Archive of Our Own

“Boyo!”

Colin darts ahead of Isaac and takes the pass, whipping the ball so hard he’s knocked on his back. Laid flat by more than just gravity, Colin stares up at the sky; he can’t see whether he made the shot, but he can definitely hear the sound of the ball hitting the crossbar.

Isaac appears above him with a grin. Colin sits up with a sigh and takes the hand Isaac’s holding out, pulling himself to his feet. “Fucking suck at this game,” he grumbles.

Isaac claps him on the shoulder. “Oi, come on. It was a good kick; just a bit lower next time, yeah?”

Colin nods, but he knows Isaac’s just being nice. Sure enough, nothing he tries works for the rest of training. All those extra hours he’s been putting in—he’s just rubbish! If he keeps being totally useless to the team, he’ll be transferred. It’s obvious; Colin knows it, his teammates know it, the new coaches know it. Everyone.

Colin showers quickly and changes, then checks his phone. There’s a message from Ben waiting, and his mood lifts immediately. Hope you had a good training! Coming over? I’ll make something

Colin responds Yeah, be there soon! and a few seconds pass before Ben sends a purple heart, their signature emoji. Colin can’t resist sending one of his own.

This thing he has going with Ben is still new. It was supposed to be a Grindr hook-up, just a one-time thing like it always is when Colin caves and downloads the app again. It’s risky every time—there’s a chance whoever he meets will out him to the press, so he’s careful. He does his best to find guys on there that don’t know much about football.

Ben assured Colin he was not a football fan, so they did the hook-up part (which was fucking top-notch), but then Ben asked if Colin wanted to stay and order some food. Colin said yes; he was hungry and Ben’s smile was really something.

Over pad thai, Colin discovered Ben meant it about not being a football fan. He couldn’t name a single player besides Beckham and Ronaldo, and he knew only five teams off the top of his head.

“Football’s dead boring. 90 minutes I can spend on anything else,” Ben said, grinning from one end of the sofa over Colin’s shock and outraged disbelief. Then he smirked and ate his noodles while Colin, on the other end, spluttered indignantly about why football was not dead boring, actually, but literally the best.

What was supposed to be a hook-up lasted days. When he wasn’t at training, Colin was at Ben’s. They talked about music and movies; they cooked together; they danced all over Ben’s apartment, free and open.

Ben listened while Colin talked about how fucking lonely he’s felt the past few years, away from home and out to no one besides his family. Ben listened while Colin rambled on and on about Welsh independence and then deadpanned, “You know you’re preaching to the choir, yeah?”

Ben talked about his family back in Ireland and his sister, Sally, who was living with her boyfriend in Chelsea. He talked about studying at the London School of Dance and how he was working now as a bartender while he figured out his next move. (Then he showed Colin a toe-rise backbend with so much flexibility it nearly made Colin pass out.)

Over the next few weeks, they got to know each other rapidly. Ben talked about how people judged him for being effeminate, making jokes about his limp wrists. After that, Colin made sure to kiss those wrists and Ben’s sharp cheekbones and beautiful smile.

Colin told Ben that he barely passed his GCSEs, that he had no idea what he’d do if he wasn’t a footballer because he’s too stupid to do anything else. “Sounds like you have a distorted image of yourself,” Ben said, frowning. “You just gave me a detailed rundown of The Matrix as an allegory for Plato’s Cave. Dumb footballer? Please.”

Isaac shoulders Colin with a grin. “Who you texting, bruv?” he teases. “She sure got you all smiley!”

Colin’s heart misses a beat, and he closes his phone and slides it into his pocket right quick. “Ah, you know, just a girl on the app.”

Isaac waggles his eyebrows, but doesn’t push for more info. That’s good because Colin’s always been shit at talking about girls. He spots Nate looking over from where he’s standing by Robbie’s locker. Nate’s always doing that: looking, analyzing. “Hey boyo!” he calls over sarcastically. “Forgot how to pick up towels?”

Isaac snickers, and Colin feels a mix of guilt and satisfaction when Nate quickly crosses to the other side of the locker room. Then the new gaffer calls his name from the door of the office, and it’s just fear and dread flooding in. Colin nods goodbye to Isaac, pulls his bag on, and heads over, relieved to be away from that conversation, but anxious. He hasn’t had a one-on-one with Coach Lasso yet.

Lasso’s smiling. He usually is, but it’s weird he’s doing that when Colin was so shit all training. That’s obviously why he’s been called over.

I’m a piece of shit.

Colin nods in acknowledgement. “Hi, Coach.”

“Hey, Colin. Come on in - I won’t keep ya long.” Lasso beckons Colin inside his office and closes the door so it’s just the two of them. Coach Beard must be somewhere else; that’s a relief because sometimes he looks at Colin like he has x-ray vision and can see right down to his lousy core.

“Coach, sorry about training today,” Colin says. “I know I’m playing like shit. But I can do better.”

“Whoa, now,” Lasso says, frowning. “You played great today. Seems like you’re bein’ hard on yourself. You were setting up your teammates and looking for opportunities. And that was a heckuva shot you made.”

Colin nearly rocks back on his heels. He played great? He’s being hard on himself? “But I didn’t score,” Colin mutters.

Lasso leans forward like he’s sharing a secret. “There’s more to the game than scoring goals.”

Colin expels a breath in shock. It feels like his heartbeat is in his throat, so he swallows thickly, Cartrick’s words from three weeks ago echoing loudly in his head: If you don’t improve your scoring, mark my words, you’ll be playing for a goddamn League 1 team, you fucking poofter.

“I don’t understand,” Colin says, mouth dry.

Still smiling, Lasso tells him, “I called you in here to let you know we can tell how hard you work during practice. Just seems like you struggle with confidence sometimes - you were right on the mark ‘til you missed the shot. After that, it was like another Colin was out there.” Coach Lasso beams meaningfully at him. “Remember, as the manager of a Scranton paper company once quoted the great Wayne Gretsky, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Colin has to clear his throat twice before he can speak. “Oh. Thank you, Coach.”

Lasso nods with a bright, friendly smile. “Not a problem, Colin. You let me know if you need anything, alright?”

Colin nods and all but runs out.

He’s just about to get into his car when he hears, “Colin!” He turns to see Trent Crimm walking over from his Mercedes—such a fucking cool car. Fucking cool everything, honestly.

“Trent Crimm,” he announces when he reaches Colin, “The Independent.”

“Hey,” Colin greets politely.

Colin knows to keep reporters at arm’s length, and he needs to be more cautious with them than most footballers, but Trent’s alright. He asks harsh questions sometimes, but he’s fair in his articles. Besides, Colin once overheard Trent call Cartrick a gormless tosser, right to his face! Colin figures… with bollocks like that? Trent deserves a soundbite here or there.

Trent pulls out his notebook. His hair is pulled back, and he’s giving off his usual aloof, unimpressed air. “I’d love to get a quote on the American gaffer. What are your thoughts?”

Colin should probably say ‘no comment’ just to be safe; it’s not a good idea to talk about a new gaffer to the press, but the interaction he just had with Lasso makes him pause. Finally, he decides on: “He’s no Cartrick, that’s for sure.”

Trent looks up from his notebook with one eyebrow arched perfectly. “Such a shame,” Trent says, dry as a bone. Then he goes back to scribbling, but the smirk of amusement on his face makes Colin feel like he’s accomplished a true feat. “How’s Lasso’s coaching style?” Trent asks.

