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sunshinefarabees · 2 months

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cool, cool, okay, okay, cool, cool

joel farabee x f!gotham fc player

summary: sometimes media conferences are just so unbearable you're left with no choice but to immediately seek out the one person with the ability to distract you from the mess of it

warnings: swearing, fluff

word count: 3.5k

“What does a typical year look like for you in terms of where you’re going to be, where you’re planning to be, when you’re not playing soccer or training?”

You looked down at the table, rolling your eyes, before looking up towards the various cameras set up in front of you. The voice that had spoken came somewhere from your right, but with the lights blaring from the cameras, you couldn’t quite make out who it was standing next to it.

The question ran through your mind, and you tried to keep a neutral face when the implications of exactly what they were talking about were clear. You’d stated before that you weren’t comfortable discussing your personal life with the media, even before the whole thing with Joel was rumoured, and despite knowing they’d come back with more pokey, invasive questions this season, it did nothing to help the swell of irritation sparking at your fingertips.

“I’m just here to talk about soccer.” You shrugged uncomfortably, eyes wearily scanning the media crowd, awaiting your next question.

As much as you loved what you did, the worst part of it was definitely having to deal with the media.

“...was wondering what your living situation is now considering Mewis was traded to the WSL?”

You sighed into the microphone, “Uh, it’s not really about soccer, but…” you breathed a laugh. You’d answer this one, though, (even though there was a hint of thinly veiled curiosity about exactly where you were residing and who with) mostly just because it was about Kristie, “Yeah, unfortunately I’m not living with Kristie anymore, but I managed to keep hold of the apartment here which was pretty lucky, and I wish her all the best for her future at West Ham; I know she’s gonna kill it out there.”

There was a general hum as reporters seemed to agree and nod their heads, offering smiles that were bordering dangerously between being a little condescending or pitying, before another voice cut in, this time towards the back, “There’s two more months before your season starts, is there anything in particular that you’re working on to improve your game in the off-season, or have you just been taking a break?”

“You make it seem like taking some time off is a bad thing.” You commented drily, breathing a rather uncomfortable laugh into the microphone.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it in that sense, I was just wondering what you’ve been getting up to in the off-season.”

Fuck.

You inhaled, nodding to bide your time and stall to get your words in the right order, “Yeah, I’ve been resting, trying to recharge for next season and get my mind in order, but I’ve also been training, too.”

“We saw from the Philadelphia Flyers’ hockey team’s socials that you’d also been getting involved there–”

You felt yourself tense.

“And I guess I was just wondering if the Flyers are a team you support in the NHL?”

The breath you’d been holding flew past your lips in a relieved breath, “Yeah, they are. I grew up in a household that were strictly Flyers fans, so it was a pretty special moment getting invited as their guest. I brought my family along, too, which was pretty cool.”

“Did you get a chance to meet Gritty?”

The next laugh was genuine when you nodded, “I did. I was nervous going into that, but I came out alive so I’m taking that as a win. Gritty was great–”

“I know you said you don’t talk about your personal life, and I’m not gonna ask a question, but you were recently pictured leaving a cinema–” you stifled a groan and pressed your hands against your face to shield your reddening cheeks from the cameras. It was bound to come up at some point, and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk about Joel, because a small part of you did, but if you did – if – then that’d just distract from your job and more journalists would feel more entitled to ask more questions, and it just wasn’t something you were interested in, “with Flyers’ left wing, Joel Farabee–”

You sighed tiredly, shutting the door behind you, an hour and a bit of travelling back to Philly after the day you’d been subjected to catching up to you. You weren’t technically supposed to be back here until tomorrow, but the first step you’d taken out of that conference room was enough to have you booking an earlier train and risk getting in late, rather than getting the train early in the morning.

The whole of the bottom floor of the house was silent, and your eyes seemed to automatically seek out the expected line of shoes next to the door as you toed your own off, just to gauge who exactly had decided to spend the night. Joel’s you recognised, but there were also another two pairs – most likely belonging to Tyson and Frosty.

