Chapter Text
It’s like his knee knows it’s reached its final day, because Roy wakes up in a stupid-fucking-ridiculous amount of pain. It’s radiating up his leg before he even stands up, and he can feel the angry inflammation from overworking it yesterday.
(It feels the same way it did on the day of Jamie’s injury, when he was in too much pain to make rational fucking decisions.)
He forces himself up and out of bed anyways, though, because he’s due to check in for surgery at nine, and he wants to pop up to Jamie’s room first for a quick visit. He has to, because he dropped the fucking ball last night.
It’s slow going, getting ready, but he’s in an Uber to the hospital before long— he won’t be able to drive for a while after surgery, so it’d be pointless to bring his car along. Simon had offered to drive him, but Roy insisted him and Georgie have a well-deserved lie-in today, so decided just to fucking fend for himself.
He limps his way to Jamie’s unit, because he’s not letting his stupid fucking knee keep him away any longer, and a nurse stops him outside the closed door to the room.
"Morning, Roy. You’re here to see Jamie?"
"Yeah, cheers. How’s he doing?"
The nurse hesitates a moment, then sighs softly.
"He had a really tough night, unfortunately." She glances down at his chart, then back up. "He was waking up a lot, and then around 4am he got really agitated, going on about how he needed to leave and he was late for training. The night staff tried to settle him, you know— reminding him no, love, it’s four in the morning, you’re alright, go back to sleep— but he just kept getting more upset."
Roy feels fucking ill. That’s his fucking fault, isn’t it.
"We used to get up to train at four. He must’ve thought he was late to meet me."
"Ah, that makes sense, then," she sighs. "He ended up— well, he’s a big lad and he doesn’t know his strength when he’s like this— he ended up getting quite aggressive with the nurses, to the point where they had to sedate him to keep him and everyone else safe, because his family hasn’t consented to using restraints. He ripped out his IVs, and he was getting really violent trying to fight his way out of bed, and it was all a bit dangerous. He’s sleeping it off now, and I’d honestly expect he might be drowsy from the drugs all day."
"Fuck," Roy says. "That’s fucking… shit."
The nurse laughs softly at his word choice, but then sighs as she nods.
"It really is. He was doing so well yesterday, but brain injuries are tricky like that. It can be really up and down as he comes out of the confusion."
(Every time Roy misses a visit, Jamie gets worse again. It’s only happened twice, but it’s still a pattern. Roy fucking hates patterns.)
"I can’t stay long, but I’ll sit with him for a bit." Roy looks at the closed door. "Even if he’s sleeping."
"It’s been a few hours, at this point," she offers. "You might be able to get him awake, just likely not for very long."
Like that’s any comfort.
Roy nods anyway.
"I’ll try, yeah. Thanks."
He heads through the door, closing it behind him, and finds Jamie looking perfectly fucking normal, like he’s just asleep. He’s not even on any oxygen at this point— the only tube left on his face is the feeding one that goes into his nose. There’s a bandaged patch on one arm, where he must’ve ripped his lines out, and a couple of new IVs on the other, only one of them actually hooked up to anything right now.
"Hey, you," Roy sighs, approaching the bed. "You were being a right fucking shit for your nurses this morning, were you?"
Jamie stirs a little, eyelids fluttering, but he doesn’t quite wake up.
Roy takes his hand.
"I missed you yesterday. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here. I was stupidly fucking busy— I put off all the shit I was meant to do before surgery. That’s why I’m here so early today instead."
Through heavy eyelids, Jamie peeks up at him.
"Roy."
"Hi, Jamie."
Jamie stares.
"I… missed training," he mumbles, barely comprehensible. "M’sorry."
Roy sighs. Carefully runs a hand over Jamie’s forehead.
"No, love. We took today off. You’re alright."
Jamie hums, considering that. His eyes close as he nods.
"Okay."
"You’re tired, Jay." Roy rubs his thumb down Jamie’s temple. "Just rest. It’s alright."
Jamie nods again.
"It’s… a rest day."
"It is. You can sleep in."
Jamie lets out a tiny, tired sigh. His eyes are fully closed, obviously still out of it from being fucking drugged this morning.
"Okay."