Colin shakes his head and unlocks his Lambo with a pointed click of the button on his key. “Bye, Trent.”

Trent laughs. “Okay, what about off the record? I’m genuinely curious.”

Colin opens his car door. “Off the record? He’s so nice that football might not deserve him.”

As he gets in his car and watches Trent head back to his own, he reflects that it’s too bad that was off the record. That might have been his best soundbite to date, not that that’s saying much.

When he arrives at Ben’s flat, Colin finds him in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, standing in the archway and appreciating the sight. Every day, he’s surprised Ben hasn’t told him to fuck off yet. He keeps coming around, and he keeps asking Colin to come around.

Somehow, Ben hasn’t gotten sick of him yet.

“Hey! How was training?” Ben asks, smiling from where he’s stirring a pot of soup at the stove. Colin has to go over for a kiss. There must be a lot of unsaid stuff in it because Ben gives him a questioning look when they pull away, then leads them to the sofa without another word. Colin sinks down against one of the armrests, and Ben sits close, pulling Colin’s legs over his thighs.

“Talk to me,” Ben prompts.

Colin’s still getting used to the way Ben just makes it okay for Colin to talk about his feelings, so it takes a few moments to push past the automatic reflex to keep it all down. “The new gaffer, Lasso? He’s…” Colin struggles to explain, finds himself repeating what he said to Trent Crimm. “He’s nothing like Cartrick. He’s nice.” He plays with the drawstring on Ben’s hooded sweater while he collects his thoughts. “He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t insult everyone.”

Ben gives Colin a look of concern. “He’s nice ‘coz he doesn’t yell and insult everyone? That’s just not being an arsehole.” Ben pokes him in the thigh pointedly. “Didn’t Cartrick throw a pair of boots at you? Maybe let’s not use him as the point of comparison for nice gaffers, yeah?”

God. Colin sags back against the arm of the sofa, bowled over by Ben yet again. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Ben chirps, slapping Colin’s thigh playfully. “So your new gaffer is nice?”

Colin nods and nestles deeper into the sofa, tangling his fingers with Ben’s. “Yeah - actually nice. He pulled me into his office to say I played well today. Feels weird. Like a foreign concept.” Colin sighs, blinking away the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. “He said there’s more to football than scoring.”

“Imagine that.” Ben strokes his thumb over Colin’s palm and smiles, sweet and slow and so stunning. “I think I like your new gaffer. He obviously knows a good thing when he sees it.”

Colin can only stare, and then he’s pulling Ben closer, into his lap, desperate for it, for Ben. He knows it won’t be long before Ben realizes what kind of person he’s dating, that it won’t be long before Colin fucks up this nice new thing.

He’s going to soak up every second.

Colin loses track of time after his visit to hospital, so he’s surprised when the doorbell rings. It takes a while to pull himself from the bed and get to the front door.

“Shit, sorry,” Colin says when he opens the door to Ben, who he was expecting, but things have been confusing for the past 12 hours. His head is a painful, pounding beat, and he feels so dizzy he has to lean against the wall in the entryway.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks, his face swimming into Colin’s view, hands coming to grip Colin’s shoulders.

“I’ve got a concussion.”

Fussing, Ben brings Colin back to bed, shuts the curtains so it’s dark, and curls up with him. Then he asks what happened, and Colin has to tell him, even if it means Ben’s disgusted with him for being a piece of shit to Nate.

“Roy headbutted me last night,” Colin mumbles. He can hear the outrage in Ben’s prolonged silent response, and quickly adds, “I deserved it. Me and Isaac, we…” Colin would shake his head if he could without throwing up. “I’ve been such an arsehole to Nate, the kit man for the team.”

He tells Ben all of it. That he and Isaac have been messing with Nate for ages, how bad he feels about it. He tells Ben that he’s pretty sure he was taking some of his anger and frustration about Cartrick out on Nate. How he felt like Nate was spying on him for Cartrick and he hated that. “But there’s no excuse,” he says miserably. “I’ve been awful.”

Ben strokes a hand through Colin’s hair with a quiet hum. “Have you thought about telling him that?”

Colin uses the sleeve of his sweater to get rid of the tears in his eyes. “I should, yeah. I will.”

“Good,” Ben says.

Colin sighs. “I’m such a piece of shit. Roy was right to headbutt me.”

Ben is silent for a time, then, “Don’t you need your head intact to play? Doesn’t the captain of the team bloody know that? Fuckin’ footballers.”

Colin blinks through his hazy confusion. “What?”

Ben makes a sound of impatience. “No, ‘course not. Obviously it was necessary to go straight to violence instead of talking to you.”

Ben has held Colin in his arms this whole time, like he still cares about Colin even though he’s given plenty of evidence for why Ben shouldn’t care about him at all.

“You don’t hate me?” he whispers.

“You hate yourself enough without me piling on,” Ben replies. “What good is hating yourself going to do? You did wrong, but that regret you’re feeling? You can use that to do it right from now on, yeah?”

Wow.

After Colin’s finished snivelling like a child (he’s gonna go ahead and blame the head trauma), Ben gets up to bring him a glass of water and the book Coach Lasso gave him, Les Miserables, from the nightstand. “Been doing some reading?” he asks.

“Gaffer gave books to the whole team. We all got our own.”

Ben hums thoughtfully. “Want me to read to you?”

Colin almost whimpers. “Yes. Please.”

Ben reads to him. At first, his concentration slips with his head pounding so hard, but soon he gets caught up in the world within the book, a world of love, redemption, and forgiveness, about what it means to do right.

Colin gets caught up in the soft, lovely voice of his boyfriend while Ben reads the beginning to him.

He can’t put the book down, takes it with him everywhere until he’s finished.

… You ask me what forces me to speak? A strange thing: my conscience.

… Life’s great happiness is to be convinced we are loved.

… Before him he saw two roads, both equally straight; but he did see two; and that terrified him—he who has never in his life known anything but one straight line.

Colin loves every word of the book. He knows why Coach Lasso gave it to him—Colin needs to make it right with Nate.

He’s off training to recover from his concussion, so his first proper chance comes during the charity gala. He finds Nate on his own at the bar.

Nate jumps and dryly says, “Oh, Colin. Did you change your mind?”

Ashamed, Colin shakes his head quickly, but regrets the movement when his vision spins. “No, I—” He clears his throat. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve been awful to you, Nate. I’m sorry for treating you so terribly for so long. I hope I can show you I’m changing. That I can be better, like Jean Valjean.”

Nate looks shocked. And confused. “Oh,” he says. “Erm, thanks, Colin.”

Colin nods, which is a mistake, but he pushes through his headache and says, “If you ever need anything, I got your back.”

He turns and starts to leave, but Nate calls, “Hey, Colin?” Nate smiles and says, “24601.”

Colin beams, and the lightness he feels is enough to get him through the rest of the gala even with the pain in his head.

When Colin gets home, he opens the book and dog-ears the pages with his favourite quotes, trying to find new meaning. What other insights can he find in the book Coach Lasso gave to him, had chosen specifically for Colin?

“Fellas?” Coach calls at the end of training. It used to take a few tries for Lasso to get everyone’s attention; Jamie still doesn’t care to listen, but mostly the conversations stop now.

Coach Lasso smiles. “Thank you. Just wanted a quick word, and then this blessed Friday is all yours.”

With a gesture to Beard beside him, Coach says, “Coach Beard and I just wanna check in. Make sure we’re doin’ all we can to make y’all feel safe here.”

