ii. smiling eyes

THERE'S A POUNDING in Roman's head that spikes every time he's jostled. He groans. Who the hell is moving him? Better yet, why the hell are they moving him?

He tries to remember, but it's as if he's trying to break through an entire defensive line with no backup. It doesn't take long until he ends up under a dog pile and he fumbles with whatever grasp he has on consciousness. However, right before he tips back into the darkness, he catches a flash of swishing dark hair.

Is he in the middle of getting laid?

Shit, the poor girl will have to do most of the work then. Maybe he could take her out for coffee in the morning. Just because he doesn't have time for romantic attachments doesn't mean he has to be a jerk.

"Don't worry, I got you."

Who is that? He thinks, which is of course when he finally slips back into blissful unconsciousness.

The next time he wakes up, it's to an even more horrendous headache, a crick in his neck, and a prickling pain in his lower back. Did he try to tackle through a whole defensive line while drunk? Someone better give him answers soon.

Or some painkillers.

Roman squints against the sunlight streaming into the room and makes an aborted move to sit up. Every fiber of his being screams at him.

Yeah, drugs first.

"'Morning."

With a groan, Roman slowly turns his narrowed gaze towards the voice, nausea making his stomach clench unpleasantly as he tries to make out the blurry figure of...whoever was standing over him. Fuck, but he can't remember anything. Who is that? Where is he? Why did he drink so much?

There is a clinking sound somewhere and Roman doesn't realize his eyes have slipped shut again until he has to open them to squint at the glass of water the person had placed on the coffee table before him. It's followed by the unfortunately familiar shape of a fizzy tablet.

"For the hangover," the voice says.

"Thanks," Roman says, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice.

"Man, are you lucky you passed out in front of our apartment," the voice continues as Roman plops the tablet into the glass of water, surprising himself with his functioning motor skills. "Jamie has a heart of gold and very little self-preservation. Was about to throw you out until I realized who you were. Can't very well leave our quarterback in the rain, can we?"

Okay, that answers some questions. Roman rubs at his face and presses his knuckles against his eyes for a second as he gathers his scattered thoughts. He's with someone who knows him and attends GHU. So he's probably near campus, if not in it. He takes a breath and, with effort, turns back to his host, finally able to clearly see the petite, blonde-haired woman standing over him. "I guess I owe you a 'thank you.' You didn't have to take care of my drunk ass."

"Oh, I didn't," she replies with a small laugh. "My roommate did. I did all the freaking out over bringing in a stranger, though. Speaking of." She shifts her gaze behind him and calls, "Jamie! Your stray's awake!"

Roman winces and she shoots him an apologetic look in return. He waves it away as he reaches for the water as the tablet finishes dissolving. He's taking a sip when another voice calls back, muffled, "I'll be right out!"

The woman smiles then turns back to him and says, "Name's Kendra, by the way. You gave me a high-five at the last football game."

"Thank you for your support," Roman replies, the words an automatic response at this point.

"Anytime." Kendra grins just as another woman steps into the living room of the apartment. It's a nice place, Roman can tell now that his sight's a bit clearer. Definitely not a dorm room.

His gaze fully lands on the brunette that joins them, a soft smile on her...really pretty face. Roman doesn't think he's ever seen someone fit the word "pretty" quite as well as this woman. Jamie, Kendra had called her. She's tall and lean, with long dark brown hair, lips full and plump in a way that celebrities pay for, nose slightly upturned, while thick, long lashes frame dark eyes. Roman's staring.

He averts his eyes with a sharp inhale and gulps down the last bit of his drink.

"Hi, it's nice to see you up and coherent," Jamie says as she makes her way towards him.

Roman nods and meets her eyes. "Yep. I've been told you're the one I should thank for taking care of me last night."

Jamie shrugs, smile still on her lips. "I just did what any decent person would."

