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boomkloppthesoundofmyheart · 22 hours

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You Had A Bad Day

Frustration radiated off Gary Neville. Today was an absolute nightmare, the kind that made him want to scream and bawl his eyes out. He could almost picture the terrified look on Carragher's face if he did unleash those emotions, which would be the only silver lining to this whole mess. But Gary held it in. No screams, no tears. Just clenched fists buried deep in his pockets, eyes squeezed shut, and his head tilted back as if in silent prayer to the ceiling.

The thoughts in his head rattled around frantically, overwhelming him. He tries to focus on his breathing. A therapist of his had taught him about box breathing. Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four – with each repetition,his body softens.

He feels a bit better. Until he opens his eyes and sees Carragher’s face, inches away from his own, looking at him curiously. Gary startles upright and screeches, “Dick!” Carragher smiles a little and takes a step back.

“You okay, mate?”, asks Carragher, his voice a little lower than it usually is.

Gary nods in the affirmative. “All good,” he mutters.

Carragher's gaze lingers for a beat too long, silently scrutinizing him. Gary, desperate to deflect attention, fumbles for his phone and buries himself in composing an email, blinking back the traitorous tears that well up again.

They walk out of their shared dressing room at Sky, towards the MNF studio and it’s the quietest walk they’ve ever shared. No last minute thoughts about the prepared pieces, or arguing over a silly detail, nothing. Carragher is all too aware of the silence but doesn’t break it. Gary, on the other hand, can’t hear the silence over the cacophony in his head.

The show is going well, Gary thinks. Carragher does most of the talking. Roy does most of the glaring. Micah does most of the laughing. And Gary does most of the listening. He can sense Carragher looking at him when Roy and Micah are talking and he doesn’t look back. He finds that he wants to close his eyes and look at the darkness behind his lids again. When it finally ends, he shakes everyone’s hands, and Dave gives him a funny look and tells him to, “stop working so hard”.

Gary’s stomach churns. He smiles politely at Dave, anger beginning to simmer in his blood.

A hand squeezes his shoulder and Gary turns to see Carragher by his side. “We’re headed to the pub. Roy’s buying!”

Roy grunts a strange sound but doesn’t refute Carragher’s claim. The four of them walk towards the dressing rooms together, and the corridors echo with Micah’s booming voice drowning out all the other voices. Carragher walks in step with Gary, his hand still around Gary’s shoulder and Gary still wants to cry but doesn’t feel like screaming quite so much anymore.

* Gary is at home in his pajamas when he finally allows himself to cry. He turns on the television; an old cricket match, India versus Australia, fills the screen. Maybe the pub, with the camaraderie and distraction of his mates, wouldn't have been so bad after all. Maybe it would have distracted him. Nah. He would have probably depressed everyone. This was for the best. He lied to them but with good reason.

“Sorry, I can’t ‘av drinks tonight – got the kids tonight, Emma’s got a thing and they’re staying over at mine.”

Nobody could argue with that. Although Carragher had looked at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Stupid scouser. He needed a drink.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself to the kitchen, the weight of his steps echoing in the quiet house. As he began to make himself a drink, the doorbell rang, shattering the fragile peace of his solitude. Irritation flared within him. Who could it be at this hour? Didn't people have any manners anymore?

Gary considers ignoring the doorbell, retreating further into his cocoon of misery. But curiosity gets the better of him. Who could possibly be knocking at his door at this hour? He opens the door and finds a silver haired scouser with a light smile on his lips.

"Jamie?" Gary's voice wavered with surprise as Carragher breezed past him into the house.

"Kids in bed, then?" Carragher's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Gary’s ears turn pink and he begs his body not to betray him. “Yeah. I was just making meself a drink. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come give you a hand with the kids since Emma’s at her thing.” He looks at Gary evenly and Gary starts walking towards the kitchen again.

“All under control, Carragher. Maybe find some other kids to take care of?”

Carragher chuckles, “You’re a terrible liar, you know?”

