Ted Lasso - You Better Let Somebody Love You (m, Roy)

[angora48]

I've been wanting to write a Ted Lasso fic for a while, and I knew that my beloved Roy was the one I wanted to torture. I finally found the angle I wanted for the story, so here we go! This is set during season 3, between episodes 5 and 6. Note: while there's no sexually explicit content in this fic, there is a ton of swearing. We're talking about Roy Kent, after all!

I always like to include pictures at the start of my fics, so any readers who don't follow the fandom know what the characters look like. This show has a big cast and most of the characters show up at least once in the story, so I won't include everybody individually, and I'll try to group them mainly by setting here:

Our victim

Roy

 

Coaches' office

Ted

Beard

Trent

 

The locker room

AFC Richmond

Jamie's the only member of the team that gets more than random bits of dialogue, so I'll throw in one of just him

 

Additional characters

Keeley

Higgins

Rebecca

 

I think that's everybody, lol. If I realize I left somebody out as I post the story, I'll add them in later.

Now, without further adieu, let's kick it off with part 1!

 

It must’ve been morning, because Roy Kent’s alarm was going off, offensively loud in his dark bedroom. Jolting out of sleep, his kneejerk response was to throw his phone across the room, which was a stupid fucking move. Now it was still beeping, and he had to get out of bed to shut it up.

“Fuck,” Roy mumbled in a low growl, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He had a bad headache that was pounding in time to the beep of the alarm, and his whole head felt muzzy and half-awake. 

He stumbled out of bed, groping in the dark as he followed the incessant fucking beeping sound. Roy finally found the phone and seized it. The sudden bright glare of the screen lighting up sent a fierce tickle through his nostrils, and he turned his head as he was hit with a strong sneeze. “Haaaahhhhhh-CHIUHHHHHHH!”

It sounded loud in the empty bedroom. “Fuck!” Roy repeated, shouting this time. With spots in his vision, he stabbed vaguely at the phone until it shut the fuck up.

It was finally quiet, but his head was still throbbing. Roy just stood there dumbly for a moment, feeling wonky and out of sorts, and then, “ahhhhhh…hehhhhh-ihhhhhh-SHOOOOO!” He sneezed again.

“Aaahhhhhhhh-SHIOOOOO-uhhhhhhh!” And again.

Roy groaned. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

 

By the time he got dressed and headed to the toilet, Roy was in a proper foul mood. There was no questioning it—he had a cold. Not “starting to get one,” not “had one coming on.” Overnight, he’d gone completely from well to ill, and he felt fucking rubbish.

Roy wasn’t what you’d call a morning person—no fucking surprise there—so he hadn’t registered it immediately, but the more he woke up, the worse he felt. His head was stuffy and his throat stung, and he felt as if he’d barely slept at all.

Rummaging through his cabinet, which was organized indifferently at best, Roy somehow found the thermometer and popped it under his tongue. He glowered at his reflection in the mirror until it beeped.

37.2—barely over normal. Well, that was something anyway.

He didn’t have to search for the paracetamol, which was always on hand on account of his knee. Leaning over the sink, he ran some water into his hand to wash a couple of tablets down.

He sneezed as he straightened back up, a hard “hiiiihhhhhhh-SHIIAAAHHHHHHH!” into the back of his hand. Growling to himself, Roy realized he needed something for his fucking nose as well.

More rummaging in the cabinet—he didn’t have any of those pocket packs of tissues, so loose ones from the box on the counter would have to do. Roy stuffed a fistful into his pocket, then figured he’d better fill the other one too.

He didn’t make it out of the toilet without his nose playing up again. “huhhhhh-ihhhhhh-CHOOOOOO!” he sneezed, into his cupped hands. Swallowing a stuffed-up groan, Roy grabbed one more tissue from the box and blew his nose. As he turned to leave for the kitchen, he stopped short, grabbed the whole box, and tucked it under his arm.

Roy wasn’t all that hungry, especially with his sore throat, but he knew he’d better eat something or he’d be dead on his feet at training. Practically sleepwalking, he went through the motions of making beans on toast.

The mornings were so quiet now without Keeley. Her place had always felt so full of light and life, and even though Roy wasn’t a morning person, waking up was all right when he’d woken up beside her. He liked the way she used to dance absentmindedly in front of the fridge while she decided what she wanted for breakfast, the way she’d smile that wide smile when he apologized for creeping up and startling her. (Roy didn’t creep, he just didn’t make noise when he didn’t need to. For Keeley’s sake, he’d attempted to be noisier, but he wasn’t always good at it.)

Now, even though a glance out the window told Roy it was what passed for sunny in London, the morning felt dreary. It was just Roy, feeling ill and sorry for himself, not to mention feeling annoyed and fucking stupid for feeling sorry for himself in the first place. Alone with his own thoughts, and he’d never been a huge fan of those.

“ahhhhh-hihhhhhh-CHIUUHHHHHH!” Fucking hell.

Roy ate his breakfast leaning against the counter, sniffling as he stared down at his plate. His throat was protesting, but he got through it and then tossed his dish into the sink, too tired and irritated to deal with it at the moment. 

He’d not thought to put the kettle on while he’d made his toast, so he did it now, muttering “fucks” under his breath because he’d need tea to make it through the morning but he didn’t want to be late. Even though he felt like he was moving through treacle, Roy forced himself to hurry, doing the last of his “getting ready” shit as he waited for the kettle to boil. At the last minute, he realized he needed one more thing, and he trudged back over to look through his bedroom cupboard.

Finally, he screwed the lid on his thermos and was ready to head out of the door. Sniffling and clearing his throat, he nearly forgot to grab his keys off the hook—last thing he fucking needed. Seizing the keys with a grumbled, “Fuck!”, Roy dragged himself out to his truck, bracing himself for a well and truly shit day.

 

[Alabaster]

I’ve never clicked so fast in my life! 

[angora48]

Aw, thanks, @Alabaster! I looooooove writing this story, and I'm always here for some Roy Kent appreciation! 😄

Part 2, another short one (the chapters get longer after this.) Roy has kind of a smaller role in this chapter--it's more about other characters' reactions--but believe me when I say there is so much more sneezy, miserable, sick Roy on the way!

 

Trent Crimm (independent) always arrived early—anywhere. It was an old journalistic habit. After all, the most unscripted quotes tend to go to the first person who asks them. Now that he was working on his book on AFC Richmond, the habit didn’t really give him any professional advantage anymore, but he’d found that it was hard to break.

Still, it was just as well. It was nice to get settled in at the club before everyone arrived and the day’s latest hubbub began. Trent sat in the borrowed office he shared with Roy Kent, having his morning tea while he reviewed his notes from the previous day.

Speaking of the gruff center-midfielder-turned-coach, Roy stalked heavily into the office, his face like a storm cloud.

“Morning,” Trent ventured. He was still getting the hang of Roy Kent. During his time at Richmond so far, he’d learned that Roy’s famous anger was on some level routine—Roy still shouted and swore even when his mood was neutral to good. It was just his personality, and an angry attitude from him didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong.

“Out, Cribb,” Roy told him darkly, his naturally low voice carrying even more gravel than usual. “I deed the office.” He sniffed, scowling.

Of course, a person could also lull themselves into a false sense of security, catching on a bit too late when Roy was genuinely incensed about something.

“I see—right,” Trent replied. He gathered up his things, taking another sidelong glance at Roy. “Any particular reason, or…?”

“Because it’s by fucking office that I fucking let you use, and I have every right to use it for b-- for by oad fucking business!” Roy answered, an odd catch in his voice near the end. He set a thermos and, bizarrely, a cricket bat on his desk, sniffing hard as he rubbed his nose with the side of his hand. He turned round to fix Trent with a glare. “O-out!” he repeated, his voice catching again.

“Just going,” Trent mumbled in reply.

As soon as he was out the door, Roy slammed it shut behind him, but Trent glanced back. Through the window, he saw Roy muffling a pair of quick sneezes into the crook of his arm. The stony-faced coach sank heavily into his chair, rubbing his nose with his wrist.

“Mind if I bunk with you chaps for a bit?” Trent said, entering the adjoining main office where Coaches Lasso and Beard were enjoying one of their wordplay games (Trent caught the tail end of “doing time for a rhyme crime perpetrated against Sublime.”)

“Yeah, sure thing, Trent,” Ted replied, offering him a welcoming smile. “We’re always glad to have you.”

“I appreciate it,” Trent said. He added, “I don’t know for how long. Roy’s just kicked me out of his office.”

“I thought you two had smoothed things over,” Coach Beard posed.

“We have,” Trent told him. “To be honest, I don’t think it’s anything I’ve done.”

“Yeah, don’t take it personally,” Ted advised. “That’s just Roy. He blows over soon enough.”

This seemed to be the prevailing Richmond approach to Roy Kent. They treated him rather like their own personal Oscar the Grouch, more amused by his ranting and fuming than anything else. But again, there were times when Roy really was on the warpath about one thing or another, and in those moments, the team and the coaching staff proved that they weren’t unafraid of him, at least a little.

“I think he’s ill,” Trent explained. “He was sneezing as I left.”

As one, Trent and the two coaches peered in the direction of Roy’s office, He’d shut the blinds of the large window, but he was visible through the one on the door, a dark expression on his face as he rubbed his nose.

“Oh shoot, that’d do it, all right,” Ted said with a lopsided frown. “Nobody’s at their best when they find themselves at the wrong end of meteorological conditions.”

Ah, under the weather. Ted’s Lasso-isms were another thing Trent was still getting used to. He’d had plenty of exposure to the head coach’s whimsical expressions, love of rhyme, and penchant for highly-specific American pop culture references during his days in the press room, but keeping up with them on a daily basis required Trent to stay on his toes.

Beard’s eyes flitted to the wall clock. “It’s that time, coach.”

“What? Oh, right,” Ted replied, a bit distractedly. He stood up with the air of a man who was trying to remember which pocket he’d left his keys in, his eyes still wandering to the adjoining office door even as he tried to steer his thoughts toward the day’s training.

[angora48]

Here's Part 3.

 

Ted and Beard headed into the locker room, with Trent trailing behind them. “All right, listen up, y’all,” Ted said. “We had a little trouble running the Leicester Sunrise yesterday, so Coach Beard prepared a little something to help y’all get your heads around it before we try it again. Coach?”

Beard nodded, stepping forward as Will fussed with the TV he’d rolled in on a cart. Ted frowned; Roy hadn’t come out from his office yet. He wanted to pop his head in and check on him, but after what Trent had said, Ted guessed they were in more of a “let him come to you” situation.

Will had finally got the TV working. “The Leicester Sunrise, gentlemen, relies on two key components,” Beard told the team. “Speed and synchronicity. Well-executed, it’ll leave your opponents’ heads spinning. But if either component is lacking, the whole thing falls flat on its face. As Bumbercatch can attest from yesterday….”

As Beard showed the team a video of the play, walking them through each of its elements, Roy sidled into the room, propping up a cricket bat beside him as he slouched into a seat off in the corner. He looked grumpy—in other words, he looked like Roy—but Ted thought he looked a little groggy too. He sat with his arms folded, wriggling his nose a bit.

Okay, so he hadn’t exactly come to Ted, but he’d come into the room, at least. Sometimes with Roy, that was as close as he got. While Beard continued his presentation, Ted moved across the locker room to where Roy was sitting.

“Hey, Roy, you doing all right this morning?” Ted asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Roy shrugged Ted’s hand away. “Get off,” he said in a low but firm voice.

“I just wanted to—” Ted tried to say.

“I said get off,” Roy repeated. He didn’t meet Ted’s eye but stared dully ahead. “You always ‘just want to’ get idto people’s fucking business. Leave it.”

“All right,” Ted replied. “These lips? Consider ‘em zipped.” He made a locking gesture in front of his mouth. “Oh wait, that wasn’t a zip, that was more of a lock. Consider these lips locked. But ‘lip-lock’ means something entirely different. I guess—”

“Ted,” Roy interrupted, raising his voice a little. Some of the players looked their way, and Roy shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He waited until they’d turned their attention back to Beard before he cleared his throat and said, “We’re colleagues dow, add I respect you add shit. But respectfully, shut the fuck up.” He rubbed his nose, and Ted thought he heard a quiet sniffle.

Then Beard was saying, “And that is the Leicester Sunrise. Think you’ve got a better feel for it now?”

“Yes, coach!” Dani enthused.

“I think I see where I went wrong yesterday,” Colin added.

“All right, that’s the attitude we want!” Ted said, stepping back over to the main group. “If at first you don’t succeed, figure out where you went wrong and try to fix it. We’ll have that Leicester Sunrise licked in no time! Now let’s get out there, fellas!”

As everyone moved to get up, Roy called, “Hold on! I’ve got ad addouncebent.”

Ted turned, giving Roy a nod as he stepped back a little to let him have the floor. “All right,” he said. “Fire away, Roy.”

