Archive of Our Own

Eddie Howe didn't play football to make friends. He played football because he wanted to win.

Of course, that didn't mean he was entirely antisocial. He could mingle with his teammates on occasion, even if he didn't approve of their tastes in music and they didn't quite understand his. (What was there to not love about '80s electronic music, even if a decade had already passed?) But it was his mindset and desire to succeed that had caused all those late nights in the park as a kid, kicking the ball around with his mum, and it was what caused him nowadays to stay on the training grounds to practice when most of his teammates were preparing to go out. Eddie had once had the choice of continuing with his education or pursuing professional football; he had chosen the latter, and was determined to make the most of it.

It had done Eddie well so far. His performances the past season had earned him a spot in England's U21 squad for their annual youth tournament. Although they hadn't progressed past the group stages, having been pipped narrowly by Argentina and France, the experience of being in and around the international football scene had given him renewed confidence heading into the new season.

On the first day back in training for preseason, it was customary to do brief team introductions for the new players that had arrived. With everyone stood around each other, Eddie eyed the dressing room carefully. There were several — he counted nine in total — faces he did not recognize, while other players he had expected to see were not present. Looking closer, the new transfers seemed to consist of a mix of experience and youth, with a few in particular looking like they had dropped in straight from an academy. It was good for the team to have a mix of profiles, Eddie thought. 

One by one, the players introduced themselves. Eddie liked to think he was a decent judge of character, often mentally categorizing others according to their behavior and patterns. Karl: an 18 year old centre-back, shy and inexperienced. Perhaps one for the future; not an immediate threat to Eddie's starting position. Richard: a young midfielder coming directly from Arsenal, likely with guarantees of playing time. Appeared cold and unemotional, even by Eddie's standards. 

And then there was Jason.

Pale and gangly, the exemplar of a youth player who had hit a growth spurt but had yet to fill out. Thin, noodle-like brown hair adorned his head messily, perhaps intentionally so, the sign of one who was very conscious about their appearance. He cracked his knuckles idly before speaking. 

"My name's Jason, I'm 20 years old." His Cockney accent and leisurely prosody grated on Eddie's ears. "Right now I'm a midfielder, but I used to play striker, so I can pretty much play anywhere."

Talkative, then, with confidence — or arrogance — in spades. A joker, Eddie added onto his mental file, as Jason cracked a joke to the dressing room. Quite the opposite to him in every conceivable way. Although in the end, it mattered little to Eddie, as his primary concern was simply playing football and performing well.

The team started the first month of the season impressively, with three wins in a row and progression to the second round of the League Cup. A few of the new players had cemented their names in the starting lineup, such as Richard and new goalkeeper Mark, while Jason had managed to make himself known as a substitute. An unfortunate injury to midfielder Stephen in the cup had led Jason to come on in his place; having performed well enough as the replacement, he was then pencilled in for his first start in the next league match against Millwall.

The game started slowly, Millwall having chosen to play in a more defensive shape away from home. Yet they proved themselves adept at counterattacks, Eddie more than once having to commit last-ditch tackles to prevent clear shots on goal. 

The pressure collectively lightened early in the second half, when fellow defender Ian headed the ball in the net following a set piece. Eddie knew that Millwall would now be forced to choose between continuing to defend or committing more players to the attack. As the end of the game crept nearer, with the score still in Bournemouth's favor, Millwall attempted to send more players forward, only to concede a second goal in the 90th minute and a penalty in quick succession. 

In the dying embers of the game, with the score already at 2–0, the penalty itself did not account for much. However, as a professional, Eddie still desperately wanted his team to score. He jogged up towards the opposition goal, as was customary, in order to watch the play. It was only until the referee moved out of his line of sight that Eddie realized the one standing over the spot was not their regular penalty taker in Mark Stein, but rather the cocky, young midfielder Jason Tindall, who had barely been at the club for two months and was only completing his first full match that very day.

"What the hell is he doing?" Eddie hissed under his breath to left-back Neil, who had stayed back with him. "Why hasn't someone told him off? Where's Steve?" Steve, their team captain, was never hesitant to let players know if they were not following orders. 

Neil looked at him, and could only shrug his shoulders. 

