Ted agrees, nodding. "Your friend a football fanatic?"

"No," Colin laughs at that, "not really. Not at all, actually, but there's a show after the game we're going to see."

"Play?"

"Ballet.” He’s quick to add, “it's way more athletic than you'd think."

"Hey, you don't need to justify ballet to me. They're out there twirling and whirling, and telling a story with no words. It’s captivating."

"Yeah. It's, yeah," Colin drifts off somewhere in his head for a second, and when he remembers he's not alone he flushes a soft pink. "He’s the one that introduced me. I didn’t really want to go at first, but he’s my best friend and he asked me to, so," he shrugs, “now this time he’s watching me play.”

"Because you asked him to."

"Something like that. He would've said no normally, but I'm playing. Makes it different."

"It does," Ted nods. "It's good to have people like that in your life. A friend will help you move, or hang out and go to the pub, all that good stuff. But a great friend? A best friend? They'll support you even if it's not usually their thing, because it's something you're passionate about. Something that makes you happy."

"Yeah," he says, feeling his flush deepen because he can't manage to sound less concussed. "I swear I'm alright."

"Just a bit distracted," Ted offers.

"Y -" he swallows down the response, but he can't come up with anything else, so - "yeah."

"How about we compromise? You do some laps inside, protect that head of yours and take it easy for today. And if you happen to walk by Higgins' office, you can get that ticket for your friend squared away."

"Okay. Thank you."

"You take care of yourself. I'm going to get back out there," he says, gesturing with his thumb. But then as he reaches the door he stops and turns around. "What's your friend's name?"

"Gruffydd."

"Griffith," Ted repeats.

"Yeah, it's actually the traditional spelling. I’ve been learning a bit from him. He’s near fluent. He’s,” Colin stops himself, but the ramble is done and his flush is deeper. “Anyway, uh, it’s spelled G R I - shit that's a U, don't tell him I fucked that up - G R U F F Y D D. Gruffydd."

Ted blinks a few times, and nods. "Right, well, as long as I pronounced it right."

"You did, but he usually goes by Griff."

"Noted. Tell him if he wants to come around and pretend to be interested he's more than welcome." Colin chuckles. "Or if he wants to talk shop about ballet. I contain multitudes, as do we all deep down."

"Did you take ballet, coach? I only ask because, well, I'd heard of American football players taking it for balance."

"Me? No," he laughs. "No, there's a reason I'm a coach and not a player. It's like my dancing. Well intentioned but hindered by my two left feet. Speaking of, I should get back to coaching the rest of the team. You get going. And if you feel the need to pass out, be sure to do it on a soft surface, preferably around other people."

I'll do my best."

"I know you will. You take care now."

Even after Ted is gone Colin lingers in the locker room. He drinks some water, and messes with his phone a bit while the pain settles into a dull ache. A chill settles in as his sweat starts to cool in the conditioned air, made worse by the ice pack. He pulls on a pair of his spare joggers from his cubby and pulls up his hood, and when it only helps marginally he tosses the ice pack into the bin.

He's overcome with the urge to text something awfully embarrassing to Griff. Something to capture his loneliness and injury induced isolation. Gets as far as opening his messaging app and stares down at the photo from last Christmas. But he's supposed to be on the pitch. Even Griff, openly sports ignorant, knows he wouldn't normally be on his phone at this time.

As a compromise to himself he pulls up Griff's Instagram and likes his most recent photo, something from the spare room at Colin's flat. Coffee, laptop, Griff's reflection on the screen, the prep booklet for his fluency test. What he wouldn't give to be an absolute nuisance, lounging in the background while Griff toils away.

He pockets his phone and starts walking.

Even though it's Higgins' office, has been for awhile, Colin feels a strange sort of disappointment from not seeing Dr Stone on the other side of the desk. Offering him a seat, giving him a box of tissues. Listening. Assuring him of things he should already know but has a hard time holding onto in his darker moments. 

He's definitely calling her later.

"Morning," he says softly, giving the doorframe a little knock.

Higgins' looks up from his papers at Colin, and then to the pitch outside the window. "Is something the matter?"

"No, it's all good," he says. "Just took a surprise header. Knocked me around a bit. Coach is having me walk inside for a bit in case I pass out."

"So you can land on the hard, poured cement instead of the relatively soft pitch?" Higgins says, face drawn with obvious concern. Colin, truly stunned by the revelation, finds it difficult to shut his mouth for a full ten seconds while his brain catches up. "Are you feeling alright? Should you sit down?"

"I'm," he pauses, "I will sit, yeah." He pulls one of the chairs a bit closer and drops onto it. Higgins relaxes several shades and folds his hands together atop his desk. "I needed to talk to you about tickets, actually. For my friend."

"Ah, yes, give me one moment," he says as he shuffles about with his papers. "Can I get a name?"

"Griff Morgan," he says. "He says it can be in the far back. He doesn't mind."

"No, no, we have a VIP section for a reason. Anyone our players deems important enough to set aside a ticket for is getting a good view."

"Great, thank you," he claps his hands on the arms of the chair, suddenly overcome with the urge to stay seated. "Is it alright if I stay a bit?"

"Of course," he says. "I'd much rather you passed out in a chair."

"Oh, I'm just," he stops himself. "Thanks."

"Anytime, but if it's alright with you I should get back to work."

"That's fine. I can entertain myself."

He pulls out his phone and thumbs around a bit, idly watching his apps scroll up and down. Then he opens his contacts, and taps on Dr Stone's and his previous messages.

Griff's coming for a visit :)

I hope you have a lovely time.

He is, truly. At home, at least. When his whole world consists of people who know, who accept him. Isaac got to him. He didn't mean to, he doesn't know, but he did and now Colin isn’t sure what to do with himself.

He messages a quick, feeling cruddy , to Dr Stone, and he stares at his screen until the dots appear.

-

"Tell me about her."

"Who?" Colin glances up from the tile. He falls into step with Isaac on their way out towards the parking lot.

"Who, he says. This secret woman!"

"Oh! Oh, right," he chuckles weakly. “I’m not usually a kiss and teller.”

“I’m not asking for those details, don’t be crass.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah, bruv. I'm asking about her , get it? I'll take a letter if you won't tell me her name."

"G."

"G? Alright," he nods approvingly, as if he's learned anything substantial. "Go on, then. Tell me about this G."

“Well, G’s smart, way smarter than me,” he jokes, and Isaac elbows him. “Right, yeah. Bookish, I guess. Not one for sports.”

“Except the ones you're in,” Isaac hazards.

"Barely," he laughs. "Begrudgingly, I'd say. But that's alright."

"Football is life," Isaac jokes.

"Ha! Yeah, no. Football is a footnote at best."

"Must be pretty special if that isn't a deal breaker."

“Definitely. Sh… e’s in school, actually,” he drags it out of himself, like pulling a rotten molar. “Wants to be a teacher.”

“Very respectable. Can’t imagine why she’d want anything to do with you.”

“Hey,” Colin makes a dramatic grab for his heart. “Maybe I’ll be a retired trophy husband.”

"Last I heard teaching's not much of a money maker. Best get yourself a sponsor deal. Helmets, maybe."

"Ha!" Isaac elbows him, sending him sideways a step, but he grabs Colin by the arm to keep him steady. "Why's everyone acting like I got a fractured skull? It's barely a welt."

"It's a noticeable welt," Isaac corrects him. Colin reaches up to feel the edges of it, and dares to test the worst bit. Still sore, still tender. He'll be sleeping on his left side tonight. "What subject?"

"What? Oh, Welsh and English. Got a fluency test coming up shortly. It's a good thing I have training because I'm a 'distraction'."

"I'll bet. You know any Welsh?"

“No, I’m hopeless. Practically remedial. Learned a bit in primary, you know, but English barely sticks some days. There’s no room for another language up there,” he gives his head a gentle tap, on the wrong side, and he hisses. Isaac pities him enough to pretend not to notice. “My dad is fluent, partially because my nan is fluent and if he didn’t know the language he wouldn’t know what she’s saying about him behind his back.”

“Charmer.”

"We're not on speaking terms. Relegation, you know," he says, and Isaac nods sagely. "My dad and me, back when I was a lad, would toss this one word back and forth, really lay on the accent and all. Ofnadwy."

"Off nads what?"

"Ofnadwy. Means terrible. I loved it. Had no clue I was supposed to feel bad if it got directed at me. So my dad turned it into this game."

"Ah, so you were an ofnadwy little shit, then."