"A person without a sense of self-preservation, you mean," Kendra says, and Roman can hear the argument in her voice. They've obviously discussed this while he was out cold. She sighs when Jamie turns the smile on her. "Well, whatever. Just be thankful it wasn't some weirdo this time. Next time you see someone passed out on our porch, call campus police."

Jamie rocks back on her heels as she swings her arms around to her back. "I promised I would."

Kendra looks ready to continue arguing, but her eyes slide to him for a second before she sighs. "Right. Are you hungry, Roman?"

Right on cue, his stomach grumbles loudly. Both women snicker and Roman waves them off. "I'll grab something on the way home."

"It's no trouble, really," Jamie says, and Roman follows her with his eyes as she walks to the small kitchen in the corner of the room. "I made a lot of French toast. Like...a lot."

Roman quirks a brow up at that, suspicion rising in the back of his mind. He pushes it off to the side and pats down his pockets instead.

"Oh, your stuff's over here," Kendra says, tapping the countertop of the small island bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. Roman can make out the vague shape of his old wallet, the silver mass of his keys, and the worn case of his phone.

Roman tentatively stands, judging his sense of balance. He nods to himself when nothing happens after a few seconds and makes his way towards his things, perching himself onto one of the two bar stools after he slides his wallet into his back pocket and checks his phone. There is a text from Dillon asking him if he is still alive and a missed call from Carter. The twins are obviously better off than he's feeling. Probably even woke up in their own beds back at their shared apartment.

He puts off replying and places his phone back on the counter, looking up just in time to see Jamie bring over a plate of French toast. She sets it before him with a fork and a bottle of syrup. She pauses. "Wait," she says, taking back the syrup, "do you want syrup? I always use syrup with French toast so I kinda just assumed, and I've been told I do that a lot so I've been working on fixing that–"

"Syrup's good," Roman interrupts, a little overwhelmed by the verbal vomit that just occurred. Then he repeats for good measure, "Syrup's good."

Jamie smiles again, handing over the syrup. Roman mumbles his thanks and she simply nods, still smiling, before going back over to the truly alarming stack of French toast next to the stove, and fixes another plate.

Kendra snickers from where she's stirring a mug of coffee on the other side of the counter. "You always this awkward?"

"Only with complete strangers," Roman replies, dousing his pile of French toast in syrup.

"Touché," Kendra acquiesces with a nod, accepting the plate Jamie hands her. "Though you did give me a high-five, so I'm a little bit above a stranger, right?"

Roman snorts, unable to stop himself from sending the blonde an amused smile. "Sure."

"Congratulations on your win, by the way," Jamie chimes in, making her way over to snatch up the syrup. She has significantly less French toast on her plate than what she gave him but doesn't skimp on the syrup.

Roman is not sure what kind of expression he's making, but apparently, it's funny enough to make Kendra laugh, and Jamie giggles right along. Roman tries to will the rising heat in his face away, but it is all for naught. His ears already feel like they're on fire. So, he asks instead, "My face couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh, no." Kendra waves him off. "Your face's completely fine. It was the utter horror in your eyes."

Jamie grins. "I'm laughing 'cuz she's laughing."

Roman accepts this. He's had weirder morning afters, and a lot of them didn't even involve syrup-drenched French toast. So far, a ten-out-of-ten experience. So far.

Half an hour later, with only a few awkward silences that the ladies filled with talk about their classes and plans for the day, Roman helps clean up with the plates and ends up walking down three flights of stairs with Jamie and a Tupperware of more French toast at Jamie's insistence.

"How did you get me up to your room?" he asks her when they reach the front doors, looking back up the flight of stairs they've just descended. It's an older building, so there's no elevator.

Jamie smiles and thanks him when he gestures for her to go out first. Then she tells him, "I just kind of helped you up to your feet. You mostly kept yourself up. I just had to make sure you went the right way."

"Seriously?"

They come to a halt at the bus stop right outside the apartment building. Now, Roman knows exactly where he's at.

Jamie nods. "Yep. Though, I'm also kind of just naturally strong."

