Chapter Text
Jack acts quickly after the Euro final, and within a day or two he’s on a plane, getting out of England. The tournament’s eaten into his holiday time, leaving him with only a couple of weeks to relax, and he intends to make the most of it. It’s been a long and difficult year and, although he certainly hasn’t had it as bad as some, he’s in desperate need of a rest.
He considers, briefly, going ahead with the Vegas trip he’s been thinking of all summer. But the COVID restrictions involved in that idea seem impossible to overcome, and anyway, that was his plan for if England had won. It’s planted a seed in his head that he’ll save Vegas for a really big celebration. So he asks Ben Chilwell about his plans, and ends up jetting off to Mykonos with him. He’s been there before and loves it, so although it’s not the huge party he was hoping for, it’s a solid alternative.
One of the big appeals, of course, is hanging out with Ben. For several years, the two of them and James Maddison have managed to spend at least part of every summer holiday together. Theirs isn’t the most typical of friendships – work commitments mean that they don’t see each other very often, and a lot of the time when they do it’s as rivals. But they make the effort to stay in touch and see each other when they can, and they have an easy closeness that they all value. Given the option, they always choose to spend time together.
The pair of them missed James at the England camp, of course they did, but it wasn’t a big issue – they’re all used to not playing together at club level now, and it seems to need nothing short of a miracle to get them all called up to the same England squad. On holiday, it’s different, a more obvious gap. It feels supremely weird to be on a summer holiday and to know that James is in Leicester, getting on with pre-season training. But they stay in touch, calling him and sending him messages, and one of the great things about their little trio is the stability of it, how easily a pair can be formed by any combination.
And the best thing about being Jack Grealish (apart from the loving family and friends, the peak health and fitness, the dream career, the adoring fans, the unimaginable wealth…) is how easy it is to get on with people. Every room he walks into is filled with people who want to hang out with him. He likes people (with the exception of the occasional dickhead or Birmingham City fan) and (with the same exceptions) people like him. When they're opposing fans and he's on the pitch, they hate him. But when he walks into a bar, they're his friends. He’s not stupid, he knows being a professional footballer plays a part in this. But he’s had these experiences since he was a kid, and he’s seen players more famous and talented than him sit awkward and lonely in rooms full of people.
So he knows it’s a gift, the way people are drawn to him and the way he enjoys it, and that makes for an enjoyable holiday. It seems like half the squad are on the island – they bump into Ben White and Kalvin Phillips in a restaurant one evening, and the next morning they’re delighted to see Mase and Dec tucking into breakfast at their hotel. They greet each other cheerfully – they’ve known each other for years and have been moving in the same circles more and more often since Ben became Mason’s club teammate. After a while, they’re joined by Luke Shaw, who they don’t know quite as well, but who is impossible to dislike and fits into their group with ease. Later, when they’re having a final coffee, the group grows by two more - a couple of the Man City boys, Walker and Sterling, although Raheem quickly clarifies that he’s staying for a few days only, and then he’s going to have what he calls “a proper holiday”, spending time with his family.
“No Stonesy with you?” Luke asks.
And it’s not like Jack’s been thinking about John since the night they lost the final, but all of a sudden he finds himself listening intently while trying to arrange his face to look like he’s not.
“He’s in Ibiza,” Kyle grins, then performs a half-hearted bootsandcatsandbootsandcats beatbox, arms flailing like he’s in the middle of a rave.
“He didn’t fancy hanging out with us?” Mason asks, jokingly offended.
Kyle laughs. “He’s not the most sociable, our John. He likes to go off on his own and be as anonymous as possible, that’s how he winds down. He’d hate this,” he gestures around the room, where various members of the public are quite clearly watching – and in some cases, openly filming – their little group.
Declan nudges Mason. “Ibiza? We could go and surprise him!”
“He’d do this face,” Kyle tells them, with a hideous mouth-only grin and eyes full of mock-rage.
Everyone at the table starts to laugh. “Leave him be,” Raheem warns. “Pep will kill us if he goes back out of sorts and we’ve caused it. Besides,” he adds, fondly, “He’s earned the break.”
This evolves into a round of gentle slander, arguing about whose manager is the most tyrannical, before – well-fed and eager to enjoy themselves – they go their separate ways in twos and threes for the rest of the morning.
The holiday is glorious, exactly what Jack needs. The weather is perfect – hot, sunny, not a cloud in the sky – and everywhere they go on the island, they’re greeted by people who want to shake their hands and take pictures with them and talk about how well they did at the Euros. The sun and the attention both have the same effect on Jack; in their light and warmth, he feels himself unfurling.