Roy stood up, but he stayed where he was by his chair in the corner. “Listen up, you lot,” he began. It had been harder to tell earlier when he was speaking more quietly, but Ted could hear the scratchiness in his voice now. “Dobody test be this week. ‘Cause I’ve got a fucking cold, I’be id a shit bood about it, aaa-aaadd….” He paused, his lashes fluttering as his breath started to hitch.

Trent, leaning against the wall at the opposite corner, raised his mug in sort of a what did I tell you? gesture. Ted met his eyes and nodded.

Roy’s itchy nose got the better of him, and he bent forward into a hard “haaaah-CHUHHHHH!”, burying it in the crook of his arm. Sniffling, and shooting daggers at anyone who might even think of laughing about it, he said, “…Add I’ll take it out od addybody who addoys be.”

“Okay, we can definitely respect that,” Ted told Roy. Turning to the team, he said, “Fellas, let’s all show Roy a little consideration and—”

“That’s dot by fucking addouncebent,” Roy broke in.

“Oh,” Ted replied. He gestured for Roy to keep going. “By all means….”

Roy sniffed hard twice and cleared his throat. “I doh how a shitty little bug cad work its way through a locker roob,” he went on. “Wud guy’s ruddy fucking dose cad take a whole teab down. I’ve beed caught up id that lide of dobbinoes plenty of tibes id by career. But I have dever, ever beed the wud to start it off, add I dod’t plad od chadging that dow.”

Sniffling again, he said, “Dot wud of you is getting ill off of be. But that beads you lot have to do your fucking part as well.” Counting off on his fingers, he instructed, “So stay hydrated, eat proper, practice good fucking hadd hygiede…ahhhhhh…hehhhhhhh…” He screwed up his face, fighting the sneeze but plainly losing.

“I think he’s gonna blow,” Beard murmured to Ted in a low voice. Ted waved a distracted hand to hush him.

“huhhhhhh-CHIOOOO-ehhhhhh!” Roy sneezed, again into the crook of his arm. “ihhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHHHH!” He swallowed a groan.

“Bless you,” Sam offered. “And we can certainly do all that. After all, none of us wants to get—"

“Dot dud!” Roy interrupted. Continuing his count, he finished off, “Get eduff sleep, add keep your fucking distance.” 

Stifling a cough into his shoulder, he picked up the cricket bat leaning against his chair and hefted it. “You doh what this is?” he asked.

Jamie raised a lazy hand. “It’s a cricket bat,” he pointed out.

At this, Roy didn’t audibly growl, but he did bare his teeth a little. “Well spotted,” he retorted. “It’s also a radius, yeah?” He held it straight out in front of him, swinging it in a wide arc. “Add addywud who cobes idside the radius is getting sbmacked with this fucking cricket bat.” Pointing the bat toward Ted, Beard, and Trent, he added, “That goes for you three add all.”

He was stuffed up as all get-out, but Roy was still determined to be as intimidating as he could possibly manage in his condition. “Okay, consider us all warned!” Ted said with a let’s-wrap-it-up clap. “Give Roy space or face his wrath. All right, fellas, let’s head out onto the pitch.”

Roy hung back as everyone else started filing out of the locker room. He coughed into the crook of his arm, sniffling. Finally, once the herd was sufficiently thinned, he stalked across the room, letting the end of the cricket bat rest on his shoulder and giving Ted and the others a wide berth as he passed.

As soon as Roy was out of the locker room, there was another sneeze from him, a loud “haaahhhhhh-ehhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” Ted winced.

“This should be fun,” Beard drawled sarcastically.

Edited May 15 by angora48
For some reason, the text turned gray whenever I used italics.

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

Ohhh I LOVE this!! I have been saying Roy is a perfect character for sneezefics forEVER and you are doing such a beautiful job with him, that cricket bar radius is hilarious and perfect (…and hot…)

[angora48]

Thanks so much @Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea! Roy really is a perfect fit, isn't he? He's so cranky and so vulnerable, I just love it!

Here's Part 4--I hope you enjoy my attempts to write around my near total lack of football knowledge, hehe. Also, as a warning, there's a very short discussion about vomit in this chapter, dealing with the difference between "sick" and "ill" in British English. It's only a few lines, but I marked it out with xxxs if anyone needs to skip it.

 

Despite it being what passed for sunny in London, the air had a chill to it. At least, Roy hoped it did—if he felt cold, he wanted it to be because of the outdoor temperature, not because of being fucking ill. He stood on the edge of the pitch, with one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket and his shoulders rounded as if to trap any warmth in front of him. He rubbed his nose with his wrist.

Ted and Beard were running the Leicester Sunrise in batches of four, so Roy kept the rest of the lads busy while they waited for their turn. Just some fucking team drills, nothing exciting, which suited him. The paracetamol had only taken the edge of his headache, and he still felt a dull ache behind his eyes.

“huhhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” Roy sneezed, grimacing as the force of it felt rough on his sore throat. Sniffling, he pulled a tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped his nose as gently as he could.

It was hard to keep his mind on the training. He felt dead fucking tired, and his head, his nose, and his throat were all bothering him. Oh, and the glances. The goddamn glances from everyone who looked his way—it reminded him of how they’d looked at him when word got out that he and Keeley had broken up. Sad head tilts and sympathetic smiles, as if to say, How you holding up, mate?

Like I’m crawling out of my skin, thanks for fucking asking.

Dragging his thoughts back to the pitch, Roy tried to yell, “Whistle!”, but his throat wouldn’t let him get enough volume. He coughed and tried again. “Whistle! Whis-- ah, fuck!”

But Sam, who was closest to him, must’ve heard, because he turned to the others and called, “Hey, whistle, guys!”

Across the pitch, they started calling, “Whistle!” to each other, until everyone had heard and they trooped over to Roy.

“Right,” Roy muttered, clearing his throat. “Thadks.”

“We got you, bruv,” Isaac replied with a nod.

In general, Roy liked the way Ted ran things. It had taken a lot of getting used to, but it was better when everyone had an in this together attitude. Except, that is, when he had a cold and couldn’t stand their relentless fucking consideration, acting all gentle and shit with him. Then the Ted Lasso philosophy could fuck right off.

Roy picked up his cricket bat and swept it out in front of him, making sure everyone was far enough away. “¡Ay!” Dani yelped as he got swatted in the ribs.

“I fucking told you,” Roy warned. “I’be dot bessing a-abou-- out…hehhhhhhh…”

Oh, fuck his fucking nose. “ihhhhhhh-SHOOOOOO!” He sneezed into the crook of his arm, as he’d been careful to do ever since he got to Nelson Road that morning.

There came a few stray “bless yous” and “gesundheits,” but at a glower and a growl from Roy, they shut up.

“Right,” Roy said, trying to get his momentum and his dignity back, “Bubbercatch, stop telegraphing your fucking passes. Isaac, you’re looking for where the ball deeds to get to, add you’re bissing who’s id your path who could--” he stifled a cough from the back of his throat, “--who could help you get--get it there.” He stifled a second cough, then a third. “Fuck—hold od.”

Roy bent to pick up his thermos, feeling a bit woozy as he straightened up again. The lads waited edgily while Roy drank some of his tea, enough to quiet the tickle in his throat.

“huhhhhhh-CHIOOOOOO!” he sneezed again, because his nose was an ornery little fucker that hated him.

“…¿Salud?” Dani offered in the stillness that followed.

Roy let his eyes fall closed for a moment—his fucking head. He wanted to give Dani some kind of critique, but he’d been irritatingly perfect. So instead, he continued, “Sam, you’ve gotta be less accobbodating. If sobewud takes the ball from you, get id there add try to take it back.”

Once he’d gone through the rest of the group, Roy sniffled and said, “Add all of you little pricks, look sharp, stay alert, add watch out for what your teabbates deed. Let’s go agaid.”

As the players headed back onto the pitch, Roy started to cough again. He hated having to talk this much when his throat was sore; he bent at the waist, shifting more of his weight to his good leg to brace himself while he coughed hard into the crook of his arm.

A few minutes later, he was blowing his nose when Ted came walking over from the other end of the pitch, with Jamie, Collin, Richard, and Jan in tow. Ted raised his whistle to his lips, but he caught Roy’s eye before he blew it, like he was warning Roy of the impending shrill noise.

Not that that made any difference to his headache, but Roy had to admit the warning was nice.

“All right, fellas—switcheroo time!” Ted called. He drew a squiggled line in the air with his forefinger as it hopped from player to player. “Dani, Bumbercatch, Isaac, Sam, let’s get your Leicester Sunrise on! Go on, Beard’s waiting for you.”

Roy shoved his tissue back in his pocket, clearing his throat before running the newcomers through the gist and purpose of the drill. As the lads moved to swap places with each other, Roy said, “Oi, Jabie.”

He turned, stopping short of the cricket bat. “Yeah?”

“I bissed your workout this bording,” Roy admitted, looking over Jamie’s shoulder instead of at his face. “Overslept.” 

He’d been so out of it when he woke up that it hadn’t even occurred to him until he saw Jamie that morning in the locker room. He must have missed his 3:30 alarm for Jamie’s early-morning workout altogether and slept straight through to his 7:15 alarm. Roy had been kicking himself ever since he realized his mistake.

Jamie just shrugged. “You’re all right, man,” he replied. He grinned his little prick grin, with the tip of his tongue poking out, before he said, “I know how it goes with the elderly.”

“Yeah, w-wehhh…” Roy began, trailing off into a strong sneeze. “ehhhhhh…hehhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH! Mmb….” He sniffed hard. “Well, this week will be a good chadce to see if you rebebber the routide we set up without be holding your fucking hadd through it. Just because I’be dot there doesn’t bead,” he sniffled again, “you cad’t still keep up your traiding.”

“Right, coach,” Jamie said. He broke into an annoyingly effortless run and joined his teammates on the pitch.

“huhhhhhh-SHOOOOO-ehhhhhhh!” The sneeze burst out of Roy, and he only just had time to press his face into the crook of his arm.

“Bless you,” said Ted, who hadn’t gone back to the other end of the pitch with the others. Conversationally, he remarked, “Hey, Roy, if you wanna head inside, I can take it from here.”

“Doh,” Roy replied automatically, fishing a clean tissue out of his pocket to dab at his nose. “I’be all right.”

“Beg to differ, Claudia Schiffer,” Ted told him. Was he ever not fucking on?

Roy brandished his cricket bat. Ted was just a bit too close, and Roy poked him in the belly until he took a step back. “I’ve got it,” Roy insisted.

“Come on now, Roy,” Ted told him, “ain’t no shame in being sick.”

“I’be dot sick,” Roy replied dully, “I’be just ill.”

Ted furrowed his brow. “What’s that now?”

xxx

Roy sniffled. “‘Sick’ is baidly for stomach stuff,” he said. “‘Billy was sick all over the classroob floor,’ that kide of thing.”

“No kidding?” Ted asked. “Guess it’s true—we really are divided by a common language.”

“It’s a doud as well,” Roy added. He cleared his throat. “Like, ‘After I drove by bate hobe frob the pub, I had to clead the sick out o-of by ca-aar…’…ahhhhhhh…hehhhhhh…”

xxx

The sneeze was tickling his nose like mad, but it didn’t want to come. Uncomfortably, Roy turned away from Ted, his breath hitching until he finally bullied it out into a loud “hihhhhhh-ehhhhhhh-SHIOOOOOO!”

“Bless you—I appreciate the sample sentences, that’s helpful,” Ted said. “But the point is, Roy, there’s no shame in being ill, okay? Nothing wrong with having a bad week and letting the folks around you cut you a little slack.”

Roy could feel Ted’s eyes on him, big and earnest and sappy. No fucking way was Roy turning round to look at him—he kept his gaze on the pitch. 

He sighed. “I said—”

“I know, I know, you’ve got it,” Ted replied. “But it’s all right if you don’t got it.” At his side, Roy could feel Ted stepping in closer, so he prodded him back with the cricket bat. 

“Any time you find you’re at that point, you just let us know,” Ted went on, “and we’ll ‘got it’ for you until you get the spring back in your step.”

“I dever have a fucking spring id by step,” Roy pointed out, sniffling.

“No, that’s true, you kind of walk like a Terminator, don’t you?” Ted mused. “All forceful and unhurrying. Well, until you get the Terminator back in your step then.”

Roy was hit with a sudden “hehhhhhh-CHIOOOOO-uhhhhhh!” and, unthinking, he clapped his hand over his mouth. “Fuck!” he grumbled.

“Roy?” Ted asked.

“I didded’t bead to do that,” he muttered. “I’ve beed using the crook of by—” He cut himself off, sniffling. They had hand sanitizer at the club, back in Ted’s office. Sighing, Roy shoved the hand in his jacket pocket so he wouldn’t distractedly grab a fucking door handle with it or anything.

