#and then keeley never went to Marbella

[lunar-years]

Realistically I do not think Roy actually proposed to Keeley in the canon timeline but I do think there’s a non-zero chance he had a ring.

[valdomarx]

Roy had it all planned out: he was going to spend six weeks in a beautiful villa in Marbella with his gorgeous girlfriend and it was going to be relaxing and cultured and oh so romantic.

But life is capricious and fate is cruel, so instead he found himself dumped by his girlfriend and in a beautiful villa in Marbella on a romantic getaway with Jamie fucking Tartt.

Keeley had been very kind and as gentle about ending things as she could be, but Roy knew the signs of someone progressing out of his league. He’d saved her the discomfort of a protracted fizzle out by being the one to say the words, but he was pretty sure that she would soon be moving on to better things and he would not.

She had insisted — like, really insisted — that he take this holiday though, and because this was fucking Richmond AFC and it was packed to the rafters with gossipy old women, rumours were spreading within hours that his relationship was on the rocks and was he going on holiday on his own.

He would have been annoyed about that, would have preferred to lick his wounds in private, but the day he arrived in Marbella an entire entourage had turned up at his door. Half the team was there, bustling into his rented villa with cans of cheap beer and bags of crisps and bottles of sunscreen, and by the time the doorbell stopped ringing his living room was crammed with cheery, excited lads, and perhaps it was actually kind of sweet.

They’d spent three weeks swimming in the sea and eating tapas, staying out too late at fancy bars and dancing like idiots at expensive clubs. Sam had taught them all to windsurf — a man of hidden talents, that one — and Isaac enthusiastically organised games of beach volleyball. Dani nominated himself head chef for the holiday, and Jan Maas was in charge of carrying home anyone who fell down on their longer nights out.

It was, to Roy’s frank astonishment, really rather fun, and certainly better than moping alone.

And thank fuck, not once did anyone mention Keeley or ask him to talk about his fucking feelings.

Soon the three weeks had been up, and it was time for the team to return home. But for some unknown fucking reason, Jamie had decided that he was staying. No arguments or recriminations or any amount of yelling would move him. He’d simply planted himself on Roy’s sofa and announced that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Some fucking misguided sense of loyalty or some shit. Roy should never have hugged the prick at the end of the season.

(Nah, he couldn’t regret that. He did get them promoted. But why the fuck Jamie thought he had to stay now, Roy couldn’t say.)

-

So they’d settled into… something. The first few days Roy lazed about on the balcony overlooking the sea, and Jamie mostly read (who knew he could read?) and stayed out of his way. They ate dinner together at cosy, casual restaurants, and it was… okay. It was fine.

Jamie would get up early to go for a run before the day got too hot, and Roy would get up late and make coffee for them both. Jamie would pick up pastries from the bakery on the way home, then they’d share breakfast and talk about their plans for the day and Roy didn’t hate it.

It felt like a respite, like they were extracted into a bubble of sunshine, pausing for a while while the world spun on without them.

Jamie arrived back from his run one morning literally bouncing with excitement. “I took this new route, right, and I saw these sculptures in town, right? And they’re by Salvador fucking Dalí! The absolute legend. How cool is that? We gotta go visit em!”

As Jamie bounced off to shower, Roy very quickly googled Salvador Dalí and saw a lot of chat about surrealism and impressionism and some other arty shit he didn’t understand. When Jamie came back he nodded sagely like of course he knew who Dalí was, and was just surprised that Jamie did too.

They went and looked at the statues. They certainly were, uhh, shaped.

Then they walked around the rest of the city, and all day long Jamie babbled out facts about Marbella and Dalí like he’d swallowed a fucking guide book. Roy mostly tuned it out. It was hard to maintain his distant, grouchy air though, when Jamie was so enthused. Like he was having the time of his life, as if there were literally no place on Earth he’d rather be and no person he’d rather be regaling with the full artistic history of Spain.

It was fucking weird, is what it was. And weirder still, Roy found himself almost enjoying it.