Roman's having a hard time picturing it, but he shrugs it off. He can walk back to his apartment, so he says, "Well, thanks again for, uh, taking care of me, though I'm with Kendra on this. Don't take in random strangers. Especially drunken, random strangers. Oh, and thanks for the food."

"You're hardly a stranger when your face is plastered on a lot of posters around campus, but you're welcome." Jamie smiles again and returns his parting wave as he begins his not-walk of shame home.

A weird morning, for sure, but not bad. He wonders if Jamie is always so smiley or if it's just a nervous tick.

Oh, well.

Not like he's going to see her again. GHU's huge and unless they run in the same circles (which he doubts because if they did they'd have met already) the chances of running into her or Kendra again were pretty low.

Jamie's none of his business, no matter how pretty he thinks she is. He has way too much to do and think about already.

***

"Honey, I'm home!" Roman calls out as he steps into his shared apartment.

Carter, the one-half of the Nickles' twins who are his roommates, waved at him from where he's slumped on the living room couch, scarfing down a bowl of cereal and watching the local sports station's morning broadcast of their recent game.

"Once again, Barrington proved himself to be the best quarterback and captain to replace Leo Bracci three years ago after Leo's career-ending injury. I mean look at this play–" Roman leans over the back of the couch, letting the Tupperware in his hands dangle as he watches the video they play. He narrows his gaze at the screen, watching his footwork as his past self evaded every opponent that came his way. Damn, but they almost had him there. If he doesn't fix that balance problem soon, it could be exploited and could cost them the game.

Carter slaps his hand, taking the Tupperware from him in the process. He glares at his friend and teammate. "What?"

"Stop that. You're glaring at yourself again." Carter peeks into the container. "Ooh, French toast! Where'd you get this?"

"If I stop glaring at myself, we could very well lose a game," Roman retorts, snatching the Tupperware back. "And I got this from..." How exactly can he explain Jamie? "...a fan."

"Is that where you were last night?" Carter calls after him as he makes his way to their little kitchen.

"Sure." Roman shrugs, scooping out a few slices of French toast from the Tupperware and onto a plate. He hands it over to Carter when the other man joins him after dumping his empty bowl in the sink.

"Thanks, man."

Roman waves the gratitude away, walking off to finally go to his room, half-listening to the ongoing commentary of the sportscast as he goes. He has some homework to finish, but if he takes care of that ASAP he can squeeze in a few hours of practice and a couple more in the gym. Nodding to himself, Roman enters his room and heads straight for the adjoining bathroom he shares with Dillon–the other half of the Nickles' twins who is most likely still fast asleep.

He has a long day ahead of him and distractions will not be tolerated. Jamie's head pops into his head which he promptly shoves away. Especially very pretty brunettes.

***

"Oh."

Roman blinks out at Jamie through his glasses.

He had showered, changed, and headed over to the library. The library where Jamie works, apparently.

He had scuffled over to the front desk to request the keys for the private room he used yesterday, fully intent on not getting recognized so he could get to work immediately. Instead, he glanced up and...stared.

Jamie is smiling at him. "Hi! Welcome back. Same room as yesterday?"

"Yes," Roman says automatically, before realizing, "Wait, yesterday? You were here?"

"I was. I gave you the key." She snickers and the girl standing next to her (a petite blonde) gapes at her before gaping at him and then back to Jamie.

Roman joins the blonde in gaping, though he quickly recovers while the blonde continues. "Oh."

Jamie's smile morphs into a grin before she hands over said key. He takes it and she says, "It's all ready for you."

"Right." He looks down at the key card and then back to Jamie. "Thanks and, uh...sorry for not seeing you yesterday."

Jamie shakes her head. "Don't be. It happens, right?"

Roman nods slowly, giving the keys a little toss for lack of anything to do. Stalling. "Right. Thanks again."

"You're welcome," Jamie replies, back to her usual smile, waving when he leaves.