"Good lad," Roy continues, still petting Jamie’s face gently. He’s standing over the bed, and his knee aches, but his heart might hurt even more. "You’re alright."
It’s quiet for a bit.
"Roy?" Jamie asks, glancing up again. There’s some clarity there— he doesn’t seem too confused right now, just fucking exhausted. "Um… can I… ask you something?"
"Of course."
It takes a second for Jamie to muster the energy to speak again.
"Um… are we boyfriends?"
Roy blinks.
(Maybe he didn’t look confused, but Jamie’s obviously not all there right now. Holy fuck.)
(Where the fuck did he even get that idea? Was it something Roy did or said— since realizing, in the past week, that he’s fallen for the little fucking prick harder than he thought was fucking possible, did he come in here acting all fucking weird? Maybe the fucking pet names that keep slipping out are a little far, even for best friends. He’s never called a friend love before, but then again, he’s never had a friend like Jamie.)
"No," Roy says, because he’s got no idea how the fuck he’s supposed to respond to that. "We’re not."
He’s not expecting Jamie’s lower lip to fucking wobble, like Phoebe’s did the time that her mum got called into emergency surgery just as they were about to get in the car and drive to her dance recital.
"We’re not?" Jamie asks, all sad and teary and fucking adorable.
And Roy can’t be blamed for what he says next, in his opinion— when Jamie fucking Tartt is looking up at you like a fucking wounded puppy or some other heartbreakingly cute little animal, it’s only logical to blurt out something ridiculous to try and fix it.
"Wait, no. Fuck. We can be… if you want. Boyfriends. We can be fucking boyfriends."
(Roy Kent is forty-one fucking years old, and he’s rambling on about being fucking boyfriends like he’s in secondary school all over again. Jesus fucking Christ.)
But it works, because Jamie fucking lights up.
"Yeah?" he practically giggles, still tired and loopy with his eyes half-open, but properly thrilled now. "We can?"
"We can be anything you want, Jay," Roy says, as gentle as he can. "Alright? We’ll talk about it more when you’re better."
Jamie hums contentedly. He closes his eyes.
"M’kay." He’s quiet for a moment. "I love you."
Roy could fucking cry, he realizes.
"I love you, too. So fucking much."
He’s got no idea if Jamie will remember this conversation, or if this means they’re fucking dating now or something, but the little prick looks incredibly fucking happy, so that’s that. It’s fine. Roy is in love with him either way.
One more time, Jamie drags his eyes open— he glances around the room.
"S’not my house, this," he mumbles. "Dunno… where."
"You’re in hospital," Roy sighs. "It’s okay. You’re getting better. You just have to stay here for a while, and listen to your fucking nurses. Be a good lad."
Slowly, Jamie nods.
"Yes, Coach."
"No more pulling on your tubes and wires and shit, yeah?" Roy points to the new bandage on Jamie’s arm. "Look. You hurt yourself because you weren’t listening to what your nurse said. Leave this alone, okay?"
Jamie’s eyes briefly go wide, like he’s noticing the dressing for the first time. He stares at it for a moment, then nods slowly.
"Hurts."
"I know." Roy strokes his hair again. "Just don’t touch it. You’ll be alright."
Jamie tips his head back against his pillows and shuts his eyes.
"Don’t touch it," he echoes, breathy and tired. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Roy agrees. "Just be calm and get your rest today. Can you do that for me?"
A sleepy nod.
"Yeah. M’tired."
"I don’t think you slept much last night." On some kind of instinct, Roy fusses with Jamie’s blankets, pulling them up. "You can sleep now, yeah?"
"Mmhm." Jamie looks up again and reaches for Roy’s hand. "Um… I wanted you to come here. I remember."
Roy forces a breath.
"Yeah? Is that why you couldn’t sleep? You were waiting for me?"
Jamie intertwines their fingers.
"Yeah. I think."
Christ. He should’ve just come here last night, even though he was tired— maybe it would’ve avoided all of this morning’s bullshit.
"Well, it’s a good thing I’m here now, innit," he sighs, squeezing Jamie’s hand. "All better."
Jamie nods.
"Better." He pauses. "And we’re boyfriends."
Fucking hell.