That night, Roy declared he’d had enough of eating out and he was going to cook dinner himself. Jamie sat and watched, wide-eyed, as Roy sliced vegetables and grilled some chicken, and Roy snarked at him for being a fucking child who didn’t know how to cook, and Jamie sassed him about being an old man preparing food for the whole retirement home.

They ate dinner together on the balcony, the last rays of the setting sun painting the sky and the salt tang of the sea in the air, and it wasn’t terrible.

-

During their last week in Marbella, Jamie told Roy he was considering a momentous and important decision and would need his support and understanding during this life-changing time.

Turned out he was getting a fucking haircut.

Roy had resolutely refused to listen to a moment’s more fretting about the various merits of warm versus cool toned shades and the importance of feathering to maintain volume and shape, and had kicked him out of the villa to go to the salon.

Jamie’s hair had grown out since the end of the season, flopping in soft curtains over his eyes. When he came back it was shot through with highlights, streaks of silvery brightness contrasting against the mousy brown beneath.

It looked… sun-kissed, was the expression. Like the warmth of Marbella had left its imprint on him, as if Jamie himself were brighter and lighter because of his time here.

“It’s very. Blonde.” Roy managed.

“It’s walnut mist, actually,” Jamie pouted.

“Whatever.”

-

Their last night in the villa arrived faster than Roy had anticipated. He was well rested and well fed, and the new season would be starting soon so they really did need to go home. Still, he found himself strangely disinclined to leave.

But time waits for no man, as nice as the pause had been.

Roy had expected Jamie would want to go out for their last night, to make it a big evening on the town. But he’d smiled softly and said, “Nah, fuck that, let’s stay in and cook, yeah?” instead, and that took Roy so much by surprise he didn’t realise Jamie had volunteered him to do the cooking until he was already chopping.

“Oi! Tartt!”

Jamie popped his head round the kitchen door.

“Get in here and help me chop these veg.”

Jamie did as he was told, and while he had seemingly no knowledge of cooking whatsoever — how was it possible that a grown man didn’t know how to chop a carrot? — he did follow instructions well.

Roy put on some music, and they opened a bottle of wine, and between them they pulled together a decent meal out of whatever was left in the fridge.

They ate on the balcony again, the stars gleaming overhead in the clear night sky.

At some point Roy asked, offhand, what Jamie had been reading, and Jamie got very excited and told him all about this book Ted had given him. Roy was treated to an in-depth analysis of The Beautiful and the Damned, and how it seemed at first that it was all about banging parties and beautiful women and having fun, yeah? But then, like, it all goes to shit? Because this guy thought he was living it up and having the best time but actually he was being selfish and it was making him miserable, right? Because, like, money and glamour and all that shit ain’t actually what it’s about, is it? That ain’t what makes life worthwhile?

Roy sipped his wine and hid a smile. Ted really did have a way with people, the fucker.

“It was well good.”Jamie beamed in conclusion. “What about you, though? You doing alright? About… About Keeley and everything?”

The question caught Roy off guard. He’d been actively trying to dodge his feelings about the breakup, but if anyone could understand what it was like to be dumped by Keeley, it was Jamie.

He sighed. “It’s rough, innit?”

Jamie tipped his glass. “That it is.”

“I think I knew it was gonna happen, though. She’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I dunno if we really fit together any more. She was busy with work, and I was just hanging on, you know?” It was easier that he’d have thought, talking to Jamie about this stuff. “It was probably for the best.”

Jamie nodded contemplatively. “You’ll be alright. You’ll find someone you do fit with.” He glanced up for a moment, meeting Roy’s gaze, then quickly looked away.

Roy allowed himself a moment of wistfulness. “That’d be nice.”

“Who could resist the charms of Roy Kent? He’s a grouchy old fuck but he cooks a decent meal.”

“Fuck off,” Roy laughed, the ease of it sloughing the sadness off him.

“He swears a lot but he’s got a heart of gold.”

“Do I fuck, I’m dark and complex.”