Colin shares a look of confusion with Isaac.

“If there’s ever anything you wanna share with us, we’ll be all ears.” Coach gestures to the locker room at large. “We don’t want anyone in this room to feel like they can’t be themselves.”

“And that’s a standing offer,” Coach continues. “We want every single one of you to feel welcome here. Like you’re part of this team. That you belong.” Coach does that thing where it’s like he’s looking at all of them, individually, at once. He smiles. “Alright, y’all have a good one, now.”

Colin’s heart starts to pound in his ears, and he busies himself with his bag. Was that—? There’s no way Colin’s misinterpreting that, is there? Did Coach Lasso really just tell the team they can… come out to him? Colin doesn’t wait around to find out if he’s right or how that went down with the rest of the team. He doesn’t want to hear any jokes or commentary; he high-tails it without even saying goodbye to Isaac.

In the car, he pores over Coach Lasso’s speech. Can he even trust his read on this? It’s so risky to read between the lines if Colin’s somehow drawn them up himself.

Colin tells Ben about it over dinner. “So, what do you think? Am I interpreting him wrong?”

“I don’t think there’s another way to interpret that, babe,” Ben says with a smile. “He was definitely saying they’re cool with gay footballers. That’s about as green a light as you can get.”

Colin feels a complex set of emotions. There’s relief and excitement, but right behind that is stark fear. “Ben, am I—? Cartrick seemed to know, and now Coach Lasso—” Voice shaking, Colin asks, “Is it obvious I am?”

“Oh.” Ben gives Colin an expression twisted with aching understanding, the kind Colin doesn’t feel he deserves. “No, Colin. I don’t think it’s obvious.”

Colin nods, chin wobbling horrifically. “I know I shouldn’t care if it’s obvious, but…”

“I get it,” Ben says, still far too understanding. “There’s a lot riding on you keeping it under wraps.”

After dinner, they spread out on the sofa to watch Les Miserables. Colin lays in Ben’s arms, and he feels so warm and happy he falls asleep five minutes in and wakes up with the credits. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Didn’t miss much,” Ben jokes. “Lots of close-ups and talk-singing, and Russel Crowe mumbling so much I could barely hear him.”

Colin laughs. “Damn, now I really wish I hadn’t fallen asleep.”

He lifts one of Ben’s hands up to press a kiss to the centre of his palm, breathes slowly, and says, “I think you should tell someone about us. Sally maybe? Whoever you can trust.”

Ben stills, then kisses behind his ear. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s a lot to hold in. A lot to keep to yourself,” Colin mutters.

“Okay,” Ben whispers. “Yeah, I’ll tell Sally. We can trust her.”

Colin nods. He lets out a long breath. “I think that… if there was someone I could tell, it’d be Coach Lasso.”

Ben brushes a kiss on the back of Colin’s neck. “That’s great, love. I’m happy you have someone you can tell, when you’re ready.”

Colin thinks about it. About telling Coach Lasso, about saying, I’m gay. I have a boyfriend, and he’s nice and funny and he doesn’t think I’m a piece of shit (yet). But before he can get far with the idea, he can feel the panic starting to creep up on him. It’s been a secret for so long, and what if—?

God, there’s just so many what-ifs.

Ben tightens the arm holding Colin around the middle and touches Colin’s chest, breathing evenly, slowly; in, out. “Hey. There’s no rush. I’m right here,” Ben tells him soothingly. Colin matches his breathing to Ben’s, and the panic begins to fade.

It’s the first time Colin thinks I love you.

He takes Ben to bed, lays him out on his front and spreads deep, wet kisses down his back. He holds Ben’s legs apart and pins him down, licking Ben open and eating him out until Ben is begging Colin to touch him. But Colin holds off a bit longer; he loves it when Ben gets so sensitive he has to squirm away, loves making Ben tremble with want. It’s how Colin feels about Ben every day.

Colin goes right to Ben’s flat when they make it back from playing Everton. Ben’s elated for him. “First win in 60 years!” he enthuses from where he’s straddling Colin on the sofa, wiggling with excitement.

Colin accepts Ben’s congratulatory kisses. “Best feeling out there,” he says. “Wish I could bottle it for bad match days.” He kisses Ben, then remembers what he’s wanted to tell Ben about since yesterday. “Hey! Have you ever seen The Iron Giant?”

Ben seems distracted; his hands are trying to make their way inside Colin’s jeans, but he pauses and appears to process the question. “Hm? No, I don’t think so?”

“We watched it for team movie night. It’s amazing, Ben! It’s about this boy, Hogarth Hughes—”

“Hughes, eh?” Ben chuckles.

Colin nods with a smile, stroking his hands over Ben’s hips. “But yeah, it takes place during the 1950s, and Hogarth finds this giant robot that came from space. He saves the giant, and then he teaches the giant language and how to be good…” Colin tears up at the memory. “The ending was… I was a mess. We all were, the whole team. It’s about sacrifice and nature vs. nurture, and it - it was just…” He gives Ben a watery smile. “It’s a beautiful movie. We have to watch it.”

“Of course,” Ben murmurs. He kisses Colin’s jaw. “But first, how much am I gonna cry?”

Colin laughs. “So much!”

Colin gets home from training to find Ben napping in his bed—no, their bed now! Just the thought makes Colin climb in there with him and wake Ben up with a deep, searching kiss.

After about 20 minutes of vigorous sex, Ben pants up at the ceiling and murmurs, “Thank the bloody universe for the physical capabilities of a footballer.”

Colin drags Ben against him and chuckles into his ear. “And the flexibility of a dancer.”

Ben laughs softly, stroking his hand along the forearm Colin has thrown across his chest.

“Good training?” Ben asks after a spell of quiet cuddling.

“Better,” Colin tells him. “Gaffers brought on a sports psychologist for Dani to talk to. He was back in form today so she must have really helped him. He’s been all messed up since that penalty kick.”

Ben hums sympathetically. “Shit, I would be too if I’d kicked a ball so hard it killed a sweet, innocent dog.”

Colin shudders. “Yeah. That was fucking bleak.” He strokes a hand over Ben’s stomach. “I went to see her today. And I - well, I was thinking I might tell her about me. But…”

Ben shifts around to face Colin. “Yeah?”

“If I tell her I’m gay… could she go talk to the press or whatever?”

Ben’s brows furrow in surprise. “You’ve never been to therapy before?” Colin shakes his head. Gentle, like he is whenever Colin says something dumb, Ben tells him, “She’d lose her licence if she went and told the papers. She’s bound to confidentiality.”

“Right.” Colin groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Ben leans in close and blows a raspberry into Colin’s throat. “While you’re talking to her, you might want to mention how much you put yourself down.”

Colin cups the side of Ben’s face for a deep kiss. “You good to go again?” he murmurs.

Ben sighs happily. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about football.”

Colin presses his laughter into Ben’s collarbone. “It has its benefits,” he agrees, pushing himself up into planking position. “I’ll make you a football fan one day. I know a few trick plays that might convince you.”

Ben hitches a leg up over Colin’s hip. “Yeah? Prove it.”

Colin sets about doing just that.

Dr. Sharon has only just sat down when Colin blurts it out: “I’m gay.”

She smiles. “Thank you for telling me, Colin.”

Colin can feel his entire body relaxing. He sighs in relief, and then he’s mortified when tears spring to his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing roughly at them.

