I can’t keep my eyes off of you
I can’t keep my eyes off of you
Loving him is red
A very jealous Gary behind the camera, filming Carra enjoying himself way too much.
He's a dork and I love him for that.
imagine gary sitting off on the side, waiting for jamie to get off the phone so he can pay attention to him, even though he's also been on his phone working.
Here it is my dear friends. This fic still feels blasphemous to write but I'm doing it anyway. I'm getting on a plane in four hours and I'm scared out of my mind but I finished this part so everything's fine! Here's part one if you haven't read it!
Jamie slammed his phone down on the table of the bar as he collapsed into the booth opposite his oldest friend. He let his head drop and it slammed, with more force than Jamie expected, into the table. Fuck. It had been such a long day. Jamie couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head up out of the indent he was sure his skull made on the table. He felt a bony finger jab the sore muscles of his shoulder.
“Jamie,” another jab, “Jamie, mate. You alright?” Jamie groaned and lifted his head slightly to peek at Stevie. Jamie didn’t know why Stevie would even ask him that question when he so clearly knew the answer. When Jamie saw the dazed, twitchy, beer-soaked look in his eyes, he found his explanation.
“Course I’m not fucking alright. Everything sucks. I hate football. I hate United. I hate Manchester. I hate television--” Jamie felt drunk and he’d only had one, two, three--oh, definitely too many pints. Jamie couldn’t blame himself for the nightmarish morning he would surely have. No, he was driven to drink. For starters, there were few things Jamie liked less than losing. When you retire, watching your team lose gets so much worse, because that’s all you can do: watch. There’s nothing you can do to turn things around, to steer things in the right direction; you have to watch as the team you love more than the air you breathe goes down in flames. Looking over at Stevie, Jamie thought he too was having trouble adjusting to his new role: that of a fan, not a player.
To make matters worse, it was the Northwest Derby. Jamie hated Northwest Derbies: he hated them to the very core of his being. Sure there’s a thrill to it: the chance to beat your bitter rivals is inviting, but it never seemed to work out that way for Jamie. It certainly didn’t pan out that way in his playing days that often. Northwest Derbies were a reminder of broken ribs, harsh words, own goals, and most of all the bitter sting of defeat. And despite all of that, he would’ve chosen to be a player losing again over a day like this one.
Jamie was in an unfortunate situation. He found himself somehow entirely smitten with his obnoxiously unprofessional, Mancunian, united-till-I-die co-pundit. Gary had apparently thought it was a great idea to do victory laps around the studio right before they went on air. When they went live Gary was sat across from him at the table, a smug smirk on his face and panting slightly. Jamie tried not to think about that night, that first night that Gary had burst into his hotel room, but ultimately failed. He could almost feel Gary’s hot breath whispering across his nose and cheeks as they embraced. He could almost taste the sweet, artificial fruit of Gary’s mouth when he pulled Jamie into a closet for a pre-match snog: it was a great way to release some energy. Jamie spent the rest of the show stumbling along as he tried to get the image of Gary flustered, panting, and thoroughly kissed out of his brain.
On top of all of that catastrophe, Gary managed to make things worse in the dressing room after. He practically floated into the room, something Jamie would have found attractive if he hadn’t known the context. If Jamie was honest with himself he found it attractive even in context but in the way that made Jamie want to pull his hair and push him to his knees rather than wrap him in his arms and kiss him. He hummed softly across the dressing room as he unbuttoned his shirt, doing Jamie’s job for him.
“Glory Glory Man United,” Gary sang just once to make sure Jamie knew before he went back to humming. Not that it would have been easy to ignore otherwise. He looked over at Gary expecting to see him searching for Jamie’s reaction: Jamie wanted to show his neutral face, to let Gary know he couldn’t be manipulated. Except that he could, so, so easily. Gary was looking at him for a reaction as expected. Jamie did not expect Gary to be wearing an old United shirt, Neville proudly written on the back. Yet another reminder to Jamie that the man he had not chosen but had come anyway to love (yes he said it, Gary might have been in denial but Jamie Carragher was not an idiot or a coward) was so different from himself in the ways that matter both the most and the least.
