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Jordan isn’t surprised to see Virgil in the tunnel, but he is surprised by how completely, utterly exhausted he looks.
It’s more than exhaustion. It’s a downtrodden kind of sadness, the type that makes your movements sluggish and writes the heartbreak all over your face. Jordan’s not seen it on him very much. Only once, really, when—
Well. He’s trying not to think about that. It’s over and it happened, and now he’s back, and they get to spend time together, albeit just a few stolen days a couple of times a year.
It’s more than they had at first, at least.
Virgil gives him a smile when he walks past, one that’s tired but still so full of warmth. Jordan can’t stop himself from reaching out and placing a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Hey,” he says quietly, watching Virgil’s eyes melt into something soft and familiar. It seems like neither of them care who’s watching. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Virgil says. His hand comes up to cover Jordan’s for a moment, just briefly, and when Jordan thinks he’s going to move it away, he lingers for a second longer before dropping it. “You coming over after?”
“Yeah, of course,” Jordan says. Then pauses and adds, “if you still want me.”
The smile that he gets in return is wider, softer, and slightly lopsided.
“I’ll always want you,” Virgil says. It sounds like a promise. “Have you got your key?”
Jordan thinks of the key tucked in the bottom of his washbag, hopeful but out of sight, because he really wasn’t sure if he’d be needing it. He’s relieved that he does. He nods.
“I don’t know what time I’ll get out of here so just let yourself in,” Virgil says. “And I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”
“Okay,” Jordan says, then pauses. Considers. “Look after yourself, yeah?”
It’s only going to be a couple of hours, but they both know it’ll be emotional.
“You know I will,” Virgil says. It’s a lie, but Jordan doesn’t call him out on it. “See you soon.”
Jordan pulls him in for a half hug, the kind that doesn’t arouse any suspicion, and then lets him go. It doesn’t hurt to watch him walk down the tunnel again, still in his kit but feet shoved into sliders, and it doesn’t hurt when he turns back towards the away dressing room.
Nathan’s stood by the entrance with a look in his eye that Jordan can’t quite read, but he pushes past him with a small smile to avoid any awkward conversations.
.
Later, when his bags are packed with the key in his pocket, and he’s saying his final goodbyes to the staff that he knew so well, it’s the tunnel that catches his eye again. Well, just out of it, on the green of the pitch.
There’s Virgil, sitting by the centre circle, sliders kicked off and knees pulled up to his chest.
The sight takes Jordan’s breath away.
He looks so tiny against the vast expanse of an almost-empty Anfield, bottom lip rolled into his mouth and eyes staring distantly. Jordan wants to go to him, sit next to him and wrap a hand around his bicep, rest his head on his shoulder and whisper you’re not alone, you’ve never been alone.
But he knows that it probably wouldn’t be appreciated and he knows he probably wouldn’t be allowed, so he leans against the wall and just watches.
He’s not sure how long he stands like that. Robbo’s little girl runs up to Virgil and it’s the only time he snaps back to the present, eyes lighting up for a few seconds before she’s off again and Virgil’s back to staring vacantly.
“Hey,” a voice says behind him, and then Nathan clamps a hand on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
Jordan looks at him and then follows his eyes out to Virgil on the pitch, and a ball of panic rises in his throat.
“Oh, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re not like, you know— or anything—“ he cuts himself off, and takes a deep breath. Nathan probably deserves a bit of honesty. “But we were. For quite a while, actually.”
“How long?” Nathan asks. He doesn’t seem surprised.
“Five years,” Jordan says, hates how small his voice sounds. “Give or take.”
“That’s a long time,” Nathan says calmly. “Must have been important."
Jordan nods, glances at Virgil and then down at his hands like he’s afraid of getting caught. “And then I left.”
“It’s hard, this career,” Nathan says knowingly. He isn’t judging and he doesn’t look disgusted — just sympathetic. “And I can bring my family with me. I’m sorry that you can’t.”
“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” Jordan says, trying and failing to appear casual. The thought of somebody else – someone who didn’t even know them like that – calling Virgil his family makes his whole body ache. “I’m not seeing anyone and neither is he, so we try and spend time together when we can. It’s like nothing ever changed.”
“For a few days here and there,” Nathan says.
“And holidays,” Jordan adds. “We spend our summer holidays together.”
Nathan nods, but he still looks sympathetic. “Are you going to his now?”
“Yeah,” Jordan says, curling his fingers around the key until the metal ridges dig into his fingers. “I’m staying for a few days, until we both need to go to international camp.”
“Okay,” Nathan says. “I’ll tell the boys you said bye. Have a good time, yeah? Call me or text me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, mate,” Jordan says, clasping Nathan’s hand in a half-handshake, half-hug, and when he knows his teammate is gone, he turns back to watch Virgil’s form still on the pitch.
Virgil looks up at that moment and gives him a small smile, patting the left side of his chest with the tips of his fingers. Jordan smiles back, places his palm over his heart, and then turns to leave.
.
He makes himself at home because this was his home once. Kicks off his trainers and curls up on the sofa still in his Brentford gear, because it’s been a long season and he’s tired and he just wants his boyfriend — although that’s the wrong word to use these days, really — he just wants his Virgil, home again, where they both belong.
He turns the TV on and flicks through Virgil’s Netflix account, making a mental note of what he’s recently watched so he can watch it too. It’s stupid, but it’s a way of feeling close to him when they’re hundreds of miles apart and his chest is aching.
Everything smells like Virgil, so he buries his head in a cushion and puts something mindless on the TV, closing his eyes purely so he doesn’t watch the clock until Virgil gets home.