"Yeah," he laughs. "I mean, my nan thought so. Always muttering words I didn't understand. But my dad made it okay. Made it fun. Still is. We'll toss it around a bit to drive Gr -" he swallows back the rest of the name. Gr isn't so telling. There's got to be a name that isn't Griff that starts that way. It doesn't matter that he can't think of any. That Isaac is looking at him funny. "We're a lot alike, me and my dad."

"Always driving your women mad?" He jokes. Colin tries to laugh, clutches his phone so tight he feels his screen creak. "Give her a kiss on the cheek from me."

"Sure," he croaks, waving as Isaac drops onto his driver's seat and backs out of the space. He bites at the side of his thumbnail, and opens up his messages again. Just to reread them.

-

The second he steps inside he can tell Griff's been cooking something bready. The smell drags him from the front door to the kitchen, where he finds a round loaf with a couple slices already carved off, presumably eaten. He cuts himself a slice and slathers it with jam, and takes a bite.

He finds Griff in the spare room, headphones on at his laptop, a plate with a half piece of bread to his left and some tea to his right. Colin holds his last bite aloft to get his attention, and he pulls his headphones back around his neck.

"Afternoon."

"Prynhawn."

"Huh? Right, afternoon," he smiles briefly. "Studying?"

"Yeah."

"You made bread." Griff hums an affirmative. Colin pops the last bit in his mouth. "It's good. Chewy."

"I've been trying a quick rise. Works alright."

"I missed you."

"You're a charmer," Griff teases, but he's also smiling. And then he looks up. "You okay?"

"Off day. I'm fine."

"Come here, then." Griff says, one arm reaching out. Colin swoops in for the quick kiss being offered, and then kisses him again with a bit more fire behind it. "You're eager," Griff laughs, a touch breathless.

Colin rests his forehead against Griff's, breathing him in. "I love you."

"Love you," Griff says. Gives him one more kiss. "Caru di. I'm sorry, I really do need to study. I'm doing a timed test."

"Practice or real?"

"Practice, but I need to finish."

"Alright, then, let me sit behind you. I'll behave myself."

"Sure you will," Griff sounds skeptical, but he scoots forward in his chair so Colin can slip in behind him. And for the most part he does behave, even if there's not a centimeter between them. He keeps his hands across Griff's middle and rests his left cheek on his back. He's warm from sitting in the sun all day. And he smells like bread and coffee.

You're allowed to feel hurt by this. People are hard wired by their surroundings to assume things are a certain way.

It helped earlier, and it helps again now, thinking about Dr Stone's words. Even though it's a text, he hears it in her voice. The cadence, the soft way it sort of cradles him as she coaxes him to open up. He sighs against Griff's sweater, and tucks his chin into his shoulder to watch his progress. 

"Going well?"

"Well enough," Griff groans as he clicks submit and leans back into Colin while the page loads. He gestures to the 92%, sighing with relief. "Suppose that's decent."

"Decent! I can't remember the last time I got a 92%. Your efforts deserve praise." He kisses the side of Griff's head, and sniffs the scent of his own shampoo on his curls. "I'm proud. That should count for something."

"It does. Thank you." Colin can feel the way his jaw works to contain more practice translations. "What's this about having an off day?"

"Got hit in the head."

"Oh?" Griff turns around in Colin's lap and sits sideways. And then he tips Colin's head to the left to examine his right temple. "Christ, Colin, what happened?”

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Colin whines.

“Like what? A concerned boyfriend?”

“Like I’ve gone and fucked my one asset.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re not just a pretty face.” Griff smiles then, and uses a gentle touch to feel at the edge of the welt. It’s not so bad, really, after a second ice pack and some pain medication, but he winces all the same. “I can think of at least one other asset.”

“You wound me, and when I’m already in a weakened state.”

"What happened?"

"Ball. Stray kick. I'm okay. Might've bruised the tendon or something. I'll still be able to play, oh! And I got your ticket squared away."

"I'm glad you're alright."

"And that you'll get to see me play?" Colin goads him. Griff rolls his eyes and kisses Colin, avoiding the obvious answer. "You don't actually mind coming to the match, do you? You wouldn't rather study?"

"No? I mean, I should, but I'll manage. One day won't ruin me. What's brought this on?"

"I've," he sighs, and shoves his face into Griff's neck. Griff pets his hair, rubs the back of his neck. "Rough day. Not from the ball. Well, maybe from the ball a little bit."

"Can't have helped."

So many things form in his head, but he doesn't let any of them out. Griff doesn't press, just keeps alternating between rubbing his neck and running his fingers through his hair.

"I've been thinking about taking a break," Griff says. "Did the test. Did well."

"What kind of break?"

“Well, I can think of a thing or two we can do with your one other asset,” he teases. "Like take a nap."

"What!" He sits up straight. "What's my other asset exactly?"

"Big bed," Griff says, sugary sweet and the right amount of mean. "Or your shower. I honestly can't choose between the two."

"It is a good shower," Colin concedes. "I didn't take one yet. Took the header too early to make it worth the effort."

"Bet you haven't taken a nap yet either."

-

Griff's right. He's usually right about these things. A hot shower, a bit of a nap (although Colin doesn't actually sleep, just messes around on Twitter and the like) and he's feeling better. It's easier when he doesn't need to screen his sentences before speaking. Or his actions before doing. He just is, as is, even if sometimes he's a little bit of a disaster (Griff's words).

Griff mumbles something unintelligible from behind the blankets and a pillow and a wall of deep sleep. Colin drops his phone onto the bedside table on his side and leans in close, blowing a gentle stream of air at his face. His nose scrunches up, but he continues to sleep.

"Your nap's going to turn into a proper sleep," Colin whispers to him.

“Dw i ddim yn hoffi’r ci coch.”

“What? Griff? Griff, hey,” he kisses his temple, and rubs a hand across his back. Griff blinks a few times, and squints up at him. “You’re talking Welsh in your sleep.”

“Oh,” he stretches out his back, languid and liquid, catlike, and leans up on his elbows. “Cymraeg, really? What did I say?”

“Oh, well, erm -”

“Come on, I’m always interested in my Welsh subconscious.”

“Well, started like, Dewi?”

“Dw i.”

“Right, Dewi.” (“Close. There’s no ‘e’ in that one, love. It’s two words technically.”) “Right, and uh, them in?”

“Oh, Colin,” he moans with pity. “A valiant attempt.”

"You're better at Welsh in your sleep than I am wide awake."

"I'd hope so with all the studying."

“I need to know one word in Cymraeg -” (“Is it Cymraeg because that’s not actually that useful.”) “No, it’s ofnadwy.”

“Ofnadwy,” Griff says knowingly.

“Ofnadwy!” He exclaims, and Griff gives him a pity chuckle. “Exactly. Only word I need.”

"Fitting."

"Rude!"

“Shush,” Griff leans up and kisses him. For all his protesting, Colin gives in immediately. "Maybe I'll actually tutor you once I'm finished with all this nonsense. I could figure out an incentive program. Every word you learn equals one kiss."

"Just a kiss?" He prods Griff in the side, trails his finger a bit lower. "I won't stop you from trying. I can't guarantee I'll make much progress."

"Not much is still progress."

"True. But it's alright either way. What I lack in language I make up for with my high follower count.”

"The voice box of the people." He drags himself up and over so he's hovering above Colin, eyes dreamy and warm. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much, thanks." He stretches his arms up on either side of Griff's head and drags him down until they're chest to chest. "I think my head's okay. Not concussed, at least."

"Do you have weight training or anything? Photoshoots -"

"Photoshoots!" He cackles. "Who do you think I am?"

"A footballer, I don't know. I don't know how famous you are."

"Adorable," Colin chuckles. "Very flattering. You're good for my self esteem."

"Hush, you're terrible for mine," Griff says, kissing him, leg slipping between Colin's and a hand gently cradling his injured head. "I only meant are you free for the afternoon."

Colin nods, and grabs hold of Griff's wrist. "Coach told me to rest."

"This doesn't really count as rest, love."

"Only if you're rough about it. You can't tease me like this."

"I tease you all the time," Griff scoffs. He also kisses him again, for longer this time, more lively this time. He whispers so close their lips brush together, "and you deserve it."

"You're so rude," Colin matches his volume. Leans up to kiss him, whining when Griff pulls away.

"Your phone's going off," Griff says. He reaches for it and drops it on Colin's chest. "Normally I'd silence it, but -"

"Could be the club."

"Someone checking to make sure you haven't taken a turn."

"Suppose it would be awkward if they sent someone over to check," he sighs, and he lifts his phone up as another message comes through. He taps it, and scrolls up to the first message. “It's my dad. He's asking if I can meet him at the station tomorrow morning.”