“What’d Neville do this time, mate?” Even Drunk Stevie seemed to know how smitten Jamie was and Drunk Stevie was an idiot. Jamie had videos on his phone to categorically prove that. Jamie loved one in particular of Drunk Stevie trying to strip off his shirt, instead getting the fabric stuck around his head and laughing so hard he fell into a lamp post. But that's another story. Jamie took another sip from his beer. Given the amount of beer left in his pint, it seemed that he’d taken a lot of sips while lost in thought.
“He won’t stop singing that fucking song, Stevie. It makes me want to throw him off a bridge every time.” Stevie nodded solemnly. Jamie appreciated Stevie’s humouring him and decided to continue. It wasn’t like he had many other outlets he could rant to about his infuriating, Mancunian coworker. “He’s such a stubborn idiot, Stevie. I mean, God, he’s so dense. We fucking fuck every other fucking day and every time he fucking comes up with some fucking shit excuse and fucking runs out like a fucking coward. He’s fucking stubborn that’s what he is. He’s so stubborn. It’s against his fucking principle or something to hang out with a fucking scouser. Mate! He wouldn’t eat the fucking cereal, Stevie! I bought fucking Weetabix--Weetabix! I bought it just for him and he doesn’t have the fucking decency to fucking stick around to fucking eat it!” Jamie gasped for breath as he finished his sentences and chased his breath with a large gulp of beer. Stevie grabbed his hand and pulled the pint out of his now loose fingers.
“Think we should call it a night, eh, Carra?” Stevie went to get up and slid down into the booth further. “I think I’ll call Alex.” Jamie grunted. Even in his swirly, tired mind, it seemed like a good idea. Jamie melted down onto the table and for the second time on the night, his cheek was smushed against the cold wood.
“I just love ‘im, Stevie. I don’t want to. I just do. I love him sooooooo much,” Jamie was really slurring by now. Jamie’s head was spinning and there was a dull throbbing pain in the centre of his skull. They definitely needed to call it a night. Preferably an hour ago, maybe longer.
The next thing Jamie knew he was in the back of a car with his head resting in Stevie’s lap. Stevie looked down at him and ran his fingers through Jamie’s short hair comfortingly. Jamie thought Stevie’s breath didn’t smell nearly as good as Gary’s did.
“I just love ‘im,” Jamie murmured once again. He didn’t even mean to this time; the words just came out. When they left his mouth the words blended together into one mush of a word but Stevie still seemed to understand him. Stevie always understood him.
“I know, mate,” Stevie said, softly, “it’s okay.” And as long as Stevie said so, it was.
Where is he? The movie is about to start. Gary tried to calm his nerves down by scanning the sparsely filled theater. There were only a few other people scattered about the theater.
When he stepped into university, the plan was to keep his head low and focus on his studies so he can get his business degree. Going on a date with one of the meatheads from the university's football team was not part of Gary's grand plan. Even if said meathead was easy on the eyes. It's just that he does not need the distraction. He has no need for potential heartbreaks.
Maybe he ditched me...maybe this was a stupid prank and he's with his friends somewhere, making fun of me right now...I gotta get out of here.
Just as he was about to get up, the lights dimmed and the first preview started to play. Coming up the stairs, Gary sees Jamie making his way up, balancing their popcorn and drinks.
"Sorry, the line at the concession stand was long," he said, smiling sheepishly.
"It's no problem," Gary replied. I wasn't worried at all that you weren't gonna come back.
The movie started soon. As the movie played, the two young men stole glances at the other once in a while, trading shy smiles.
In the middle of the movie, Jamie turned to Gary and mumbled in that thick Scouse accent of his, "Do you wanna kiss?
Typical for these football lads to move so quickly. Do they think they can just get anyone they want? Gary looks into the Jamie's cool gray eyes. Yeah, he can get it. He is gorgeous...don't know if I'll get this chance again. What can I lose from this?
Your self-respect, Gary answers himself.
...oh, fuck it.
Gary leans over the armrest in between them and captures Jamie's lips with his. Jamie's eyes widened because of the random kiss, but recovers quickly and started to return the kiss.
Gary breaks the kiss with a triumphant grin on his face. Jamie scratches the back of his shaved head and whispers, "I was actually asking you if you wanted a Hershey's Kiss, but that kiss was fine, too."