��Ha! You’re a fucking teddy bear, mate, you can't hide it from me.”

“Only cause you’re a nosy wanker.”

Jamie grinned, bright and warm, eyes sparkling, and Roy let himself bask in it.

“Have you had fun though? On holiday?” Jamie’s voice was light, but he was biting his lip, a hint of nervous excitement about him.

Roy smiled in spite of himself. It had been ridiculous, and messy, and childish, and delightful. Yeah, it had been fun.

He raised his glass. "It's been…" he flicked a half smile, "memorable."

Jamie clinked their glasses together, looking at Roy a bit too intensely.

His voice dropped low and husky, and it pinged something deep in Roy's hindbrain. "We could make it more memorable."

They stared at each for a second, Roy's arm frozen halfway to taking a drink. The sound of the waves crashed in the background.

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea.

"Fuck it, yeah, alright."

Roy shoved the dining table aside and Jamie pounced on him, pushing him back against his seat to straddle him.

Jamie was heavy, his thick muscular thighs pressing Roy in place, grinding their hips together with tempting friction.

He licked his lips and Roy wondered for one strange moment if Jamie was going to kiss him, but instead he buried his face in Roy's neck, teeth dragging along the sensitive skin there. His hands roamed over Roy's shirt, up under the waistband and over the now padded planes of his stomach.

Roy had gone from nought to one hundred in seconds, and his cock was hard between them. Jamie didn't waste time, just went straight for his belt with a focused determination that reminded Roy of him preparing to take a penalty.

He got on his knees so gladly.

"Mmm. Good lad," Roy said, and Jamie shivered. Roy unzipped his trousers and held out his cock like an offering, letting Jamie sink his mouth around it and enveloping him in wet heat.

He looked good between Roy's legs, forehead creased in concentration, eyes slipping shut, luscious lips stretched around Roy's cock and throat working hard.

Roy put his hands in Jamie's hair (softer now, his brain supplied, and sun-kissed). He ran his fingers through the stands, holding onto the back of Jamie's head and guiding him up and down on his cock.

Jamie took it well, letting Roy guide him for a few minutes before he did something with his tongue that made Roy tighten his grip on his hair, tugging at it, and Jamie moaned around his cock obscenely.

There was no rush this time, none of the frantic impatience of their last encounter. Jamie took his time, warming Roy up slowly, every moment deliberate, almost like he was savouring it. The daylight had faded and soft light from inside spilled across Jamie’s face, throwing it half into shadow.

Roy felt soft and molten, full of good food and warmed by weeks of sunshine and satisfied by Jamie and his goddamn miracle of a tongue.

“That’s good,” he growled. “That’s fucking good.”

Jamie moaned around him, a blush forming on his cheeks, and it said something about Jamie that sucking dick didn’t make him blush but a bit of praise fucking did.

Roy sighed, and decided he was feeling generous.

“You’re doing so well, sucking my cock. Your mouth feels fucking great.”

Jamie squirmed some more and took Roy deeper, the bit of positive reinforcement only gearing him up to try even harder at what he was doing. Roy got the feeling that was going to be a pattern with Jamie.

“You like that, don’t you? I fucking like it too.” Jamie’s eyes had that glazed-over, pleasure-drunk look that Roy was really starting to enjoy. “Do that thing with your tongue again. You know how I want it.”

Jamie did, flattening his tongue against the underside of Roy’s dick and undulating it, and Roy’s hands closed instinctively around Jamie’s hair, holding him in place. Jamie did it again, and again, and each time the coil inside Roy wound tighter and tighter until he snapped and yanked Jamie’s head forward, fucking his mouth in hot, tight little bursts.

Light and heat and pleasure pinged the inside of his brain and he came with a groan, all the tension and worry of the past season sliding off him and leaving him boneless and satiated.

Jamie swallowed, taking every last drop, his eyes blissed out and rapturous like he was receiving a sacrament. Roy wondered for a moment what it would be like to haul Jamie into his lap and lick the taste of himself out of his mouth, salty and bitter with the combined taste of them both.

