Chapter Eight Small Spaces
The airport made everyone smaller.
Even in their suits—navy blazers, white shirts, ties knotted tight—the squad looked less like giants and more like a pack of young men waiting to be told where to go next.
Lucas sat at the gate with his carry-on tucked neatly under his feet, boarding pass folded into his passport, tie already irritating the back of his neck.
Around him, the team hummed with low-grade chaos.
Darren and Jamie argued over who’d forgotten their passport the most times in their career.
Finn was trying to balance a rugby ball on his head and nearly taking out strangers in the process.
Rory had his headphones in, mouthing lyrics with religious devotion.
Aoife hovered like a benevolent storm, checking they hadn’t lost any humans, any documentation, or any remaining brain cells.
Lucas sat slightly apart—close enough to be included if he wanted to be, far enough that no one expected him to join in.
He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his boarding pass, watching the gate screens flick over with delays and destinations. Cardiff glowed in simple white letters, calm and indifferent.
A movement across the way caught his eye.
Two men stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, framed in pale morning light. Both in suits, jackets open, hands loose in their pockets. One taller, dark-haired, shoulders broad. The other a bit shorter, hair curling at the nape, posture easy.
Something about the silhouette tugged at Lucas’s mind.
The realization hit like a punch to the lungs: it could easily be them in ten years’ time.
He watched without meaning to. Without permission.
The taller man said something low. The other laughed, head tipping back, hand sliding up to touch his arm—not dramatic, not possessive. Just automatic. Comfortable in a way that didn’t ask permission from the world.
They stood close in that way that wasn’t necessary for conversation. Just… chosen.
Then the taller one leaned in and pressed his mouth to the other man’s temple. Quick. Instinctive. A small, private gesture done in public because it wasn’t a risk. Because it didn’t register as a risk.
Lucas’s chest tightened.
As the shorter man shifted, the light caught on both their hands. Rings—simple gold bands on left hands. Matching.
The ache that hit Lucas was swift enough to feel physical. Hunger, but not the sharp bodily kind. Something deeper. The sudden, savage want for a future he’d never allowed himself to picture for longer than a heartbeat.
Standing in an airport in a suit that fit his shoulders, with someone who knew him enough to rest a ring on his hand and a kiss on his temple without thinking twice.
His fingers curled hard around the boarding pass.
He stared.
He didn’t realize how obvious he was being until someone nudged his knee.
“Earth to captain.”
Eli slid into the empty seat beside him, jacket unbuttoned, tie already loosened like he’d decided formality was a suggestion, not a rule. He followed Lucas’s line of sight toward the windows.
The couple were still there. The taller one reached into his partner’s coat pocket, stole a piece of chewing gum, got swatted for it, laughed. The shorter man fixed his tie and rolled his eyes in a way that was pure affection.
“Nice,” Eli said softly. “Good for them.”
Lucas dragged his gaze away too fast. “Wasn’t staring.”
“You absolutely were,” Eli replied easily. “I thought you’d spotted a defensive pattern out there I’d missed.”
Lucas’s mouth twitched. “Planes don’t have backlines.”
“You’d find a way to run one,” Eli said. He watched Lucas for a beat, then his voice gentled. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lucas said automatically.
Eli didn’t call him on it. Didn’t corner him with kindness. He just tipped his head toward the windows.
“They look happy,” he said. “Don’t they?”
Lucas swallowed. “Yeah,” he managed. “They do.”
Eli hummed. “Nice to know it exists in the wild.”
“In the wild,” Lucas repeated, because it was easier than saying I didn’t know it could be real. I didn’t know it could be simple.
“You know what I mean,” Eli said. “Not on a screen. Not in some far-away city. Just… here. In our airport. Stealing gum and missing flights.”
There was something almost wistful in his tone—like he’d been looking for proof too.
“You want that?” Lucas asked before he could stop himself. “Someday.”
Eli didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
The honesty landed in Lucas like a dropped stone. Heavy. Unavoidable.
He wanted to say me too.
Instead he said, “You’d be insufferable with that much happiness.”
Eli laughed softly. “Probably. But I’d make it look good.”
Aoife clapped her hands then, gathering them to the gate with shepherd efficiency. Boarding began. Tickets beeped. Passports flashed. Lucas let himself be carried along by motion.