"Oh..." he said, unable to formulate anything more than a syllable.
Sensing how embarrassed Gary was, Jamie quickly said, "You know, this movie really isn't grabbing my attention. Do you wanna ditch this movie and head over to my place?"
"Oh...yeah, that would be great," Gary replied, grin returning to his face. He lets Jamie take his hand and lead them out of the theater, looking forward to the sweet kisses that are sure to come.
Inspired by @aramblingjay's Soldier!AU fics
[Jamie] knew, when they started dating, the consequences of getting involved with a soldier. Or at least—he was warned. Long periods of time spent alone, a constant worry about the other’s safety. Missing birthdays and anniversaries and Christmases and everything in between. Living Skype session to Skype session, waiting for those fifteen minutes every Monday evening or Thursday or whatever day you’re assigned.
Soldier!AU – Part 2
The airport is crowded. Everyone is here to see someone, of course, families and friends and all manners in between, but Jamie can’t help but wish they’d all disappear for a moment. He doesn’t want to miss when the most familiar of faces appears around the corner, can’t stand the thought of losing sight of him amidst the crowd.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. He’s on his phone texting Stevie, At the airport still waiting, when a tingle runs up his spine like a bolt of electricity, and he just knows. Jamie lifts his head and starts pushing through the crowd, barely noticing the double-take stares and watch where you’re going curses, a fire in his belly that leaves little room for distractions. All else be damned, only one thing matters.
He gets to the front of the masses, and Gary is there.
His hair is buzzed short enough that it’s more scalp than anything, frame a little bulkier, face turned away to the other side of the waiting area, but it doesn’t matter. Jamie would recognize him anywhere, by the cut of his jaw and the pattern of his stride, by the way his own heartbeat kicks up three notches just at Gary’s presence in a room.
Gaz, he wants to shout. Gaz, look, I’m here. But Jamie knows he can’t, not in a public space like this, so he just keeps his feet moving. One step and another, closer, closer, closer.
Gary hasn’t seen him yet, is still looking in the wrong place. You’ve always been shite at directions, Jamie thinks fondly, and for the first time in months—one year, four months, twenty-two days, his mind supplies absently—the thought of Gary doesn’t come with a dull pain. Just a giddy sort of happiness, sharp and wide and bursting—he doesn’t have to ache for the Gary in his memories when the real one is right here, eight cracked linoleum tiles away.
Jamie reaches the front of the crowd. Gary is still looking towards the left, like he can’t imagine Jamie being on any other side of him—they sleep that way, Jamie thinks with another rush of fondness, him on the left and Gary on the right, have since that very first night.
Fucking hell, Gaz, I’m over here, he thinks a little desperately.
Gary turns. Their eyes lock.
The slow, startled grin that spreads across Gary’s face is a thing of beauty, the eighth wonder of the fucking world, but Jamie hardly has time to memorize it before he’s got all of Gary in front of him and every coherent thought flies out of his head.
“Hey, Jamie,” Gary says, still grinning.
“Gaz.” He hardly recognizes the way his voice comes out, small and strangled, thick with tears he didn't realize were forming. Taking in a ragged breath, he tries to shape something, anything that isn’t a sob.
It’s stupid, so stupid, that this is the moment his body chooses to betray him. He hasn’t cried once since Gary left, just pushed everything down and carried on, did his best to work himself to exhaustion every day so there wouldn’t be any energy left for tears. It’s worked well enough. Something about seeing Gary now, though, real and solid and right here, is sending him into a tailspin.
Jamie sucks in a deep breath. He can’t break down here.
Gary sees, because of course he does, and the wide grin turns into a much smaller smile, so very gentle. “Look. Two arms, two legs.” Gary shakes each appendage lightly as he mentions it, like an indulgent parent with a small child.
“Got all my fingers”—the corner of his smile turns devilish as he wriggles them, and Jamie can’t stop the helpless laugh that sputters out of him—“and all my toes.” On instinct, Jamie looks down, and his cheeks flame when he sees the military-issue boots.
“Can’t show you them now, but take my word that they’re there,” Gary continues, still so unbearably gentle, soothing away the embarrassment like it was never there at all. “And my head’s attached, good as ever.” Gary gives it a little tap with his knuckles, and Jamie’s heart is beating double-time, love-you, love-you, love-you. “That’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?”