He had meant to reciprocate this time, he really had — he wasn't a total arsehole — but Jamie had pulled away and already had a hand shoved into his pants, working himself off.

Roy took in the view: Jamie's heaving chest, the beads of sweat at his temples, the way he was jerking himself hard and fast, the perfect o of his mouth as it fell open. Before he'd had his fill of looking, Jamie was coming in shaky bursts, eyes scrunched shut and breath ragged.

He collapsed against Roy's leg, and Roy stroked a gentle hand through his hair, petting him as his breath slowed.

The night was warm, and the breeze carried the scent of the sea, and Jamie's hair was like white sand running through his fingers.

[stonesandswords]

Roy: 2, 14 and/or 15, 23, 28

2. When I think I truly started to like them (or dislike them, if you've sent me a character I don't like)

I think I've always been pretty neutral on Roy as a character. I know it's extremely popular to adore him relentlessly but there was always something about him that threw me off and I could never explain it on the first couple of watches. I did deeply sympathize with him during the finale of season 1 and the first couple of episodes of season 2, but ultimately, I started to dislike him after a couple of rewatches because I felt like he never grew as a character.

He stayed very stagnant and consistently angry during both seasons, while the people around him changed and grew (for better and for worse). I always hated how hostile he was with Jamie, even when Jamie was consistently showing a personal change in who he was and showing a want to connect with Roy on a more mature level. Roy has two separate acts of physical aggression towards Jamie (one actual physical act and one threat) AFTER witnessing what Jamie's father did to him and straight up comforting Jamie mere seconds after the fact. As someone who's been through extremely similar things as Jamie has, it was kinda terrifying and difficult to watch because it brought up a lot of memories of people who I thought were my support system but would quickly turn hostile toward me in situations that didn't have to do with me.

One thing I want to acknowledge that I do like and appreciate about what Roy does in the final two episodes of season 2, is that he does take the time to acknowledge and credit Nate's hard work and strategies with the team. But it did seem too little, too late, and it was to only one person, out of a whole team of people, that he ever seemed vocally boost up their work in such a way. I felt like there were other people that could have benefitted from Roy taking the time to recognize and be proud of. I shall remain hopeful for season 3 though, if Roy's somewhat-there growth in the last couple of episodes is any indication, I think he has the potential to become a better of a person in season 3.

15. worst storyline they had

I think he has a few bad storylines, especially in relation to how he individually interacts with Keeley and Jamie.

I think his worst is the build-up storyline with Keeley to him buying tickets to Marbella for 6 weeks on a whim. He was so shocked that his grand romantic gesture was not well received and his immediate assumption was that Keeley was breaking up with him; he took no consideration of the changes going on in Keeley's life and what the consequences of those changes were and what her immediate needs would be while going through those changes. Although, I think it is reflective of two earlier "grand" romantic gestures that were the subject of miscommunication between the two of them. The first was Roy going down on Keeley while she watched his retirement video. It was supposed to come off as an apology sorta thing but to me, it came across that neither of them could be upfront about their needs in the relationship (Keeley included), and instead of having a frank conversation about it, Roy just went down on Keeley instead to make up for it. The second was Keeley feeling like she needed space from Roy but not communicating that to him at all. She told half the club and then blew up on him, resulting in him getting angry at those around him and then turning around and proceeding with another grand romantic gesture of a rose-petaled bath and a playlist; where again, they did not seem to have an honest conversation with a resolution about it. I think they're both at fault here, but it makes sense that Roy took the rejection of the grand romantic Marbella trip as a rejection of himself, considering that his previous grand romantic gestures worked out just fine.

14. best storyline they had

I really liked the arc of him finding his way back to Richmond after he retired. He was lost and coaching his niece's football team, sorta waffling around as he tried to find his way in life. To becoming a pundit for a bit, where he was in touch with football again but in a different way than before. My favorite moment of this arc was when he met up with Ted and Isaac to help Isaac get out of his head. I felt like you could really see Roy light up in a way he hadn't before in that season and realizing what he really wanted and knowing he finally had a chance to get there and take it.