Pausing at the first step of the stairs, Roman looks back over his shoulder. Jamie is still waving. Right. He nods and continues on. Distractions will not be tolerated. Roman clears his mind once he reaches the private study room, shucking his bag into one of the chairs before pulling out his laptop, books, and pens.

For the next couple of hours, Roman loses himself in his work and when he resurfaces, he is more than ready to hit the field. His hands itch for the familiar sphere of a football as he stretches, and his feet bounce with the anticipation of a good run.

So, of course, he bumps into Jamie (very literally) when he finally leaves the room, taking a step out before he collides with the brunette. She stumbles, and instinct has Roman reaching out to steady her by the hips before he can even think about it.

"I am so sorry," she says, looking up into his eyes. They aren't touching except for where Roman has his hands on her, the several books she's carrying in her arms ensure that, but they are close. Close enough that Roman could see the individual hairs of her ridiculously thick lashes.

Shit.

He carefully extracts himself from Jamie, and, upon realizing he has yet to reply, asks, "You good?"

She holds a thumb up. "All good. Are you done?"

"With my homework, yeah. You?" Why is he prolonging this interaction?

"I got a few more hours left on this shift, then I have a class at five."

He nods.

She smiles.

"Well," he starts, wondering when he became such an awkward human being, "don't wanna keep you. I'll see you around, I guess?"

"Sure," she says, waving again when he leaves. This time, when he looks back, she has already moved on, long legs striding across the floor with purpose.

So, maybe they do run in some circles. That's going to be a problem, but not one he'll be dealing with at the moment. At the moment, he has other things to do.

The football team's locker room isn't empty, but it isn't brimming with players either, so Roman doesn't feel obligated to socialize too much with the others. He tosses out a nod and a few hellos back, but otherwise, he keeps going until he reaches his locker. After changing into his workout clothes, he pops his well-loved earbuds in, plays the first heavy rock playlist he finds, and makes his way onto the field.

The cheer team is there, practicing their routines, and Roman waves back when one of the captains, and friend, Thomas calls out his name. It prompts the rest of the cheer team to whistle and, well, cheer as he begins to jog. Smiling, Roman shoos them back to their practice and focuses on stretching his arms, shoulders, and neck. Then he spots a group of familiar faces at the other end, tossing a pigskin around.

"Ay-yo, there he is," Dillon announces with a large grin, fully awake and as energetic as always. Roman would complain about the man's energy levels, but that same energy has seen the halfback through many sticky situations on the field that have brought them victory more than once, so Roman keeps his negative thoughts to himself. "Finally joining us, you nerd?"

"You wish," Roman says, completely contrary, pausing his music and pulling out an earbud as he accepts Dillon's outstretched palm, slapping it with his own for a greeting. He nods towards one of the guys in the circle, Hunter, whose leg is in a temporary cast and balancing on some crutches. He ended up in a dogpile because of a play that went south. "How's the leg, man?"

The kid, because he is a kid, a freshman, to be exact but brimming with potential that GHU wants to nurture, shrugs with a small smile. "It still kinda smarts, but doc said I should be all ready for this weekend's away game."

"Good," Roman nods. He's not going to lie to himself and say he doesn't feel responsible for Hunter's injury, because he does. He had a feeling it was going to be a bad play, but he went through with it anyway, and because of that, Hunter got injured. Still, it does him no good to brood. It's just another thing he'll have to improve on. He turns to the last man in the circle, Marlon, one of their offensive line players and the biggest on their team in terms of height and mass, and grins, "Wanna help me out with something, big guy?"

Marlon grins back, only a little feral. "You know I'm always ready to knock you down a few pegs, captain."

Roman barks out a laugh. "Good. Lemme finish warming up, then we can get to business. The rest of you–" he points around the group of assholes he calls friends and teammates, pausing deliberately at Carter and Dillon–"don't cause too much trouble."

This time, he gets shooed, Carter making a production out of it as he waves Roman away with exaggerated movements, whereas Hunter waves and barely catches the football when Dillon throws it toward him unexpectedly. Marlon steadies the younger man when he wobbles a bit on his crutches.