Jamie swallows. “Was hoping it might get a little smaller,” he tries, voice still a little choked. The joke is the wrong side of flat, a little mis-timed, but Gary’s eyes crinkle in amusement all the same.
Jamie takes in the familiar green and brown, steady with warmth, and all the breath rushes out of him at once. He smiles. “Welcome home, Gaz.”
The words come out clear and strong, and after that it’s easy.
It’s been one year, four months, twenty-two days, five hours, thirty-four minutes, and he can finally stop counting.
Jamie and Gary are both on holiday in Ibiza. Let me just pretend they’re there together for a romantic getaway
Title: Model Behavior
Short fluff. Set in present time.
Jamie is a model, who mainly does sportswear photo shoots. His latest shoot is his biggest and toughest one yet.
"I can't do this, Steph." Jamie stared at the offending shirt presented to him by one of the photo shoot runners.
Jamie's agent sighed through the phone. "It's just a shirt, Jamie."
"Yeah, but it's a Man United shirt. It'll burn me skin off if I put it on," Jamie hissed. "And me family is gonna see this! They'll disown me!"
"Okay, you gotta stop being overdramatic." I swear, this man and his football. "This is a job. A step up from local ads at Liverpool. Just do it, J. Beggars can't be choosers."
"Fine, but we're not listing this shoot on my modeling page."
"Okay, okay. Just go get changed already." Steph says before ending the call.
Jamie grabbed the shirt and reluctantly put it on. He's gonna need to take a long shower after this and walk on his knees around Anfield to repent for wearing a United shirt.
Once changed, he stepped out of the locker room and walked onto the football pitch, where the photographer started to direct on what poses to do. Jamie did his best to keep the annoyance out of his face. If it did show in the pictures, the photographer didn't mention it.
In the middle of his shoot, he spotted a few United players step on the set, coming out the same locker room and wearing the same kit.
God, let this day be over with, Jamie thinks as he picks up a football.
For the rest of his shoot, Jamie noticed one of the United players staring at him with great intensity.
It was Gary Neville.
Jamie hated him with a passion, especially after his stunt at Old Trafford. Jamie had travelled to watch the Liverpool away match. For most of the game, the score had been nil-nil. That was until Ferdinand managed to score a late winner. Neville then ran over to the away stand where he taunted them by kissing the United badge repeatedly. Ever since that moment, what respect he had for the player was gone.
When he was done, Jamie walked off the pitch. He couldn't leave just yet, in case they needed him to do additional shots. So he sat at the side, watching the United players take their turns to get their photo taken. Once in a while, he caught Gary Neville looking over where he was standing.
Once the photographer was satisfied with the pictures, everyone was cleared to leave. Jamie immediately went to the locker room to rid himself of the blasphemous shirt.
In the locker room, he found Gary Neville changing next to where Jamie set his stuff down. Someone up there is really testing me right now.
Jamie sat on the bench and started to change. As he took of his shoes, Jamie felt eyes trained on him again.
He looked to his left and found Gary Neville openly staring at him.
"What d'you think of the new kit?" Gary asks him, eyes still fixed on Jamie's face.
Jamie just shrugs and goes back to untying his shoes. He doesn't dare talk, not wanting his accent to betray his club ties.
Gary continues on. "I wasn't sure of how I felt about it when I first saw it. Before I thought the huge Chevrolet logo was bad... but this new one though? 'Team Viewer'? Pssh, it's worse."
Jamie couldn't help but chuckle. The new United kit is a downgrade from the previous season's.
"But seeing the shirt on you...I think I change my mind. I think it's my favorite now. Might even be better if yours had 'G. Neville' on the back," Gary says, as he grazes a finger across Jamie's upper back.
This surprised Jamie. He looked over at the Manc and found him smirking at him. Is he flirting with me?
An idea popped into Jamie's head. He wants to see Gary Neville's reaction to his accent. Let's see if you'll still be interested after this.
"It's pretty bad that it takes a Scouser to make your kits look good."
His reaction was as good as Jamie imagined. That stupid smirk dropped from his face and his eyes widened. Under his breath, Jamie heard the other man whisper, "You've gotta be kidding me."