You shrugged off your coat, picking up the holdall you’d already had pre-packed from this morning, before tiptoeing up the staircase, mindful for any possible light sleepers, ensuring not to step on a creaky floorboard. There was a small light on in the hallway, and the door to Joel’s room was cracked open slightly, a murmur of sound and flashing lights seeping through from the TV.

You paused on the landing, peeking your head around and concentrating on the sound.

The fucker was watching a rerun of your conference from earlier.

Your feet decided to move before your brain could even realise what was happening, because before you could wallow in the fact that he’d clearly known you were on your way back earlier and purposefully left the hall lamp on, you’d pushed open the door a slither more to sneak through without making too much noise, and were greeted with a softly smiling Joel – his eyes fixed onto the conference before flicking to you in the doorway.

“You’re such a sight for sore eyes.” You sighed gratefully, taking in his PJ-clad form lounged casually on top of the covers. He had one arm resting on the top of his head rather lazily, his other draped across his torso.

“Well, I’m always glad to be of service.” He grinned, pushing himself to sit up, his arms now resting across his kneecaps, “That bad, huh?” He gestured to the screen at the foot of his bed, and you nodded, dropping your bag on top of the covers and leaning down for a much-needed kiss.

“It started off fine, but right about now,” you nodded, cringing, “you can tell they’re trying to get nosy.”

“I hate it when they do that.” He agreed solemnly, not saying much else, but watching you with intrigued, patient eyes as you dug around in your bag.

You shot him a glance, taking in the eye bags and bleary blinks as he fought off sleep, “You didn’t have to wait up for me, y’know?” You murmured, unable to help smiling – both at the soft man in front of you, and at the triumph of finally locating what you were looking for.

Joel just shrugged, albeit a little bashfully, “I figured…I don’t know, I just missed you.”

You felt a small lump gather in your throat at his honest confession, and you fought off the sudden emotion that seemed to be the consequence of your fatigue and refusal to sleep on the train, and chose to throw the bag on the floor – gently – and climb on the bed. Joel seemed to expect that kind of reaction, because before you’d even done any of that he was lifting your side of the duvet up with a smile that just blew your damn mind every time you saw it.

The shirt clutched in your grip, you followed him, climbing under the covers and automatically going to lay on your side, face-to-face with Joel, who’d tucked one arm under his pillow and had one leg draped over yours to pull you closer.

“I missed you, too.”

“‘S that why you came back earlier?” He teased gently, still blinking slowly.

You reached a free hand up to run through his hair, relishing in the way his eyes seemed to flutter closed and the slight lean into your touch, “Yeah.” You whispered.

At your voice his eyes reopened, looking all the more exhausted than mere seconds before, and before you could even say anything he was yawning loudly and stretching his arms over his head before using the momentum to roll…right onto you.

Despite the clenched fist, you wrapped your arms across the broad expanse of his shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to his messed hair, smothering a delicate laugh when he groaned against your collarbone, “What did you do today that’s got you so tired at nine in the evening?” You asked softly, carding a hand through the back of his hair.

Any previous effort he’d made to keep some of his body weight off you was forgotten when he physically melted in your arms at the sensation, a muffled, incoherent mumble tumbling from his lips.

“Sorry?”

He lifted his head off your skin ever so slightly, his eyes still shut but looking in your general vicinity, and you couldn’t help it when your finger traced the bridge of his nose affectionately, once more causing his eyes to fly open at the sudden contact, jumping slightly at the sudden intrusion.

You welcomed the attention though, something he seemed to catch up on by the way the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Me and Frosty got dragged to an entire afternoon of Padel with Tys.” He sighed dramatically, “And I’m jet lagged, I think. Maybe. I don’t know, it’s like all the tiredness has just accumulated and I’ve been in bed since, like, six.”

“Poor you.”

He blinked, raising an eyebrow, “Well, excuse me–”

“No, I wasn’t being sarcastic.” You interrupted, trying not to laugh at the hurt expression on his face, “I don’t think.”

He rolled his eyes, flopping back into his previous position against you, and you felt a stab of guilt for what you were about to do, “Joel?” You poked him, once more rousing him from a much-needed sleep.

He groaned audibly, lifting his head from your shoulder, keeping his eyes glued shut to ward out the harsh lights emanating from the TV. Your conference was still playing in the background, and although the volume was on the lowest setting you knew he could still hear it.