“Right—offer still stands,” Ted prodded. “You can go inside if you want. Get warm, get yourself cleaned up….”

Okay, so it wasn’t just his cold—it was chilly out. One good thing, at least.

Roy sniffled again. “Once traiding is over,” he told Ted firmly. He nodded toward the players on the pitch. “Dow fuck off. I’be beant to be coaching this lot.”

Ted started to walk away, but he called back, “Standing invitation! Take me up on it anytime!”

Roy let out a low growl. The sooner he was over this cold the better. Then maybe everyone would leave him the fuck alone.

[Lady Blessington]

On 5/13/2024 at 10:10 AM, angora48 said:

“Oh shoot, that’d do it, all right,” Ted said with a lopsided frown. “Nobody’s at their best when they find themselves at the wrong end of meteorological conditions.”

😁😁😁😁😁😁😁

[snowpiercer]

So happy to finally see some Ted Lasso love. These characters are perfect, they all could use some attention but Roy was the perfect victim. I hope I see more people inspired to do more Ted Lasso!

[angora48]

@Lady Blessington, it was a fun challenge trying to come up with lines that sounded Ted-like. All the characters have really specific voices that are fun to write for, but I had to get creative to try and really capture Ted's dialogue quirks.

Thanks @snowpiercer, I really appreciate it!

Here's Part 5!

 

The next morning, Roy came in with a reddish nose, dark circles under his eyes, and an even worse mood than the day before. As he stalked into his office, Ted glanced through the window to see how he’d take the mini care package Ted had left for him.

Setting down his thermos, Roy briefly took stock of the new items on his desk. He took a pump from the large bottle of hand sanitizer and pocketed the travel-sized one, then crossed to the adjoining door, throwing it open.

“Hey, Roy,” Ted said brightly. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“I dod’t use cough drops,” Roy said, hovering in the doorway. “The fucking sbmell bakes be gag.”

Trent raised a wry eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have thought you could smell much of anything at the moment.”

Roy threw the journalist-turned-author a glare and replied, “Doh, but whed I hear it fucking clidking against by teeth, it rebides be of the sbmell, and tha-aahhh…” He paused, drawing in a sharp breath before sneezing an explosive “huhhhhh-ihhhhhh-CHIUHHHHHH!” into the crook of his arm.

“Hoo boy!” Ted exclaimed. “Bless you.”

Roy’s eyes flickered to him for a moment, then he turned around and walked back to his desk, plucking a Kleenex from the box Ted had brought for him. “…Add that sets be off just the sabe,” he finished, pointedly ignoring the blessing. He wiped his nose then returned to the doorway, taking another hit of the hand sanitizer on his way.

“That makes sense, I s’pose,” Ted reasoned. “Like how a phantom limb can still twinge or tingle or itch when it’s not really there—only this is a phantom smell. Give ‘em here, I’ll just bring ‘em home with me after training.”

But Roy just took a step back. “You take theb,” he said. “I dod’t wadt to give you addything I’ve haddled.”

Ted exchanged a look with Beard, but he hopped up and went over to Roy’s office, with Roy backing up as he approached.

As Ted collected the bag of cough drops from Roy’s desk, he asked, “Everything else here okay?”

“Fide,” Roy said dully. “It’ll be haddy to have extra tissues here, so I dod’t rud out before I get hobe.”

“Oh shoot,” Ted said, remembering the loose Kleenexes Roy had kept in his pockets the day before. “It’d be easier to have the little pocket-sized packs, wouldn’t it? I’ll bring some of those for tomorrow. I can stop by the drug store—well, chemist for y’all—”

“Doh,” Roy replied firmly. “These are fide.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Ted assured him.

“I said doh,” Roy repeated. “Dod’t bake a-a fuhhh-- fuss…. Hehhhhhhhh-SHIOOOOOO!” Into the crook of his arm again, always into the crook of his arm.

With Ted still standing by the desk, it was obvious that Roy didn’t want to come any closer to grab a Kleenex. Of course, that also meant he couldn’t reach his cricket bat leaning against the desk, but given how plainly uncomfortable he was, Ted didn’t want to push him.

Instead, he picked up the box and held it out to Roy, who leaned in just enough to reach for a Kleenex. He pulled back again, stifling a cough as he dabbed at his nose.

“What’s with the fucking arby guy?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Ted smiled fondly, picking up the green plastic army man on Roy’s desk. “Henry sent me a whole mess of these guys when I first came to England, said they’d look after me. I send one of ‘em out on deployment now and again.”

“You keep it,” Roy said, sniffling as he rubbed his nose with his wrist. “I’be dot taking sobething your kid sendt you.”

Ted considered this, looking Roy over. “Temporary loan,” he decided. “You can give it back once you’re feeling better and you think it’s been sufficiently sterilized.”

Roy sighed. “Fide,” he said. He was hit with a sudden pair of back-to-back sneezes, a rapid one-two punch of “ehhhhhh-CHIAAHHHHH! hihhhhh-SHOOOO-uhhhhhh!”

“Bless you,” Ted said again with a wince.

“Right,” Roy muttered, holding the back of his hand to his nose. “I’ll be back…deed to blow by fucking dose before traiding starts.” Sniffling hard, he rushed out of the office, using his free hand to nab the cricket bat on his way out.

Ted headed back to the main office, tossing the cough drops into his backpack. Jamie was there waiting for him, scrabbling his hands around beneath his jersey. “Hey there, Jamie,” Ted said. “What’s the skinny, Albert Finney?”

“Coach, I was gonna ask,” he said, “I’m doing this interview thing for GQ, and they wanted to do the photo shoot at the club. Sometime next week—when should I tell ‘em?”

Ted nodded. “Let’s take a gander at the ol’ calendar and see what looks good.”

As he swiveled around to consult the calendar on the wall, Higgins wandered in. “Morning all,” he said. “I just passed Roy in the hall. Any reason he’s carrying round a cricket bat?”

“So he can hit anyone who gets too close to him,” Beard explained.

“Right,” Higgins replied. “Why?”

“He has a cold,” Ted added, turning back around.

“Riiiiiight,” Higgins repeated, then frowned. “Sorry, what?”

“He takes infection control very seriously,” Trent said.

“Ah,” Higgins said, nodding. 

“Don’t worry about it—it’s all just bullshit,” Jamie informed him.

“How d’ya figure?” Ted asked.

Jamie shrugged. “‘Cause he just does it to keep other people away.”

“Yes—hence the cricket bat,” Beard replied.

“No, not physically,” Jamie insisted. The striker sighed. “Well, I mean, yeah, physically, but not just that. Like, emotionally or whatever. It’s like when he and Keeley broke up, the moody fuck wouldn’t let anybody help him.”

There was a quiet moment as Ted, Beard, and Trent all met one another’s eyes. “Surprisingly astute, Jamie,” Trent remarked.

“That may be,” Ted told Jamie. “Trouble is, we can’t hold somebody down and force ‘em to accept our help. Some folks gotta get there in their own time. ‘Til then, we just do what we can and let ‘em know we’re there when they need us.”

At that moment, they heard a slam as Roy returned to his office, yanking the door shut behind him and dropping into his chair with a sullen look on his face.

“See?” Jamie told them. “Moody fuck.”

And though he wouldn’t have put it exactly the same way, Ted couldn’t disagree.

[angora48]

I realized the only characters I forgot to include images of at the start of the thread are the ones who just appear in the story via text or phone calls. Considering how many characters are in this thing, I'd say that's pretty good!

Roy's sister, who, annoyingly, is only given a last name on the show. She's not in this story enough for it to be worth making up a name for her, so she's just slightly awkwardly known as "Roy's sister."

Phoebe

Here's Part 6.

 

No fucking surprise, it was a shit week in all, with every day just as shit as the one before. Roy had felt so rubbish to start with that it didn’t seem like his actual cold was really getting worse, but his capacity to put up with it was dwindling rapidly. Each day, he felt more tired ‘cause he slept like fucking shit, his nose was sore from wiping it all the damn time and his throat was hoarse from having to talk, and he had less patience for all the well-meaning pricks asking how he was.

By Thursday, he felt a right mess. The lads were playing a scrimmage, and Roy was trying not to yawn his way through training. Ted kept hinting that he didn’t need to be out there, and to be honest, Roy would’ve gladly spent the week holed up in his office reading fucking scouting reports if it meant no one would bother him. But he couldn’t fucking say that. So he stood a short distance away from Ted and Beard at the edge of the pitch, sniffling and watching the scrimmage and hating every minute of everything.

“hehhhhhhh-ihhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” he sneezed into a tissue.

He supposed he was grateful for the pocket-sized hand sanitizer Ted had brought in. He’d planned on getting something like that himself on Monday, but then he’d driven straight home from training without giving it a second thought. That day, and every fucking day since, it was all he could do to get home, make tea, eat something, grab a shower, and collapse into bed.

A lot of fucking good it was doing him, though. To hear his nose and his throat and his aching head tell it, he’d been doing fuckall to try and get better.

“Oi!” Roy called to Ted. Once Ted was looking, he raised his fingers to his lips like he was holding an imaginary whistle.

Ted nodded. “Who for?” he asked.

“Sab,” Roy replied.

Ted frowned, taking a few steps closer to him. “What was that?”

His fucking throat. “Sab!” Roy shouted, before he was forced to break out the cricket bat.

“Right,” Ted said. He turned back to the pitch and gave a short whistle. “Hey, Sam!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.

On the pitch, Sam immediately turned round and ran over to them. “Yes, coach?” he asked Ted, who gave a nod toward Roy.

As Sam turned and approached him, Roy preemptively held out the cricket bat. “Bate, get your head right,” Roy told him. “That’s twice dow th-thaahhhh…aaaahhhhhhh-CHIOOOO-ehhhhhh!” It was a strong sneeze, and it made his head spin a little.

“Bless you, coach,” Sam offered.

Roy growled. With a few hasty sniffles, he repeated, “That’s twice dow that Jabie’s left you ad opeding add you didded’t catch it.” He coughed hard into the crook of his arm. “He dohs you’re ad ibportant asset out there, add he’s gudda look for you to bake things happedd—bake sure you’re looking back.”

“Right—yes,” Sam said, nodding intently. “Got it, coach.”

Another sneeze snuck up on Roy, and he caught the “huhhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” in his shoulder instead of the crook of his arm.

“Bless you,” Sam said again.

Roy swallowed a sigh. “Shut up,” he said. “Dow get back out there add play like the fucking asset you are.”

“I will,” Sam vowed, running out to rejoin the scrimmage.

Roy’s nose wasn’t done with him yet. “huhhhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHHH!” he sneezed again. Wearily closing his eyes for a moment, he dug in his pocket for a tissue.

About fifteen minutes later, there was a clap of thunder at the exact moment that Dani scored a goal, and a sudden shower started raining down on them.

“Fuck!” Roy grumbled, pulling his jacket round him a bit tighter.

Dani looked up at the sky in surprise. “My foot can summon a storm!” he exclaimed.

Ted blew his whistle. “All right, fellas, let’s pack it in!” he called. “We’ll head to the weight room for the rest of training today. Everybody help Will and grab a ball, a cone, or something!”

Turning to Roy, he added, “You head on in, I know you’re not exactly a classic 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger dystopian action film these days.”

It took Roy’s muddled head a second to sort through the reference—The Running Man. He bit back a retort. He didn’t want special treatment, but between his cold and his bad knee, he also didn’t want to bend over picking up shit and then get left in the rain while everyone hurried inside. So he just nodded, sniffling wetly as he cleared his throat.

He walked along the already-soggy pitch as fast as his knee would let him, muttering “fucks!” under his breath. While his jacket kept the rain off all right, he didn’t have a hood. Roy could feel his nose starting to run, but he didn’t want to stop for a tissue—the rain would turn it to pulp within half a second, anyway.

“hehhhhhh-CHIUHHHHHHH! ahhhhhh-huhhhhhh-SHOOOO! Fuck!” he exclaimed, catching the messy sneezes in the crook of his arm. 

Roy was only about halfway to the tunnel when the team came running past him, shouting jokes and good-natured insults to each other. He tried to pick up the pace, half-shuffling and half-limping.

Ted, Beard, and Trent Crimm followed soon behind—Ted slowed down as the others went ahead. “When you get inside, head to the office,” he told Roy. “Beard and I will get them started on a workout, then we can talk strategy for Saturday.”

“Right,” Roy nodded, gritting his teeth. Saturday—their match against Crystal Palace.

“See you in there!” Ted called, speeding back up to a middle-aged-man jog.

As soon as Roy got inside, he fumbled in his pockets for a tissue, but they were all wet and mushy. Sniffling hard, he shuffle-limped back to his office, shutting the door behind him.