Dr. Sharon picks up a box of tissues, holds it out for Colin to take one, and says softly, “It’s okay, Colin. Coming out is a powerful experience; it can bring many emotions to the surface.”

And that… well, that makes him really start crying. “But I’m not supposed to cry, am I? It means I’m not strong enough to handle stuff.”

“Is that what crying means for you?” Dr. Sharon asks. “That you’re not strong if you do? That you’re not supposed to?”

Oh. Colin can actually feel the weight of that. The implication that there might be another meaning is dizzying. “I think so, yeah,” he says.

“Let’s talk about that,” Dr. Sharon says kindly.

Colin somehow makes it up to Dr. Sharon’s office before he panics. Dr. Sharon walks him through his grounding techniques, helping him take notice of his surroundings and plant his feet on solid ground.

Able to breathe again, it all comes bursting out of him. He explains about Keeley and Bantr, and how he said it without thinking: Oh, like Grindr?

“So that’s it, innit? They all know now. I basically came out.” He clenches his shaking hands into fists.

Dr. Sharon gives what he’s said some space to be heard, something she does a lot to great effect. “Let’s unwrap that a bit. Is bringing up the name of a dating app equivalent to coming out?”

Colin exhales shakily. “No. But it might make people wonder.”

“It might,” Dr. Sharon says softly, “Or it might not. But is wondering the same as knowing?”

Colin can feel some of his panic loosening. “No. No, it isn’t.”

“Colin, we’ve talked about the fear of reactions and the impact on your career, so it’s understandable if you get anxious when the subject is triggered for you in this environment. It’s unpleasant when you have to compartmentalize all the time and suddenly something makes that more difficult.”

Colin lets out another long breath. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I just didn’t think.”

“It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it?” Dr. Sharon says compassionately. “To be thinking about it and analyzing all the time. It must get tiring.”

Colin’s more comfortable crying with Dr. Sharon now, so when the tears come he doesn’t immediately swipe them away. He nods, biting his lip. “I’m so tired.”

He’s so tired, in fact, that when he gets home he goes right to bed for a nap.

He dreams about scoring the game winner of the FA Cup and coming out to the first reporter he sees. The reporter is Trent Crimm.

It’s a nice dream. He lays in bed for a while once he wakes up, and he lets himself think about it. About coming out, not just to Coach Lasso and Coach Beard, not just to his teammates, but to the whole world.

It occurs to him, properly for the first time, that coming out actually is a path he can take. It’s not something he’s genuinely considered, and certainly not before he’s retired from football.

Why bother thinking about it? It’s always seemed too fantastical to be a realistic path.

There would be consequences. His career might not survive. There’s never been an out gay football player in the league. Colin would be the first.

The prospect is terrifying.

But it would be so freeing. He wouldn’t have to worry so much all the time. He could take Ben on proper dates, show people what a wonderful person Ben is.

Colin could take Ben dancing. He could dance in public with his boyfriend. In this moment of post-sleep floating, the idea is so beautiful he doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more desperately.

He lets himself think about it, and when he gets out of bed, he puts Views on full blast and lets his body take over as he imagines himself taking that path: Colin Hughes, gay footballer.

Ben finds him dancing when he gets home, and he jumps right in with Colin, even though he doesn’t care much for Drake, definitely not the way Colin does.

There is something nice about this being just for them, but even still, Colin can’t help imagining a crowd around them. A feeling of peaceful relief settles in his chest at the sheer sense of freedom that image represents.

Colin is sleeping instead of watching the documentary he put on to wait up for Ben, who’s been covering a lot of late shifts at the bar. That means Colin has seen him mostly in passing, in half-hour windows between their schedules. Colin likes to wait up so they can go to bed together.

Ben leans down to kiss Colin with a teasing smile. “You’re never gonna finish this documentary, are you?”

Colin sifts his hands through Ben’s hair and lets out a sleepy chuckle. “One day.”

“C’mon,” Ben murmurs, pulling Colin to his feet and leading them to the bedroom. Colin dozes while Ben’s taking a shower and comes to consciousness again with Ben sliding behind to wrap his arm around Colin’s waist. “How’d it go at training today?”

“It was good,” Colin says with surprise. “Nate and I patched it up. Said he was sorry.”

“I’m glad,” Ben murmurs. “Maybe he was having an off day, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Colin says, hearing Nate’s words from yesterday in his mind (“You don’t inspire. You don’t move people. You do the job, so just do the job.”), putting them firmly behind him. Nate apologized; they’re fine now. He doesn’t hate Colin, probably.

“Good shift?” Colin asks.

“Eh, it was fine,” Ben says softly. He rubs his hand in that absent way of his over Colin’s belly, under his sleep shirt. “I don’t know how much longer I wanna work there.”

“Yeah?”

Ben rubs his nose along Colin’s neck. “Lately, it feels like I barely see you.”

Colin lifts Ben’s hand to kiss his palm. “Yeah, sorry about that. Schedule of a footballer.”

He can feel Ben shaking his head against the back of his neck. “Okay, I wasn’t inviting you to take the blame here; of the two of us, my schedule is the one that’s changed recently. And I’ve been going through the motions for a while. I think it’s time to look for something else. Maybe teach dance classes, I dunno.”

“That sounds great,” Colin says, trying to crane around to look at Ben, who laughs and kisses Colin’s cheek. “You’d be an awesome dance teacher. You are an awesome dance teacher.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Hey.” Colin cranes his neck again for a kiss on the mouth. “Did you get asked on any dates tonight?”

Ben snorts. “No, I did not,” he says. “I don’t get asked on that many dates.”

“Yeah, sure,” Colin teases, turning in Ben’s arms so he can kiss his boyfriend properly. “Don’t believe you. You’re way too fit. I think you got asked on at least two dates.”

“You think so?” Ben reaches inside the waistband of Colin’s boxers, wrapping his hand around Colin.

“Mhmm.” He kisses Ben with a hitch of breath, pulling Ben’s pj bottoms down and off, sliding his hands up the insides of Ben’s thighs. He kicks off his boxers and slicks up Ben’s thighs so he can push between them, at the same time stroking Ben steadily. “You’re so fit, Ben.”

“You’re fucking fit.” Ben kisses him, gripping Colin’s hips in his hands. Colin hurries his thrusts, gasping at the searing heat of Ben’s thighs pressed around him.

Colin’s pushing into the silky squeeze, desperately, chasing the good warm feeling until it’s on him like a shuddering beachy wave. He groans through it, his hand firm and tight on Ben’s cock until Ben throws his head back with a soft oh Colin.

It’s hard to leave the comfort of the bed to grab a flannel, but he makes himself do it. When they’re cleaned up, he curls back under Ben’s hold. He might question the wisdom of waiting up for Ben when he’s slow and sleepy during training tomorrow, but he’ll have this good memory to remind him it was a great choice, totally worth the sleep deprivation.

It comes out of nowhere, or it feels like it does. One moment, he’s laughing with Isaac, excited about how pre-season is going, how hopeful they are that this might just be their year, and the next he can’t breathe.

It’s not the worst timing. At least training’s over, and people are starting to head out. Isaac’ll notice how abruptly he walked away, but he stopped questioning Colin and his weirdness a long time ago.

Somehow, he makes it to the boot room before he loses it in front of the entire team. He just needs to do the grounding techniques Dr. Sharon taught him last year, and he’ll be okay. He’s a strong and capable man. He’s sitting; his feet are planted on the floor. There’s a row of boots across from him—six slots for boots; that’s six pairs, 12 boots in total—except one pair’s missing, actually, so just five pairs; 10 boots.