It was Jamie's turn to smirk. He feels he has avenged every Liverpool fan for that badge celebration. It's a small win, but a victory nonetheless.
And on top of that, he can go back to changing in peace. Or so he thought.
As Jamie removed his shirt, Jamie heard Gary whisper again.
"It's just not fair."
"How can someone as gorgeous as you, um-" Gary points at him.
"Jamie, how can someone as gorgeous as you be a Scouser?"
Jamie rolls his eyes and goes back to putting on his own shirt.
"I guess God had to give you some flaws. Can't make you too perfect," Gary says as he stands up, having finished changing.
Jamie stands up as well to remove his joggers. "Are you really still flirting with me?" Jamie asks in disbelief.
Gary follows his movement before looking at Jamie in the face again. "Yeah, I just can't help it... and you sure aren't helping right now by standing in front of me without trousers on," Gary smirks.
Jamie can't help but feel a bit flustered... and he doesn't mind it.
He shakes his head. Jamie grabs his trousers and quickly puts them on. He then sits back down to put his shoes on.
Gary sits back down as well and leans forward. "So...where are we going to dinner after this?"
"Does that chat up line usually work for you?" Jamie replies as he ties up his laces. He doesn't want to look at the other man right now.
"I don't know. You tell me." Gary gently bumps his shoulder against Jamie's. "It's the first time I'm trying it."
Jamie finally faces Gary. "And how many guys have you told that lie?"
"It's not a lie."
There was sincerity in Gary's voice that makes Jamie want to believe. And that soft look Gary was giving him was swaying him to believe him.
"So...we going out?" Gary asks as he run his hand through his hair.
That was the last straw. Despite himself, Jamie finds himself agreeing to go out with Gary.
I'm going to have to walk on me knees around the entire of Liverpool now to make up for this one.
Gary's smile widens.
But maybe it'll be worth it.
Ever since he started his career at Manchester United, Gary Neville could never imagine playing for another club. He started at United. He'll retire from United. That is the plan.
However, with an influx of young and hungry players, Gary's match minutes start to dwindle. Gary is seeing his name more on the bench than in the starting XI. Still, he puts in the work during practice to show the gaffer he still has plenty of gas in the tank.
All of his faith and hard work goes unappreciated. The club places him on the transfer list that next summer to make room for the new generation.
As luck would have it -or misfortune- Liverpool is in need of an experienced center back due to injury crisis. Liverpool is able to sway United into selling them Gary by offering more than their asking price.
Transfer secured, Gary sets out to prove Manchester United wrong in letting him go. At Liverpool, he excels and develops a great center back partnership with his former rival, Jamie Carragher.
Together, can they help Liverpool secure the Premier League title for the first time? And will more than an on-pitch partnership develop between Gary and Jamie?
Title: Hey Stupid
Inspired by this post.
Note: Set in present time, but they’re in their 20s.
"Neville, you really need to broaden your music taste," Jamie says as another Oasis song comes on Gary's music shuffle.
For this international break, Jamie has the pleasure of rooming with the Manc. He'd rather have roomed with Stevie, but the gaffer decided to mix things up and assigned them with people outside their own clubs. Hence, how he ended up rooming with one Gary Neville.
Which he doesn't really mind if he's honest. Especially after a change of heart on his part. He began to feel something else for the Manc after their last match with England.
Gary had come to his defense after Austria's striker took him down with a late tackle. He came rushing over and pushed the striker away when he tried pulling Jamie up on his feet. Few choice words were said before Gary checked up on his fallen teammate.
Ever since then, Jamie saw Gary in a new light. That, and he does enjoy talking to the guy. When they're playing club football, they'd keep in touch, usually texting the other about a bad result or an on-field gaffe (Jamie usually being at the end of those ones).
Sometimes, they would even socialize in person. They would either hang out in Manchester or somewhere in between, but never in Liverpool. Gary is always adamant that he'll never step into Liverpool unless if it was for a match. That just shows how bad Jamie has it for Gary if he's willing to spend his free time in enemy territory.
When they're not arguing about whose team is better, they do have great discussions about anything and everything football. To Jamie, the Manc doesn't seem half bad.
Well, except his music taste.