He got a fresh tissue from the box on his desk and blew his nose, then sneezed a loud “ehhhhhh-SHIAAHHHHHH!” that promptly stuffed him up again. “Fuuuuuuck,” Roy said, sighing. Coughing into the crook of his arm, he reached for another tissue.

Once he’d seen to his nose a second time, he cleaned the tissue mush out of his pockets, throwing the whole mess of them in the bin. He was hit with a deep shiver and a rattly cough—Roy cupped his hands over his mouth, coughing hard.

With another sigh, he sanitized his hands and drank a painful swallow of tea, which was only warmish now. His phone buzzed, and Roy pulled it out to look down at it with bleary eyes. Another text from his sister.

Hey, how’s your cold?

Sniffling, Roy sent a middle-finger emoji back, and she gave him a fucking thumbs-up in reply.

He wouldn’t have told her anything about being ill, but at the start of the week, he’d had to let her know he couldn’t watch Phoebe, so she could figure out another arrangement for his niece. Only now, she thought that gave her license to send her little “check-in” texts. It was the most annoying thing about having a fucking doctor for a sister.

Suddenly, Ted was knocking on the glass of Roy’s office door. Startled, Roy looked up sharply, then gave a nod for him to open it. 

“All right!” Ted said, with way too much fucking energy. “Let’s talk Crystal Palace—give our tactics a once-over so we can improve our over-under of getting one over on them.”

Ted settled into his own office desk, and Beard had gotten out the magnetic white board with everyone’s position on it. Trent must’ve stayed in the weight room with the team. Reluctantly, Roy wheeled his chair as far as the doorway, bringing his thermos and the tissue box along with him.

As he bent down to set his stuff by his feet, Roy’s nose started itching. In his haste to straighten back up and bury the “hiihhhhh-uhhhhhh-SHUHHHHH!” in the crook of his arm, he hit the thermos with his foot, knocking it over.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as a puddle of tea dribbled out of the thermos.

“Bless you, Roy,” Ted said, stepping towards him. “You need a—?”

“Doh!” Roy replied brusquely. He picked up the thermos and mopped up the spilled tea with a few tissues, sniffling wetly. He should’ve brought the bin over with him too—he lobbed the sopping tissues into it from across the room.

“Crystal Palace?” Beard prompted Ted, tapping the board.

“Right, yeah!” Ted said. “What are we thinking? Do we still like the 4-4-2?”

Roy grimaced. The 4-4-2 lineup had been his idea—it’s what they’d returned to since Zava had left, and it hadn’t won them a single match. “I dod’t doh,” he mumbled.

“Roy?” Ted said. “You got something else cooking?”

But that was the problem, he didn’t. The 4-4-2 didn’t seem to be doing them any favors, but Roy couldn’t come up with anything better. Even under normal circumstances, he didn’t have Nate’s head for strategy. And now, with his head aching and his nose running, he had fuckall. He felt like dead weight.

“I-I dod’t doh,” he replied, a slight break in his voice. He cleared his throat huskily, then sniffled as he rubbed his temples. 

“Okay,” Ted said lightly. “Beard, how ‘bout you?”

They continued to discuss the upcoming match, but Roy felt separated from the other two coaches. They were divided by the doorway, the foggy feeling in his head, and the relentless drumbeat of you useless fuck running through his thoughts.

[snowpiercer]

Love this update, poor Roy!

[angora48]

Thanks, @snowpiercer, I really appreciate it!

Here's Part 7.

 

“aaaahhhhhh-SHOOOOO-ehhhhhh!” 

Roy groaned into his pillow, sniffling hard as he dragged himself up onto his elbows and fumbled at his bedside table.

By now, he knew that the bright light of his phone in the dark set him sneezing, so he covered the screen with his hand as he tapped it, then slowly lifted his hand away to see the time. A little after 9. Not bad.

On match days, Roy didn’t have to be at the club so early, but last night, he decided he’d better set an alarm anyway, just to be safe. He hadn’t needed it, though—at least one thing had gone his fucking way.

Over the course of the week, he’d managed to migrate most of the stuff he needed for his cold over to his bedroom. As his nose started to hitch again, he pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table. “ehhhhh…ahhhhhh…hehhhhh-CHIUHHHHH!” Roy sputtered out a cough, then blew his nose as best he could, wearily dropping the tissue into the bin next to the bed.

Stifling another cough, Roy clicked the lamp on at its lowest setting and reached for the thermometer, popping it in his mouth as he rolled back onto his pillow. He looked up gloomily at the ceiling, rubbing his nose while he waited.

The thermometer beeped, and Roy gave it a look. “Fuuuuuck,” he groaned—38.3.

His temperature had been a little above normal all week, but he hadn’t gotten a fever until today. Of course it had to be fucking today. With an exhausted sigh, Roy rubbed his forehead with one hand and punched the mattress with the other.

He turned back to the bedside table and made to grab the paracetamol, then stopped himself. No, better to take it right before he left for Nelson Road. That way, it would hopefully last through the match.

So he pushed himself out of bed, feeling a bit hazy as he sat up. Time to face the horrible fucking day.

***

At the club, Roy stayed in his office as long as he could. After his first few days of being ill, Ted had gotten the fucking message that he didn’t want to be bothered, so the others mostly let him be unless they actually needed him for something.

He double-checked his pockets to make sure he had his hand sanitizer and enough tissues, then gave his nose a thorough blow.

There was a soft tap at the office door. Giving his nose a final wipe, Roy turned round, where he saw Trent Crimm through the window. “Fuck do you wadt?” he asked, wriggling his nose.

The journalist poked his head in. “I brought something for you,” he explained, holding up a small notepad.

Roy frowned. “You wadt be to take dotes during the fuh-- the fucking ma-aatch…” he said, trailing off into a hard “ihhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!”

“No, it’s to communicate with the other coaches,” Trent said. “I noticed that you’ve been sounding rather hoarse, and I thought it might be difficult for you to make yourself heard over the noise of the crowd. And since I assumed you wouldn’t want Ted or Coach Beard leaning in to hear you better, I thought an alternate means of communication would be useful.”

Roy sighed, sniffling. “Give it here,” he said. He held up his hand, and Trent tossed him the notepad. 

It fluttered open in the air and fell to the ground well short of Roy. His head swam a little as he bent to retrieve it.

“Ah, sorry,” Trent said. “I—”

“You throw like a jourdalist,” Roy told him. But he shoved the notepad and a marker in his back pocket, muttering, “Cheers, I guess.”

“Right,” Trent said with a smart nod. “I believe they’re ready in the locker room.”

Roy sighed again. He rose heavily to his feet, nodding for Trent to go on ahead of him. Once he’d gone, Roy sniffled, stretching his neck from side to side. He could tell the paracetamol had helped, but he still felt a bit flushed.

Over in the locker room, the lads were pumping each other up, the optimistic ones giving encouragement to the ones who were feeling weighed down by all their recent losses. Jamie was among the encouragers, which was good to see—the little prick had come a long way in giving a shit about his teammates.

That was the sort of thing Roy liked to get in on before a match, going round with fist bumps and as many adjectives as he could think of for how they were going to destroy the other team. But standing in the corner sniffling, he felt miles away from the action. Some of the lads looked his way and he nodded at them, trying to convey support or reassurance or confidence, but there was only so much a fucking nod could say.

“Hey, Roy,” Ted said brightly. “No cricket bat today? You starting to feel better?”

Roy was hit with a sneeze before he could reply, and he buried the hard “aaahhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” in the crook of his arm.

“Ooh, guess not,” Ted continued, wincing.

Roy sniffled, rubbing his nose with his wrist. “I figured smbacking players or other coaches od telly was a bad look,” he explained. He stifled a cough into his shoulder. “But that beads I’be trusting you lot to keep the fuck away frob be.”

“Received and understood,” Ted replied. He’d already been standing at a fair distance from Roy, but he pointedly took another step back.

They saw Dani come up behind Isaac, clapping him on the shoulders. “¡Vamos, capitán!” he exclaimed. “Fútbol is life—let’s show them what we can do!”

“Heck yeah, that’s what I like to hear!” Ted enthused, striding up to the front of the room. “We all know Crystal Palace, fellas. We’ve lost to them before, but we’ve beaten them before too. And you know what that means?”

“We haven’t tied with them yet?” Van Damme suggested.

“No,” Ted replied. “It means—”

“huhhhhhhhh-CHIOOOOOO!” Roy burst with a sudden sneeze. Even buried in the crook of his arm, it was fucking loud.

“Bless you, Roy,” Ted said offhandedly before returning to his point. “It means, not only can they be beat, we know how to do it! Now, y’all know my views on wins, losses, and draws, so let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s just focus on this—y’all know what to do out there. You know the plays. You know how to support each other. So let’s do like Dani said. Let’s get out there and show Crystal Palace what we can do!”

The lads cheered, and Ted said, “All right. Everybody but Roy, hands in!”

As everyone huddled up, Roy folded his arms tightly, clearing his throat as he watched Isaac count them off.

“‘Richmond’ on three: one, two, three—”

“RICHMOND!” everyone yelled. 

They ran out of the locker room, all of them energized now. Roy swallowed a sigh—if listening to the fucking huddle from across the room was enough to make his head pound, he was well and truly in for it at the match, wasn’t he?

“Ahhhhh…hehhhhhh…ihhhhh-huhhhhhhhh-SHOOOOOO!” he sneezed, the force of it seeming to wring what little energy he had out of his body.

Roy sniffled hard, telling himself very sternly that he was in no way feeling fucking feverish. Bracing himself for the next few hours, he headed out to the tunnel and onto the side of the pitch.

[snowpiercer]

Omg love the buildups. And how Ted by now is just like "yup, there he goes again, bless you, anyway..." lol

[lillian]

On 5/13/2024 at 10:10 AM, angora48 said:

“Oh shoot, that’d do it, all right,” Ted said with a lopsided frown. “Nobody’s at their best when they find themselves at the wrong end of meteorological conditions.”

 

Ah, under the weather. Ted’s Lasso-isms were another thing Trent was still getting used to. He’d had plenty of exposure to the head coach’s whimsical expressions, love of rhyme, and penchant for highly-specific American pop culture references during his days in the press room, but keeping up with them on a daily basis required Trent to stay on his toes.

Ahhhh I love how you write Trent Crimm (independent)! And sweet, dear Ted 💔

 

On 5/15/2024 at 9:35 AM, angora48 said:

“It’s also a radius, yeah?” He held it straight out in front of him, swinging it in a wide arc. “Add addywud who cobes idside the radius is getting sbmacked with this fucking cricket bat.”

I cackled at this part.

 

On 5/21/2024 at 9:58 AM, angora48 said:

Jamie shrugged. “‘Cause he just does it to keep other people away.”

 

“Yes—hence the cricket bat,” Beard replied.

 

“No, not physically,” Jamie insisted. The striker sighed. “Well, I mean, yeah, physically, but not just that. Like, emotionally or whatever. It’s like when he and Keeley broke up, the moody fuck wouldn’t let anybody help him.”

 

There was a quiet moment as Ted, Beard, and Trent all met one another’s eyes. “Surprisingly astute, Jamie,” Trent remarked.

Not Jamie coming in with the character dissertations!

 

On 5/25/2024 at 10:17 AM, angora48 said:

Dani looked up at the sky in surprise. “My foot can summon a storm!” he exclaimed.

 

Ted blew his whistle. “All right, fellas, let’s pack it in!” he called. “We’ll head to the weight room for the rest of training today. Everybody help Will and grab a ball, a cone, or something!”

 

Turning to Roy, he added, “You head on in, I know you’re not exactly a classic 1987 Arnold Schwarzenegger dystopian action film these days.”

Man your characterisations are so spot-on.

 

8 hours ago, angora48 said:

“Hey, Roy,” Ted said brightly. “No cricket bat today? You starting to feel better?”

 

Roy was hit with a sneeze before he could reply, and he buried the hard “aaahhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” in the crook of his arm.

 

“Ooh, guess not,” Ted continued, wincing.

Oh I hope we get to see more Dad!Ted!!

I'm very much enjoying this, please continue!!

(also I love the pics at the beginning, I do that too!)

[angora48]

Thanks so much for the comments! They really make my day! 🤗

On 5/29/2024 at 9:08 AM, snowpiercer said:

Omg love the buildups. And how Ted by now is just like "yup, there he goes again, bless you, anyway..." lol

Writing the Ted-Roy interactions in this fic was so much fun, I love it!

On 5/29/2024 at 5:18 PM, lillian said:

Not Jamie coming in with the character dissertations!

hehe, I love a good "Jamie can be smarter/more considerate than people give him credit for" moment. 😄

And not to worry @lillian, I have the complete fic written, so the posts will keep coming! I know how distracted I can get by shiny new projects, so I never start posting a fic until I've already written all or most of it.

Here's Part 8--Roy's presence in it is a bit more indirect, but I hope there's still enough miserably-sick goodness here for people to enjoy!