The door opens. It’s Ted. “Colin?” He crosses the room and sits beside Colin, then puts his hand on Colin’s back between his shoulder blades. He speaks softly, soothingly. “Hey. You okay?”

Colin nods, shaky but no longer on the verge of panic. “Sorry, Coach,” he gasps. “Just doing my grounding techniques. I could feel a panic attack coming on, and… Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” Ted says gently. “You get ‘em too?”

“Yeah.” Colin wills his heartbeat to slow down. He looks at his coach, this kind man that has so drastically changed this team, and the room they gather in. “I know you get anxious,” he mumbles, “but it’s hard to imagine. You’re so…” Colin can’t decide on a single positive word to describe him; there’s too many of them.

Ted lets out a chuckle. “Well, I’ve been bottling stuff up for a long time, so I’m pretty good at it by now. But I’ve been learning that, eventually, all that pressure’s gotta go somewhere.” Ted looks at him side-long. “There’s this quote, Colin. Everyone’s fighting a battle you know nothin’ about. And I don’t know what battle you’re fighting, but I’m here if you need to talk.”

Colin buries his head in his hands so he can push the oncoming tears back into his eyes. “I think my boyfriend might break up with me.” Colin’s shoulders heave with the force of a sob he’s been holding in for two days. He presses firmly against his eyeballs.

He knew this would happen. He knew he’d fuck it up somehow, that Ben would get sick of this, of him…

Ted hums softly, reaching to squeeze Colin’s shoulder in comfort. “Gosh. I’m real sorry to hear that, Colin.”

God, the sheer relief that spreads through Colin’s body makes him sag back against the row of boots, makes him sigh with the rush of released tension. He’s finally told him. “When you first got here,” Colin says through the euphoric feeling, “you gave that speech. Said you wanted us to feel safe. You knew, yeah? About me?”

Coach shakes his head. “I didn’t know. It’s not something you can know unless someone tells you, right?”

“Seriously?” Colin squints at him. “It felt like you were saying we could… you know, come out. You said you wanted us to feel welcome!”

Ted nods. “You’re right, I was saying that. But I didn’t know you were, Colin. I just thought… I guess I figured, statistically, there’s at least one LGBTQ+ player on every team. I just wanted people to feel comfortable.”

Colin nods, brushing away the tears that have formed without his full awareness. “I didn’t think I’d ever have a coach I could tell. That I’m gay.” Colin lets out another rush of relieved breath as soon as he’s said it. Oh, it feels good to say it.

“Thank you for telling me, Colin,” Ted says simply. “You have my full support.”

Colin wipes his stinging eyes. “I’ve wanted to tell you. I felt like… I felt like you’d be okay with it.”

“I’m more than okay with it,” Ted says fiercely. “Colin, being gay is part of who you are, and it’s a wonderful thing. I wish more people realized just how wonderful. To love despite all that hate and disapproval? That’s a fierce and wonderful love.”

Colin has to press at his eyeballs again. “Thanks, Coach.”

“'Course.” Ted pats Colin on the shoulder, and for a few minutes it feels like he might be okay, like he won’t shatter apart from how desperately he misses Ben, who’s so angry with him he went to stay with his sister.

What if it’s really over?

He can’t think that way. He has to fix it.

Before they leave the room, Colin says, “I - I’m not ready to tell anyone else yet. The boys, I mean. I just…”

Ted nods. “I understand. You have my word I won’t say a word to anyone. And that’s the word.”

After he exits the clubhouse and gets in his car, Colin texts Ben. Can I please see you? I want to apologize.

It’s only a few heart-stopping seconds before Ben replies, Do you remember Sally’s address?

When Colin pulls up, Ben’s waiting outside. He slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door. “I hate this car,” he says into the heavy silence. “You know I check the paper every day worried you’ve crashed it?”

“I’m sorry,” Colin says, stricken. “I don’t ever want to worry you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ben says. “Why am I finding shit out from the damn telly? That’s not how I want to find out my boyfriend has a concussion. That’s the kind of thing you should be able to tell me!” Ben’s breath hitches. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s a good question. Why hadn’t he told Ben? When the medics had checked Colin after he took a fast football to the head and recommended he sit a few days’ training out to be on the safe side, it didn’t seem serious enough to mention to Ben. He didn’t feel dizzy and sick like he had after Roy headbutted him. He’d only had a bit of a headache, and a few painkillers had taken care of that.

When Ben had found out from the telly, Colin knew he’d fucked up, but when he tried to figure out why he hadn’t said anything, it wasn’t that clear to him. All he could come up with was, “It didn’t seem bad enough to mention? I don’t know!”

Ben had gaped at him. “It’s your second concussion, Colin!”

Then he’d left for Sally’s, citing a need for some time to think. Colin has had two days to think about it himself, and he understands better now. Colin would want to know about it if their roles were reversed; he wants to know Ben’s okay and be there when he isn’t.

Colin reaches for Ben’s hand, tears gathering in his eyes when Ben grips it tight. Ben hasn’t given up on him, not completely.

“It wasn’t on purpose, I—” Colin rushes to explain, “I think I’m so used to keeping stuff to myself that I - I don’t even know I’m doing it. I didn’t realize I hadn’t told you until you mentioned it. And that’s a problem, I know. There’s no excuse for that - I’ll start back with my therapy again, ‘cause obviously I need to work on not burying stuff.” Colin presses their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, Ben. I was sorting out my shit with Dr. Sharon, and when she left… But she gave me a few numbers; I’ll find someone, okay?”

Ben presses in for a kiss. Colin returns it gratefully, heart soaring with hope. Then Ben pulls back an inch and fixes him with a stern look. “Okay. But I’m serious, Colin, if I have to read about another injury in the fucking paper or see it on the news…” Ben pleads, “You need to tell me.”

Colin kisses him again. “I will. I promise.”

On principle, when Trent Crimm first starts hanging around the clubhouse to reportedly write a book about Richmond, Colin decides to give him the silent treatment. Out of respect for his coach, he keeps his distance, with one exception: joining Isaac in issuing Trent a stern warning that he’s on thin ice after the article.

Truthfully, Colin also avoids him because he’s nervous to be around Trent considering he outed Ted’s panic attacks. Who’s to say he wouldn’t out Colin if he saw something incriminating? Or if Colin spoke without thinking again and pulled another Grindr moment? A juicy detail like that would definitely sell a few copies of Trent Crimm’s book.

He starts to relax a bit as time passes and it becomes clear that Trent really doesn’t seem to be here to cause any harm. And if Coach trusts him… Still, Trent is conducting interviews with staff members and teammates, and Colin feels antsy. He knows his turn is coming, and he doesn’t know how to prepare for it. He has no idea what questions Trent might ask him.

Sure enough, Trent does eventually invite Colin to be interviewed. Sitting across from Trent at the desk in the office Nate used last season, Colin has trouble sitting still. He must be giving off nervous energy because Trent says, “For your information, Colin, this process is quite different from what you might be used to with sports reporting. I only want to understand life at AFC Richmond under the leadership of the coaching staff here, which is the topic of my book. I’m not looking for a scoop.”

Colin nods, releasing some nervousness with a few steadying breaths.