23. Future headcanon

I think Roy really starts becoming more invested in his personal relationships and in the community and people around him. To backtrack, he left his home at 9 years old and I think that emotionally stunted him to a huge detriment. I think that future Roy really starts to take stock in what he values in his own life and his relationships with people (more than just his relationship with Phoebe) and starts to overcome that emotional immaturity. I would genuinely like him to go to therapy and/or anger management classes, but definitely at least therapy.

28. The most unnecessary thing they ever did?

I may be a bit hyper-fixated on this but I thought it was when Jamie came to talk to him privately (which we learn is an apology from Jamie) and Roy literally threatens to punch all of Jamie's teeth out. Most importantly, he saw first-hand what Jamie's dad was like and knew that Jamie might not be the person who would respond well to threats of physical violence at all, which goes to show that Roy doesn't really have an understanding of who Jamie is as a person. Secondly, he jumps immediately into threatening Jamie without giving Jamie a chance to speak! I think it really speaks to his lack of growth and maturity as a character. I know he was angry and upset at Jamie, but he didn't even give Jamie a chance to say anything or even stand up for himself before getting aggressive.

I would like to say, above all else, Roy isn't the worst character by far, I've just become a bit jaded about how he's handled things and it's soured him for me a bit. We still have a whole other season and I hope the writers have better things in store for him because I do think he's got potential, especially in his relationship with Phoebe and what the means to him.

send me a character and a number and i’ll answer the correlating question

[lunar-years]

oh, ”Stay awake.” for the prompt list if you want?

uhhhh. Undoubtedly this was not the fic fill you were expecting for this prompt. i used it very loosely and I am truly sorry for this result...something consumed me.

----------------

Roy sits on the balcony of his posh fucking rental, staring out at Marbella’s shore. He’s got private beach access here, a boardwalk that leads to the sand and then down to the swirling deep blue, where a person can float and maybe, if they're lucky, forget themselves for a while in its depths. But the waves are too high to swim today, and anyway, it’s getting dark now. 

Beneath him, there’s a massive pool he could swim in instead, if he wanted. Dive in and spend a moment breathless beneath the water. It might do him good, that chance to briefly cut off the oxygen, to move around for a bit underwater, then feel the relief of the first lungful of air when he breaks back up through the surface. He’d do it, if he wasn’t feeling so fucking…stuck. Stuck to this chair, stuck to his stupid life. In need of permanent fissure, that's him. If he could only force himself to walk down to the pool, he thinks, and not look back. Maybe he could drown himself in it, and make it look like an accident. 

He's twirling an engagement ring around in his right hand that's meant to be on Keeley’s ring finger. 

The diamond is light pink and oval and massive, set into two narrow, curved bands of smaller yet still brilliant diamonds. It’s fucking perfect for Keeley. Showy, but not grotesquely so. Colourful and chic. Fun. Roy had it custom made for her. Let the jewelry consultant talk his ear off about settings and carats, then signed his name on the dotted line for the most expensive options on the list. 

Fuck, he’d even showed it off to Rebecca, weeks and weeks ago, before he booked this trip. How fucking embarrassing was that? He’d only just gotten it in from the jeweler, the rock freshly nestled in its deep red velvet box. His boss cooed over it convincingly and agreed that yes, it looked just the ring for Keeley, and yes, the subtle pink hue was awfully inspired, and yes, Keeley would undoubtedly love it. Roy had left her office feeling rather proud of himself, totally oblivious to what she’d probably been trying to tell him between the lines, given the way her eyes went all narrow and her forehead pinched tight right after he’d told her where he was planning to propose, and when. The extravagant trip he envisioned that would end with him down on one knee. 

Rebecca had blinked at him and clucked, with a smile like plastic, Wow. Well, I imagine that will come as quite the surprise! Which at the time felt like praise for his careful planning skills and in hindsight seems more like her small way of warning him. Like she’d known all along Keeley was going to say no. 