 

Lately, it seemed like match days were the only time Keeley got to spend with Rebecca. Running the firm kept her so busy, and now that she’d started hanging out with Jack outside of work, there was hardly time for anything at all. So she was grateful for the chance to spend a few hours at Nelson Road.

On the other hand….

“Come on, Richmond!” Rebecca shouted desperately.

Keeley gave a don’t-stop-now sort of clap. “Let’s go, Richmond!” she urged.

Dani passed to Sam, who went in for a goal, but the keeper blocked it. Keeley and Rebecca sank back into their seats, groaning.

“Some days, I remember how it felt to win matches,” Rebecca observed morosely.

“Come on, none of that now!” Keeley told her. “It’s still early days, we can turn this around.”

Truth be told, the team wasn’t even playing badly. It was just like there was an invisible barrier they kept running into, something that held them back from getting the win they needed.

Rebecca sighed. “I just keep thinking of all those fucking pundits who predicted we’d finish last this year. With every new loss, I can practically hear them crowing.”

“They’ll get it together,” Keeley promised, and even if she couldn’t promise it would happen today, she knew it’d happen eventually.

As her eyes drifted down to the coaches standing on the side of the pitch, Keeley frowned—something wasn’t right. Roy was standing off to the side, away from Ted and Beard, arms folded tightly and shoulders hunched. But Roy wasn’t a huncher. He normally stood up stiffly, almost comically straight. From Rebecca’s box, it was too far away to get a good look at his face, but Keeley could tell he was off.

“What’s the matter with Roy?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Rebecca murmured, looking up from the pitch. “I’m not sure. Leslie, do you know if anything is going on with Roy?”

“Oh, he’s had a bad cold all week,” Higgins put in. “Been rather miserable, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” Keeley said, trying to make it clear in her tone that she wasn’t interested-interested. She frowned again, craning her neck for a better look.

Sure enough, within a minute, Roy was pulling a crumpled tissue out of his pocket to wipe his nose. “That’s pretty shit,” she murmured sympathetically.

While Keeley wouldn’t say she was hung up on Roy since their breakup, she definitely wasn’t indifferent to him. He couldn’t help but pull her focus now and again when they were in the same vicinity. As the match went on, though, he drew even more of her attention than normal, and she’d alternate between watching the team and watching him. 

“Miserable” was right. It was a cool, cloudy day, not great weather to be out with a cold in. More tissues made an appearance before long. Roy would turn away from the pitch (and the camera angles?) to press his face into the crook of his arm—probably to cover a sneeze or a cough, which seemed to be coming more and more frequently.

He had a notepad that he was writing on with a black marker. “Do you think he’s lost his voice?” Keeley asked Rebecca.

Rebecca gave Keeley a sly look, but she didn’t have a cheeky remark, just said, “It wouldn’t surprise me. For someone who shouts as much as Roy, it’s probably a short trip from ‘sore throat’ to ‘laryngitis.’ Leslie?”

“What, the notepad?” Higgins asked. “I don’t know, that’s new. Although he has been carrying a cricket bat around….”

But no, Roy was shouting at Ted to get his attention, then tapping at what he’d written on the notepad. So his voice wasn’t gone altogether, but maybe going? It looked like Ted couldn’t always read what Roy had written—he had piss-poor handwriting—but Ted would just lean forward a bit and squint at the paper, sometimes consulting Beard while Roy’s body language grew more annoyed and impatient.

Honestly, Keeley didn’t spend the whole match watching Roy. Honestly. She did care about the game—there were a couple of agonizingly-close near goals, Jamie had some phenomenal passes, and Van Damme was brilliant in goal. Then there was Rebecca, whose presence always felt like such a balm now. Over at her firm, Keeley constantly felt like she was second-guessing herself and getting in her own way, and the more confident Keeley that she knew she could be seemed to be slipping away. It was only around Rebecca that Keeley remembered what that confidence was supposed to feel like, and she wasn’t around Rebecca nearly enough these days.

During halftime, though, when Rebecca went to the toilet and Keeley was checking Twitter for the trending topics on the match, she found herself searching “Roy Kent.” Dozens of posts popped up, few of them good. An unflattering photo of him burying his nose in a tissue. A spiteful shot of him mid-sneeze-face—from the awkward angle of the picture, the photographer had been deliberately waiting to capture exactly that. Screenshots from fans at home who zoomed in on his notepad to try and read it. Best guess, Keeley figured it was the names of plays in indecipherable abbreviations, with some swearing thrown in for seasoning. 

From the pictures, she could finally see him close-up. Roy looked worn out and pale, but with a slight flush in his cheeks. His nose was chapped and sore. One look at his face told Keeley how much he hated all of this: not just trying to coach a match when he clearly felt awful, but being visibly unwell in front of a cheering stadium, on telly for countless fans at home.

Posts from fans taking the piss about him being ill, fans complaining that he wasn’t any good to them like this, fans saying he should’ve stayed in bed if he was just going to stand around like a knob. Occasional fans feeling bad for him, which Keeley supposed Roy would hate just as much as the mocking or griping ones.

There was one that said, “Who knew that Roy Kent was actually three dwarves in a trench coat?” Alongside the tweet, they’d included a sketch of just that, three of Snow White’s dwarves in a trench coat stacked on one another’s shoulders. Grumpy was on top, Sleepy was snoring in the middle, and down at the bottom, Sneezy was clearly about to sneeze and send all three of them toppling.

Joke’s on you, Keeley thought as the team came out for the second half, Roy trailing after them and rubbing his nose with his wrist. ‘Cause he might not look it, but he’s Bashful as well.

“What are they saying?” Rebecca asked, settling back into her seat beside Keeley. “Anything good?”

Keeley stole another glance at Roy down on the pitch, where it looked like he was coughing into the crook of his arm. Deliberately, she closed Twitter and put her phone back in her bag. “Fuck the haters, right?” she said.

Rebecca smiled in a way that said I know I believe that, but I’m not sure if I believe it today. “Too right,” she agreed, just shy of convincingly. 

Maybe Keeley wasn’t the only one who needed to borrow her best friend’s confidence. She leaned forward in her seat, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Come on, Richmond, you’ve got this!” she yelled as loudly as she could.

Keeley, Rebecca, the team, Roy—we’ve all got this, yeah? Even if, at the moment, all she could contribute was cheering, she’d do her best to make it happen.

[Lady Blessington]

Happy sigh!!!!!!!

oh my goodness so many great visuals and one-liners 😭😭😭😭😭

[angora48]

Thanks @Lady Blessington! I really appreciate it!

Here's Part 9.

 

After the match, Roy stood in the locker room with everyone else for as long as he could handle. As a coach, he was supposed to be there for the players after a loss. But he wasn’t there, not really. He was just in the fucking room, standing in the corner rubbing his nose while Ted acted like a proper coach, all reassuring and shit.

From across the room, Ted caught his eye. Pointing at Roy, he mouthed you okay? Roy growled, and Ted nodded.

Once Ted had turned away, Roy sighed. No fucking point even being here. He was just taking up space.

Roy slipped off to his office, with barely enough time to pull a tissue out of his pocket before he exploded with, “haaahhhhh-CHIUHHHHHH! Hehhhhh…ahhhhhh…huhhhhhh-CHIOOOO! Ihhhhh-SHOOOOOO-ehhhhhh!”

Fucking hell. 

He’d not blown his nose at all during the match—goddamn fucking cameras everywhere—just wiped it and sniffled the whole time. As Roy sank heavily into his chair, he gave it a hard, noisy, long-overdue blow, then trailed off into coughing.

Another fucking loss. Ever since West Ham, they couldn’t get it together. Roy couldn’t get it together for them—he didn’t have Nate’s super brain, and he couldn’t dream up the magic strategy to get Richmond out of this slump. He’d thought he was doing all right earlier in the season, but maybe that was all just Zava. Maybe Roy had never done the team any fucking good at all, and now that Zava had fucked off, it was finally evident.

“Hey.”

Roy jumped at the sound of the unmistakable voice, Keeley’s voice, behind him. “Fuck you doing back here?” he asked, sniffing as he tried to discreetly throw his used tissue in the bin.

He hadn’t even heard her come in, but there she was standing beside his desk. “Higgins said you weren’t feeling well,” she explained. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’ve got a fucking cold, that’s how I’be fucking doing,” Roy replied flatly, wriggling his nose. “Dow you’ve got to get out.”

The memory flashed through his mind: the last match he ever played, fucking up his knee and ending his career. Keeley coming to see him down in the locker room. 

You’re not allowed to be back here during a game. 

I told you, you have to get out. 

I mean it, stay the fuck away from me! 

She hadn’t said a word, just sat down beside him and let him rest his head on her shoulder. Roy wondered if Keeley was remembering it too.

“You looked pretty miserable during the match,” she noted, not making a move to go. Roy intimidated plenty of people, but never her. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Doh.”

Roy stared glumly ahead, not meeting her eye, and Keeley ducked her head in a sweet way to come into his peripheral vision. “Even just keep you company?” she asked.

“Doh,” Roy repeated, his throat feeling raw—fat lot of good Trent’s notepad had done him when Ted and Beard could barely read his fucking handwriting. “I-I told you t-to go-ohhh...” 

The very fucking air was making Roy’s nose itch. He turned away from Keeley, burying his face in the crook of his arm. “hihhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!”

“Gesundheit,” Keeley said. “Roy, I know we’re broken up, but we said we were still gonna be friends, yeah? Aren’t I allowed to—”

As she put her hand on his shoulder, Roy pulled away from her touch. “Dod’t do that!” he insisted, as loudly as his sore throat would let him. He muffled a hard cough into the crook of his arm, then sniffled. “You cad’t.”

Keeley raised an eyebrow, wearing her over-your-bullshit face. “Why not?”

“‘Cause that’s how it starts,” Roy told her, sniffling again. “I give it to you, you give it to Rebecca, Rebecca gives it to Ted or Higgids, add they start giving it to fucking everybody. W-wehhhhh…ahhhhhh-CHIIAAHHHHHH!” 

Roy sighed; he was so fucking tired. “We’ll play eved bore like shit thad we already are, with the whole teab at various stages of getting it, having it, add getting over it. We’ll be d—” he sputtered into a cough, “—dealing with that shit for weeks, add it’ll be by fucking fault.” He coughed again, grimacing.

For a moment, Keeley was quiet. Then she stepped back, withdrawing to the doorframe. “Here, is this better?”

Roy eyed her, clearing his throat. “…Better,” he conceded.

“Look, I think it’s good that it matters so much to you not to get other people ill,” Keeley told him. “But I also think it’s a bit convenient that it means no one can get close enough to take care of you.”

Roy tried to sit up a little straighter. “I dod’t deed caring,” he said.

She admitted, “Well, no—a lot of the time, people don’t actually need caring, but it’s still nice to have, yeah?” She tossed him a wry smile. “When we were dating, did I need you to give me a massage every time I had a headache?”

Roy’s own head was throbbing. He let his eyes fall closed for a second. “I’be fide, all right?” he finally said. “I’be just gudda go hobe add get to bed, s-suhhhh…hihhhhhh-SHHHHHHH! Mmb—so you dod’t have to worry about be.”

He thought she looked disappointed, but she said, “All right then,” and made to go.

At the last moment, she poked her head back in. “There are lots of people who care about you, Roy. But they can’t show that if you won’t let them.”

And before he could reply, she turned around and left.

[snowpiercer]

Two new parts! You spoil us. I love all the attention to Keeley. Ty!

[angora48]

Thanks, @snowpiercer! I usually update a couple times a week.

I figured this period in the show would be the absolute worst time for Roy to catch a cold on top of everything else (broken up with Keeley, Zava's gone, Richmond on a losing streak.) But I'm a diehard sucker for Roy/Keeley, so I knew she had to play a major part in the story too.

Here's Part 10!

 

Roy’s phone buzzed as he was stalking across the car park. The sky above him was starting to rumble, but he paused to look at the latest text from his sister.

Sorry about the match. How’s your cold?

Roy barely had time to type a fuck off before his itching nose got the better of him. “ehhhhhh…hihhhhhh-CHIUHHHHHH!”

There was another rumble overhead, and he hurried to his truck, sniffling. As he got in and pulled the door shut, raindrops were beginning to splatter on the windscreen and his phone buzzed with his sister’s reply.

Hey I’ll take it. Still proof of life!

She’d sent a winking emoji too. Roy shoved his phone back in his pocket 

As he drove home through the drizzly London afternoon, Roy guessed that his temperature was creeping back up again. He felt awful—exhausted and shaky—and he couldn’t get Keeley out of his head. Why did he always have to ruin fucking everything?

He stepped inside the house and had just shrugged his damp jacket off when there was a knock at the door. Roy groaned, sneezing a wet “huhhhhh-SHIOOOO-ehhhh!” into the back of his hand. Whatever this fucking was, he had no use for it.