“Is he coming to your match too?”

“I dunno, I didn’t say anything to him.” He rereads the string of texts; a request, a time, a date (tomorrow), and some poetic insistence that he can manage if Colin is in training. "D'you think something's wrong? He's not usually so spontaneous."

"Ask him," Griff says. "Let the man wax poetic at you. I'm going to use the loo."

Griff tosses back the blankets and extracts himself from Colin in a few shaky movements. Colin watches him as he picks up a pair of joggers from the floor and pulls them on, and then disappears into the master bathroom.

"I think those are mine," Colin calls after him as he sends his dad an inquiry. "Might be a bit long in the leg."

"I'm not that much shorter than you," Griff insists. "A couple centimeters!"

"A couple? I'd say a few," Colin counters. His dad replies, and he frowns down at the message.

Nothing so dire, son. Nothing to fret over. I would hazard an overnight, if it's not too much trouble.

"He might need to stay here," Colin relays, still frowning. He's not going to say no, obviously. He doesn't feel he can. "He says it isn't dire."

"Does he remember I'm visiting?"

"I'm not sure," Colin bites at his thumbnail. "It could pose an issue."

"Could?" Griff peeks back through the door, and leans against the frame. "Colin, even if he does remember he thinks I'm in the spare room."

"Certainly doesn't think you're wandering around shirtless," Colin attempts to tease. He's a bit too maudlin to pull it off. “You could always sneak in after he’s asleep.”

“Like we’re teenagers creeping around in your parents house?”

“To be fair, we were teenagers creeping around my parents house. Nineteen counts. It has teen right in the word.”

"As appealing as that sounds, no thank you." Griff waves him off. "I can sleep on your sofa. Give the old man the proper bed. We’ll be alright,” he declares, matter settled. “We'll have had two nights. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere, really. The important thing is we’re together.”

“Yeah,” Colin doesn’t sound as sure, but he replies with a quick thumbs up before setting his phone aside. "I'll bring him to a coffee shop. Give you time to reorganize in the morning."

"Or you could just," Griff trails off, raising his eyebrows. Gesturing between them as he approaches the bed.

"Maybe," Colin sighs, "but not my mom. You know how she is."

"I do know how she is, yes. I know the scripture I got when I came out. It wasn't even original. I could've gotten the same thing wandering into any Catholic church."

"I'll see what he wants first. Maybe he's just itching to watch a match. Wants to get away from some church thing for a weekend."

Griff reclaims his place on the bed, half on top of Colin, and rests his chin on his crossed arms. "No one's forcing you if you're not ready."

"I know."

"It's just," Griff pauses, "you've seemed a bit unhappy lately."

Unhappy? No, not really. Well, sort of. It's more like he feels like his chest is about to burst open and the secrets will all come spilling out. Like it's being dragged out of him bit by bit.

"I'll see what he has to say."

-

Colin's dad's train arrives at seven thirty sharp. When he leaves for the station Griff is still asleep, with an alarm set for eight. Plenty of time, given his dad's tendency to ruminate, and his clever decision to walk.

The last time he saw his dad he didn't have a beard. Now he does; a well trimmed, salt and pepper thing. And his hair is getting longer, showing off the natural curl Colin somehow missed out on. He waves when his dad scans the crowd, beckoning him over towards one of the exits nearest the coffee shop.

When they reach each other his dad pulls him into a big, bear hug, and lets him go before Colin can manage to return the sentiment. "My eyes deceive me. I swear I rode this very train and dropped off a wee thing not two years ago."

"Three," Colin corrects him. "Is twenty-two wee now?"

"Practically a child," his dad assures him. "How has your morning been?"

"Ofnadwy!"

"Ofnadwy! Have to fix that, then."

"There's a coffee shop round the corner."

"I could do with a coffee," his dad says through a yawn. "Could do with a croissant as well."

"They have those," Colin says. "This way."

It's not his usual coffee shop, but quiet and comfy feeling, with giant croissants and espresso in mismatched little cups. They claim a table near the back and methodically pick apart their croissants bit by bit. Colin notices the similar state of their pastries and chuffs, stuffing another bite into his mouth when his father glances up from his plate.

"A frequent haunt of yours?"

"Nah," Colin takes a sip of his espresso, "I have a machine, actually. Some promotional gift Keeley got for the team. She's a wonder, that woman."

"Ah, but you don't go to a shop just for the beverage. You go for the atmosphere, the ambiance. A gentle warmth of a place will seep into your bones and inject a bit of energy into your day."

"That's what caffeine is for," Colin jokes. His dad smiles warmly, shaking his head as he takes his own drink. "What brought this on? Not that it isn't welcome -"

"A bit of a surprise," he offers, and Colin nods. "Some discussions are better held in person."

"Is something wrong?"

"That's… complicated." He sits back in his chair and sighs. "Some things have been wrong for some time. Your mother and I -"

"Dad, I'm twenty-five now. If you're having some sort of trouble, if you need help with finances -"

"We're separating," he says, and Colin sucks in his bottom lip, "with intent to divorce. Not much else to say. A marriage forms, it later dissolves. Some things are cyclical in nature."

"You're getting a divorce?"

"We are. Nothing is finalized, but emotionally I’d hazard that we've been there for some time."

"I didn't," he trails off. Doesn't know what he didn't do. Call? Visit? He's done both plenty of times. "I think I need a minute," Colin murmurs. "I uh," he gets up suddenly, and gestures towards the public toilet. His dad says nothing, only nods knowingly and takes a drink of his espresso.

Colin goes to the sink and splashes water on his face. He presses his fingers into his eyes and groans. There's the instinct to yell, or cry or tell Griff at the very least, but he doesn't move. He takes a minute to breathe. And then the fight drains out of him all at once.

It's not a surprise, exactly. If he thinks back to Christmas, at the tension in the room while he and his dad drank a pint together, and then a bottle of wine when his mother turned in early. How his father had been so reserved, so unlike himself, until she was no longer in the room.

When Colin returns he finds some sort of dessert on the table by his espresso. He eyes it with suspicion, but accepts the fork when it is offered. "Did you buy me a sweet to try and soften the blow?"

"What can't be fixed with a proper bread pudding?"

“Did you miss the part where I’m in my mid twenties?”

“No, I also didn’t miss the part where you’ve already taken several bites.”

“It’s good,” Colin admits, carefully talking around his most recent forkful. "Why didn't you say something at Christmas?"

"And sour the holidays? No, I'll not be the unsugared biscuit bittering up your tea. It wasn't the time. And we barely got you for a day."

"Right," because he'd rushed off to Griff's tiny little flat the second he didn't feel a weight of guilt over leaving. "That makes sense."

"I only learned of this plan during the sermon."

"Last Sunday? Really?"

"Struck with a vision of a man not daydreaming of the misty hills, gazing through a creaking window and willing time forward. I formulated through the day of rest, cobbled together myself and my will, and a bag of things of course," he gestures at his feet, "and pre-purchased a train ticket for this morning. I bore witness to those hills."

"Sounds nice."

"It's a conflicting thing," he says. "I'd honestly considered staying."

Colin doesn't ask, he doesn't need to. He digs a little valley in the center of his remaining pudding and scrapes up some of the treacle-like sweet at the bottom. It's too much sugar in just the right way.

"How long will you be in Richmond?"

"As shocking as the revelation may be, I hadn't considered a timeline."

"You mentioned something about staying the night?” Colin adds, trying to sound casual and covering up his failure with a bit more of the brown sugar mess.

“Only if it’s no trouble,” he brushes the inquiry away.

"Griff's staying with me this week, you know. I swear I told you."

"Right, you did, right," he shakes his head. "I had no intention to cock up your plans, but things reached a natural state of true, uninterrupted animosity. But don't put yourself out when you're already playing host. I can make due."

There's something so tempting about the offer, and if he were here under pretty much any other pretense Colin would accept without guilt. Now it's crushing in his ribs. 

“He’s already relocated to the sofa,” Colin says. “Said I should give the old man the bed.”

“Did he now?” he laughs, a bright thing, one that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle.

"You'll have a blast together while I'm at training. He's neck deep in his fluency test, studying all day."

"Now don't tempt me," he warns, still smirking. "I'll not turn into your nan, gabbing away while you're left unaware."

"How's she taking it?" He asks, not saying more. Not needing to say more. His father sobers, and sits back in his chair. "Sorry."

"No, no, you have a right to ask. The she you indicated and the she you actually meant are livid, but there's nary a hint of surprise in either of them. I think we've all known, when we marinated in the silence that no longer brought comfort."