“So, then,” Trent continues, starting up his recording equipment, “maybe we could begin by discussing life at Richmond prior to Coach Lasso and Coach Beard’s tenure here.” Colin nods again and leans back in his chair, feeling more at ease now that there’s a topic to focus on. “You were transferred to Richmond from Cardiff in 2017, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Colin says. “The team was relegated, so they couldn’t keep me on. Richmond bought out my contract, ‘cause I wasn’t too expensive at that point.”

Trent scribbles away in his notebook for a moment. “That must have been a difficult transition.”

Colin swallows thickly, remembering how he had driven to the beach and sat on the hood of his car to cry for as long as he needed without interruption or watchful eye. And he remembers, suddenly, the night before he left for London, how he’d promised his baby brother he would bring the cup to Cardiff one day. He hadn’t felt remotely capable of doing that, but he had to say something to cheer Oliver up.

“Yeah, it… wasn’t easy,” Colin says, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

It’s okay - that was years ago now; it’s history. He loves it at Richmond. Oliver’s come to London to visit, and he’s seen Colin play a few times. Besides, Colin can’t imagine his life if he hadn’t been transferred. No Ben?

It’s all okay.

Trent asks, “What were your impressions of the style of coaching here before Coach Lasso and Coach Beard’s arrival? Of Cartrick’s leadership style?”

“Leadership style?” His pulse quickens, and he can feel anger welling in him at even the thought of Cartrick. He should say something vague, but he’s too angry to do anything but say the truth: “I don’t think that arsehole was consciously using a leadership style at all.”

Trent looks up with an expression of surprise, his pen pausing mid-stroke. Colin briefly considers leaving it at that; he knows it’s what he should do. But who the fuck cares if Cartrick finds out what Colin really thinks of him? People should know what he was like! Mind made up, Colin states firmly, “Cartrick was a terrible coach. He treated his players like rubbish.”

Trent’s eyebrows are sky high on his forehead. He clears his throat and says, “While I am in complete agreement, I’m concerned that a quote like that, from one of his former players… well, it will likely be seen as incendiary. This league is a boys’ club, and its members can be quite protective of even the most unseemly among them.”

“I know that,” Colin says, voice shaking. “I don’t care. Fuck Cartrick. I’m glad he’s not coaching anymore. The things he said to me… You have no idea.”

Trent sits back in his chair heavily. “I believe I have some idea,” Trent murmurs, and he meets Colin’s gaze directly with a knowing look that settles in Colin’s chest like a blow.

Colin gasps like his breath really has been punched out of him. He breathes out, “You’re gay?” Trent nods, and—oh! The knowledge that he’s not alone, that someone else understands? Fuck, it’s amazing.

Trent huffs out a wry chuckle before shutting his recording equipment. “Off the record, Cartrick is a virulent homophobe. He has called me just about every anti-gay slur in the book, and I was fortunate to not have to interact with him on a daily basis.”

Colin’s heartbeat is roaring in his ears. He clears his throat once, twice, says, “Off the record? He told me once if I spent as much time training as I do sucking cock… I might not have been sent away by my home team.”

Trent’s lip curls in disgust. “That is… truly heinous,” he bites out. He takes off his glasses and tosses them on his desk, sighing deeply. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

Colin notices he’s shaking with residual emotion, and he places his hands together to bring himself back to a controlled state. “I haven’t told many people,” he mutters. “Only my family and Dr. Sharon and Coach Lasso…”

Trent nods. “It will not leave this room, I assure you.”

“Thank you,” Colin says, rubbing his hands along his jeans to release the energy coursing through him. “Can we, um… do this tomorrow? I just need to…”

“Of course,” Trent says quickly. “Tomorrow.”

Colin gets up to leave, but Trent adds hastily, “Colin, I - I’m going to check in with you at the end of the season, when I’m closer to my deadline. Believe me, I understand wanting to expose the worst in this league. But I think you should give it some thought. If your on-the-record statements about Cartrick go in the book, they will almost certainly bring you negative attention.”

Colin puts his hands in his coat pockets. “So, what, I should say he was just a tough coach? A decent one? I should lie? Nah, I’ll stick to the truth.” He flashes Trent a smirk. “He’s a gormless tosser, and you can quote me on that.”

He waves at Trent as he heads out, and he gets to observe the moment Trent realizes Colin is quoting Trent himself. It’s pretty satisfying to see Trent Crimm impressed, not to mention so completely gobsmacked.

His mantra is running through his head when Colin accepts the pass from Sam and lets it fly so forcefully he’s knocked on his back. He lifts his head just in time to watch the ball sail over the goalie’s left shoulder.

Game fucking winner!

He leaps to his feet. The boys descend on him, and it’s the best feeling in the world—nothing better. Except then the coaches are in the fray, and Ted shouts, “There ya go, Colin!” and it turns out maybe there is something better. Then the boys want to take him out to celebrate, and they’re Richmond ‘til they die, and that’s the best feeling in the world.

When he’s showered and changed, he checks his phone for the message from Ben that he knows will be there now, like it always is. Get over here when you’re done celebrating so I can show you how sexy that was!

Colin beams down at his phone and sets it on the bench to pull his hoodie on. When he picks it back up again, there’s another message for him, this one from Nathan Shelley of all people.

24601. The Sun is going to out you. They have photos. They’re planning to run them tomorrow.

Everything stops.

On autopilot, shaking like a leaf, Colin pulls up his agent’s number.

Brent picks up pretty quickly. “Hey, congratulations!”

Colin’s mouth is so dry he can’t speak for several moments. “I need you to check something,” he says, the call to action the only thing keeping him from flying apart. “Do you know anyone at The Sun? Can you get in touch? See if they have photos of me?”

“Photos?” Brent repeats. “Oh, bollocks. You think—?”

“I - yeah, pretty sure I’ve just been tipped off,” Colin says over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Shit! I’ll call you back,” Brent says and hangs up.

Colin’s knees go weak, and he has to sit down. The world around him swirls until his phone rings again with Brent calling to confirm that yes, The Sun has photos of him and Ben on vacation last summer in Madrid, and they will be in tomorrow’s edition.

It’s over. His career is over. He won’t get to make a careful, controlled statement a few months after a trophy win, once he’s proven his mettle and the commentators can’t blame the team’s performance on him. It’s all coming down to a fucking picture.

He puts his phone down on the bench with numb fingers and leans forward, head in his hands, stomach roiling.

“Colin? You okay?” Isaac. He’s leaning down, and his hand is on Colin’s shoulder. He’s speaking, but Colin can barely make out the words, like they’re underwater. “Shit, he looks like he’s gonna pass out.”

“Boyo, what’s going on?” Jamie. He’s leaning down, too, his hand on Colin’s other shoulder.

Oh. He’s hyperventilating.

There are shouts. “Coach! Coach!”

It’s—what’s—he can’t catch his breath—it’s never been this bad—it feels like he’s dying.

He feels himself lifted to his feet, and he’s led to the door of the coaching room. He’s handed off and sat down gently in a chair—Ted’s chair, innit?

God, the room’s spinning.

“Colin.” Ted. He’s rubbing Colin’s shoulder and speaking softly. “Colin, you’re okay. You just gotta slow down your breathing, alright?”

Colin closes his eyes and nods, tries to consciously slow down. It’s a few minutes before he can even say anything. Numbly, he tells Ted, “I’m being outed.”

Ted’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he looks devastated. It’s then Colin becomes aware of his surroundings, that there’s more than just Ted in the room. Trent is here. And there’s Coach Beard and Roy, both of whom he hasn’t told yet, and—

Oh, what does it matter now?