Gary's cheeks burned. "What'll you have to drink?" he deflected, eager to change the subject.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Gary now really wants to scream again. He mumbles under his breath and goes towards the fridge when he hears Jamie break out into hysterical giggles. “Is this your drink, mate? A h-h-h- hot chocolate?”

Even with his head stuck in the cold fridge, Gary can feel his face burning up again. He doesn’t respond and continues to move things around in the fridge.

He feels himself being steered away from the fridge, a pair of hands gentle on his waist, the fridge door clicking shut softly behind him.

He makes another hot chocolate and hands it over to Jamie who accepts it with no further comments. They stand in the kitchen, the only sound the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic.

Gary doesn’t know where it comes from and why he chooses that moment, but the words slip out of his mouth before he realises what he’s saying.

“I got asked to step down as Salford’s CEO today.”

Jamie’s hand, holding the mug, freezes mid-air.

“There was a board meeting and – “ Gary's voice cracks, choked by a sudden wave of emotion. He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

In a heartbeat, Jamie is by his side, gently taking the drink from his hand and setting it down on the counter.

He pulls Gary into a hug and holds him tight, running a hand up and down Gary’s back. A choked sob escapes Gary’s lips, quickly followed by another, and then another. Jamie rocks him gently. His lips brush against Gary’s temples, and his fingers find themselves drawing little circles at the back of Gary’s neck.

After a long moment, when the ragged gasps for breath subsided, Jamie pulled back slightly, his hands cupping Gary's face. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, are now tender with an emotion Gary did not have guts to name.

"Alright, mate," Jamie says, his voice low and gentle. "Let's hear what happened."

#carraville #gary neville #jamie carragher #carraville fics

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boomkloppthesoundofmyheart · 23 hours

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Carra whump is so underrated like I so desperately need a beat up Carra being tended to by Gnev. Bonus points if he was brawling defending Gnev’s honour.

i had a certain au in mind but that one isn't really ripe for picking in my mind, however i saw this art of yours this morning in between my slumbers and, well. i really hope you like this <3

"Gaz, lay off - lay off, shit - ow, ow, c'mon -"

"Carra, I swear to fuckin' God, shut the fuck up you baby, you brought this on ya self -"

"Youse could be a bit gentler -"

"Then move your head, I can't get to the cut and it's still fuckin' bleedin', 's not stoppin -"

"Ah, it's nothin'. Might leave a scar, though, how cool would that be, just -"

"Shut the fuck up, James!"

Jamie shuts up, because Gary actually yells at him, loud and proper. The breath he sucks in after is shaky, his lips pinched and his eyebrows furled, but when Jamie looks into his eyes, they're... they're huge, and Jamie doesn't know what that means.

"Gary?" Jamie says quietly, his burst lip opening up again. He feels it start to bleed again and he licks the iron, not wanting Gary to get even more upset. "Gary, lad, I'm -"

"Don't call me lad, I'm older than you." Gary scowls. The paper towel in his hand makes a reappearance, and Gary's touch is surprisingly gentle when he dabs against Jamie's lip.

"Not taller, though," Jamie says on reflex. He's had a growth spurt from one summer to the other in his teens, and now, at nineteen, he towers over Gary for the third year in a row.

Well, usually he towers over Gary. Not right this moment, though.

Now, he's sat on the edge of the tub in Gary's upstairs bathroom as Gary tries to deal with the mess that's Jamie's face after the fight. Gary himself hasn't been hurt; Gary hadn't even been there. He'd got to the alley just as that piece of shit John threw the final kick, and seeing Gary, him and his two friends gunned it out of there like there was no tomorrow. Gary'd screamed at them, fiery as always and fully prepared to beat up high school kids, if the furious way he was swearing was any indication, but Jamie'd tried to move and groaned in pain. That distracted Gary thoroughly and completely.