Putting on his meanest face, Roy threw open the door. There was a young bloke standing there, and he ducked out of the way. “D-delivery?” he said, holding out a plastic bag.

“I didded’t order addything,” Roy replied. It occurred to him that he didn’t seem as scary with his hoarse, stuffed-up voice and red-chapped nostrils; he bared his teeth to make up for it.

But the guy rattled off Roy’s address. “That’s you, right?”

“Yeah, that’s be,” Roy said, “but I told you, I didded’t—”

“That’s done then,” the delivery bloke said, shoving the bag into Roy’s hands. “Have a good night!” He turned to go, then stopped and swiveled back round. “Wait, aren’t you—?”

“Doh,” Roy replied, slamming the door shut.

He stood in the front hall for a second, staring dumbly at the plastic bag in his hands. His next hard “haaaah-CHIOOOOO!” snapped him out of it, and he opened the bag, finding a sealed takeaway container of soup.

Frowning, Roy went back inside, making his way to the kitchen. He set the soup container on the counter, which was still strewn with glitter from the fucking get-well card Phoebe had sent him in the post a few days ago. As he put the kettle on, he eyed the container warily, as though it might make a sudden move.

His phone started buzzing with an incoming call, and with Roy’s groggy fucking head, he accidentally tapped “accept” instead of “decline.” It was a fucking video call and all.

But then, there was Keeley’s face on his screen, smiling up at him. It looked like she was on her sofa at home. “Hey, you got it?” she asked.

Roy threw a glance at the container on the counter. “What the fuck is this?” he asked.

“You never got ill while we were dating,” Keeley remarked, “so you don’t know this about me, but I’m really good at taking care of ill partners. Only you’re being stubborn, so I had to get creative.”

Roy grimaced, painfully aware of his red-rimmed nose. “Do we really have to do a video call while I’be dripping sdnot?”

“Yes,” Keeley replied. “Like I said, creative. Now put the back of your hand on your cheek.”

“What for?” Roy asked.

“‘Cause I’m not there, so you have to do it for me,” Keeley told him. “Come on! Close your eyes if it helps.”

Roy didn’t know why, but he did it. Standing there in the middle of his kitchen like a prat, he closed his eyes and held the back of his hand to his cheek.

“Ooh,” Keeley crooned sympathetically. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever, haven’t you?”

“hehhhhhh-CHIOOOO!” The sneeze burst out of Roy, and he bent forward, catching it in his hand. Looking down at Keeley on the phone, he argued, “How the fuck would you doh?”

“I dunno, maybe ‘cause I’ve got fucking eyes?” she teased. “You’re a mess.”

“…Right,” Roy mumbled, sniffling as he rubbed his nose.

“All right then,” Keeley continued, “glass of water and two tablets. Go on.”

“Are you always this bossy whed you take care of people?” Roy asked.

“Are you always this much of a pain when people are taking care of you?” she countered.

Dammit. Roy set his phone on the counter, propped up against the soup container, then grabbed a glass and walked over to the tap. “Tablets are id by roob,” he explained.

“Well, that’s good, ‘cause it’s our next stop,” Keeley told him. “Kettle on?” Roy nodded. “Then let’s bring the water and your soup to the bedroom while we wait for it to boil.”

“Wait, I deed a spood,” Roy said, turning round again.

He could hear the exasperation in her voice (but not in an unkind way?) as she pointed out, “There’s a spoon in the bag, Roy!”

“Yeah, but I dod’t like takeaway spoods,” Roy replied. “hehhhhh…ehhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHH!” He pulled a fresh tissue from his pocket, sniffing hard. “I wadt a proper soup spood.”

He glanced back at the phone; Keeley was smiling now. “Okay.”

By the time he’d taken more paracetamol, the kettle was beeping. Sitting on his bed, Roy swallowed a sigh. “Are you starting to see how much easier this would be if I was there?” Keeley asked.

Roy pushed himself back to his feet and trudged down the hall back to the kitchen. He fixed himself a cuppa, sniffling all the while.

“Do you always catch bad colds, or did you just get unlucky this time?” Keeley asked from her place on the counter.

“Duddo,” Roy admitted. “Dever really thought about it.”

“Well, you’ve definitely got a bad one now,” she observed. “You sound awful.”

It was the sort of comment that usually made Roy want to explode the commenter’s head with his mind, but it wasn’t as bad when Keeley was the one saying it. He shrugged and muttered something useless like, “Yeah, well….”

Cuppa in hand, Roy made it back to the bedroom, where Keeley instructed, “Set me down, and get ready for bed.”

Roy propped the phone up on the bedside table and lethargically started to unbutton his trousers. “Roy, the camera!” Keeley reminded him.

“Shit, right,” Roy mumbled, fumbling with the phone so she was turned away from him. “Sorry.”

Once he was undressed, Roy shivered. He tried to put his pajamas on as fast as possible, but he felt clumsy and drowsy, and he had to pause more than once for a strong “huhhhh-CHIUHHHHH!” or “ihhhhh-SHUHHHHH!”

When he turned the phone back around, Keeley said, “Are those actual pajamas? I’ve never seen you in those.”

Roy looked down at his black button-down flannel shirt and matching bottoms. “I odly wear theb whed I’be ill,” he explained.

Keeley gasped, sounding delighted. “You’ve got poorly PJs?” she exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Roy replied, swiping a hand under his nose.

“All right, fine,” Keeley said. “Let’s get you to bed. Are you hot or cold?”

Good fucking question. “Kide of both,” Roy admitted.

Keeley nodded her understanding. “Go one blanket at a time, figure out what feels right,” she suggested.

Roy climbed into the bed, attempting to find a tolerable spot between shivering and sweating. “aaahhhhhh…” He lifted a hand to his face. “hehhhh-uhhhhhh-CHIUHHHH!” 

“Gesundheit,” Keeley said.

“Mmb,” Roy mumbled sheepishly. With a grimace, he pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped his runny nose. He sniffled wetly.

After he got the blankets sorted, Keeley said, “There we go. I’m fluffing your pillow and sticking it behind your back.” She sighed. “Roy, I said I’m fluffing your pillow!”

“For fuck’s sake!” Roy exclaimed. He grabbed the pillow, gave it a hasty fluff, and stuck it behind him. “There.”

Keeley smiled—maybe amused, maybe pleased, Roy couldn’t tell. “How’s that?” she asked. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” Roy admitted. He reached over to the bedside table for the soup container and prised the lid off. It was still steaming, full to the brim with chicken, vegetables, and long slender noodles.

He met Keeley’s eyes on the phone screen, and she shrugged. “I didn’t know what you liked best,” she said. “So I figured I’d just go with the classic.”

“Yeah,” Roy said, sniffling. “That’s good.” He grabbed his spoon and swallowed the first mouthful. “Fuuuuucking hell,” he breathed, sinking back against the pillow as the hot soup warmed him up.

“I know, right?” Keeley said with a grin. “Do you wanna put on the telly while you eat?”

“All right,” Roy replied. He picked up the remote, rubbing his nose with the side of his hand before he looked through his streaming services.

When Roy made his selection, Keeley exclaimed, “Fuck yeah, Princess Bride! Good choice.”

Roy felt his mouth considering a smile. “Like you said,” he replied, “go with the classic.” His nose started itching yet again, and he sneezed a hard “hihhhhh-SHOOOO-ehhhhhh!” into his shoulder. He sniffled as he pressed “play” and the movie began.

“And plug me in!” Keeley ordered. “You don’t want me dying on you.” On the screen, she was getting comfortably settled on her sofa, hugging one of her fuzzy cushions. 

Roy did as he was told, definitely almost smiling now. He still felt like total shit, but between the warm soup, the cozy film, and Keeley on the phone beside him, he also felt a little bit human for the first time in days.

[lillian]

Oh I love Keeley taking care of Roy over the phone! So sweet how Roy did how he was told. Excellent update!

[Alabaster]

This is SO CUTE

[angora48]

Aww, thanks for the comments! @lillian, I thought that the phone call was the best way for Roy to get the caretaking he obviously needed, without overstepping his boundaries about not wanting to get anyone else sick. I really like how this turned out!

Here's one more character whose picture I forgot to include at the start: Jack

Onto part 11!

 

They didn’t talk that much, especially once the film got started. That was fine with Keeley—obviously Roy hadn’t lost his voice, but from the raspy tone of it, she could tell how sore his throat was. Besides, as comfortable as she tried to make him feel, it was clear that he was still pretty self-conscious. Sometimes after a loud sneeze or after blowing his nose, he’d sneak an embarrassed glance at her on the phone. She’d pretend not to notice.

Roy admitted that he’d been feeling like this pretty much the whole week, which made Keeley’s heart go out to him. He had to be exhausted, he grimaced in pain every time he swallowed, and no matter how often he blew his nose, it stayed uncomfortably stuffed up. In his office, there’d been a ragged quality to him, and he’d seemed almost like a cornered animal. Keeley knew he could get like that when he was really upset but didn’t know how to let it out in a way that would help.

Still, it seemed like Keeley was helping now, even if she’d had to strongarm him into letting her. Roy’s phone was set at an angle so she could see both him and the telly, and in bed, he was still miserably ill, but his shoulders and jaw weren’t as tense as before. She never saw him get all the way to a smile—even grading on a curve of what she counted as a smile from Roy—but the corner of his mouth would twitch a little during different scenes of the film. He liked the soup, even if it hurt his throat to eat it.

As they watched the film, Roy sank down lower into the bed, His runny, sneezy nose, which wasn’t letting up at all, but at least he seemed a little more relaxed.

As Westley and Buttercup made it out of the fire swamp, Keeley softly said, “Roy.” He didn’t respond, and she tried a little louder. “Roy.”

He pushed himself up a little in bed, giving her a drowsy look as he swiped his hand under his nose. “Hmbb?” he mumbled.

God, he looked so sweet and tired; Keeley couldn’t help but smile. “Do you have any soup left?” she asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Roy replied, rubbing his nose again. He sniffled. “It’s good add all—fucking abazing—I’be just dot thaahhh…that hug-- huggry… haaaaah-CHIUHHHHHHHH!” He sneezed, explosively, into both hands.

Keeley didn’t say anything—she’d noticed that blessing his sneezes just made him more uncomfortable, so better to leave it. Instead, she said, “No, it’s fine. That makes sense, especially with your fever. Just nip down to the kitchen and pop it in the fridge for tomorrow.”

“Mmb.” Roy stifled a yawn. “Later.”

“No, now,” Keeley insisted. “Otherwise you’ll nod off, and it’ll sit out all night. If I was there, I’d do it for you, but I’m not. Tomorrow-Roy won’t thank you if you let his lunch go bad ‘cause you fell asleep.”

“Fide,” Roy groaned, pausing the film as he pushed himself all the way up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “hehhhhhhh-ihhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH!” he sneezed, clapping a hand over his mouth. He glanced at the phone screen, then looked away quickly, sniffling. 

Stifling a cough, he asked, “Ab I supposed to take you with be?”

“You’re all right,” Keeley assured him. “But go to the toilet on your way back and finish getting ready for bed. Grab a wet washcloth too.”

“They odly fucking do that id filbs,” Roy told her, pressing the lid back onto the soup container.

“Well, then films know what they’re doing, ‘cause it’s brilliant,” Keeley replied. She gave him a nod. “Go on, I’ll wait for you.”

Roy got up, a bit shakily, but he grabbed the soup and carried it away, off the screen. Keeley could hear his coughing getting softer as he headed down the hall.

Keeley’s phone buzzed, and she minimized the video call to look at a text from Jack.

Hey, any plans tonight? xo

Keeley winced a little as she wrote back.

Yeah sorry, busy. I’m giving Roy a hand, he’s ill

Three dots hovered under Jack’s name for a while, longer than it would’ve taken for her actual reply.

Should I be jealous?, with a winky-face emoji.

“Shit,” Keeley muttered. Helping out Roy was reminding her how much she missed him, but she didn’t have any illusions. Their breakup wasn’t just going to magically go away, and Keeley didn’t want to mess up whatever was starting with Jack before it had even properly begun.

She texted back.

Don’t worry, you’re safe with me

Just helping somebody who was too stubborn to ask for it

For a minute, there was nothing at all, and then:

ok

Make it up to me tomorrow?

Keeley smiled as she typed her response.

Absolutely

There was nothing further from Jack, so Keeley brought the video call back up and waited for Roy. She heard him coming before she saw him, a loud “huhhhhhhh-CHIAAHHHHHH!” from the direction of the hall. 

“Hey,” Keeley said softly when he came back into view of the screen. “Did you bring it?” 

Clearing his throat, Roy held up a damp washcloth, and Keeley grinned. “Good boy.”

“Shut up,” Roy replied. He coughed into the back of his hand as he climbed back into bed. “This is fucking stupid, by the way.”