Colin refocuses on Ted so he doesn’t have to see their reactions, whatever they might be. He states the facts to distract himself from his turning stomach. “Nate tipped me off. There’s pictures of me and my boyfriend on vacation. The Sun’s gonna run them tomorrow.” He sees Ted’s stricken expression and has to look down. “It’ll be a fucking shitstorm. I— I’m so sorry.”

Ted squeezes his shoulder firmly again. “Hey hey hey, no, Colin?” Colin lifts his eye, and Ted looks firm, but as kind and understanding as he ever has. “You haven’t done anything wrong, you don’t need to apologize for a thing. Not for any of it. You hear me? We got your back no matter what, okay?”

Colin nods, blinking back tears. “Okay,” he repeats.

Ted stands from his hunched posture. “We can get this stopped, can’t we? I’ll call Rebecca.” He pulls out his phone, then turns to Roy. “Maybe Keeley—?”

“On it,” Roy grunts, phone pressed to his ear. Ted gets on his, too.

A bottle of water comes into his view, and Colin looks over to find Beard handing it to him. “Fucking vultures,” Beard says before he retreats to his seat.

Eyes stinging sharply, Colin takes the water and fiddles with the cap. They’re all being so nice.

Ben will be dragged through the mud. Colin squeezes his water bottle hard enough that some sloshes out. He was finally past the point of worrying about jinxing things with Ben; they’re solid now, but they might not be able to weather this.

“I have to call him,” Colin says, and now he’s shaking again. “Ben, he needs to—”

“Do you have your phone with you or is it in your locker?” Ted asks.

“Locker. On the bench,” Colin mumbles, his hands clammy and trembling.

Ted leaves the room to get him his phone, and Colin has nothing to do but consider, once again, how this is going to destroy his career. The boys— what will they think? They’ll treat him differently for sure. If Richmond decides to trade him, no team will have him; he’ll be too much of a liability. What the fuck is he going to do without football? He’s too stupid to do anything else…

Trent leans down. “Here,” he says softly. “You should drink some.” Trent reaches out and holds the water bottle steady in Colin’s hands— oh, he’s shaking so hard he’s been spilling all over himself. Colin drinks, and the cold sensation helps. Trent nods. “Good. Your breathing, Colin. Can you try to focus on that?”

He tries, but it’s so difficult when he just keeps returning to the fear.

He’s pulled back to the moment when he notices Ted has returned. He’s dragged a chair over to sit across from Colin. He says, “Hey, let’s take this one minute at a time. We’re working on getting those photos stopped. But even if we can’t, we are here for you. You are a part of this team. Period.”

Colin looks into Ted’s eyes, and the sincerity in them cracks through some of the panic. Right, they wouldn’t just trade him away for this, would they?

His eye catches on the window, where Colin can see the boys in a huddle by his locker. “They haven’t left?” Colin asks hoarsely.

“No,” Ted says, voice quiet. “They’re all worried about you. I can ask them to leave again. I tried to suggest they clear off, but they were pretty insistent on stickin’ around for you.”

Colin’s eyes well with tears, and he swipes them away, trying not to think about how they’ll react if those photos come out.

He remembers he has a phone call to make. “My phone,” he murmurs.

Ted hands it to him. “We’ll just step out while you make your call, okay? We’ll be right over there.” He points, and Colin turns his head to see Ms. Welton pause in the doorway.

“Colin, we are going to get those photos stopped,” she says. “Mark my words.”

Colin can’t speak, but they all seem to understand as they step out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door so that it’s just Colin and his phone. God, Ben’s going to have his whole life turned upside down, and he never asked for any of it. He sets the water bottle down on the desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” Ben greets with alarm. Right— they don’t call unless something’s wrong.

Colin’s stomach clenches. Ben is so wonderful and so sweet, and Colin has to— “Ben,” he gasps, “There’s pictures of us coming out tomorrow. Management is trying to get them stopped, but… I don’t know if they’ll be able to.”

It’s utterly silent on the other end for several seconds. “Oh, babe,” Ben breathes. “How’d they get photos of us?”

“Dunno. The Sun has ‘em,” Colin mutters. “From our trip to Madrid.” He swallows thickly; his mouth is dry as a desert. “I’m sorry, I— They’ll camp outside the house. You need to go stay somewhere. Sally’s? Or—”

“Nope, not happening,” Ben says. “Where are you? The clubhouse?”

Colin squeezes his eyes shut. “You shouldn’t—you don’t want to be around this. The things they’ll say—”

“Colin?” Ben says sharply. “Listen to me. You’re in shock right now, so you’re not thinking clearly. You are not doing this alone. I will not let you do this alone.”

“You should lay low,” Colin insists, shaking his head. “They’ll dig up every single thing they can find on you and - and—”

“Like I give a fuck about that!” A hitch of breath explodes out of Colin’s chest, and Ben says in a rush, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. But you’re pulling away because you’re scared, and I get it, but I am not letting that happen.”

Colin inhales sharply, tears pouring over. “I love you,” he says thickly.

“I love you,” Ben says.

“Those bastards,” Colin hisses. “They can just come in and blow up our lives. This isn’t how I wanted people to find out.”

“I know, and I hate that. Look, I’ll pack a few things and we’ll find a hotel somewhere and lay low together, yeah? If they end up getting dropped tomorrow, then I’ll be there. If they get them stopped, I’ll be there. No matter what, okay?”

Colin can’t restrain another sob. “Okay. Okay, yes.”

“Call me when you’re ready to be picked up. I don’t want you driving like this. Are you alone right now?”

“No, I’m not,” Colin says.

“Good. Okay. Love you, see you soon.”

“Love you,” Colin says, and then the phone disconnects in his ear and he sets it down in exchange for the water, which he drains in a few long gulps. Colin looks back to the hallway and nods at Ted. A larger group files in: the coaching staff, Ms. Welton, Mr. Higgins, and Trent Crimm.

It’s overwhelming, all that attention and care directed at him.

Ms. Welton clears her throat. “Colin, I’ve just been on the phone with our lawyers. The Sun has agreed not to run the photos… in exchange for an exclusive interview with you. Obviously it’s out of the question.”

Roy goes with a classic. “Fucking hell!”

“Oh heck, aren’t there any fuckin’ laws about this?” Ted demands loudly.

Colin’s jaw drops. He’s never heard Ted swear, not once in two years. He’s not the only one gaping.

Blinking in shock, Trent says haltingly, “It’s… a bit of a grey area.”

“Sometimes they’ll risk the lawsuit if the gains are considered greater,” Mr. Higgins mutters.

“Our legal team is negotiating with their lawyers as we speak,” Ms. Welton says briskly. “Colin, I assure you we will not let them get away with this absurd invasion of your privacy. It’s a negotiation tactic, a disgusting one, but it won’t work. We will stop those photos from running.”

Colin takes all of that in, but mostly he’s stuck on Ted’s anger. Yes, this isn’t how he wanted to come out, but… Suddenly, just like that, Colin finds himself on the other side of his fear and panic, now completely submerged in indignant outrage, like his kind, generous gaffer.