"They aren't aren't in," he explained as he half-dragged, half-carried Jamie to his Aunt's house. "They're with the kids, some camp this whole week and I came in earlier than I was supposed to. Aunt Linda left the key for me, thought I could use some alone time away from my folks on my break," he'd said. "I already hate this town and it hates me, how the fuck am I supposed to rest when the first thing I see is your arse being kicked by some kids?"

"There was three of them," Jamie had tried to protest, but Gary scowled at him and told him to shut up and sit hii ass down so he could see how badly he was hurt.

That brought them to this; Jamie sitting on the edge of the bathtub and Gary looking down at him after cleaning his face with some alcohol and gauze. Jamie's head hurts, and he's pretty sure there's something wrong with his ribs, but Gary is fretting and he is mad - maybe at Jamie, probably, he's always mad at Jamie these days - and he is so, so cute when he's all commanding and taking charge. Jamie understands why he's the captain of the Under 21s.

"Where else are you hurt?" Gary asks, his hand tracing Jamie's busted brow, as if unthinking of the action, and Jamie suddenly also understands that his adolescent crush might not have been as far away in the past as it used to be. "Tell me."

Jamie's left hand is on Gary's waist. He's acutely aware of that fact, because he grabbed onto Gary for support when Gary started cleaning his face. He wants to hold on, but he makes himself let go.

"I'm fine, leave it. You fixed me up as well as possible, and I'll be -"

"Jamie." Jamie stops, again, because Gary doesn't call him Jamie anymore, not like before, when Jamie was fourteen and Gary was seventeen and the best football player Jamie knew and a friend and larger than life. These days it's all wrong, or it feels like it's all wrong. It's Carra when he's in a good mood and James when he's mad, and Jamie doesn't know what to do with this, or with the soft little, "Please."

He looks up at Gary. He's still larger than life, somehow. His eyes are still huge and a beautiful brown colour.

"My ribs," he says, equally quietly. "That cunt got a kick in at the end, and I don't think they're broken -"

"Take off your shirt."

Jamie tries not to react, but the tone Gary uses and the words, put together... Jamie's acutely aware he's not looking at Gary and that his face feels hot as he obeys. He's slow in taking of his dirty shirt. It's red, so at least the blood doesn't show. He drops it on the floor and closes his eyes as Gary bends over, then goes on his knees in front of Jamie to better look at his ribs.

Jamie takes one look down and shuts his eyes tightly enough he sees spots playing in the darkness behind his lids.

Cold fingers press against his skin. "Does this hurt?" Jamie shakes his head, and Gary continues pressing until he finds the place that makes Jamie wince. "That's what I thought. I don't think they're broken, but ya gotta take it easy for a while."

Jamie nods. Gary's fingers are warming up on Jamie's skin. "Aye, captain," he tries to put some scorn in his tone, but he knows it all comes out wrong. He still hasn't opened his eyes.

He hears Gary shuffling and huffing. His breathing is erratic and he leans on Jamie's thigh in support as he gets up. Jamie forces himself to open his eyes.

Mistake. Gary is staring at him like he wants to see inside Jamie's mind. "Why were you fighting?" he asks. His shirt is white. There's dirt on one side, in the shape of Jamie's fingertips. Jamie knows how soft the material is, and how soft Gary's waist is under it.

"They were talkin' shit," Jamie says. It's cold in the bathroom, but he's running hot. "I couldn't let them get away with it."

Gary rolls his eyes. "You talk shit, Carra, you should know how it goes. The fuck did they say to you to make ya think it's a good idea to fight three of them?"

"There were only two when I threw the first punch," Jamie corrects, and Gary lets out a giggle.

"You're an idiot," he says, and there is a little smile in the corner of his mouth that he can't hide. "You could've got seriously hurt, and then what? You'd lose the place in the squad, you just wrote me they're letting you debut for the first team, you idiot! Nothing they said is worth missing that shot, James, I told you to keep your temper, I told you it'll get ya into trouble, and I was right, look at your face now, all busted up -"

"What, am I not handsome anymore?" Jamie grins, his lip hurting like hell but worth it to see Gary scowl again. "I'm still the handsomest bastard youse've seen -"

"Bastard is right, ya' idiot, to miss a chance because of fightin' -"

"But hadsome? Rugged, wouldn't ye say -"

"I'd said it a million times and I'mma say it again, only an idiot would risk the first team for fightin' -"

"Well I was fighting for ye honour, so catch me doing that again when all it gets me is bein' called an idiot!"