"Yep. Exactly," Roy chuckles. "You can relax now, it’s all sorted out."
"Okay," Jamie sighs, his eyes once again falling shut. "Good. Love you."
Fuck it, Roy decides. He leans down and kisses Jamie’s cheek gently.
"I love you, too." He rubs his thumb gently on Jamie’s cheekbone. "Have a rest."
(Maybe that was overstepping. Maybe that was fucking weird. But maybe it’s exactly what Jamie needs right now to help him settle.)
(It works, is the thing. He goes slack almost immediately, falling right back into sleep.)
(Fuck.)
Roy sits there a while longer, watching Jamie sleep like a fucking creep, just biding time until he needs to go down to surgery and check in.
And then he pulls out the little note that Georgie suggested he write— apparently Jamie was asking after him all day yesterday, so having something tangible to look at might help him remember what’s going on— and sets it on the bedside table.
I’m having knee surgery today. There’s nothing to worry about, and I will be just fine by the end of the day. I’ll come back and see you again as soon as I can, hopefully tonight if I’m up and walking by then.
Love you loads. Be good.
Roy xx
(Jamie will also be just fine, Roy reminds himself. Ruth and Phoebe were planning to come today, while they wait for Roy to be out of surgery— with Jamie so drowsy, it might not be the best visit, but he’d likely still appreciate it. He’ll be in good hands, with no shortage of visitors, especially now that the season’s on pause and his teammates have some free time.)
"See you, Jay," Roy mutters, soft enough not to wake him. Takes one more moment to squeeze his hand gently before getting up. "I have to go now, but I’ll come back."
Jamie doesn’t stir, already sleeping deep.
That’s good, Roy decides. He needs the rest. He’ll be okay.
-
"Listen, Phoebe— I got a text from Uncle Roy this morning, saying Jamie’s not feeling very well today. We’re still going to visit him, but he might be very sleepy, so we won’t stay for long. We’ll just check in on him and see how he’s doing, alright?"
Phoebe is vibrating with excitement in the lift, and Ruth can practically guarantee she’s taken none of that in. They haven’t seen Jamie since before he was readmitted to ICU last week, so the thrill of getting to see him again is plenty distracting.
"Pheebs," Ruth repeats. "Hey. What did I just say?"
The lift doors open, and Phoebe takes off down the hall.
"Room 2236!" she shouts. "That’s what you said! It’s this way!"
Ruth sighs.
"Fucking hell." She speeds up to follow her wild child towards Jamie’s unit. "Phoebe. No running in the hospital. You know that."
Phoebe does slow to a speed-walk after that— which is technically listening, Ruth supposes— but continues her beeline down the hall.
"I found him!" she eventually calls, stopped in a doorway. "Can I go in?"
"Just wait for me, please," Ruth sighs, still a few paces away. "I told you in the lift— Jamie’s not well today, so we’re just here to see how he’s doing and say a quick hello."
"Of course he’s not well. He’s in hospital," Phoebe says, all matter-of-fact. "We have to cheer him up."
"He might be too tired for a proper visit." Ruth lands an arm around Phoebe, finally reaching the door. "They had to give him some medicine to help him sleep last night, and it can make you drowsy all day afterwards. He might still be asleep now."
Phoebe grabs Ruth’s wrist to peek at her watch.
"It’s nearly noon!"
"I know. But if he’s tired, we’ll let him be, alright?"
"Fine," Phoebe sighs. "But then we’ll have to come back a different day when he’s awake."
"We can do that."
She knocks lightly on the door as she opens it— a habit ingrained in her from years of walking into patient rooms.
"Uncle Jamie!" Phoebe calls, rushing ahead, apparently having immediately forgotten what they just talked about. "We’re here!"
Sure enough, Jamie is fast asleep. He’s got his stuffed duck squished against his cheek; he’s curled up on his side, and his blankets are practically burying him.
He doesn’t stir to Phoebe’s voice.
"Hi Jamie," Ruth tries, using the loud but gentle tone of voice that tends to rouse sleeping patients. "It’s Ruth and Phoebe. We’re here for a visit."
She doesn’t touch him, but gently nudges the corner of his mattress a few times, enough to shake him a bit. Sure enough, that does the trick.