"So, what happens now?"

"Time passes. We continue on as we once were. I've some proofing to do. She'll continue on back in the house. The shock of it is, boyo, is how little will actually change."

-

There's a grain of truth in his dad's words, but watching him walk through the front door, the little pleasant greeting he shares with Griff in the safety and innocence of the living room, sends a rock of anxiety straight into his gut. They get along, always have. If he says something, if he just says something -

When Griff catches his eye as his dad shuffles off to the guest room Colin shakes his head. He dares to lean in for a single, chaste kiss before he darts off towards his bedroom to get ready for training.

There's an awful, crawly feeling in his throat as he switches his pants for his joggers, his shirt for a team shirt, his trainers for, well, he actually doesn't need to change those. He holds the pair in his hands, turns them over and examines the tread, and wills the heat building behind his eyes to go away already. He's had his moment, had a sweet. He's fine.

He's not fine. He tosses the trainers aside and speed walks into his bathroom, and stops in front of the mirror, hands braced on the counter as he studies his wrecked expression.

"Men cry. It's okay to cry," he tells his reflection. "Men cry. It's," he sniffs, and puts his hand to his mouth. All it takes is a deep breath, a shudder, and he blinks, letting the tears spill over. The whole affair lasts barely a minute.

It's not very satisfying, a whole three tears and a bit of sniveling, but it'll have to do. He washes his face and finds his shoes, one of which found its way under the edge of his bed. When he's truly ready he feels a bit better, looks it too, but he pauses in the doorway of his room rather than interrupt the conversation he walks into.

He can count the number of Welsh phrases he remembers on one hand. And the last time anyone spoke Welsh around him they did it deliberately, so seeing it flow between them, rhythmic and smooth, without the punch from his name slipped in, feels strange. Good, but strange. And maybe a bit bad also. Panic inducing -

"Oh, Colin," Griff says, knocking him out of his stupor. "You leaving?"

"Soon," he mouths, and stops himself to take a breath. All good. Just look at Griff's face and stop making it look so concerned. Colin smiles, even if it feels fake, and walks behind the sofa to lean against the back. "Getting on, then? Practicing?"

"I'd pass him on the spot," his dad assures them both.

"You're too generous," Griff says, obviously preening. Somehow approval from a fluent speaker means more than Colin's empty praises. Clever boy slings his arm over the sofa, and his fingers brush against Colin's, tucked away out of sight under his elbow. "Maybe you can be my proctor. Tell me more stories about getting booted out of the pub."

"Dad, again?"

"Booted is such a strong, accurate word," he says wistfully. "Don't be afraid to do something foolish in public. You're still young enough to recover." He gets up without warning, and Colin straightens, hands snapping to his sides to imply some sort of chasteness. "I've intruded long enough this morning. I find myself with a growing list of tasks and no desire to complete them, so if I don't move now I fear I'll take root."

"He told me," Griff clarifies, eyes sending sympathy Colin's way. He smiles ever so briefly, a thank you.

"Don't spend too long fretting over an old man escaping a rut. Why don't we meet again for some food in the late hours. My treat."

"Or you could go tour his club," Griff offers on Colin's behalf.

"Any other day," he says wistfully. "Don't spend all day studying," he tells Griff, "and bless you, boy, try not to take another ball to the head."

"You told him?" Colin squawks, and his dad vanishes out the door as he's looking away.

"I'm surprised you didn't," Griff says.

"It didn't come up." He groans then, all the way around the couch until he can drop into Griff's waiting lap. "I didn't tell him."

"With good reason," Griff says, twirling a bit of his hair around one finger. "I'm sorry."

"What?" He pops up on his elbows, "why for?"

"The divorce."

"I didn't know you'd had a hand in it," he teases, and sobers when it falls flat. "I'm not sure I can talk about it just yet."

"Still fresh."

"Yeah. It's not a surprise, exactly. It's upsetting, but -"

"It's a big thing."

"But a good thing, in the end. He's been out of sorts lately. I thought it might be gastrointestinal."

"Like a stomach ache?"

Colin shrugs. "I'm feeling a bit queasy."

"That'd be the emotions, love."

"Or the bread pudding. Not the best breakfast."

"You bought bread pudding before training?"

"My dad did. An appeasement. It was very good. Might've eaten too much."

"Lie on your back, then," Griff instructs. He lifts an arm while Colin gives himself a good twisting until he's looking up at Griff's ear. Then a hand starts rubbing his stomach, up his sternum, and back down in even strokes. "Better?"

"A bit."

"Definitely emotions, then," Griff declares. The pattern continues, bringing Colin to the point of dozing. "When is your training today?"

"Later," he sighs. "An hour. Weights. Machines. You know."

"I don't, actually, but that's alright. I'll wake you in fifteen. Just rest a bit. Emotions can wait."

"I'll call Stone," he adds, eyes dropping. Heavy. Blurring at the edges. Warm.

Loved.

-

This time Colin is early.

Dr Stone is in a session when he calls, so he leaves her a message. Assuring her he's alright, but updating her on the situation. Wanting to discuss timing during their next appointment.

There's always some sort of hustle and bustle going on in the club. All the backstage work in motion before a match. A few people greet him, and he waves, and sometimes chats a bit on his way to the locker room.

It's empty aside from Coach Lasso and Beard both sitting in their office, tossing a tiny ball back and forth as they call out plays. Colin watches from his cubby, hand clutching at the zipper of his jumper. Something compels him forward, but he stops, foot still in the air, when Beard gets up to retrieve the runaway ball and catches Colin watching them at the doorway.

"Hey.”

"Morning,” Colin nods.

"Is that Colin? Ah, there he is!" Ted exclaims from the room. He pokes his head out over Beard's shoulder. "Your head feeling better this morning?"

"Much, thanks. Hardly noticed. Do you have a minute?"

"Shoot, I've got nowhere to be for five minutes. Wait, do I?"

"I've got somewhere to be," Beard says, like he’s just realized the fact.

"Well, I guess you better go be there, wherever it is," Ted yes-ands. The two share a look, and then Colin and Ted are left alone. "Why don't we step inside," he says,and he steps back, coming to a stop beside his desk, hip cocked so he's leaning against the edge. "Whatcha got for me?"

"I was hoping for a bit of advice," Colin says. "See, my dad's in town now -"

"Oh, you can get more tickets," Ted assures him.

"It's not that," Colin sighs. "Well, he would like that, actually. Sorry," he lets loose a breathy, weak laugh. "It's been a busy morning."

"Take your time," Ted says. The silence is uncomfortable, but he sits patiently while Colin works up the nerve to speak.

"My dad texted me last night, out of the blue. Not very in character for him to show up without warning like this. He's a planner."

"Okay," he says, encouraging Colin to continue.

"So I say yeah, we'll get coffee. We'll have some sort of chat. And it turns out he's come by to tell me he's getting a divorce."

"Ah," Ted nods. "Well, I don't know if this is the same for adult children, but we had to tell my boy over and over again that it wasn't his fault. It isn't your fault, by the way. I know it can feel that way sometimes."

"Thanks, it, um," he swallows around a ball of emotions, "thanks."

"Anytime. I mean that. Like right now, for instance. We can be a few minutes late. Ask me anything."

"What comes next? Like, divorce wise?"

"Well, depends on a lot of things. Like if they both agree on the terms. If they even have a lawyer yet. There's really no telling how long it could take if they're having to work through disputes."

"Ah, well, that's lovely. My dad's asked to stay with me. Only for a bit, he says." They exchange something unspoken, an agreement that he does sound ridiculous for even saying it out loud. "Which is all well and good, normally. I've got the spare room, but now Griff's out on the sofa and this week is really shaping up to be a shit one."

"Ah, come on. Your sofa can't be that bad."

"No, it's a nice sofa. Roomy. But my dad doesn't know Griff's my boyfriend."

Realization comes to him slowly, much slower than Ted, but when it does it's relentless. Regret drenches him in a cold sweat straight away, and the threat of tears follows close behind. And through it all Ted maintains a calm expression, an open one, but Colin can't focus on him right now.

"I didn't mean to say that," he whispers. He doesn't take it back, either. Hard to come up with an alternative.

Ted straightens, and breezes past Colin to shut the office door. There's a stillness in the air, a stifling quiet, as Ted returns to his previous position against his desk.