He must fall asleep, because the next thing he hears is Virgil’s key in the front door and the sound of his bag hitting the floor as he drops it down. Jordan blinks and props himself up on his forearms just in time to see Virgil prowling towards him, a determined look on his face.
“Hey,” he says, and then he’s spreading his legs so Virgil can drop onto the sofa and bury into him, face pressed into his shoulder. “You’re okay baby. I’m here now.”
Jordan wraps one arm around Virgil’s shoulders and carefully pulls his hair free of its bun with his other hand, rolling the band onto his wrist. Virgil doesn’t say anything but his shoulders drop a little, like he’s not sure if he can relax just yet.
“I’ve missed this,” Jordan whispers, burying his fingers into the thickness of Virgil’s curls. He smells like baby oil and his signature aftershave, flooding Jordan’s senses and filling his lungs with comfort. “I’ve missed you.”
Virgil drops a soft, dry kiss onto Jordan’s collarbone. It’s an I missed you too without the words being spoken.
They stay like that for a while, until Virgil pulls back to clear his throat. His eyes are wet, cheeks red, and Jordan’s hand drops from his hair to his jaw.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, digging his knuckles hard into his eyes.
“You don’t ever have to be sorry,” Jordan says, gentle and quiet with a soft touch to the back of Virgil’s wrist. “You can cry if you need to. It’s been a rough season.”
Virgil nods, and then his face is back in Jordan’s throat as his shoulders rack with sobs.
.
Virgil meets his gaze in the mirror, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. His eyes are a bit clearer now and the weight of the world has lifted off his shoulders, and he smiles, a real, proper one, like he can finally appreciate the fact they’re together again.
It’s easy to bundle him into the bedroom after they’ve brushed their teeth, simple like putting one foot in front of the other or riding a bike. Jordan’s done it countless times, and it might be less frequent now, but Virgil still strips his t-shirt off to drop it on the floor and they still gravitate to the same sides of the bed.
Finally, when they’re both tucked under the duvet, Virgil rolls closer and kisses him. He’s been waiting for this all day, ever since last night, even, when the Brentford team bus rolled into Liverpool.
He’s been longing for it, aching for it, like his heart just wouldn’t settle without it.
Virgil deepens the kiss and slips his thigh between Jordan’s legs, pressing insistently. His body responds because it always has and always would, in any lifetime, but he pulls away and spiders his fingers across Virgil’s cheek.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We have time.”
“Please,” Virgil says, a thread of desperation in the words. His lips slide from the corner of Jordan’s mouth to his jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot over his pulse that he knows so well. “I want this. I need this.”
“You’re sure?” Jordan asks, because he needs to know. It’s been a long, emotional day, and it’s been a while.
“One hundred percent,” Virgil says. It sounds like a promise so Jordan uses the hand on his cheek to guide him back up for a toothpaste kiss, legs falling apart to make room.
Their bodies slide together like they always have, like they never forgot.
“V,” Jordan says as he pulls away, trying to catch his breath. “I’ve not… I haven’t been with anyone since the last time.”
Since Virgil used his captain’s privileges and snuck off to Jordan’s Richmond townhouse, when the hours were getting smaller and the night was pitch black.
“Me neither,” Virgil says, promises.
Jordan knows that Virgil wouldn’t lie to him.
He also knows that Virgil is this beautiful, ethereal creature that could have anyone he wanted, so.
He’s not stupid. He knows it’s always a possibility. Was acutely aware of it even when they made this house their home, with the promise of a real, solid future just for the two of them.
“You’re the only person I want,” Virgil says. His hand curves carefully around Jordan’s jaw, thumb resting on the high point of his cheekbone. “You know that, don’t you?”
Jordan nods, because if he doesn’t know by now then he doesn’t think he ever will.
Virgil is committed to him, even when he can’t provide that same level of commitment back.
That’s beyond special.
And if a tiny part of him regrets giving that up — well, no one has to know.
.
Jordan wakes to find an empty space where Virgil is usually sprawled out, skin golden and hair framing his head like a halo. It doesn’t panic him or make him feel lonely though, because he can feel Virgil’s aura, the calming presence of him, even from downstairs.
He rubs his eyes as he rolls out of bed and pulls on a pair of boxers, forgoes any clothes because the sun’s already shining bright and the air feels thick. Besides, this house is quiet, miles away from their closest neighbours. That’s why they bought it, isn’t it? Peace and quiet. A place just for the two of them.
He pads downstairs, through the kitchen which smells like fresh coffee, and towards the patio doors, flung wide open. Virgil is sitting on the deck, bare shoulders shining perfectly in the early morning sunshine. Jordan stands and watches him for a minute, breath caught in his lungs.
He loves that man. He loves him so, so much.
One day, when the only thing they have to wear over their hearts is each other’s names and not a club badge, he knows that this will be what he sees every morning. He knows that the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep will be Virgil’s soft, tired smile. He knows that he can kiss him whenever he wants, hug him –– fuck, even hold his hand in public if he wants.
The thought of retirement used to terrify him. Not so much, these days.
Virgil still isn’t aware of his presence so he quietly steps onto the deck and wraps his arms around Virgil’s chest, chin resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t jump, isn’t even surprised, just melts back into Jordan’s embrace like it’s where he belongs.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Virgil murmurs, kissing Jordan’s wrist.
“Every morning’s a good morning when I get to spend it with you,” Jordan says.
It’s a truth he feels right down to his soul.