Marlon makes good on his word later on, but Roman achieves some progress with his footwork so he takes the ribbing and teasing comments the twins bombard him with as they follow him to the gym.

***

"You sure you don't wanna come to this party?" Dillon asks for the nth time that evening. "It's going to be more of a banger than the one last night, or so I've been told."

Roman doesn't bother looking away from the TV as he says, "I'm sure. My rules have not changed."

"Your rules are total killjoys, is what I say."

"Say what you want," Roman shrugs, changing the channel, "but my rules have kept me in peak condition these past four years. I have classes tomorrow, and we have early morning practice, so no parties for me. And as your captain, I would like to repeat that we have early morning practice tomorrow."

"Don't worry, mother hen," Carter says, stepping out of his room to join his twin by the front door. "I'll keep an eye on him, and we'll be back no later than one."

Roman finally looks away from the TV. He squints at the duo and, after a moment, sighs, "Just don't come crying to me when coach whips your asses tomorrow."

Taking that as permission, the twins leave their apartment in a flurry of goodbyes. Roman drops his head back to stare up at the ceiling and exhales loudly.

He doesn't know how long he stays there on the lumpy maroon couch that he's scrubbed clean more than once because the twins can be inconsiderate horny bastards at times, letting the TV noise fill the silence, but he must've drifted a bit because when he hears his phone chime, his eyes snap open.

He quickly checks the notifications. It's a text from a familiar but unsaved number that says one thing: okay. Roman immediately calls the number. It picks up on the first ring.

"Roman?" a boy whispers from the other end.

"Hey bud," he replies, just as softly, heart pounding in his ears and threatening to burst from his chest. "You good?"

"Yeah." There's a quiet shuffling before the boy continues, "Mom's passed out again so I got her phone earlier this time."

Roman clenches his teeth, holding back the vitriol he desperately wants to spew, and instead asks, "Are you alright?"

"You don't have to beat around the bush, Roman. She didn't hit me. Not tonight, anyway. It's a good night, all in all."

Roman really wants to punch something, but he can't so he just clenches his fists and moves on. "Okay. How's school?"

"Boring, like usual." He can almost see the shrug that accompanies the words. "So, nothing new. I watched your game the other night, though. I was sleeping over at a friend's so I got to see the whole thing. That last play you did was freakin' awesome, dude!"

"Oh, you liked that?" Roman grins around the lump in his throat and the fury in his veins. The whole situation is unfair, but it is the only way. So he can pretend and talk football with his brother for the few precious minutes they have. And talk they did.

"Benjamin!"

Involuntarily, Roman flinches, and if he were to go by the clatter on the other end, so did Ben.

Shit, shit. It's too soon. They didn't get enough time. They never have enough time.

"I gotta go."

"Wait, Ben-" the call cuts off and Roman barely stops himself from throwing his phone across the room. His breathing is picking up, and his heart's pounding louder and louder. He needs to get out before the walls close in on him.

He needs to get out, now.

In the next moment, Roman is running around GHU's campus as if there were no tomorrow, pumping his legs to go faster than he had ever gone before, chest heaving and burning, while his surroundings pass him by in a blur, making his eyes water.

He runs until he stumbles, forcibly slowing him down as he doubles over, dry-heaving for what feels like hours. He coughs and coughs, and finally drops down to his ass without a care that he's in the middle of a sidewalk, breaths still labored.

Then he takes in his surroundings and pauses when his eyes land on the building he had unintentionally stopped in front of.

It's Jamie's apartment building.

Roman loses track of time again, just staring up at the red brick, but he finally calms down. When he rises to his feet, he feels somewhere near normal and begins the trek back home.

If he stayed a bit longer, he would've caught Jamie getting off at the bus stop. But as it is, he didn't, and Jamie doesn't spare a glance at the retreating figure of the man wearing a familiar hoodie walking away.