"I thought you might want some privacy. So we could talk about what you just told me. Now - oh, those are tears. Well, that's just fine. Nothing wrong with a little crying." Colin scrubs his eyes with his sleeve, and leaves his hand there. "I'm going to keep talking, because I get the feeling that's not going to be too easy for you now. I don't want you to sit there worrying. If you want to talk, we can talk. If you'd rather I pretended I didn't hear that and we move on, I can do that too."

He peeks out over the edge of his sleeve, sniffling into the damp cuff. "So, y-you're okay with it?"

"Okay with it? Colin, I'm more than okay with it. I support you, however you want that to look like. C'mere, you don't have to stand there crying like I don't have a crumb of sympathy in me. I've got it in spades. That's it," he says, beckoning Colin in for a hug, which Colin nearly launches himself into, "thank you, and not just for the hug. I know it was an accident, but I think some part of you must have trusted me with this deep down, and I understand that's not easy."

"I've never told anyone," he admits, tucked away safely in Ted's fatherly hug. "I'm gay. I just," he shudders, and takes a few not so steady breaths, "I didn't specify."

"Understood. I'm sorry it was a surprise reveal.”

“Thank you,” he croaks. There’s so much more he wants to say, but it keeps getting stuck in his throat, a hot ball of emotion and stress and relief. He stops trying. Lets it all go.

-

Training is a blur, a smear of heavy things in his arms, at his ankles, the bike under his feet. Word gets around about the divorce. Intentionally, without any mentions of the other sort of thing. There are plenty of pats to his back, and some gentler than usual treatments. Less goading, more encouraging. Isaac offers to move up his haircut, even offers a covert extra trim for the year (but not a second cut, he has standards) which Colin swears he appreciates even though he turns it down. He doesn’t want to look his best when he’s feeling his worst.

At the end of training, after he’s one of the last players wobbling out of the showers and dressing in his home clothes, Ted gives him a slip of paper with a phone number and Crimm, T scribbled underneath.

“That’s for the future, whenever that happens to be. Next week. At your retirement, whenever. But he’ll steer you the right way.”

“Thanks, Coach,” he makes a point of putting it in his wallet. “Uh, thank you.”

“Always. You get some rest,” he says, giving Colin’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You can call if you need an ear. I got two I can loan out anytime.”

“Thanks.”

“And tell your old man he’s welcome to come take a tour.”

“He’d like that.”

“You know,” he starts, finger wagging, “when we had to tell Henry I was moving here we took him out to do something special. Soften the blow a little. Balance the good with the bad. I’m not saying it’s the best way, but it is a way.”

Colin chuffs. “My dad bought me a bread pudding this morning when he told me.”

“Doesn't matter how old you are. Works like a charm.”

-

“Dad back yet?” Colin calls from the front door.

“Just me,” Griff calls from the kitchen, where Colin finds him bent over a cup of tea and a biscuit from the tin by the fruit bowl. “94%.”

“You took it again?”

“It’s the stress. Please focus on my improvement and not my anxieties.”

“It’s a good improvement,” Colin says. He cups his hands around Griff’s, which are around the warm mug. “Bit of a stresser today. I’m spent.”

“Have some tea,” he says, flexing his fingers around the mug. Colin dips forward and takes a sip, smirking up at Griff when he protests. “You’re a disaster, Hughes. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“And yet you’ve orchestrated an entire evening where you’ll be sat near me in public.”

“A fact I regret every day.” He lifts the mug, taking Colin's hands with it, and takes a drink of his tea. "Have I told you you're a terror?"

"Loads," he says proudly.

"And also I love you?"

“Yeah,” he sighs. He makes the mistake of looking towards the front door, and a spell is broken. The two separate, and Griff dips his biscuit to avoid looking at Colin. "Got him a ticket today for the match. Might give him a tour."

"Sounds nice." He's still dunking away until the poor thing crumbles and plops into his cup. "Shit."

"I can get you another," he says, relief flooding him when he gives himself a task. Something to focus on instead of the uncomfortable air in the room.

"I don't like watching you go through this," Griff says, and Colin accidentally sends the biscuit tin lid sailing. "I've said this, Colin. You know this."

"You have. I know."

"I understand why you're not public, but God, sometimes it looks like it's tearing you in half. I wish you felt you could tell somebody."

"I told my coach,” he whispers, looking at Griff, and then away.

“Oh! Colin -”

“It was an accident -”

“- I’m so proud of you. Wait, what?”

“I wanted advice about the divorce, because he's gone through it, and it just came out of me,” he admits, head tucking to his chest, cheeks warm with embarrassed heat.

“But he took it well?” He asks, and Colin nods. "Well, that's amazing! You've got someone in your corner. I bet that feels good."

"I cried," he counters.

"So did I, when I told my first person. Nothing wrong with that. Give that, will you? You're denting the sides."

He sets the tin down and slides it across the counter to Griff. "Does it ever feel less terrifying?"

"No, well, yes? The second I put it on my profile I sort of reached enlightenment. It's just out there now." He takes a biscuit and dunks it once before taking a bite. "Suppose that's not that helpful for you right now. Sorry."

"You're not worried about teaching with it out there?"

"Not at the places I've talked to," he says, shrugging. "I'd rather not end up at some Catholic prep, hearing that all day. Gets old."

Colin takes a biscuit and dunks it into Griff's tea, and stuffs the whole thing in his mouth. It doesn't help, actually makes him feel a bit queasy all over again, with the sweetness and his mouth being overstuffed. He pours a bit of the overstepped dregs into a new cup and washes down the biscuit with the too bitter tea. It's awful, but it settles him a bit.

"Do you think you'll tell your dad, now?" Griff asks, waking him from his daze. "Now that you know you won't combust?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"I can be there," he says again, just a touch leading. "You don't have to tell him one on one."

"I don't think it's the right time," Colin snaps. "I mean, fuck's sake, he showed up his morning to tell me he's getting divorced."

"I don't mean tonight! Christ, Colin, I was just thinking out loud."

"Oh, well, what else were you thinking, then?"

Griff gets really quiet, silent, aside from the scrape of his mug against the counter. Cold slips down Colin's back, and knocks the damn biscuit around in his stomach.

"With your dad not knowing, and now he's going to the game, I'm just not sure it's a good idea if I go too. Could always blame some errant dairy. Doesn't have to be a thing."

"What? Are you trying to get out of it? I told you a thousand times you don't have to!"

"I'm not trying anything! I'm thinking about you. About what you need from me right now. And the more I picture it the more I worry he'll catch on."

"Why would he catch on? It's a game, Griff. You go, you watch, you cheer. You don't have to know the chants to blend."

"I can't pretend the whole game, Colin! I can't sit there and pretend I love football even a fraction as much as I love you."

"What are you saying?"

"I adore you. I want to watch you play. But not for the same reasons anyone else wants to watch. Your dad's not so oblivious he won't catch on. I don't know how to act, what to say. And God, Colin, you don't know how hard it is to shut up about you. And I can't do any of it until you're at least out to your dad. I can't sit there and pretend we're not dating. I can't modulate my feelings so they look acceptable to the people who don't know this part of you."

"Well maybe I'll just date football, then, since I can do it in public without anyone batting an eye!"

It takes a second to sink in, for both of them. Griff says nothing, he barely moves, watching Colin's expression shift from angry to stunned to crumbling before his eyes. There's something so quiet, yet so present, pushing against his ribs. Griff holds in the feeling, turns it to diamond while he waits for Colin to catch up.

"I'm sorry," Colin gasps. His eyes glisten, a blink, they spill over. "I'm sorry - I don't - I'm sorry," he sniffles. Devastated. Utterly ruined. "I didn't mean that, I -"

"Colin," Griff sighs. He moans with sympathy when Colin scrubs at his eyes. "I know. I'm not mad."

"How?" He croaks. "I yelled at you."

"You did. I am upset about that."

"I - I made it sound, I -"

"Hey," Griff scoffs. He wipes the cuff of his sleeve over one eye, then the other. Catches the evidence before it appears. "Do you really think that?"

"No! No," he peeks through his fingers, red eyes searching Griff's face for something, anything, and he takes a deep breath, shuddering through the end. "I don't care about being some, some Instagram ready couple."

“And I don’t either. You know I don’t.”

"I just wish it was easy for once," he whimpers, fists pressed to his eyes. He sniffs wetly, and pulls his hands away from his reddened, blotchy face. He won't look at Griff, not at first, not until there's a hand in his own, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "I hate this. I hate that it feels like football is making me choose. You aren't making me choose," he says shyly.

"And I won't," Griff assures him. "Never. I don't mind being a secret. It's just, we've not had to do it in such close proximity to someone else for ages."

"I don't know what to do," he admits. "I was so excited to have you come here."