Gary had won the coin toss on whose music playlist gets to be played through the portable speaker. So for the past half an hour, they had been listening to what seems like the whole Oasis discography.
"Oh, and like your music taste is any better."
"Well, it's different from yours. I have an eclectic taste in music," Jamie says haughtily.
"Wow, 'eclectic.' Didn't know that was in your vocabulary. I hope you didn't strain your brain there," Gary smirks.
"It's actually me word of the day on this app I have." Jamie waves his phone. This earns a laugh from Gary, much to Jamie's delight. It's worth getting teased if it meant seeing Gary's smile especially since he knows he's the one that put it there.
"I knew you wouldn't have known that word yourself," Gary says in between chuckles.
"Anyway, can I play my music? Just to change it up some, man. I'm tired of Oasis."
"Haha, nice try, Carragher, but no. I won the toss so we're listening to this."
Jamie groaned and placed his pillow over his head. He really needs to open Gary up to different music.
After the international break, Jamie texted Gary music recommendations.
Carragher: hey listen to this, neville
(Congratulations by Post Malone)
Gary: Aww, you congratulating United for our win today.
Carragher: oh fuck off. im just showing that there's other artists out there other than oasis so we don't have to keep listening to them next time we room together
Gary: Ha! Like I'd want to room with you again!
Carragher: shut up, you love rooming with me
Carragher: hey, thought you'd need this after that screamer of an own goal you had today
(YNWA by Brittanny Howard)
As soon as Jamie sent the link, he got a text back from Gary.
Gary: Not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Carragher.
Carragher: go on. listen to it. i promise you'll feel better. im not taking the mick
A few minutes pass and he receives another text from Gary.
Gary: Thanks Carragher. That did make me feel better. It's a great version of that song.
Carragher: 😱 what?! YNWA cheered up gary neville?! what would united fans say
Gary: THIS BETTER NOT LEAVE THIS CHAT, CARRAGHER!
As he sent more song recommendations, Jamie thought he could use it to shoot his shot and try to let Gary know how he feels.
Carragher: here's another one. LISTEN to it, gary
(Seaside by SEB)
Jamie watched his screen, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would Gary get it or-
His phone lit up. A reply from Gary.
Gary: nice 👍
Yep, he didn't get it. Maybe I need to be more clear?
Carragher: how about this one
(I Love You, I Love You. It’s Disgusting by Broadside)
Gary: I like the ukelele use. Makes me want to learn it as well.
Jamie grabbed one of his throw pillows and screamed into it in frustration. Once he calmed down a bit, he sends another song.
(I Like Me Better by Lauv)
Gary: It's alright. You've sent better songs.
Okay, heartfelt may be the key.
Jamie then shares another song with Gary.
(Turning Page by Sleeping At Last)
Gary: Didn't take you for a sappy guy.
Jamie runs a hand over his face. He scrolls through his playlist and stops when he finds the song he was looking for.
If he still does not get it, then officially I'm the smart between us, Jamie thought as sent the link to the song. He doesn't even have to listen to it. Just read the damn title.
(Hey Stupid, I Love You by JP Saxe)
Jamie couldn't take it anymore. He grabs his phone and Facetimes Gary.
A bewildered Gary answers after a few seconds.
"You're a bit thick sometimes, aren't you?" Jamie says, foregoing any greeting.
"Well, hello to you too, Carragher," Gary answers sarcastically. "To what do I owe the displeasure of talking to you?"
"The songs. Are you really not getting what I'm trying to tell you?"
"You're trying to tell me that...you need me to help you refine your music taste?" Gary guesses.
"For fuck's sake." Jamie could not roll his eyes any harder. "No...I'm trying to tell you that I like you. Hell, I may even love you...you fucking twat."
Gary's image freezes or that's what Jamie thinks anyway until he finally blinks.
"I just confessed I love you. What do you have to say?"
Gary shifts in his seat. "Um..."
That was the last Jamie hears before Gary hung up. Jamie tries calling him back, but the other man refused to answer. His texts yielded the same result.
"Idiot! I'm such an idiot!" Jamie jumped to his feet and paced around his living room. When he tired himself out, Jamie collapsed back onto his sofa with his phone within reach, just in case that stupid Manc does call back.