Had everyone? Roy had only told Rebecca and his sister about the ring, but maybe everyone else had guessed it, or assumed it was coming. Assumed, possibly, how it would end, because who in their right mind would want to marry him? He was just the sort to do something this pathetic, to propose in a last ditch attempt to save what was already broken. Maybe they all saw it. He swallows down the rising, unpleasant rush of bile in his throat and thinks back to Keeley spreading stories about him around work, how clingy he was and how needy and how he never left her alone. So this wouldn’t be the first time everyone else knew more about his relationship than he did. 

For one fleeting, wild moment, he envisions himself flinging the ring right off this balcony and watching it make its way, impossibly, all the way out to the sea. Gets brief satisfaction at the thought of the ocean swallowing it whole, entrapping it below the waves where he never has to think about it, or look at it, ever again. In his hand, the ring stills its incessant twirling and Roy crushes it under his fingers instead, pressing it so hard against his skin he’s sure it’s going to leave a mark on his palm, and hopes, ludicrously, that it will somehow be permanent. A reminder.

Behind him, inside the villa, Keeley’s asleep on the bed he had covered in rose petals while they were at dinner. Roy thinks he might stay up all night, sitting out here as it gets too dark to see the water below, just to avoid the awkwardness of joining her. Or is he meant to sleep in one of the guest rooms? What, exactly, is the protocol for when your girlfriend turns down your proposal but tells you she does in fact still want to be with you, marriage conversation aside? He’s the only person he knows that that’s happened to; he hasn’t even read about it books.

Roy’s spent the past three weeks alone here, missing her terribly. Has he now ruined their one glorious weekend together on the first night, before it’s even properly begun?

She’d flown in just that morning. Roy took a car to the airport to meet her, feeling jittery and excited in equal measure, happier than he’s felt for days. It had been a long fucking three weeks on his own, hardly able to find time to even FaceTime with her, what with how busy she was with her new firm. The whole time, her parting words before he left her for sunny Spain—You never know, maybe the time apart will do both of us good, babe—looped through his mind on constant repeat, curdling in his gut like sour milk. 

Realistically, he knows they’ve been on two separate trajectories for a whole now, like rockets shooting off to two different edges of space, nothing but gulf and galaxies between. This weekend was meant to be their way back to one another, the anticipated culmination of their big compromise: Roy would still go to Marbella, alone, and Keeley would make the time to come join him halfway through, just for the few days she could manage with her new job. 

His original proposal plan, the one he told to Rebecca involving a gorgeously romantic six-week couples retreat, had gone out the window the moment she’d turned this trip down, but even so, he’d adjusted it accordingly. Fitted his plans around hers, because that’s what suitable, well-adjusted couples did, wasn’t it? Convinced himself he could be flexible. Convinced himself he could wait. It just needed to happen, he just needed to present her with this ring, and she just needed to slip it onto her finger and say yes—and everything that felt wrong would be fixed. 

He’s a fucking idiot. 

He should have seen this coming. Even their reunion had felt off. She’d stepped through the baggage claim pulling her cheetah-print suitcase behind her, and subsequentially dropping it at the sight of him in order to run over and leap grandly into his arms. When they kissed, it felt just as good as it always did, like puzzle pieces sliding into place, soothing over the open wound inside of him he hadn’t quite realized he’d been nursing, all this time. But the wound didn’t close just because she was there. As soon as she stepped away again, retracing her steps back to retrieve her suitcase, the gulf only seemed to widen. 

So then he'd taken her back to the villa, carrying on about the itinerary he’d spent the first half of his time here perfecting. He’d show her around the place first, give her time to get settled, and after that they’d still have plenty of time to get ready for dinner. He’d booked a private dinner on the water. A romantic, candlelit feast of seafood and drinks and dessert, after which he’d just go for it. He had what he wanted to say all lined up in his head: I love you Keeley. I want to spend forever with you. Then back to their room, which by then would be decked floor to ceiling with rose petals and heart balloons and champagne, ready for their exuberant return.