Bolstered, Colin stands up. “No,” he says. “Let them print the fucking photos. What do I have to be ashamed of?” He takes in six pairs of wide eyes, takes a deep breath, and states, “But I want to tell the team first. Tell them myself.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond, moving instead to the door of the locker room, opening it, and barreling through. They all follow Colin and spread out behind him, a wall of support. Colin takes in a deep, emotional breath, nods in thanks, then faces his teammates. They have moved to their lockers, almost like they’ve been waiting for this. Every eye is fixed on him.

“Tomorrow, The Sun is gonna run some photos of me,” Colin tells them, voice trembling, but steady. He stands to his full height, squares his shoulders, and says, “I don’t want any of you to hear this from The fucking Sun; I want you to hear this from me.”

I’m a strong and capable man.

Colin takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out. “I’m gay,” he says. “I date men. Actually, just one man - my boyfriend.” He rambles, “The photos are of us on holiday. Nice resort in Madrid. Great food. Good beach. 5-star hotel room with—” Colin clenches his jaw shut before he can start nervously babbling about what kinds of things he and Ben did in their 5-star hotel room. “Anyway. I wanted to tell you myself.”

Bracingly, Colin looks around at his teammates. There is a long, heart-stopping pause, and then there is a clamour of movement and whooping excitement as Colin’s teammates circle him and surround him in a group hug.

Beaming, Isaac shouts, “Bruv! What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Is he fit, mate?” Jamie asks. “Scale of 1 to 10.”

Dani’s giving his thousand watt smile. “Congratulations! Love is love!”

Jan says, “I don’t understand why a picture of you and your boyfriend is news.”

“Fuck The Sun!” Bumbercatch yells. “Follow the money!”

There are shouts of agreement.

Colin feels faint for an entirely different reason than he did just a few minutes ago. He clears his throat, tries to explain what their acceptance means to him, but he’s speechless. They’re still cheering and pulling him into more hugs and headlocks, and then Colin’s busy for a few minutes answering their questions about Ben and receiving many reminders that they’ve got his back.

People slowly start to head out, and Colin makes his way back to the office. He nearly walks into Ted and Trent, standing close together in the doorway, clearly in the middle of a conversation. They jolt and turn toward him hastily, and Colin feels like he interrupted something.

“Sorry,” he says. “I - I just wanted to say thank you,” he tells Ted as they step back inside the office. “For everything.”

“Anytime, Colin,” Ted says. “I wish this world were different, I really do. But I’m proud of you for speaking your truth. You’re a brave man.”

Colin nods in tearful thanks. He looks at Trent. “Bumbercatch is right: Fuck The Sun. I want to say something before the photos come out, take some of the power from them. Will you help me write it? I’m not great with words, but I know you are.”

“Yes, absolutely. I’d be honoured,” Trent says. “I’ll just need…” Trent looks around the room, then smirks at Ted when he hands Trent a full stack of printer paper. “Bit of overkill,” Trent says, arching his eyebrows.

“Mm, I get that a lot,” Ted says warmly.

Colin feels like he’s missing something, but that’s often the case.

Ted, Beard, Roy, Mr. Higgins, and Ms. Welton all join as Trent guides Colin through writing his statement. In the end, it’s a team effort.

Reading the statement back, Colin feels relief and fear and excitement all at once. He looks around at each of these kind, thoughtful people, and he’s so grateful for them he’s momentarily speechless again.

Colin only ever dared to hope for a football team with a staff this supportive. It always seemed like a fantasy. Finally, he just says, “Thank you.”

It’s Beard who speaks. “Sucks we live in a world where you think you have to thank us for this.”

When I joined the Cardiff City Football Academy, I was 13 years old. Like so many young boys, I dreamed of being a footballer in the Premier League. But part of me knew even back then that it might not happen for me, because it is very difficult to see another path when it feels like there’s just one.

While I am grateful for the football players who have come out upon retirement, an active player has never been able to come out. For so long, I thought I could not be both, that I’d have to choose between being open and honest and playing football. Until recently, I’d resigned myself to hiding this important part of myself for the sake of my career. Today, that changes. I am gay.

Tomorrow, you will see photos of a private moment captured, a photo of myself and my partner while on vacation. They were taken and released without our permission. I ask the media for privacy on this matter.

I would like to thank my family back home in Cardiff and my family at AFC Richmond for all their support. I could not ask for a better support system nor a better football team.

Although I am afraid of how this statement will impact my future in this league, I am hopeful. I hope that young footballers all over the world will be able to see a future for themselves in this league where I often did not.

“The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.”

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo

At Keeley’s suggestion, Colin turns off his phone as soon as the statement is released.

There’s a thrilling awe rippling through him at the knowledge that he doesn’t have to hide anymore. There’s no telling what will happen with his career, and while it is frustrating that he was pushed to make this choice, he feels more at peace than he has in a very long time.

He and Ben hole up in a fancy hotel room in West London and order so much room service. They watch Lifetime movies and find several fun ways to enjoy the enormous bed.

In the morning, they watch the Richmond press conference from that very bed.

Ted starts off by explaining that Colin has the full support of AFC Richmond, “no ifs, ands or buts.”

Ted takes questions from the room.

“How do you expect this news about Colin Hughes to impact the atmosphere in the locker room?”

Ted smiles brightly. “Throughout yesterday’s game, Colin did a real nice job finding gaps in Arsenal’s defence, looking for opportunities to set his teammates up for success. We sure are lucky to have such a great football player on our team, ain’t we? Any other questions about that?”

“How do you think the league will react to this news about Colin Hughes? Are you concerned about the pressure he might face?”

Ted smiles even brighter. “Boy, Colin scored a heckuva game winner yesterday! Wasn’t that something? I’ll tell ya, we’re all very happy to have him on the team. Any other questions about the game yesterday?”

Beside him, Ben cackles. “Oh my god!”

“He’s not answering their questions,” Colin says in shock.

“Is there concern from leadership that this announcement might serve as a distraction for his teammates? That this might affect Colin Hughes’ performance on the pitch?”

Ted’s smile flickers, and then it’s gone. “Wow. I cannot believe y’all. I was optimistic - I thought you might just rise to a different occasion here. It woulda been nice to come out here and answer questions about the match yesterday.” Ted’s voice is clipped, chiding. He sounds just like he did in his office yesterday, raging at the injustice.

“Y’all are lucky I don’t have a glass of fizzy water on me, or I’d be real tempted to partake right about now. It is bad enough that one of my players has been thrust in the spotlight over something he’s got no control over, and here you all are playing right into that, scrutinizing him like his orientation’s got anything to do with his ability to kick a dang ball. Colin Hughes deserves to live an authentic life in this league, 'specially when he’s devoted the better part of it to this great game, and that’s all I’ve got to say about that.”

Colin grabs Ben’s hand and squeezes tightly, heart pounding in his chest.

“We got a chance, folks!” Ted urges them. “To do things differently, to make this a non-story. It sure as hell should be.” Right into the camera, Ted says, “Now, I’m gonna leave you with a question: What are you doing with your power and influence?”

And then Ted’s going, going, gone from the room.

Ben clears his throat. “Well, you had him pegged from the start, babe. That’s a nice gaffer alright. Fit, too!”

Colin laughs and closes his eyes, not to stop them from betraying his emotions, but to really focus on the joyful present. To be grateful for how his life has turned out, for the luck combined with both his failures and accomplishments, all of which which have led him to this precise moment. He sits with the anticipation of what’s in store for him, for them; there’s fear, of course, but growing stronger by the second is a sense of freedom so profound it cannot be described in words.

Colin pulls Ben close, kisses him, and says, “Let’s go dancing.”