As they walked down the jet bridge, he glanced once more toward the window.
The two men were still there, shoulder to shoulder, heads bent over something on a phone, smiling like time didn’t hurt.
Lucas tore his gaze away and stepped onto the plane.
They were in the same row, of course.
Lucas took the middle. Eli took the window, shoving his bag into the overhead with practiced ease. A stranger slid into the aisle seat with a polite nod and immediately put headphones on like this was a bunker.
Across the aisle, someone from the squad dropped into place with a theatrical groan. The cabin filled with the rustle of suits and the whirr of overhead fans, and the low, familiar hum of men trying not to show nerves by becoming extra annoying.
Eli prodded the edge of Lucas’s tray table with his knuckle. “You nervous? About flying, not about the men in tasteful rings.”
Lucas snorted. “No.”
“Liar,” Eli said cheerfully. “You hate things you can’t control.”
“That’s most of life.”
“Exactly. It’s a wonder you cope at all.”
Lucas angled his head toward him. “How do you cope?”
Eli blinked, caught. Then smiled. “I distract myself with jokes. And speed.”
“And sweets,” Lucas said before he could stop himself.
Eli’s eyes lit with offended delight. “Oi. Don’t expose me.”
“I’m not exposing you,” Lucas said, warmth surprising him. “I’m… noticing.”
Eli went still for half a heartbeat, then leaned closer. “Okay, captain. Since you’ve noticed… do you want one?”
Lucas stared. “What?”
Eli glanced toward the aisle seat, then down at his pocket. “Hold out your hand.”
Lucas hesitated, then slid his hand over, palm up.
Eli pulled out a small purple-wrapped square of chocolate and tipped it into Lucas’s palm with the careful precision of someone handing over contraband.
Their fingers brushed.
Lucas’s entire nervous system lit up at the tiny contact.
“You look like you’re being offered classified information,” Eli murmured.
“It’s chocolate,” Lucas said.
“It’s peace,” Eli corrected. “Also dairy. Which is scientifically comforting.”
Lucas unwrapped it quietly and slid it into his mouth. Sweet. Familiar. Grounding.
“Good,” he said.
Eli grinned. “Told you.”
The safety demonstration was played. Engines rose. As the plane tilted upward, Lucas’s fingers tightened on the armrests.
Eli’s hand settled on the narrow strip of plastic between them, close enough that their little fingers brushed. Not grabbing. Not holding. Just… there.
Lucas loosened his grip. Let his smallest finger rest more fully against Eli’s.
They stayed like that the entire flight—two men in suits, elbows tucked, hands doing something private in the open like it wasn’t a risk.
Like it could be normal.
Cardiff was grey and wet and familiar in the way every rugby city became once you’d played there enough times.
Flags hung from lampposts. Rain slicked the streets into black glass. A billboard near the stadium had his face on it—Byrne in action, ball tucked tight, jaw locked.
Eli whistled from the bus seat. “Look at him. Deadly.” He leaned closer and whispered so only Lucas could hear, “And that face… oh my,”
“Shut up,” Lucas muttered, ears burning.
The hotel was the usual pre-match special: modern enough to be forgettable, lobby full of glass and chrome, staff efficient and faintly overwhelmed by a tide of large humans in matching suits.
Keys were sorted at the desk.
Aoife read from a list. “Byrne and Kaine, room 602.”
Carmody frowned at the list. “Thought they were in a twin.”
The receptionist flushed. “There’s been a last-minute change with our bookings. We’re fully committed tonight. We can offer an upgrade to a double on the executive floor? Same price. But just like 602, still only has one bed.”
Catcalls and delighted noises rolled through the squad.
Aoife pinched the bridge of her nose. “Lads.”
Lucas didn’t hesitate. “We’ll manage.”
Eli glanced at him, something careful and steady in his eyes.
As the lift doors closed and the lobby noise dulled, Eli spoke quietly. “You sure, Luke?”
Lucas nodded. “One night.”
The doors slid open.
Room 602 waited.
One bed. Two pillows. Quiet rain on glass.
Nothing big had happened.
Which somehow made it feel enormous.
Lucas set his bag down too carefully. “We’re just sleeping,” he said, voice clipped, like stating it clearly enough might make it true.