The first part went even better than planned. As soon as they made it through the front door, Keeley pounced on him, locking her fingers against his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer with all the hunger and passion and desperation they’d had in the beginning; that thing he’d been chasing for months. Passion got pushed aside when there were emails to check and businesses to run. Sex became a bit of a chore, maybe. But not now. Not anymore.

She let him carry her bridal-style to the master suite, setting her reverently down in the king-sized bed, stripping her adoringly, in between frantic kisses. They fucked hurriedly, Keeley’s suitcase abandoned in the entranceway and all thoughts of unpacking and giving a tour through the house abandoned with it. Then they fucked again, with much less haste. Like they’d finally managed to convince themselves the moment wasn’t about to be ripped away from them and were now letting themselves enjoy the thing proper. She was here now. It was all going to be fine. 

After, though. Lying tangled up in the sheets, sweaty and naked and satisfied, Roy said something innocuous about getting up in time for a long shower together before they had to ready themselves for dinner, and the mood in the air shifted. Keeley frowned, “Oh I don’t know babe. Can you still cancel it? It’s just…” she exhaled and flopped her head back onto the pillows, hair splaying everywhere, “I am so fucking tired. That plane was an absolute misery, there was loads of turbulence and this one crying baby who I seriously think might have been possessed by some sort of crying demon, and…God, it really was awful. Also, before I left I had a meeting with my new employees. They hate me, Roy, I really think they hate me. How am I supposed to run a firm if all of my employees hate me?”

She stopped just long enough to breathe, or maybe she’d caught the look on his face. “Sorry, I know I swore not to talk about work on this trip.” A quick peck of her lips to his cheek, a little plea for forgiveness. It felt cold. “Just us for the rest of the weekend, I promise. So…dinner. What if we order in, just for tonight? We’ll spend the whole evening in bed, it’ll be fantastic. We can take a lazy nap, and then eat whenever we wake up, fuck again, midnight skinny dip in that fucking amazing pool out back—"

Of course she didn’t know about the candles and rose petals and the ring burning a hole in the safe deposit box in the closet, but Roy still stiffened. “No, we can't nap. We have to stay awake,” he bit out quickly. “We have to go to dinner. It’s already set up.” 

Keeley kept talking mindlessly, even as Roy’s brain seemed to be burrowing itself in the sand, taking his sanity with it. “Well can’t you just call and postpone it? We can do the fancy dinner tomorrow, babe, once I’m more rested.” She was smiling. Her face seemed to say, this isn’t a big deal, babe. 

But it was. Because Roy didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He loved her today. He wanted this to happen today. The room felt unstable, like the bed was spinning in the opposite direction of the walls. It felt like something was slipping from him that he couldn’t name, even now. He was desperately trying to grasp at it with too-slick fingers even as it evaded his hold. “It has to be tonight, Keeley. There’s a different dinner planned tomorrow,” he snapped. 

She stared at him in alarm. 

“I have different dinners planned all weekend. I’ve put a lot of time into making this fucking—nice for you. For us. I’ve had a lot of time to put it together, since I’ve been here all the fuck alone.” It was much harsher than he'd intended, but he couldn’t take it back once he'd said it, and he didn't try to. The thing he was trying to save dipped further from his grasp. Keeley’s mouth snapped shut. The words hung in the air between them, heavy in the silence. 

“Fine,” Keeley snapped back, eventually. Even her voice sounded more tired than angry, and the guilt gnawed at his chest. “Heaven forbid I want to relax on my bloody holiday. We’ll do it your way, then.” Then she rolled off the bed, shoving aside the sheets as she untangled them from her form, then angrily stomping towards the ensuite. 

He made to get up and go after her, but she looked back at him with steely eyes, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m showering, Roy. Alone.” 

//

Of course it went terribly, after that. How could it not? He should have called the whole thing off, should have agreed to lounge around and eat takeaway in bed and do nothing but fuck in the pool. He should have forgotten about the ring for the evening. 