He slowly blinks awake, looking bleary and confused at first, until his gaze manages to land on Phoebe and find some focus.
"Hi," he breathes, a smile spreading on his face. He moves his duck to his lap and tries to sit up a little. Ruth adjusts the head of the bed to help him along. "Phoebe."
"Jamie!" she beams, running up to the side of his bed. "You look so much better than the last time I saw you."
Jamie laughs, and fusses with his hair a little, his movements a little slow and uncoordinated.
"I do?"
"Your face was still all—" Phoebe gestures like she’s scratching herself, in the same place as Jamie’s slowly-healing scars and bruises— "messed up and scary-looking. Sorry, that was rude. Your face looks nice now."
Ruth can’t help but laugh and shake her head.
"I think what Miss Phoebe here is trying to say is that you’re looking much healthier, Jamie. Your face is healing nicely, and you’ve got some colour back. It’s lovely."
"Oh." Jamie blinks, eyelids clearly heavy. He doesn’t quite seem to know what they’re talking about, a bit too tired to follow along. "Okay."
"Anyways," Phoebe says. She pulls off the backpack she insisted on packing herself, and unzips it. "I brought Anne of Green Gables. It’s the next one on the list for our book club. I thought we could read together."
Ruth finds herself staring at her daughter with scrunched brows and a confused frown.
"Since when are you in a book club? And, love— I don’t think Jamie’s feeling up to reading right now—"
"It’s called the PB&J club," Phoebe cuts her off, pulling out the book. "It stands for Phoebe, Books, and Jamie. He doesn’t like reading very much, but he likes listening, so we have a big list of books to get through, and I read them out loud when we’re both staying at Uncle Roy’s house. Right, Jamie?"
Jamie nods. He’s clearly fighting to stay awake, and not entirely with it right now, but he’s smiling at her.
"Right."
"And I thought, while Jamie’s all sick and bored in hospital, it would be a great time to read together." She hops up to sit on the edge of the bed. "I know you’re tired today, Jamie, but I can read to you for as long as you want, and I’ll stop if you fall asleep, so you don’t miss anything."
Another slow blink from Jamie— he’s trying so hard to be present for her despite his drowsiness, and it’s fucking adorable.
"Mint. Yeah." He scoots over slightly, moves one of his blankets, and pats the spot beside him. "You can— um, sit. Here."
Phoebe happily crawls up to lean into his side.
(She’s going to need one hell of a bath tonight, and all her clothes will go straight in the laundry when they get home— the thought of climbing into a dirty hospital bed like that makes Ruth’s skin crawl, but a ten year-old obviously wouldn’t have the same passion for infection control and hygiene as an A&E doctor.)
(Ruth bites her tongue. At least Jamie’s not admitted for anything contagious. It’ll be fine.)
"Alright, Chapter One," Phoebe starts. Ruth sits in one of the chairs by the bed, because this is too cute to look away from. "Oh my god, Jamie. Look at this first sentence— how many words do you think are in it? That looks like a paragraph!"
She holds up the book to show him, and Jamie squints at the page.
"Too many," he mutters.
"Well, get ready. I’ll read it." Phoebe moves her finger along under the lines of text, tracking her place. (She’s always struggled with reading aloud, prone to stumbling over words and getting mixed up, but she hardly even seems fazed now. It’s beautiful, and this PB&J club is clearly working.) "Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof."
She huffs a dramatic breath at the end, like that’s taken the wind out of her.
Jamie pokes her in the side, smiling.
"Good job."
She perks up immediately.
"Thanks, Jamie."
(Gentle encouragement from her favourite person— the fucking magic ticket to success. No wonder her reading’s improved.)
"Let’s keep going. There are plenty of people in Avonlea…"
They carry on like that— and to Jamie’s credit, he lasts nearly twenty minutes awake before his head starts to loll and his eyes start falling shut. Ruth means to interrupt, tell Phoebe that it’s probably time to call it quits, but it’s so fucking cute that she just has to let it go on a bit longer.
Phoebe doesn’t notice it— too caught up in reading— until his head drops onto her shoulder as he finally falls asleep.
"Oh," she says, glancing over at him. "We can stop now."