“Two things,” you started, lifting the hand with the shirt up into his eyeline, and despite having them previously shut, the disturbance in light must have indicated that you were shoving something in his face, because he blinked his eyes open, staring at the black and white stripes, “This was waiting for me in my locker this morning – I got my new kit today and it seemed like someone on the team said something to the kit people, because…”

You trailed off, an awkward smile on your face. Your relationship with Joel was fairly new; not new in the sense that you’d only been dating a few months but new in the sense that this would be the first season you’d start with him as your boyfriend, all the way over in Philly. He’d also given you something similar back in September before the regular NHL season started, and as his eyes scanned over the material scrunched in your fist, there seemed to be some kind of recognition of his parallel moment with you because he pushed himself up and out of bed, taking the shirt from your hands gently.

He didn’t say much, just slowly unravelled the material. His jaw had dropped somewhere along the way, but his eyes didn’t falter as they roved across the expanse of the front of the jersey, taking in the new design, fingers tracing absently over the embroidered logos. Just as you were about to encourage him to turn it over, he did so, expelling a short breath as he took in your surname and number printed there.

“Is this your new home jersey?” He mumbled, turning to you with some kind of astonishment in his eyes.

You nodded, knowing he hadn’t quite gotten what it was that you’d intended to convey, “Yeah.”

Then, with a flicker of hope igniting on your chest, he gasped softly, “Am I allowed to see this now if it hasn’t been released to the fans?”

You raised a brow, blinking at him.

You loved him, you loved him so much, but sometimes he just made teasing him a little bit too easy. In this case you couldn’t tell if he was a little hesitant to make assumptions, or if he was just downright oblivious as to why you’d given him the jersey, but you smiled nonetheless.

“Yeah, the new kits are gonna be released tomorrow.” You continued, hoping that he’d at least catch on soon.

But he just nodded, “This is so cool.”

Right then.

“Glad you think so, because it’s yours.” You admitted, watching his face carefully.

He froze, the shirt getting a little more crumpled in his grip as he stared at you, lips parted in shock, “Mine?”

You just hummed, biting your lip to stop your grin from splitting your cheeks, and instead moved to show him the inside label of the shirt, not oblivious to the heat of his faze on the side of your face as you did so, “Look at the sizing, and also,” you lifted the bottom of the shirt up, flipping it inside out to show him the customised piece you’d requested to be added, “your name is printed on the inside of the shirt, right where your heart is. I mean, it’s not on mine, but this one’s customised for you–”

“I’m in love with you.”

You inhaled sharply, head snapping to look at him. His gaze was so intense you could almost feel it burning your skin, and despite the shock that had been painfully clear on his face mere seconds before, there wasn’t a single trace of it there now. In fact, he looked a little nervous, something that not only combatted his usual demeanour, but also the conviction with which he’d just stated those five words, yet there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Like he was relieved he’d thrown the words out there.

You’d thought about this moment with Joel before, hundreds of times. You expected you’d feel somewhat changed by the knowledge that the person you love also loves you too, like your DNA would alter and you would feel noticeably different, but instead you were crushed by a wave of calm.

It felt an awful lot like unadulterated happiness.

“I’m in love with you too.” You said, delighting in the way his grin seemed to grow and all nerves seemed to be extinguished at your reciprocation.

Gosh, he was just so infectious in everything he did.

It kind of drove you crazy, especially when you’d come down from a big loss and you’d FaceTime him in different timezones, and all you really wanted to do was rant, but the fucker was sitting pretty in your phone grinning straight at you and all previous anger just always seemed to dissipate instantly. It annoyed you that you couldn’t control that kind of thing, but the peace and the calm he allowed you to feel even after a mere conversation was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was divine.

“Cool.” He nodded, his grin not dimming a single bit, even as he tore his attention away from you to the shirt laid on the bed.

“Cool.” You echoed, shrugging.

You wanted to laugh, but you held it in for Joel’s exhausted sake.