He spends his time with people – the England players, their friends, other holidaymakers, the locals, he doesn’t mind who he’s with. He eats and drinks (not too much, but more than he does the rest of the year), swims and chats and laughs. He’s occupied enough that he mostly stays off social media (having tweeted very early on to correct Roy Keane’s assumption about his willingness to take a penalty) and doesn’t have much chance to think about the work his agent’s doing on his behalf, and what that might mean for next season. He simply chooses not to think about it, and is surprised when that approach mostly works.
In fact, it’s strangely easy for him not to get into trouble. After the final, he had a brief call with Dean Smith and, after checking in on Jack’s wellbeing and plans, the gaffer had told him to enjoy his holiday, with a strict instruction of, “no drugs, no whores, no fucking assault charges”. Jack’s ego insists that this is the kind of message all footballers get before they go on holiday, especially after the Maguire incident, but if he’s being honest he can’t imagine any of his travelling companions needing to be told the rules. Even Ben, who’s been Jack’s brother-in-arms and companion for many years in all sorts of mischief, doesn’t have the same kind of reputation. Maybe it’s that winning smile, but he was probably sent off on his holiday by Tuchel with little more than a pat on the back and an, “off you go, Chilly lad, have a nice time”.
But this year, Jack has a little bit of self-restraint. Perhaps the temptations of Mykonos aren’t quite tempting enough (there is a moment where he thinks he’s being offered some sort of orgy, but Declan drags him over to play table-tennis before he’s even faced with a decision), or perhaps he’s actually, finally growing up. Part of it might be the people he finds himself surrounded by. Luke’s a sweetheart, of course, whose idea of a good time is hours of banter and music from sunrise to sunset, ending the day with good food, wine and conversation. Mase and Dec, despite their lads-on-tour vibe, are both endearingly innocent, more into mucking about in the pool and sneaking in an extra afternoon nap than anything more raucous. Even Kyle, with his wild reputation, seems to be on his best behaviour, and Ben’s always been the type to go along with what everyone else is up to.
It crosses his mind from time to time that maybe he’s so calm right now because he acted on his madness in the hotel after the final, rather than letting it fester, and he did it in a way that hasn’t landed him in the police station or the papers. He thinks of John, now and again, and wonders if it was the right thing to do, or if the consequences of his actions are just lurking around the corner, waiting to catch up with him. He’s not sure how to think about John, who he’s so used to seeing as the opponent and occasional colleague whose grey-blue eyes linger just a fraction too long, but who he now has to think of in the context of the night they spent together. He suddenly feels both closer and further away.
There isn’t too much time to dwell on these thoughts, though, and Jack isn’t the type to dwell even if there was. He’s earned this holiday, and he doesn’t intend to spend it worrying about happenings before or after it.
In the early hours of one morning, he’s awoken by his phone. He rolls over, glances at the time – it’s just after six o’clock – and reads the message, which is from Ben. You awake?
I am now, he replies. He hears a thud from next door, presumably something being thrown at the wall.
Put your phone on silent overnight, you prick. Before he can respond, another one. But now you’re up, come and visit me?
He doesn’t think twice, just grabs his key and his phone, steps out into the corridor in his boxers, and knocks on the door to the next room.
Ben lets him in straight away, and Jack immediately wishes he’d out some more clothes on, because the air-conditioning is on full blast, a hefty breeze sweeping around the room.
“Cool enough?” he teases, shutting the door behind him and taking a good look at Ben, who has dark circles around his eyes. “Trouble sleeping, Chilly?”
Ben looks him in the eye and says in a small voice, “I miss Madders.”
And Jack doesn’t say me too, although it’s true, because that’s not what this conversation is. This is one of those rare conversations – they have maybe one or two a year of this sort – in which Ben drops his pretence and acknowledges his feelings. So Jack just spreads his arms wide and waits for the hug, which comes soon enough.
“It’s so weird being on holiday without him,” Ben says into Jack’s shoulder. “And I miss him, so I think about him, so I trawl through his social media, so I don’t sleep, and I miss him more.”
Jack holds him tight, then pulls away, taking a good look at his friend’s tired face. “Come on, sit down,” he says, leading Ben to the bed and encouraging him to get comfortable. Jack sits next to him, propped up on pillows, the duvet over his lower half in the cool room. Ben curls up at his side, head on his shoulder, so Jack wraps an arm around him and drops a little kiss into his hair.