She closes the book, setting it in her lap.
"Should we get going?" Ruth offers. "Uncle Roy should be nearly done in surgery. We could go have lunch, and then come back and see him."
Phoebe frowns a little, still looking at Jamie.
"I think Jamie is comfy like this. Maybe we can stay a bit longer, I don’t wanna wake him up."
"You don’t mind him sleeping on you?" Ruth chuckles.
"It’s nice," Phoebe says. "He’s cuddly. He reminds me of a cat sometimes, because he always naps in funny places."
"Does he?"
"Yes. One time, we were at Uncle Roy’s, and he fell asleep right on the floor. He was stretching in the sun like Dauphine does."
Ruth can’t help but laugh.
(It’s so fucking lovely that Roy’s found someone like Jamie in his life.)
"Well, let’s let him sleep, then. If you’re comfortable there, we’ll stay a bit longer."
"Good," Phoebe says. She’s quiet for a long moment, and then looks to be tearing up a little as she takes his hand between her own and rubs the back of it with her thumbs. "I missed him a lot and I was really scared. I’m happy he’s alive."
"Oh, Phee," Ruth sighs, her heart fucking breaking in two. "He missed you, too, love, and I think he’s been quite scared as well. It’s been a hard couple weeks, but he’s doing so well now. He’ll be okay."
Phoebe sniffles.
"I know. He’s really strong."
"He is. He’s been working very hard to get better."
She squeezes Jamie’s hand a little tighter, and he stirs but doesn’t wake, settling into her side a bit more.
"He’s my bestie forever," Phoebe breathes, her voice a little wet. "He promised. I wanna sit with him until it’s time to go see Uncle Roy."
It’s a lot of big emotions for a nine year-old to be going through, and Phoebe’s an emotional wee thing to begin with. If sitting here with Jamie sleeping on her for an hour will bring her some peace, that’s simply what they’ll do.
"Alright, baby. We can do that. We’ll stay right here."
"Good," Phoebe says. She rests her head against Jamie’s and closes her eyes. "It’s gonna be okay, Jamie. We’re here for you."
And that just makes Ruth fucking melt, doesn’t it.
-
Roy comes to in a recovery suite, feeling like he’d just closed his eyes some thirty seconds ago.
They’d offered that he could stay awake for the surgery and just be numbed from the waist down, given some gentle sedative to relax him, but he’d been a bit firm with the anesthesiologist that he did not want to fucking hear or see anything that they were doing down there, and he’d very much like to be knocked the fuck out.
He can’t feel much of his left leg now, beyond a dull ache in and around his knee. Ruth told him about the fucking chaos behind knee replacement surgery— hammers, saws, drills, metal, cement, and bits of bone all over the fucking place— so he supposes it’s fair play that it might feel like shit for a while, considering he’s had a fucking construction job done on his femur.
"Fuck," he grumbles to himself, when he tries to shift in bed and it sends a much sharper pain shooting up his leg. "Jesus fucking Christ."
He jabs at the call button, so he can at least let a nurse know he’s awake, and so he can ask how long it is until he can get up and start moving. If there were crutches handy right now, he’d get up and give it a fucking go— he’s never been known for his patience, and he’s ready to move the fuck on from this as soon as possible.
All he ends up getting out of it when the nurse comes is some paracetamol, an ice pack, and a promise that a physio will come see him once he’s moved from recovery to the orthopaedics ward, which should be soon. He makes a true and honest effort not to be a fucking grouch about it, but it’s hard. He doesn’t snap at the nurse, and calls that a win.
He texts Ruth.
I’m alive. New knee. All good. xx
She texts back a photo of Phoebe curled up beside Jamie in his hospital bed, both of them fast asleep.
She was reading to him for a bit and they both tired out. What a pair of sweethearts <33 xx
Roy doesn’t fucking tear up at the image, because he’s not fucking soft… but he is still coming off anesthesia, so maybe it’s alright.
(Maybe his throat gets all tight and his eyes start to sting because he loves those two little shits more than anything. It’s fucking fine.)
-
There’s two notes on Jamie’s bedside table.
One is easy to read and understand.