"Your dad really has gone and fucked it right up," Griff teases. Colin smiles despite himself, despite the ruin trying to seep into his bones. "He's always been lovely to me. Before and after I told him. Why would it be any different for you?"

"I don't know," he groans. "Ever since my first relegation -"

"Your nan! She's no great loss!"

"She set conditions! And if she'll set them over football, if my mum's the same way -"

"She is," Griff interrupts him so quietly Colin almost doesn't hear. Or he tries not to hear.

"He's not like them. I know he's not like them. But."

"But what if he is?"

"Exactly!"

"I don't know what to tell you, love. What does your doctor say?"

"It's never a hundred percent certain," he says. "That it's a leap even if it's a tiny one."

"She's right, you know."

"Of course she is. She's really good. Should maybe listen one of these days.” Neither of them laughs, but there's a hint of a hint of a smile. The first brick laid. He gives Griff’s hand a tentative squeeze, and tugs him a bit closer when he mirrors the gesture. Colin leans his head against Griff’s, breathing in the faint smell of his shampoo, the conditioner. Griff himself, which he can’t begin to describe but always feels so familiar, so comforting. "This would be much easier if I just knew how he’d react.”

“A lot of things are like that.”

"Guess that’s true," Colin bites his lip. "It scares me," he whispers. "Even though I'm sure he'd be supportive, it scares me."

“Maybe you could tell someone else, then. Give yourself some more practice. That friend of yours.”

“Isaac? Maybe.”

Probably.

Definitely.

… Maybe.

-

He can’t eat anything the next morning, stomach a ball of nerves. Griff meets Colin by the front door to give him his keys when he forgets them on the counter. Except they’re in his pocket like always, and Griff only gives him a sneaky kiss in the little alcove meant for his coats.

“Good luck,” he says. “You’ll be alright.”

“I sure hope so,” he jokes weakly. He mouths I love you, and Griff risks dipping in once more before sending him off.

The drive is painful, slower than usual. He nearly takes out a pylon, gets a good honking from a fellow driver who calls him a wanker so loud he hears it through both cars. And he still gets in well before training, but not so early the locker room isn't packed with his teammates.

This time all his coaches are in the room, discussing the upcoming match, some possible plays to run through. Colin knocks on the frame and all three pairs of eyes swivel to him, and he’s overcome with the desire to shut the fuck up and forget the whole thing.

“Something the matter, Colin?” Ted asks. “You’re looking a bit green.”

“Just nerves,” he says, stopping to take a breath.

“For training?” Roy asks, sapping a bit more of his resolve.

“No, um, it’s alright -”

“Colin,” Ted interrupts, and he freezes, doesn’t even breathe, “did you need me for something? About your dad, maybe?”

It’s an out, one he could easily take. He takes a slow, deep breath, and shakes his head. “No, actually there was something I was hoping to tell the team before training today.”

“That right?” Ted asks, though it’s not really a question, not the way he says it. He sounds proud. “How about you get yourself ready, and I’ll get everyone’s attention. They listen to me. Something to do with me being in charge.”

“Thanks coach,” Colin smiles. And then remembers he’s being watched by his other two coaches, and he scurries off before his brain catches up and he gets embarrassed.

He goes into autopilot, switching his street clothes for his uniform, chatting with his cubby neighbors about mindless shit. The game, the weather for the game, the team they’re prepared to crush. It’s nice, it feels normal. He almost forgets he’s planning to throw a bomb into the center of everything.

That is, until Ted whistles once to get everyone’s attention. "Hey, everybody. Last time we’re meeting to train before our game. Exciting. And even more exciting, Colin wanted to say something to the group real quick before we get started."

"Right, um, did I?" He jokes, voice threadbare and wavering. "Sure, okay, well," he moves to the front of the room by Ted, and claps his hands together, gives them a good rub together as he works up the nerve. "I'm uh, I'm gay."

No one’s expecting him to say it, not without some sort of preamble. It stuns the room into still silence, except Isaac, who looks at him with his inscrutable intensity before speed walking out of the locker room.

“Isaac,” Colin says, dismayed. He loses some of his confidence, it's sucked out of the room as the door swings shut.

“Colin,” Ted says, and Colin turns to look at him. “It’s okay.”

“Right,” he sighs, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He turns back to the team. “I’m not coming out publicly. I don’t want to put the team through that. Or myself,” he jokes. He gets a weak pity chuckle. “I have a boyfriend. I have for a while. I’m not going to tell you his name. He’s not coming to matches or training or anything. I just want to keep football and my personal life separate, but I wanted you to know, because, well -” he stops himself. Sighs deeply, tiredly, “guys, this doesn’t really change -”

The locker room door opens, and in comes Isaac followed by Rebecca. Colin’s mouth drops open, and she marches right up to him, and cocks her head curiously. “Alright, Colin?”

“Uh, what?”

“Well, Isaac tells me you have something you wanted to tell the group,” she says, and then holds up a bottle, “and he insisted I bring champagne.”

Colin smiles, and looks to Isaac, who nods approvingly and crosses his arms. He turns back to her. “Yeah, just told the team I’m gay.”

“Come here,” she chuffs once, her free arm open and inviting, and he leans in for the offered hug. “This team is a family,” she says, and there’s a collective rumble of agreement from the team, “and we support our own.”

“And if any of you are thinking otherwise,” Roy interjects, “as in, if any one of you decides to leak something to the press, you’re dealing with me personally.”

"What are you glaring at me for!" Jamie snaps.

"Because you are a huge asshole," Jan Mass states dryly.

"Yeah! But not about that! Oi, Colin, this going to change how you play? You going to get worse now?”

“No?”

“Then what the fuck do I care?”

“And since someone is so eager to get to training,” Roy says, giving Jamie a pointed glare, “up on your feet!”

A whole series of back pats and a few hugs follow, and it leaves him feeling dazed and happy, floating in the clouds. Isaac gives him the biggest one yet, and taps his fist into Colin’s chest, “we’ll talk properly later,” he assures him. “All good, bruv.”

“All good,” he parrots.

“Colin, you’ll stay back a minute,” Rebecca tells Colin when he moves to hand back the champagne. “We need to crack into that.”

“Before training?”

“One glass won’t kill you,” she teases. “Ted,” she catches him as he moves towards the door after the throng of players. “Stay back with us, won’t you? And find a few glasses.”

“Can do, ma’am,” he says with a deft little heel turn as he walks back into his office. “Let’s see what we got here.”

“Oh, Ted,” she bemoans the eclectic collection of mugs that appear on his desk. “This is a nice bottle.”

“I’m more of a coffee guy in the office,” he jokes. “Okay, we’ve got a Number 1 coach mug, a Richmond mug,” and he picks up the last one, a strange looking thing with a lopsided face on one side, “and this beauty Henry painted for me in his art class at school. Actually, I’ll take that one.”

Colin ends up with a hearty pour into the Richmond mug. They share a silent toast and he takes a drink, and then a second because it is a nice bottle.

“Brings me back to the good old days in college. How about you boss?”

“Not quite,” she says, bemused as she is looking down into her mug. “Before I let you both get on with it, I wanted to discuss your announcement today, Colin. And what you plan to do moving forward.”

“Forward? Um,” he takes another drink, a bit of liquid courage, “I wasn’t really, well -”

“I think it’s going to be our little secret for now,” Ted says for him.

“I don’t suppose you have any experience with this sort of thing,” she says hopefully.

“There are things I can and cannot say,” he says. “Has anyone ever come up to me to talk about sexuality? Sure. Once or twice. I can’t get any more specific regarding current players. Unfortunately this is one area where the Venn Diagram overlaps. No one’s too keen to hear about a player not fitting into this neat little box.”

“Well, I and this club are behind you whatever you decide to do,” she tells Colin. “Public, private, no matter what you choose.”

“If I’m being honest,” Colin says, “I haven’t actually thought about going public. This has all been practice for when I tell my dad.”

“You don’t have to have an answer for us today,” she says. “Or tomorrow, or even this year. When you’re ready, we’ll stand behind you. Even if you’re no longer playing.”

-

Isaac corners him as he’s coming out of the shower, with one hand braced on the wall just high enough that Colin could duck around him if he wanted. He’s all gruff and tough, and he growls out a single word. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why didn't you tell me? I feel like an asshole, calling him your girl this whole time."

"Oh," he ducks his head, runs his hands up through his hair and laces his fingers against his neck. It’s still damp, and the coolness of it helps. "Right, well, I didn't tell anybody, until this week."

"I'm not just anybody," Isaac declares. He moves his arm and the two of them walk to Colin’s cubby. He sits on the bench and sighs, "I would've been cool, bruv."