“Oi, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Keeley argued. “I dunno how much it actually helps with the fever, but it feels really good. Especially if you’ve got chills as well—you can stick the washcloth on your forehead and then get cozy under the blankets.”

Roy grunted a little in reply, but after unpausing The Princess Bride, he dutifully laid the washcloth across his forehead, then hunkered back down under the blankets. “hihhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” he sneezed again, covering his mouth with both hands. “ahhhhhhh…hehhhhhhh…ehhhhhhh-SHOOOOOO-uhhhhhh!”

As he sniffled and reached for a tissue, Roy was very deliberately looking at the film and not at Keeley. She gave him about a minute before she asked, “What do you think?”

Roy glanced quickly at the screen. “It’s all right, I guess,” he said, rubbing his nose.

Keeley smirked. “Liar.”

Roy opened his mouth to respond, seemed to reconsider, then said, “Okay, it’s—it’s dice.” He sniffled hard. “Really dice.”

“Told you!” Keeley replied triumphantly. She was rewarded with a mouth twitch that Roy had mainly reserved for Fezzik’s rhymes or the Battle of Wits.

“Yeah, well, dod’t go od about it,” he mumbled shyly. 

Most people didn’t know how shy Roy could be sometimes. It was almost equal to how blunt and indifferent he could be, and that baffling combination was one of the things about him that delighted Keeley.

She told him, “Turn the volume down a little so it won’t wake you if you fall asleep with the telly on.”

“Mmb hmmb,” Roy murmured, picking up the remote. He did as she said, then asked, “Cad you still hear it? I-I could—aaaaahhhhhhh-SHIOOOOOOOO!” He pressed his nose into his palm to cover the sudden sneeze. “I could turd od the subtitles,” he offered, sniffling.

His consideration—that was another thing that Keeley liked about Roy.

“Naw, I’m all right,” she replied.

They went back to just watching the film for a while, quiet except for Roy’s coughing and sneezing. Then, a bit before Inigo and Fezzik got to Miracle Max’s, he said, “Keeley,” in a sleepy tone.

“Yeah?” Keeley said.

Roy was fully lying down by now. He winced as he stifled a few hard coughs. “How come you’re being so fucking dice to be?”

Keeley smiled a little. “‘Cause you’re ill,” she said. “‘Cause I care about you.”

“uhhhhhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHH!” Roy sneezed into the side of his hand. He sniffled wetly and cleared his throat. “But I dod’t deserve it. Dot after….”

He trailed off, and the after hung in the air between them.

But that was their problem, wasn’t it? I don’t deserve it. If Roy didn’t believe that, maybe they would still be together. And maybe Keeley would be over at his place right now instead of on a fucking video call.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, all right?” Keeley told him softly. “I’m massaging your temple with my thumb.”

“Mbb….” Roy murmured. He lifted his hand to his forehead, coughing a little as he rubbed slow circles into his temple.

When, about ten minutes later, his long slow breaths turned into quiet stuffed-up snores, Keeley felt a bit conflicted. She knew how much Roy liked Inigo’s fight with the Six-Fingered Man and didn’t want him to miss it. But he’d admitted earlier that he was having a hard time sleeping with his cold, and it seemed dumb to wake him up for a film scene he’d probably watched a dozen times before.

She erred on the side of sleep–it was a streaming film, he could always rewatch it tomorrow if he wanted–but she decided there was no reason she couldn’t watch ‘til the end herself. So, curled up on her sofa, she held her phone, watching The Princess Bride on Roy’s telly as he snored softly at the edge of the screen.

[angora48]

Part 12.

 

When morning came, Roy felt groggy and cloudy-headed, but as soon as he ordered the jumble of his thoughts a little, he turned to his phone on the bedside table. Frowning, he clicked the lamp on its lowest setting and reached out to grab it. He was hit with a hard “ehhhhh-CHIUHHHHH!”, which he muffled into his shoulder.

The video call was still going—it looked like Keeley’s phone was in her bedroom now—but Keeley herself was nowhere to be found.

Roy minimized the call briefly to check the time. Almost half 9. He returned to the video, but he couldn’t see so much as a flicker of movement on the screen.

“Keeley?” he ventured quietly, clearing his throat when his voice came out scratchy and strained.

Nothing. Roy blinked hard, feeling a hot pricking in his eyes.

For a moment, his finger hovered over the button to end the call, but he couldn’t get himself to tap it. Finally, Roy dropped the phone onto the mattress.

Why would she have still been on the phone all fucking night? Stupid. Roy wasn’t thinking straight, probably still feverish. He turned to the bedside table and reached for the thermometer.

Yeah—38.4 this time. “aaaahhhhhh-SHOOOOOO-uhhhhhhh!” Roy sneezed, clapping a hand over his mouth. Sighing, he wiped his nose, then grabbed his water glass and the paracetamol.

As he shuffled, sniffling, into the kitchen, Roy kept the video call up on his phone, setting it on the counter beside him. He didn’t know why. Keeley had probably just forgotten to switch it off last night. If she picked her phone up and saw he was still on it, she’d think he was fucking mental, or pathetic, or both.

Kettle first, then he’d see about eating something. Roy supposed he was maybe a little hungry, so that was promising, but his throat felt like it had been scraped with sandpaper. He coughed hard, wincing.

His head was fuzzy and aching, and as he started making his breakfast, he felt clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Morning!”

“Shit!” Roy exclaimed hoarsely. He turned round, and there was Keeley grinning on his phone screen.

“See, it’s creepy when someone pops up out of nowhere, isn’t it?” she told him.

“I-I thought you’d god,” Roy said. He swiped at his nose with the side of his hand. “Whed I woke up, I didded’t—I bead, you wered’t—”

“Just went to take a shower,” Keeley replied. She was dressed for the day, while he was still in his pajamas. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Porridge,” he told her. “Ihhh-ihhhhhhh…” A fierce itch flared in his nose, and he sneezed a loud “huhhhhhh-CHIUUHHHHHH!” into his cupped hands. “It’s sobething by throat cad haddle,” he explained, “add I’ve still kide of got chills, so….”

“Right,” Keeley said. “Have you taken some more paracetamol?” Roy nodded, and she smiled. “Good.”

Once Roy’s tea and porridge were ready, he sat down heavily at his kitchen table, propping his phone up against the tissue box he’d brought from the bedroom. He lifted his spoon, but he had to drop it back into the porridge when his nose started to itch. “ehhhhhhhh-SHOOOOOOO! ahhhhhhh…hehhhhh-CHUHHHHHH! Mmb….” He groaned, reaching for a tissue.

“How’d you sleep?” Keeley asked. “It sounded like your cough was really bothering you.”

Roy looked at her and she winced. “Sorry, was that weird?” she asked. “By the time the film ended, you were asleep. I didn’t want to just end the video call on you, but I wasn’t sure if it was right to keep it going all night like that, since I couldn’t ask you if it was okay.”

She added, “Oh! And I wasn’t watching you sleep or anything! I turned the camera away, to give you privacy. But if you woke up and needed anything, I didn’t want you to think I was gone.”

Roy raised his brows slightly. “Add if I had deeded addything, what wer—” he coughed, “—what were you supposed to do about it?”

“I’d have figured something out!” Keeley told him. “I’m very resourceful.”

“Yeah, you fucking are,” Roy agreed. He sniffled.

“I just didn’t want to leave you on your own,” Keeley said softly. She gave him a shy glance.

Roy suddenly found his porridge fucking fascinating, and he cleared his throat as he dug his spoon around in it.

“But oi, you never answered my question!” Keeley protested. “How’d you sleep?”

“I’be dot sure,” Roy admitted. “It’s kide of…hazy. aaaahhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH!” He sneezed without warning, half-covering it with the side of his hand. He sniffled hard. “I was feeling pretty fucking shit yesterday, add—add I dod’t quite rebebber after I fell asleep.” He sniffled again. “The telly was switched off whed I got up this bording, so I bust’ve woken up at sobe poidnt.”

Keeley nodded. “How ‘bout today? Any less shit?”

“Baybe slightly less shit,” Roy conceded. He rubbed his nose, grimacing as he swallowed a mouthful of tea. “Thadks, by the way,” he mumbled. “For—for fucking all this.”

“Naw, you’re all right,” Keeley replied.

“Doh, I-I bead it,” Roy insisted. He might be the fucking idiot who fucked up the good thing they had, but he needed her to know this. “Really, thadks.”

Keeley smiled softly. “Glad I could help.”

They continued talking while Roy ate his breakfast, and despite the weirdness and despite Roy’s fucking nose, it felt sort of—what, normal? It felt a bit like before, when it didn’t matter what they were doing or what they were talking about, ‘cause just being with her made it worthwhile.

Keeley teased him about not putting anything on his porridge. “It’s dot like I cad taste it right dow!” Roy argued. “Wasd’t worth the effort.”

“I dunno, eating plain porridge seems a bit serial killery,” Keeley remarked. “I mean, not even sugar? I don’t trust it.”

Roy almost smiled at that. He might have gotten all the way there, if his nose hadn’t interrupted. “ehhhhhh…hihhhhhhhh…uhhhhhhhh-SHIOOOOOO!” he sneezed, swallowing a groan as he buried his sore nose in a tissue.

“Listen,” Keeley told him. “I’ve got to get going in a bit. I’m supposed to meet—” She cut herself off then said, carefully, “I’m meeting someone.”

Shit.

“Oh,” Roy said. “Right. Yeah.”

From the sudden shift in her manner—going from casual and relaxed to a bit stiff and awkward—there was no question about what sort of someone she was referring to. And the thing was, Roy had no fucking right to be upset about it. He was the idiot who’d broken up with her. Of course somebody else had seen how amazing she was.

Keeley was quiet for a moment, maybe trying to gauge his reaction. “But can I call you again later this evening?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Roy said. “I—” He broke off, clearing his throat.

“I’d really like that.” Just fucking say, “I’d really like that.”

But he said, “—If you wadt.” 

So fucking stupid.

As he muffled a few hard coughs into the back of his hand, Roy couldn’t tell what Keeley thought of his answer, if she’d been expecting something more. She just smiled and said, “Good. Feel better, all right?”

Of course Roy had to fucking sneeze right at that moment, a sudden “hihhhhhhh-SHIAAHHHHHH!” in the crook of his arm. “I’ll do by best,” he said, sniffling.

“Right,” Keeley smiled. “Speak to you later.”

Roy nodded, and she gave him a sweet wave on the video call. And she was gone.

He sat at the table for a minute, digging his spoon through his porridge, and then his phone buzzed. For a second, Roy thought it was Keeley ringing him again, but of course it was just another text from his sister.

Morning! How’s your cold?

Roy stared at the phone, sniffling. Then he found himself typing back.

Still pretty shit

But I’m ok

His nose started itching, teasing at his sinuses, but the sneeze wouldn’t come out. Roy tried to hitch his way to a sneeze. “ahhhhhhh…hihhhhhhhh…fuh-fuhhhhhhhck!” He sniffled, rubbing his nose hard with his finger.

That finally did it. It was like he’d built up a queue of sneezes. “ehhhhhhh-CHOOOO-uhhhhhh! hihhhhhhh-ehhhhhhh-SHIOOOOOO! aaaahhhhhhh-CHUHHHHHHH! Ihhhhhh-huhhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!”

“Fuck me,” Roy sighed. His nose felt better at least, but his head was spinning. As his phone buzzed again, he coughed into his shoulder and grabbed a fresh tissue.

Once he blew his nose, he looked at his sister’s reply.

You up for a quick phone call? Phoebe really wants to say hi to you

Roy considered this for a long moment.

Go on then

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for the call to come in. Roy took a breath, braced himself, and answered. “Hiya,” he said.

“Hi, Uncle Roy!” His niece’s voice on the phone was bright and eager.

“Yeah, hey,” Roy replied.

“Did you get my card?” Phoebe asked.

“Yep,” Roy told her. “Go easy o-od the…hehhhhhhh-ihhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHH!” 

“Oh, bless you!” Phoebe said.

Roy grimaced, sniffing. “Go easy od the glitter dext tibe, all right?” he told her. “Less is fucking bore.”

“Okay,” Phoebe agreed. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Are you really, really ill?”

Roy sighed a little. “Doh, I’be all right. Just dod’t wadt you catching by cold, yeah?” He sniffed again, stifling a cough.

“Well, please get better soon!” Phoebe urged him. “I miss you lots.”

“Yeah, biss you too,” Roy muttered. “Add I’be working od it. I’be just gudda stay id bed today add sleep.”

“Oh, good! And also—”

Roy heard his sister breaking in. “Phoebe, come on,” she said. “Let’s let Uncle Roy get some rest.”

“Okay,” Phoebe replied. “Bye, Uncle Roy! Love you! Hope you feel loads better!”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Roy told her.