Not for the first time, Jack is enormously grateful that he’s found his people. Physical touch is practically his mother tongue; he finds it easier to communicate in than English. If he goes too long without the feeling of a warm body against his, he feels lost and untethered. He’s all physical affection, all the time, and while many of his colleagues are happy to share a quick hug after a hard-fought victory or defeat, most people need an excuse to embrace each other. Jack’s a cuddler, a snuggler, or according to several current and former teammates, clingy. It doesn’t have to be for a reason, he just likes to be close to people, and more than once he’s received some very bemused reactions. But Ben and James are the same, they take the same comfort in touch that Jack does. It’s one of the many reasons their little group means so much to him.
“You know he’d hate to see you losing sleep over him,” he reminds Ben, stroking his arm softly. “How long are you going to do this?”
Ben shrugs, and Jack holds him close. He’s watched this situation develop over the years, Ben’s feelings growing from rivalry to friendship to attraction to something resembling a painfully unrequited love, without saying a word to James. Jack doesn’t get it, seriously – when it occurs to him to do something, he tends to just do it, so he can’t imagine spending years pining over someone and never doing anything about it. If he’d been in Ben’s position, he would have tried to seduce James ages ago, and by now they’d be football’s worst kept secret, or mates who never mention that awkward moment, or strangers who used to be friends, or resentful ex-lovers. Regardless, it’d be resolved.
But Ben’s the opposite. He can be almost as spontaneous as Jack when it comes to stupid stuff that doesn’t matter, but when it’s something he cares about, he’s incredibly cautious, always fearing the consequences. He’d rather be stuck in limbo, doing nothing, than act and risk it going badly.
“We can call him in a bit,” Jack suggests. “Wait ‘til it’s a sensible time for him to be up and we’ll speak to him. You know you always feel better once you’ve seen him.”
Ben wraps an arm around Jack’s waist and yawns. “I’m an idiot,” he says. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for being here.”
“I know you’d do the same for me,” Jack tells him. “Think you can get some sleep?”
With another yawn, Ben nods, and rubs his face against Jack’s shoulder. He’s asleep within minutes, and Jack’s glad of the air-con now, the cool air circulating around them, keeping him cool where Ben’s pyjama-clad torso rests against his skin.
He scrolls through his phone for a while, looking at football news but trying to avoid anything that directly mentions him. He’s just about to drift off to sleep when there’s a knock at the door. He can’t get up without disturbing Ben, so he says “Come in,” in a quiet but clear voice.
The door opens and in walks Mason. “Coming for breakfast?” he asks, and he’s quickly followed into the room by Declan, Luke and Kyle.
“What’s this, the walking bus?” Jack smirks. “Keep your voices down,” he adds, gesturing at Ben. “He hasn’t had much sleep.”
“He looks out for the count now,” Luke comments.
Before Jack can respond, Mason grins devilishly. “Can we draw on him?”
Declan nudges Mason with a laugh. “You’re evil.”
“Go on,” Kyle encourages. “I think I’ve got a marker somewhere.”
Jack grins, and covers Ben’s face with his hand. “Not on my watch, boys, he’d kill me.”
“Take it you’re not coming for breakfast, then?” Dec asks.
Jack shakes his head. “I’m going to let him sleep for a bit longer, then there was something we wanted to do. We’ll be around later though, if you’re up to anything.”
“We were thinking boat-trip, this afternoon,” says Mason.
“Count us in,” Jack tells him, and the boys take this as their cue to leave. With a smile and a wave, Jack cheerfully declines Luke’s offer to bring him toast, and they all file out of the room.
Jack looks down at Ben, who hasn’t stirred through the entire encounter. Jack feels wide awake now, though, so he goes back to his phone. He checks in on his public socials, but they’re overwhelming, mostly full of Villa fans begging him to stay and fans of other clubs begging him to leave. It’s too much, so he closes the apps down and spends an hour or so playing mind-numbing games instead.
As the morning passes by and the sun starts to stream through the window, he checks the time in the UK and decides now would be a suitable time to call James. He nudges Ben awake gently, and Ben rubs his eyes and stretches like a cartoon character getting up. They exchange a few words, then Jack picks up his phone and starts a video call.
After a few rings, James’ face appears on the screen, wide awake and grinning. He’s in his brightly-lit kitchen, sitting behind a large, steaming mug. “Chilly and Grealo, as I live and breathe!” he exclaims. Then, narrowing his eyes to see them on his phone, “Are you two still in bed? It’s alright for some, eh?”
Ben is smiling, wide and bright, and Jack feels an overwhelming rush of love for both of them. “You know there’s always a place for you here, Madders,” he says, attempting to pat the bed between them but accidentally patting Ben’s knee.