"I know, or, I had a strong feeling. It's terrifying, though. I don't know how to describe it, but there's always a little bit of you that just goes, but what if this is the one thing? Does that make sense?"

“You still love Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“And we’re still Richmond?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s changed exactly?”

“I’m gay?”

“You were always gay. You just didn’t say so. And how long have you been dating him?”

“Years,” he says, wincing. "It's not that I didn't trust you," Colin explains. "I trust you a whole lot more than myself, honestly. I just," he sighs, "it's not an easy thing, having to keep it all secret. I didn’t want to put that burden on anyone else.”

“Why tell the team, then?”

Colin shrugs. “I accidentally told Coach Ted a couple days ago. It felt awful, and terrifying, and then it felt really good, having someone know. Griff - I didn’t tell anyone else his name so please -” Isaac holds up both hands, and Colin sighs. “He suggested I tell the team, or at least talk to Coach about telling the team.”

“And you’re glad you did it?”

“I am,” he says. He pulls his shirt over his head and fluffs his hair. Isaac stands to grab his own bag, and the two start walking towards the parking lot. “I about pissed myself when you ran off. I could handle some of the team being cross about it, but not you.”

“Good thing I wasn’t cross, then” he says, “I had to recalibrate a second, bruv. Had to get angry at myself, and then I thought, ‘the boss’ll want to hear this, then’, so I went and barged in, right in the middle of some phone call with Bantr, like it was some sort of emergency.”

“And then you asked for champagne,” he teases.

“Some emergencies require champagne,” he says sagely. When they reach Colin’s car he grabs him by the shoulders. “I’m the captain, yeah? So you tell me if anyone is giving you hell.”

“I’ll tell you, honest.”

“Good.” He lets Colin go. “Go on, then. Tell the man he needs to come to a match sometime.”

“He still might come tomorrow. It depends on,” he stops, “it depends on me, I suppose.”

“Well get yourself in line then, bruv. You don’t need to parade him around to just anybody, but I’m not just anybody now am I?”

-

“Oi, I’m back,” he shouts. He drops all his things into a pile by the coat closet and wanders into the living room. "Where's my dad?"

"Pub," Griff says. He’s sitting on the couch, a glass of something amber colored in one hand and a book in the other. He sets the book aside when Colin drops onto the couch, but keeps the glass resting on his leg. "How was training?"

"Good. Tried out some drills -"

"I meant the news, Colin. Did they take it well?"

"Oh, yeah, yes! It went well. My boss brought out some champagne."

“Good, I’m glad.” He hands Colin his drink, some sort of whiskey thing he's been nursing all afternoon, and Colin downs the remainder in one go. "You're sure it went okay?"

"Course," he smiles. "Why wouldn't it? They're all supportive, and," he sucks in a breath, "and they wouldn't - I'm sorry," he sniffs, covering his eyes with his hand. "I'm okay -"

"No you aren't," Griff moans with sympathy. "What's the matter? Come on," he tugs at Colin's wrist, and slips their hands together. "You can tell me."

"I want to tell my dad," he sounds like each word is a ball of tin scratching its way up his throat. "I want to, but…"

"You're dad is lovely."

"His opinion matters a lot to me," Colin admits. "Having the team behind me is good, it's really good."

"But they're not your dad."

"And I know my mother wouldn't take the news well."

"Yes, well," he trails off. "Yeah."

“So if it goes wrong -”

"I can't promise it will be okay," Griff says. "I can hope and I can guess. But now you have people who know. A whole team! And if you really want, they can be there when you tell him."

“What, at the match?”

“I was thinking a pub or something -”

“I want to do it tomorrow,” he says it fast before he can take it back. “Before we play. And I want you to come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Okay.”

“You might have to sit through a tour.”

Griff groans, “the things I do for you.”

-

Ted gives the tour. The given reason is because Colin needs to get ready, and the real reason is he’s too jittery and nervous to talk like a human. Isaac keeps pumping him up, giving him friendly claps on the back that nearly send him sprawling, and even Jamie, self-proclaimed asshole (but not about that) tells him it’s bound to go better than the last time they had a dad in the locker room.

“Because my dad, you know -”

“Right,” Colin laughs weakly, and now neither of them look all that pleased with the situation. Jamie walks off without saying anything else, and Colin contemplates throwing up in the bin.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr Hughes,” Ted says from the hallway. “I know that’s usually your line, but I love playing tour guide.”

“Gareth, please. Formalities age me beyond my years.”

“I’ve been there. Mine’s only seven and the Mr Lassos are already coming my way.”

“Go on, bruv,” Isaac gives him a little push towards the door. "We can get Jamie to deck him if he's an asshole about it."

"He won't be," Colin says, and this time he sounds like he believes it. "Dad, hey," he hops off the bench and joins the trio by the locker room door. "How was the tour? Ofnadwy?"

"Ofnadwy! No, not even slightly. I found it extensive and entertaining."

"Kind of exciting, seeing behind the scenes."

"Colin," Ted says, "I don't want to rush you, but we do have a match."

"Right, okay," he sucks in a breath. "Dad, I've been meaning to tell you for ages, but I kept making excuses. And I could have kept making them, but -”

“For fuck’s sake, Colin,” Jamie cries out, “just say it already! We got a match to play!”

“I’m gay,” he whispers.

At first he swears his dad must not have heard him. His easy expression hasn’t changed, his posture is relaxed. He smiles then, and gestures behind himself. "Then I suppose it's your boyfriend I've been dragging around after me, lost lamb that he is in a sports club. Found yourself a proper Welshman.”

Griff steps out from behind Colin’s dad, wearing one of his old jerseys from the club in Cardiff and a long sleeved shirt underneath. And someone's painted his left cheek with the Richmond colors in wide stripes, with AFC on the other in yellow letters.

"You look very uncomfortable," Colin teases.

"You know me so well."

"I thought he wasn't coming to the club," Jan Maas points out. Isaac shushes him.

"Be honest," Colin addresses his father, "did you have any idea?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I may have noticed a lack of girlfriends parading their way through the house, but I’d rather not taint memories with the lens of hindsight, boyo.”

“Colin,” Sam calls for his attention, “are you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” Colin steps aside and lets Griff take front and center. He looks like he wants to jump in the same bin Colin contemplated earlier. “Go on, then,” he says, giving him a nudge.

“Ah, Gryffudd, I go by Griff usually.”

“Got you on Insta, bruv,” Isaac says proudly.

“Thanks?”

As Griff is rushed by the group Colin steps back by his dad, and leans against his side. An arm loops around his shoulders and he sighs into it, feeling the last coils of anxiety relax in his chest.

“I’ve wanted to tell you,” he says, “but I got so worried you would be disappointed.”

“Disappointed? Not by this, boyo. Never by something felt in your core. My pride for you is a rolling hill. An old, unending thing. A constant. Sometimes it changes, but only an act of God could destroy it.”

"Poetic."

"Aye, and true."

“You can’t tell mum,” he warns, and his dad laughs so deep Colin feels it in his lungs.

“I’ll not do that to either of us, no."

He savors that for a bit, holds onto that comfort as he watches everyone introduce themselves to Griff. Watches fondly as he interacts with the rest of the team. He's in over his head, physically and mentally, but he's pointing to each person and repeating names, like he's in a class of overgrown, eager children.

"I know that wistful look," his dad says, teasing.

"Dad!"

"The eyes give away as much as they take in."

"You can't say that in front of the whole team!"

"You think it isn't obvious?"

Colin slips free of his dad's arm and stumbles towards Griff to attempt a rescue. The members who aren't focused on Griff are looking at him, and he feels his face flush all the way down to his chest. Because it must be obvious. They're all telegraphing the same smarmy expression. Even Griff, when he finishes telling Sam about his fluency test, looks at him like he's written everything on his forehead.

"Feeling alright?"

"It's a bit warm, is all," he insists. "Stuffy, you know."

"You're a mess, Colin Hughes."

"I'm not the one dating me," he teases.

Griff rolls his eyes. He looks like he wants to kiss him and smack him and maybe also steal him away for a bit of alone time. He sighs, resigned and content. "Dw i'n caru di."

"What was that?" Colin asks innocently, all smiles.

"It means I love you."

"I know. I just wanted to hear it twice."

"Cheeky," Griff grabs a fistful of his jersey and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Huddle up," Isaac snaps, and the team falls into formation around the two of them, "that's it, like we practiced."