“You said there were two things?” He turned back to you, grabbing the back of his PJ shirt with his hand and yanking it unceremoniously over his head to toss it to the end of the bed. You barely had a chance to get a word in for ogling him before he’d thrown your jersey on and pushed himself from the bed to stand in front of the mirror.

You let him check himself out in the shirt, which seemed to fit him spectacularly well, “You look so good. Like, insanely gorgeous.”

He flushed a little bit, but played it off by pretending to tense his guns in your direction, “I do?”

You nodded, breathing an amused laugh at his antics, “You always do, but even more so in that jersey.”

“Did you know,” he started, throwing himself back on the bed next to you, “that you’re the only person I’d ever wear a soccer shirt for?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head, “I don’t think that’s the compliment you intended it to be.”

“I just mean that in the sense that – I mean, of course I like soccer – but I’d only ever wear your name on the back of a jersey, or have your team on the front.” He elaborated, throwing his arm across your shoulders to draw you closer, “But thank you for this, I love it.” He said into your hair.

You turned your head, catching his mouth with your own, and enjoying the moment, before pulling away, much to his dismay, “Would you ever wear a Canada jersey?”

He paused, pulling an unsure face, “Again, only if it was a soccer one with your name on it.”

“Likewise with yours, for future reference, by the way.” You rested a finger on his chin, using the leverage to turn his head towards the TV, “And the second thing: you’re probably going to want to watch the end of this conference.”

You felt his face contort from where your hand rested on his cheek, and without even thinking much about it, you leant forward to press a delicate kiss against his cheekbone, breathing a laugh when he scrunched up his face and manoeuvred you to his mouth once more, where you placed one, two, three kisses, before pulling away to answer his question, your cheeks warm.

“They ask about you.”

He stayed still, but you knew his eyes had flickered to the screen, right to where the you from hours ago was sitting at a long table, a hoodie and cap on, looking as awkward and out of place as you felt, in front of a row of cameras and lights, with question after question being fired at you.

“They do?” He whispered, turning his head to look at you to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah. Well, kind of. They start hinting at it with the last few questions.” You don’t meet his eyes, your own attention fixated on you on the screen, and just as you went to move in the conference, there was a slither of something that caught your eye, “No way. Fuck.” You mutter, feeling Joel pull away a little from where his cheek was resting against the side of your head comfortably.

“What’s wrong?”

You reach across him to find the remote, before pausing the TV and turning to look at him with an uncertain glance, “This hoodie, I always forget it, but the zipper’s a bit broken, and if I move too much, the zip falls down.” You pulled the zip about a quarter of the way down, seeing Joel’s eyes widen in realisation, before he turned to the TV, only to see the exact same image staring right at him.

“Oh.” His lips were parted in shock, but he didn’t look particularly angry or irritated by what he saw. In fact, there was a mischievous tilt to his mouth, and before long his shoulder began to shake with an effort not to laugh at the entire thing.

You, however, had a more pressing issue, “Is that okay with you?”

He stopped laughing, turning to face you, “Of course it is. Is it okay with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

You reached to press play once more, trying not to wince whenever the black Flyers shirt under your Gotham zip-up was made abundantly clear. No wonder they’d started asking you about Philly and no wonder that journalist had mentioned the cinema trip with Joel.

Of fucking course.

You were thrown out of your own head when Joel cackled loudly at the screen, climbing back under the covers.

“What?” You asked, following his motions, a smile on your face, mostly because he was also smiling.

“I had no clue we were spotted leaving ‘Anyone But You’.” He breathed, tucking his hand under his head as he leant back against the pillows, looking significantly more awake than he had earlier, “Is it cool if I wear this jersey for the walk-in for my next game?”

Your eyes slid over to him, taking in the uncertainty in his features; his brows were raised in an effort to tell you that he wouldn’t mind if you said no to him. He was asking if it was okay with you to confirm your relationship.

You felt your teeth catch your bottom lip, trying to stifle the blush sweeping across your cheeks and the smile threatening to break though, “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Awesome.” He grinned cheekily, a little smug at your failure to hide your true feelings from him, and you shook your head at the glint in his eye, “Love you, honey.”

You just blinked at him, lips pursed in a still-dire effort to not smile at him.

“Say it back.”

“Love you too, Joel.”

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