Jamie doesn't think when he says it. Him and Gary had always bantered, quick as whips both of them, and Jamie had always enjoyed it a bit too much to truly think about all the shit he's saying when he's winding Gary up.

"My - what?" Gary looks like someone's struck him. "My honour? What the fuck're you talkin' 'bout?"

Jamie says nothing. He's got nothing to say, or at least nothing that won't break something between him and Gary. It's all wrong these days, with Gary staring for United and Jamie on his way to be starting for Liverpool. There's a difference, a distance there ever since he switched from blue to red. It's not something they've ever talked about but... Jamie remembers. He remembers kids in red jerseys surrounding Gary, big kids, bigger than Gary was back then and much bigger than Jamie. He remembers the taunts and the words that his Ma told him never to repeat if he doesn't want her to wash his mouth out with soap. He remembers Gary's look when Jamie kicked the ball back to him on the playground, and how his frown disappeared when he saw his blue jersey when Jamie was eleven. He remembers the frown deepening when Jamie came to their playground in a red jersey for the first time.

"James," Gary says, and both his voice and his eyes are serious. "What did they say?"

Jamie clenches his fists. "Nothing, Gaz. Leave it alone, I didn't mean to say it, just ignore me."

Gary is still looking at him, and Jamie hates how fucking beautiful Gary's eyes are. Hates how much he likes when Gary smiles, lines appearing around them when he laughs at Jamie's stupid jokes. Hates how fragile Gary looks in the bad bathroom lights, like Jamie could break him with one word. Hates how much he wants to feel how that stupid barely-there moustache would feel against his skin. Hates how he knows they don't have that much time anymore, to fuck around with the ball every summer like they've been doing so far. Hates that he knows a darby is inevitable. Hates how he can recognize Gary's smell, even over the alcohol and the blood. Hates how much he just - wants.

Gary furrows his brows, then seems to decide on something. He lets the dirty towel fall on the floor as he steps closer between Jamie's legs, and the movement startles Jamie so much he grabs for Gary's waist with both hands this time. He swallows, grasping onto the white shirt, his breathing a lot heavier.

Gary's hand is shaking when he brings it down to trace the bruise on Jamie's cheek he can feel forming. "Jamie," Gary says, and it isn't fair, how much that one word affects him. "Jamie, were you defending me? Is that why you got hurt?"

Jamie swallows around his dry throat again. His whole body is hurting. His whole body feels like he's on fire. He can feel Gary's heat over the material of the shirt, where his fingers press down.

"I'm no prince charming," he says, stupidly, nonsensically. Gary smiles, and Jamie's startled to realise he hasn't seen that kind of smile on Gary in a while.

"No, you aren't," Gary says. His other hand rests on Jamie's shoulder. "But you're pretty charming, all ruggedly handsome, you."

Jamie tears his eyes away from Gary's lips to look into his eyes. It feels too hot in the little bathroom. Gary's fingers splay across Jamie's neck. It feels like the whole world is pausing. Jamie feels like he can't breathe. He tightens his hold on Gary's waist, maybe pulls him closer. He doesn't really know. None of this makes sense.

Turns out, he can breathe.

He takes the next breath right from Gary's lips, soft and hesitant and hotter than anything he's ever felt before. The angle is awkward but he realises he can hug Gary close and -

"- for fuck's sake Jamie, I can taste blood, I busted your lip, sorry -"

"Nah," Jamie grins, opening his eyes. "Fuck it. Bust it again," he says, and pulls Gary in.

#carraville #jamie carragher #gary neville #carraville fics #carraville au

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