I LOVE YOU JAMIE!! :) <3 - Phoebe
The other is in tiny, impossible-to-make-out handwriting that makes him think of Roy. He can’t focus long enough to actually get his head around it. He’s got no fucking clue what it says.
"Mummy," he mumbles, hanging onto it. He shows it to her. "This. I don’t— know."
"That’s from Roy," she says, very patiently. "He’s having knee surgery today, but he’ll be alright. He left you that note so that you know where he is."
He’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion today.
He nods, though.
(Roy was here, probably this morning. Jamie felt tired like this, but he definitely saw Roy and talked to him. He found out they’re boyfriends. That was nice.)
"Can’t read it," he mumbles. It makes his eyes go weird to look at it for too long.
"I know," Mum laughs. "I can hardly make it out. We’re lucky Simon’s so good at reading shit writing."
"Part of the job, working with doctors," Simon says. "This certainly isn’t the worst I’ve seen."
Jamie’s eyes feel heavy again. He wants Roy to come back, and the thought of him having a surgery is kind of upsetting. It’s scary, like.
He squeezes his hands around Duck.
"When do I go home?" he asks, the question suddenly coming to mind. It feels like he’s been stuck in this bed for fucking forever.
"We’re going to a different hospital tomorrow," Mum tells him, "which is one step closer to home. You’ve been doing so well here— getting up and walking, shaking off that infection that had you so ill— so, your doctors decided this morning that you’re ready for the next step. That’s exciting, innit?"
Jamie doesn’t really understand, his head a bit too fuzzy to know what she means. If Mum’s excited, though… that’s good.
"Okay," he mumbles. His eyes are closing again. He can’t remember the last time he was this tired. He doesn’t know why he’d need to go to another hospital, and he can’t see how it would be exciting. "Why?"
"We’ll chat about it when you’re more awake, baby." Mum pets his hair. "Have a rest. It’s okay."
Jamie rubs Duck against his face, because the softness tends to make him feel a bit better when he’s not understanding things. He’s not sure why, but then again, he’s not sure of most things lately.
"I don’t want— um, more hospital," he mumbles. "I wanna go home."
"I know," Mum says. "I know. We’ll get you home soon, baby. Just a bit longer of hospitals."
Jamie sighs. He’s so fucking tired.
"Fine. Will Roy come?"
"Yes, of course, baby. He’ll still come see you every day, and your mates will come, and we’ll be there, too. You’ll do more physio and stuff, and get back to yourself a bit more."
"After his surgery?" Jamie asks, because he doesn’t care about physio and stuff right now. He cares about his boyfriend, Roy. "Is he okay?"
"He’s okay. I’ve just been up to see him," Simon says. "His knee’s quite sore, and he’s a bit loopy from his painkillers, but he’ll be just fine."
"How loopy are we talking?" Mum chuckles.
"Well, he went on about the colour of our Jamie’s eyes for about two full minutes, and then asked me to go find him an ice lolly." Simon is grinning. "But only a cherry one. All the other colours are fucking disgusting."
An ice lolly sounds so good right now.
"I want one," Jamie says.
Mum and Simon laugh.
"You know, I reckon you could have one," Simon says. "I think it counts as one of the liquids you’re allowed to try, since it melts in your mouth, so you should be able to swallow it. Shall I go ask the nurses for one?"
Jamie nods.
"Cherry."
Mum looks like she’s in pain, she’s giggling so hard.
"I’ll see what I can do."
-
It’s the first thing other than water that Jamie’s been able to get down without gagging or choking— he takes wee licks of the lolly Simon brings him, and while most of it melts down his hand, he doesn’t so much as cough as he’s enjoying it.
He's only interested in it for a couple of minutes before he starts drifting off again, but he seems properly pleased to have satisfied his sweet tooth, giggling tiredly as Georgie wipes his face like a messy toddler.
It’s another win, she decides as he falls asleep.
An ice lolly’s not quite food, but he’s got something in his stomach that’s not from a feeding tube, which is more than he’s been able to do since the accident. Even with the shit day he’s had, all tired and confused because he’s got sedatives working their way out of his system, he’s made yet another improvement.
It might be slow going, but he’s a battler, and he’ll simply keep taking it day by day, won’t he.