Phoebe must’ve passed the phone off, because he could hear his sister’s voice more clearly now. “Actual rest, yeah?” she said.

“I’be dot going fucking ad-- addywhe-ere,” Roy assured her, trailing off into a strong “huhhhhhh-SHIOOOOO!”

“Gesundheit,” his sister said. It sounded like she was smiling. “Guess there’s hope for you yet.”

“Fuck off,” Roy told her.

“Love you too!” she teased.

When he and Keeley had hung up the video call, leaving Roy’s kitchen feeling bare and cold, his sister’s text hadn’t felt like an annoyance. It had felt like a lifeline, just the thing to pull him out of that lonely moment. Now, as Roy said goodbye to his sister and set about finishing his porridge, the kitchen didn’t feel quite so empty anymore.

[Bongo]

I love this story! Thank you for sharing it with us.

[angora48]

Thank you @Bongo! I loved writing it--all these characters are so much fun to play with!

Here's Part 13, the end of "You Better Let Somebody Love You." Thanks for reading, and a big thank you to everyone who's left comments. Your kind words make my day!

 

That day, Roy took the notion of a “lazy Sunday” to a whole new level. He spent the overwhelming majority of it in bed—much of it actually sleeping, not just tossing and sniffling and trying to sleep. He got up occasionally to get food, refill his water, or make a fresh cuppa, and he had a couple slightly longer out-of-bed excursions in aid of feeling a bit more human. In the afternoon, after some more paracetamol, he read about half a chapter of his latest book before dropping off again.

Around 7:00 in the evening, he got a text from Keeley.

Got held up, sorry. It’ll probably be another hour

The words hit Roy like a pang—not as badly as it had been that morning, but he still felt disappointed, and angry with himself for feeling disappointed when he already knew she was seeing somebody.

Keeley wasn’t done yet, though. Two more texts came in rapidly.

But I WILL call, I promise! Soon as I can

If you get tired of waiting for me and need to go to bed, just text me so I know not to bother you

Roy began tapping out a reply, reaching for his water as he started to cough.

It’s fine, I’ll be up

Slept half the fucking day anyway

Within half a minute, she texted again.

Can I order you something to eat?

As a rule, Roy didn’t like people fussing over him. It was like a full-body cringe, and he couldn’t relax until they fucking left him be. But when Keeley did it, it didn’t feel so much like fussing. It felt all right.

No, he texted back.

I’ll just make a cheese toastie or something

“ahhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH!” he sneezed. He was blowing his nose when Keeley’s reply came in.

ok, call when I can!!!

At that, Roy smiled, a real proper smile at all three of her exclamation points.

When he’d mentioned cheese toasties, Roy realized he was hungry for exactly that. Coughing into the crook of his arm, he got out of bed, picking up his tissue box as he headed to the kitchen. He started a pan heating on the stove, then gathered up bread, margarine, cheese, and a tomato to slice up.

He hadn’t checked his temperature again since that morning, but Roy would wager that, if he was still feverish, it was only a little. He didn’t have that shaky feeling he’d had yesterday, and his head wasn’t really swimming anymore. Although his throat was still painful and his nose wouldn’t let up, with any luck, he was starting to mend.

Of course, luck wasn’t something Roy had had much of this week. But maybe he was overdue.

“hehhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHHH!” he sneezed into his hands. Sniffling and coughing a bit, he finished assembling his sandwich and threw it onto the pan.

While he waited for it to cook, Roy wiped his nose with a tissue, then picked up his phone. After a long moment of deliberation, he unlocked it and opened up his contacts.

“Hey, Roy!” came Ted’s cheery voice after the third ring. “How’re you feeling?”

His energetic good nature was almost enough to make Roy regret calling, but he stuck it out. “Like shit,” he said.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Ted reasoned. “What’s up?”

Roy poked at his toastie with the turner, sniffling. He said, “Well, ub, I was thidking I’d call out toborrow. If that’s all right.”

“Heck yeah!” Ted enthused. “Beard and I can hold down the fort.”

“Right—cheers,” Roy mumbled. His breath hitched, and he held the phone away from himself as he buried an “ehhhhhhh-CHIOOOOOO-uhhhhhhh!” in his shoulder.

“Bless you,” Ted told him. “Anyway, we’re playing Everton next weekend, and we want you fighting fit.”

“Okay,” Roy said. “I—”

“Say, you need anything, Roy?” Ted went on. “I know you don’t want other folks around, but I could make a drive-by drop-off.”

“Doh, I’be sorted,” Roy replied. He added, “But thadks.” 

“Sure thing,” Ted said. “You rest up, all right?”

“All right,” Roy said. He stifled a cough.

“Take it easy, Roy,” Ted told him, signing off.

Despite needing to sneeze when he hung up, a loud “aaahhhhh-SHIAHHHHHH!” into his hand, Roy felt all right. After today, he thought he was on the right track with his cold, and it felt good to know he didn’t have to go into the club tomorrow and risk feeling worse again. And fuck it—this whole time, Ted had been all overly eager to help and now he could, but in a way that Roy actually fucking wanted. Not bad.

 

Roy was in bed with a cuppa when Keeley finally called, around half eight. “Hey—sorry!” she said, popping up on the video screen. “I hope I didn’t keep you up waiting for me. I couldn’t get away any earlier.”

“It’s okay,” Roy replied. Keeley had kept it vague, not alluding to the someone who’d been keeping her busy, and he wouldn’t bring it up either. “But oi, I said you-- you didded’t dee-eed…” He turned away, cupping his hands over his mouth. “ehhhhhh-CHOOOO-uhhhhh! Mm—you didded’t deed to sedd be addything.”

He pointed the camera at his bedside table, at the empty takeaway container that had shown up about 45 minutes after they’d been texting.

Keeley grinned. “I couldn’t resist!” she told him. “Cheese toastie and tomato soup—it’s the perfect combo!”

“Yeah, it was,” Roy admitted. He coughed into his fist and sniffled. “It’s just dice dot to be traiding. I cad actually eat whatever I feel like whed I’be ill.”

“I know what you mean,” Keeley agreed. “Hey, where are your ill pajamas?” Roy glanced down at the charcoal T-shirt he was wearing as Keeley added, “I wasn’t making fun of them yesterday, really! I think they’re great.”

Roy sniffled, rubbing his nose. “It’s fide,” he assured her. “I just washed theb, they’re id the dryer dow. I cad’t sbmell anything, but I’ve beed wearing theb all week and they were probably rank. hehhhhhh-ihhhhhh-CHIUHHHHHH!” Coughing a little, he reached over for a tissue. “I took a shower as well.”

“Oh god, I swear one of the worst parts of being ill is feeling disgusting!” Keeley exclaimed, flopping down dramatically onto her sofa. “Sweaty and snotty and all the rest. It feels so good to just get cleaned up.”

“Yeah,” Roy said sheepishly. He cleared his throat, sniffling hard. “For ben, there’s shaving too.”

Keeley held the phone closer to her face, peering at him. “You didn’t shave, did you?” she asked. “You looked scruffier than usual.”

“Doh,” Roy said. “I didded’t get that-- that fa-aaar…hihhhhh…aaahhhhhh…” He scrubbed hard at his nose with the side of his hand, coaxing the sneeze out. “uhhhhhhh-CHIOOOOOO!”

“You look better,” Keeley remarked. “I mean, you know, still plenty ill, but I can tell you’re better than you were yesterday.”

“About fucking tibe,” Roy said, sniffling. “I thidk I slept bore today thad—” he stifled a cough, “—thad I have all week.”

Keeley nodded. “That’s great. How are you doing? Do you need anything, or…?”

Roy shook his head. “Dice to talk to you, that’s all. What’ve you beed up to—lately?” He thought to add the lately at the last moment. He didn’t want her to think he was fishing for information about her date.

“Fuck me, Roy!” Keeley groaned. “It’s hard, at work. It’s so fucking hard! I don’t get it. I was totally on top of shit when I was at Richmond, but now, I dunno. It’s like the part of my brain that knows how to do any of this has dropped out of my skull.”

“Shit,” Roy mumbled. He caught a “hihhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” in his hand. 

He didn’t want to say some fucking platitude that didn’t mean anything, or some useless I’m sure you’re fucking killing it! ‘Cause regardless of whether Keeley was or wasn’t, she didn’t feel like she was, and a person couldn’t just think happy thoughts their way out of that one. As he knew too well.

“That’s really shit,” Roy repeated. “Is it the boss stuff, or is the actual PR part different whed you’re—” he sniffled, “—you’re rudding your own firb?”

“I don’t know,” Keeley admitted. “I mean, yeah, the boss stuff for sure, and the PR stuff feels different, but I don’t think it actually is. It’s like, you ever have something you do automatically—like, I dunno, tying your shoes—but then for whatever reason, you start thinking about it and it doesn’t make sense anymore? Like, you’re sitting there going, ‘What does a tied shoe even look like?’ It’s sort of like that.”

“Fucking hell,” Roy said. “I hate that feeling.”

“Exactly!” Keeley replied. “And sometimes it’s like, was I ever any good at all?”

Roy looked down, clearing his throat. “Hate that wud too.” His nose started itching, and he covered his mouth. “ahhhhhhh…hehhhhhh-CHIOOOOOO! ihhhhhhh-SHUHHHHHHH! Mmb….” He sniffled, rubbing his nose.

“I’m sorry,” Keeley said. “You don’t need to listen to me whining about my problems.”

“I like your problebs,” Roy told her, not realizing what a prick thing that was to say until she raised her eyebrow at him. “Shit, doh, I didded’t bead—” He gave a hard cough and drank a swallow of his tea, wincing. “Look, igdore that, all right? It’s the wud favor I’be officially asking for as a fucking ill persod.”

She smiled at him. “Just this once.”

Roy coughed again; he cleared his throat. “What I bead is, it’s fucking shit that you’re having a hard tibe, but I like that you cad tell be about your problebs.” Every day, Roy remembered things he missed about Keeley, and this was what he was remembering tonight. 

He continued, “I bead that I’ve spednt all week thidking about how fucking rubbish I feel add how dobody will leave be the fuck alode about it. So thadk you for talking to be about sobething else, eeved if it’s sobething shit for you. I wish I could do bore to bake it better.”

“It’s okay,” Keeley said softly. “Honestly, it’s kind of nice to talk about it and not have the other person jump straight to ‘you’ve got this, girl!’”

“hihhhhhhh-SHOOOOOO!” Roy sneezed loudly into a tissue. He sighed, wiping his nose. “I wod’t say that,” he told her. “I’ll just say, you cad tie your shoes. You’re right, you were cobpletely od top of shit at Richbudd. I doh Rebecca’s your friend add all, but she woulded’t have kept you od if you wered’t fucking great at PR. You’re id your head right dow add it’s dot cobing out right, but it’s still there. You cad fide it agaid.”

Keeley grinned. “Oi, who’s taking care of who here?” she teased.

The corner of Roy’s mouth twitched. “Do you wadt be to feel by fucking forehead for you?” he asked. “Will that restore the balance?”

“Yes,” Keeley decided. “Although tonight, I can’t tell from looking at you if you’re feverish, so you’ll have to let me know.”

Dutifully, Roy held the back of his wrist to his forehead. “A little,” he told her, “I-I thidk…aaahhhhhhhh-SHIUHHHHHH!” He turned, sneezing into his shoulder.

“How’s your head?” she asked.

“A bit aching,” he admitted.

Keeley nodded. “Okay. I’m rubbing your temple with my thumb.”

Roy could feel himself smiling, just a little. He settled back into bed, shifting the phone so he could still see the video, and started rubbing his temple.

“What do you want me to do about the call when you fall asleep?” Keeley asked. “I don’t want to decide for you again.”

“You ca—” Roy sputtered with a few stifled coughs. “You cad turd it off. I’be skiving off toborrow, but I doh you’ve got work id the bording. You dod’t deed to listen to be coughing all dight.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “You’re staying home toborrow?”

“Uh huh,” Roy said with a wet sniffle. “Already called Ted about it.”

“God, how’s he been this week?” Keeley asked. “My guess is ‘caring and considerate and everything you can’t stand.’”

“Fucking dightbare,” Roy told her. “He bought be tissues add hadd saditizer, add cough drops I coulded’t use ‘cause I cad’t stadd the sbmell, add he put this little toy arby guy of sentibental fucking value id by office!”

“What a monster,” Keeley drawled. “Now, what’s this I hear about a cricket bat?”

Roy knew they weren’t together anymore, and that a couple nights of Keeley being kind and looking out for him wouldn’t fix what he’d fucked up between them, but he’d really needed this. Without it, he doubted he’d have been able to text his sister back or call Ted, and he certainly couldn’t have shown himself any fucking grace. 

They lay there, Roy in bed and Keeley on her sofa, talking and joking until his eyelids started to get heavy. And he could honestly say there was nothing he’d needed more.