“Yeah,” Eli replied lightly. “Standard, everyday, perfectly normal human activity. Totally not something your brain will catastrophize for the next twelve hours.”
“Stop helping,” Lucas muttered.
Eli’s smile was small and wry. “I’ll unpack. You can go practice your everything’s fine face in the bathroom.”
“Already perfected it,” Lucas said, grabbing his washbag.
He closed the bathroom door, leaned his back against it, and exhaled.
His reflection looked like any other away week—hair slightly mussed, shirt open at the throat, dark circles starting at the edges of his eyes. He splashed water on his face.
He could do this.
He’d done harder things.
Possibly with less furniture.
When he came back out, Eli had changed into black shorts and a worn T-shirt, sleeves tugged up over his arms. Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, frowning at something, like the bed hadn’t become the most narratively loaded object in the room.
“Maeve texting you threats again?” Eli asked, glancing up.
“Worse,” Lucas said. “My mother asking if I’ve remembered my rosary.”
Eli winced. “Tell her you left it in your other sin.”
Lucas snorted before he could stop himself.
He changed quickly, folding his suit with habitual precision. Sleep clothes made everything feel more intimate—bare legs, no tie, no formal structure to hide in.
They did the usual pre-match dance: chargers, alarms, checking schedules, pretending they were calm by being efficient.
Eventually there was only the bed left to negotiate.
“You take the wall,” Eli said. “Safer from my wild flailing.”
Lucas hesitated, then nodded. “Fine.”
He slid under the duvet and lay stiff on his back, too aware of everything. Eli climbed in on the other side, the mattress dipping, distance suddenly a measurable thing.
Six inches. Maybe less.
Not that Lucas was counting.
He was absolutely counting.
They lay there, shoulders apart, breathing like it was a test.
After a minute Eli said, “You know you’re allowed to breathe when you lie down, right?”
“I am breathing,” Lucas said.
“You’re holding your breath like we’re defending our line in the seventy-ninth,” Eli replied.
Lucas exhaled long and slow, just to prove him wrong.
Silence settled. Not strained. Waiting.
Eli shifted, forearm over his eyes. “So,” he said, voice casual but edged with truth, “last week we walked by a river and you called me perfect. Today you stared at your future by Gate 26. You want to talk about that, or should we jump straight to me making fun of your snoring?”
“I don’t snore,” Lucas said, grateful for the banter. Then, after a beat, honesty slipped through. “They had rings.”
Eli’s arm lowered. “What?”
“The men at the airport,” Lucas said quietly. “Matching.”
“Oh.” Eli turned his head on the pillow. “Yeah. I saw.”
Lucas stared at the ceiling. “They looked… normal.”
“They are normal,” Eli said. “That’s the point.”
“I know,” Lucas murmured, fingers curling in the sheets. “I just didn’t realize how much I wanted that until I saw it.”
There it was.
Eli didn’t pounce. Didn’t turn it into a confession he could catalogue. He just breathed, slow and steady, and said softly, “You’re allowed to want it.”
Lucas swallowed. “Am I? Because it feels like wanting that is asking for everything else to fall apart.”
“Your everything is dramatic,” Eli said gently. “Fans, sponsors, your mum, the Pope—”
“Don’t bring the Pope into this.”
“Sorry,” Eli said. “But I think he’s busy with other things. Pretty sure God is too—likely ambivalent toward us at best.”
Lucas let the laugh fade into quiet.
“I don’t know what my life looks like if I… go there,” he admitted. “I can’t picture it and keep the rest of it at the same time.”
“If you’re miserable… is it worth keeping?” Eli asked.
He stared at the ceiling, heartbeat steadying.
“You’re insufferable,” he murmured.
Eli smiled into the dark. “Yeah. But I’m right.”
Lucas didn’t argue.
He lay there, listening to Cardiff’s rain against the glass, feeling—breathlessly, impossibly—like the future might be made of small pieces you collected one at a time.
Not rings.
Not yet.
But maybe… something that could become them.
“Goodnight,” Lucas said finally.
“Night, Luke,” Eli replied, voice warm around the name.
And in the quiet that followed, neither of them moved away from the space between them.
Not yet.
Not anymore.