(He doesn’t think it would have made any difference. That’s almost the worst part.)

At dinner, the tension between them dissipated on the crests of bottomless cocktails and conversation. On laughter. Keeley looked fucking incredible in a flowery sundress. The food was divine. And the first thing they did was apologize for biting one another’s heads off, agreed that it had just been a long day. A mutual peace offering. Roy fingered the ring in his pocket until the time came to sink to his knee. 

When he did, her face shattered. Not in the way he’d wanted it too, the way he’d pictured. Not the kind of shattered that happens when the joy gets so full it could burst. No, this was the same kind of shattered way she’d looked at him when she told him she couldn’t spare the time to spend six weeks with him in Marbella. Like she pitied him, almost. Like she was hoping he’d stop or say it was all a joke. That he’d take it all back. 

“Roy,” she started softly, already shaking her head. 

Already shaking her head. 

“I love you, Roy,” she promised, eyes glistening. The words were a buzz in the background.

(The worst part, by far, is how much he loves her in return. He loves her so much he doesn’t know quite what to do with it. If a proposal isn’t the right place to put it, where is? He doesn’t understand why the love can’t fix them. Why it isn’t enough.) 

“We’re not ready for this,” she continued, openly shedding tears by then. Somewhere off to the side, their waiter was probably alarmed, holding the cake with congratulations! swirled onto its plate in dark chocolate that Roy had paid extra for, unsure what to do with it, waiting for instruction. Roy was too humiliated to check for certain. He was still down on one knee. It was starting to throb. Carefully, he raised himself back up. 

She was watching him with a look of great remorse as she repeated, “We can’t get married right now, baby. It isn’t…I don’t think it’s the answer, yeah? Maybe eventually, but not now.” It sounded exactly the way we’ll be fine had sounded the day she’d packed up her office in Richmond. Like they definitely wouldn’t be fine. Like her answer to marriage wasn’t not now but quite possibly never.

He’d nodded. He’d lowered himself back into his chair, feeling clammy and numb. He’d waved the waiter over to close the bill. 

//

Staring out at the sea that’s gone dark, he tucks the ring back into his pocket with the startling, crippling, clear realization that he's got to break up with her. He feels like his heart has been wrenched out of his chest and stomped on, then shoved back in for him to live with. He feels like she’s right, and it wouldn’t have worked even if she’d said yes. 

He’s such a fucking mess, he thinks, and she deserves better. She’s on top of the world, and here he is dragging her down into the water. Maybe they both know they’re broken beyond repair, just waiting for the other one to call it off. He’s not sure he can do it. These days, he misses her even when she’s in the next room. 

Fuck.

He slides open the door to the balcony and steps back inside after one last glance at the ocean, which he can hear even if he can’t see. Fuck the guest bed. He makes his way into the bedroom and crawls in next to her. A couple more rose petals flutter to the ground. 

“Roy,” she breathes, as soon as he’s settled himself under the thin sheet, the air too hot and humid, even with the AC cranked, to sleep under anything heavier. Her voice is quiet and sad and cracked and small. It sounds like she’s been crying the whole time he’s been outside. 

He shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry,” to the air. He doesn’t know quite what he’s apologizing for. Asking her to marry him? Assuming she’d say yes? Even just thinking about breaking up with her just now? Her, the best person to ever happen to him? The best anything, end of. He draws himself closer and wraps his arm around her torso, just to feel her—her skin, the smell of her hair and the dip and fall of her stomach as she breathes in and out. 

It’s its own familiar kind of self-torture, holding something in his hands as he loses it slowly. Like the last year of football, magnified by ten. Waiting for the final hammer to fall as he cradles the thing he loves in the palm of his hand and feels it drip through. 

“Are we still okay?” she whispers, cupping her fingers over his own clasped ones. Maybe he’s not the only one desperately clinging on. 

He tells her yes, but the truth is that he doesn’t know. 

The deeper truth, the one he can’t face, is that he doesn’t think so. 

He thinks it’s already over.