Someone whoops in the quietest, politest way possible, but it's enough to remind Colin that he is in fact kissing his boyfriend in the middle of the club locker room. He steps back and the huddle spreads out. He chuffs, "smudged you a bit."

"You've got some right," Griff tugs on his sleeve and uses it to wipe up Colin's cheek, "here. Good."

"How are we supposed to get psyched up with this emotional shite?" Jamie whines.

"Now, Jamie," Ted starts, but Colin's father puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I think I can inspire, if you'll allow me to give it a go," he says, and Ted waves a hand, giving him the floor. His voice is low, rumbling, like a building storm. "Do you hear that, boys? That low thrum, the heartbeat of your city, of your people, steady and strong above us."

"And just beneath it, anticipation. Fear. Excitement. A rising tide building at the levy, the threat of overflow imminent. The war cry of your people -"

"Richmond till we die."

"- because you are no mere team. You are a brotherhood, banded together. Bonds strong as iron. Proud heads held high. You've been cast aside, and you are still here. You've been doubted, and you are. Still. Here. Let me hear it again, soft, like a whisper."

"Richmond till we die."

"And now the mighty roar of warriors. Come on, then! Who are we?"

"Richmond till we die!"

"They can't hear you up there, lads! Who are we?"

"RICHMOND TILL WE DIE!"

"Hoo, that gave me goosebumps," Ted whispers in Colin's ear, barely audible over the ruckus of the team. “I swear every time your dad talks it’s like he’s reading it to me from a mount in a battlefield.”

"That would be the classical theatre degree," Colin says.

"Multitudes," Ted says. "Alright, boys, I can't top that, but we can ride that wave all the way to victory. Let's do a real huddle. One two three, Richmond."

-

The highlight of the game, a one-zero nail biter right to the last second, isn't Colin's pass to Jamie, but the score he makes shortly after. But Colin's highlight is running in for a hug and Jamie not hesitating for a second before they collide in celebration.

"You're seriously not coming out for a pint after a match like that?"

Colin shrugs, and Isaac's frown deepens. "I've had plans for ages! I can't go back on them now. Griff got us tickets before I even had a match schedule."

Isaac scoffs, "and after your dad gave us the speech of the century."

"To be fair, he did the same thing when I was in the kiddie league."

"Are we going or what?" Jamie asks, coming up behind Colin and slinging an arm over his shoulders. "I owe this one a pint. Passed to me and made me a hero. They can't get enough of me."

"You'll have to owe him longer," Isaac says. "Got himself a date tonight."

"After a match like that? You can't be serious? They’ll be talking about us, mostly me, for ages!"

"I've got tickets to a ballet," Colin explains.

"Ah," Jamie says knowingly. "He goes to your thing, you go to his."

"Actually," Colin says, "it's both our thing. And I really need to go. Got a dinner reservation, and if I don't hurry up he'll go without me."

“Well get out of here then, bruv! But you’re coming out with us after the next match.”

 “Oi, Colin!” Griff calls from his car, keys jangling in his hand. “I don’t know how to drive this thing!”

“Neither does he!” Jamie calls back, but he winks when Colin mocks offense.

“Next week!” Colin says, a promise, and the two of them nod. Contract completed. He scurries over to Griff and takes the keys, and he doesn’t risk a kiss in the lot, but he does once they’re both seated in his car. “Alright, then. Dinner?”

“Dinner.”

“Thanks,” Colin says, and Griff hums, a touch confused, “for coming. For humoring me. I know ballet is more your speed.”

“Your team is nice,” he says, wincing. “I think they’ve all followed me on Instagram. Not terribly subtle, this lot.”

"I don't know what you expected, dating a footballer."

"Certainly not this," he says, gesturing to Colin's person. Colin leans his head back against his seat. Looking at Griff, studying the sweater he's switched into, the way his curls are a bit unruly after standing in the wind. The way he rolls his eyes fondly, and leans in for another kiss when Colin winks at him. "I'm starving. If we don't eat soon I'll look like a gremlin shoveling food in my mouth."

"Too late," he teases.

"Not the way you drive." Colin clutches his heart, a direct hit. "Come on, love, or I'll invite your dad, and we can listen to the man wax poetic at us for our good fortunes."

"Only if you want me to die of embarrassment."

"There's plenty of time for that now."

"Yeah," he sighs, smiling, and turns the key in the ignition. "Loads and loads of it."

-

The waitstaff gets a handsome tip in exchange for a well framed photo of them tucked away in their back table, away from prying eyes. Colin doesn't get recognized the way Jamie Tartt does, but it isn't impossible. He's done an interview or two, gotten his image intrinsically tied to Wales. And just being the little team that could does wonders for sponsorships, even the less flashy ones.

And the show! The show, the ballet Griff's been excited about for ages. A revival of sorts, Colin doesn't know all the details. Some sort of reimagining off the source material. All male cast (good, very good) and a duet rivaling Swan Lake's. Which makes sense in hindsight, once he steals the programme away from Griff during the intermission.

"Oi, I didn't realize -"

"Shh," Griff shushes him gently, sneaking a handhold in once the lights are low again. "Wait, you're serious?"

"You bought them!"

"Shh," he shushes him again, this time daring to lean in and kiss his cheek. Colin dares to lean his head against Griff's shoulder. "You're precious."

"I trust you," he says, feeling whiny and unable to convey it properly once the music swells. Griff squeezes his hand twice, and they settle in for the rest of the show.

-

He's in a bloodbuzz, head dreamy and slow, a grin plastered to his face. It's like the first time Griff dragged him - and at the time it was a drag - to a ballet, some small company show back in Wales. And he's been a convert ever since.

"You're moony," Griff teases. He knocks their elbows together, a secret little hold while they're out and about.

"It's been a good day," he says. "Won the match. Good food -"

"Excellent food."

"And the ballet . Christ, that was something."

"Knew you'd enjoy that."

"Let's go get a pint. I don't want to turn in just yet." He pulls out his phone, does a bit of googling about the nearby area. "There's something nearby. Just around the corner."

It's not so obvious if you don't know what to look for. The pub is fairly standard, if a bit newer than his usual haunts. But Griff sees the flag in the window, the little advertisement by the door for themed nights. He tugs Colin back a few steps.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"One photo is all it takes. Hard to wriggle out of being spotted at a gay bar -"

"Griff," he grabs his shoulder, gives it a squeeze. "I know. It's okay."

Griff chews on his lower lip, and Colin could kiss him, right here and now, right outside this very much a gay club in front of all of Richmond.

"What if I'm not ready just yet?"

"What?"

"It's very different, being someone's boyfriend versus being a footballer's. I think," he takes a breath, "I think we should savor the privacy while we've got it. Lord knows we won't have any if you go public while you're still playing."

"Griff -"

"We've got your team on your side. And your dad. No more sneaking around at night. I think that sounds good for now.”

“It does sound pretty good,” Colin agrees. He gives the door one last look, a courtesy at most, and he pulls Griff into a side hug and continues towards their parking. “I don’t know if I want everybody criticizing you for settling for me.”

“Stop,” Griff pokes him in the side. “It’s far from settling.”

“You’re the one that has to live with it,” Colin says.

“You’re terrible,” Griff sighs.

“Ofnadwy,” Colin whispers right in his ear.

He grumbles something under his breath, and shoulders Colin into a tiny alley between a closed shop and some sort of office space. He looks furious, practically homicidal, and he leans in as if he’s about to bite him, and kisses him instead.

“Remind me why I put up with you?”

“You like kissing me,” he says, and Griff hums thoughtfully, and kisses him again. “Because you love me.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“And if we go to mine we can keep kissing.”

“Tempting,” he says. “Very tempting. Is your dad still using the guest room?”

“For the next foreseeable future,” Colin sighs. “I’m really glad he’s supportive -”

“But macking is a whole other thing,” Griff agrees. "Let's see if your team is still out, join them for a pint. We can toast the present I got you."

"You got me a present?"

“It’s sort of for both of us,” he says. “Come on, I’ll tell you on the walk.”

“It’s not wrapped or anything?”

“It’s more a concept. Like you need anything else,” Griff scoffs. “It’s intangible, but you’ll love it, I’m sure. You know how I’ve got my fluency test?”

“Heard a rumor.”

“Ha, well, provided that goes well, and my certifications are all approved, there’s a spot for a new early education language teacher at a bilingual school, Welsh and English, in London.”

“London?”

“About twenty minutes away by train.”

“Twenty from where?” he asks, although he’s sure he already knows.

“Your place. Our place, in theory. I think it's about time we did away with the long distance part of this relationship."

"That is a good gift," he says, grinning.

"Thought you might like it."