Either the screen’s too small for James to see Ben’s blush, or James is tactful enough not to mention it (which seems unlikely). “You’re both so brown, I’m jealous!” he comments. He’s obviously in pre-season mode, energised from the early mornings and the intense exercise, wide-eyed and lively in comparison to their lazy, relaxed holiday demeanours.
“Oi, Madders,” Jack says. “What’s this all over my news feed about you going to Arsenal? Is that happening?”
“I haven’t got the foggiest, mate,” James tells him with a coy smile. “My news feed’s just full of stuff about you going to City.”
“I’m on holiday, I don’t know what’s going on,” Jack dismisses the suggestion. “It’d be nice for you two though, wouldn’t it? Both in the same city again. I s’pose you’d never come and visit me, though.”
“We don’t need an excuse to not hang out with you,” Ben says cheekily, and James snorts.
“Come on, then,” James encourages them. “Tell me all about your holiday.”
“Nice,” Ben tells him. “Great weather, great food, everyone’s so friendly.”
“We’re going on a boat-trip later,” Jack adds.
James rolls his eyes affectionately. “Boys,” he breathes. “You know I’m trying to live through you. Give me some gossip that’ll keep my mind busy during training. Who’s done the stupidest drunk thing? Who’s got off with the most random strangers?”
“It’s not really been that type of holiday,” Jack tells him. “More kind of…a laugh by the pool, a couple of drinks, go to bed alone.”
“You’re a pair of old men without me,” laughs James, running a hand through his hair. “Aren’t you usually tugging at the leash at this point in a holiday when you’re single? How long’s it been for you?”
“A few weeks,” Jack says vaguely, hoping the conversation will move on.
Ben turns sharply to look at him. “A few weeks? What, during the Euros? You didn’t say anything!”
James is grinning. “That’s more like it, tell us all. Who was it?”
And okay, they’ve long since outgrown their obnoxious teenage habit of sharing every intimate detail of every sexual encounter, but even now, they do tell each other about this stuff. So he’s not surprised or offended that they’re asking, but he really doesn’t feel like telling. Although he always thought John’s attraction to him was fairly blatant, he’s never heard anyone talk about John liking blokes, and never heard John talk about it except that night. They haven’t spoken since it happened, so Jack has no idea if John’s okay with anyone else knowing, and it feels important not to out him. Not when theirs is one of the few careers in England where not being straight would result in national media coverage and a whole lot of abuse online and on the pitch.
“He’s not…I don’t think I should say who it is. People don’t know,” Jack splutters.
“Is it someone from football?” James asks thoughtfully.
Jack doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want to give any clues. “Something like that,” he says. “It’s someone who…if people found out, it’d be a big deal. I don’t want to spoil his privacy.”
Ben gives him a big hug, holding him closely.
“Okay,” James says. “No names, no details. But was it good?”
Jack grins wolfishly. “Fuck, yeah, it was good.”
“D’you think it’ll happen again?” Ben asks.
Jack shakes his head. “Nah, it was one of those in-the-moment things. Just a one-off connection, one night when we both needed the same thing, now it’s best for everyone if we leave it alone.”
“Romantic,” James sighs, resting his chin on his hand.
“It’s the opposite of romantic,” Jack laughs. James has always been like this, seeing fairytales in the mundane, dreaming of bittersweet missed opportunities, finding drama and emotion to elevate fairly uninspired encounters into something sweet, something more.
James glances at his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to go. Some of us have work to get to.” He smiles, eyes twinkling, and blows a kiss into the camera. “Send me pictures of your boat-trip.”
They wave and laugh and say their goodbyes and just like that, he’s gone.
Silence, for just a moment.
“Maybe he likes you back,” Jack suggests gently. It’s the position he always takes in these discussions, and it always falls on deaf ears.
Ben shrugs. “I doubt it,” he says. “I guess we’ll never know.” But, whether it’s the sleep or seeing James, the look of drawn worry has lifted from his face.
Jack hugs him, but doesn’t say anything else. There was a time when he’d push it, try to goad Ben into making a move and sorting out his feelings once and for all, but it’s never worked and he’s wiser now. “I’m going to go and get dressed,” he says. “Then what do you say to food, hanging out by the pool for a bit, then going on a boat with the boys?”
Ben’s smile is wide and bright and genuine, and Jack instinctively returns it. “Sounds great,” Ben tells him. “And Jack? Thanks, mate. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d be a fucking wreck,” Jack grins and gets up, ready to face the day.