He must have fallen asleep while he waited for a reply because the next thing he remembers is the doorbell ringing. Jamie thought of letting whoever was at the door wait until they just leave. However, this idea was quickly abandoned when the guest decided to press the doorbell in quick succession.
"I'm coming. Stop it will ya!" Jamie yelled as he begrudgingly got off the sofa.
Without checking who it was, Jamie yanked open his door. It was his turn to be frozen in surprise.
Standing in front of him was Gary Neville himself.
"Jamie, this is it." Gary gestures to himself. "This is my answer to you."
"What?" Jamie frowns.
"Me...being here in Liverpool. You know I would never come here if I don't have to...That's my answer to you."
It clicks in Jamie's head. "Are you telling me you love me too?" Jamie asks, frown now replaced by a smile.
"Me driving here wasn't enough. You really want me to say it, don't you?" Gary groans.
Jamie nods enthusiastically.
"You're a bloody idiot," Gary rolls his eyes, but he was betrayed by the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. "I love you."
Jamie closes the distance between them and engulfs Gary into his arms. "I love you, too," Jamie whispers before capturing Gary's lips for a kiss.
Inspired by @zevons story: Remedial Exercises in Teamwork
“You remember when I wound up in your hoop during Apparition?”
“Vividly,” says Jamie, wondering where this is going.
“I might have been, sort of looking at you.”
“Well,” says Jamie sensibly, “you must have been. Otherwise you’d have gone somewhere else. They do tell you to concentrate, Gary.”
Title: #1 Dad
Summary: Who knew a keychain can get Gary so angry. Maxene did. She knew what she was doing. Like father, like daughter.
Another short fluff. This time inspired by this Tumblr post.
Note: Maxene is Jamie’s daughter. Also, Gary and Jamie get together (somehow) during their playing days.
(GIF by @mo-salahs)
"You really can't be mad?" Jamie asks as they settle into bed. “They’re just keychains.”
"All I'm saying is, how come my keychain only said 'Dad' and yours had '#1 Dad.' She could have given the two of us a keychain that both says '#1 Dad'."
"That would be a lie though, wouldn't it."
Jamie's rhetorical question was answered with a pillow to the face.
"Oh, come on, I'm kidding." Jamie wraps his arm around Gary's middle, who had his back turned to him. "And so is Maxene. She just has that same sense of humor as I do."
Gary scoffs. "Where I'm always the butt of the joke."
Jamie chuckles, which earns him an elbow to the ribs.
"Well, that's all it is. A joke. You know Max doesn't really think of you as any less of her dad. She adores you, Gaz."
It's true. After the first time Jamie's then-7-year old daughter met Gary, all he heard that night from her was 'Gary said this' and 'Gary said that.' And ever since then she was Gary's shadow.
Everything Gary did, she did as well.
When he played his guitar, Max would run off to get her plastic toy guitar. She'd sit in front of him, eyes glued to Gary's fingers memorizing each strum, so she can try to mimic it.
When Gary says he's gonna go out for a run, she'd be in her trainers within a minute and outside, waiting for Gary. She never makes it to the end of the run, of course. They'd be home sooner than Gary planned, with her clinging onto his back.
Worst of all, whenever Liverpool plays United at Anfield, his Liverpool-born daughter was always sporting the wrong shade of red, with the wrong name and number emblazoned on the back. Jamie would catch glimpses of her with her granddad, singing her little heart out. No doubt a song about a certain man being a Red.
And when he and Gary finally get married, his 10 year old daughter danced with Gary first. She clung on him and looked at him as if he was her whole world.
Even now at 18 years old, Max adores Gary. "You know, you're the reason she's going into business school, right? She definitely didn't get the idea from me."
Gary snorts. He turned on his other side so he can face Jamie. "Well, she has to look up to someone," Gary jokes. "I can't imagine how she would have turned out if she only had you as her influence."
Gary braced for the playful punch Jamie likes to deliver whenever Gary teases him. But none came.
Instead, Jamie looked at him with that soft look he reserves for when they are alone. "I'm happy you're here for her...and for me."
Gary's grin softens. "I'm happy, too." He leans in and kiss his husband good night, discussions about keychains forgotten.
I DARE YOU.