Despite the relative lack of pressure on the penalty itself, Eddie could feel the tension in his shoulders rising. If Jason happened to miss, it would reflect poorly on the professionalism and standards of the team — he could only imagine what would be said afterwards. Bournemouth are taking the piss, they gave some random kid the penalty and he fluffed it! Do they even respect their opponents? He shook his head to rid his mind of the thoughts, his heart beating loudly in his chest, as Jason stepped back from the penalty spot in preparation.

Right foot, keeper's right, bottom corner, directly into the side netting. Eddie stood, stunned into immobility, as the rest of his teammates ran over to Jason in celebration. Through the mass of bodies, Eddie caught a glimpse of Jason's expression; it was not one of relief but one of confidence, as if he foresaw no other future than the ball going in the net. The hard glint of determination shone in his eyes, as if saying: Acknowledge me. I'm here to succeed.

Eddie tried to ignore the conflicting feelings nagging at his gut.

Despite his penalty heroics — or because of his antics, if you wished to look at it that way — Jason did not manage to carve out a starting spot of his own once Stephen returned from injury. He did, however, make himself a popular figure in the dressing room, with his jovial personality that seemed to lighten the moods of the people close to him. Eddie observed this behavior from a safe distance; he did not consider himself to be one of those people.

The full-time whistle blew on Dean Court, and a cheer rang through the stadium. They had progressed to the second round of the FA Cup. Although of course it could not be comparable to making the final, the team was in high spirits as they re-entered the home dressing room. 

As Eddie began to change out of his sullied kit, he couldn't help but hear a few of the other lads chattering on excitedly.

"I was thinking we could go out somewhere to celebrate the win." That was Jason, whose accent Eddie had now grown more accustomed to hearing. "It's also my birthday tomorrow, so it'll be a bit of fun."

Tomorrow was November 15. Eddie paused in the process of removing his shinpads, caught off guard by the information, but he quickly resumed his actions so as to not seem like he was eavesdropping. If Jason's birthday was tomorrow, and he had introduced himself as 20 years old, it meant that Jason was actually older than Eddie by two weeks. Eddie had assumed, perhaps because of Jason's energy and boyish charm, that Jason was younger than him. It was strange to think that the person Eddie had initially categorized as a young player had turned out to be older than him, albeit not by much. Was there anything else to learn about Jason that would also come as a surprise?

"Ed?" Jason's voice rang out again, yanking Eddie out of his thoughts. "You can come too, if you like."

So his little act of pretending to be disinterested hadn't worked. Eddie looked up at Jason, standing tall and his smile radiant, his pale torso glistening with beads of sweat. It was almost blinding.

"Eddie," he corrected. Ed was reserved for close friends and people he had grown up with, not for teammates with whom he had barely spoken one-on-one. "And you're alright. Thanks, though," he added belatedly in an attempt to not come off too standoffish.

After matches, Eddie preferred to prioritize rest and recovery, setting a soft bedtime of 9pm. He tried not to judge too harshly those who chose to follow alternative routines, but it did make it difficult for him on occasion to connect with them. But he didn't mind much; after all, he didn't play football to make friends.

"Eddie," Jason repeated, without missing a beat and not fazed at all. "'Course." He turned back to continue speaking with the others, leaving Eddie to ruminate alone on the strange case of the boy (no, he couldn't say that anymore) who was Jason Tindall.

The next time he and Jason spoke, it was in the context of football, which suited Eddie much more nicely.

Eddie's regular centre-back partner, Ian, had been ruled out for a few games. Their coach Mel had thus been trying out alternative options in training, including a few academy players. In the current drill, Eddie was paired with Karl, the 18-year-old who had joined in the summer but had not yet played a minute of football. His lack of experience unfortunately showed, consistently late to tackles and second balls.

Next, they trialled it with academy player Chris, who showed slightly more promise, but ultimately suffered from the same lack of experience as Karl. Eddie remembered how he felt as a young player on the fringes of the first team, perhaps slightly too eager to impress and not as calm or collected as one needed to be when making his professional debut.

After the drill concluded, Eddie looked over to the coach to try and glean his thoughts, only to spot none other than Jason already walking up to him. Eddie couldn't hear their subsequent conversation from where he was standing, but he watched as Jason seemingly explained something to Mel, while Mel responded in turn. This continued for a brief moment, until Mel caught Eddie's eye and motioned for him to come over.

"Jason was just saying how he thinks he could fill in at centre-back," the coach said. "Mind telling it to Eddie as well?"

Eddie glanced over at Jason in an attempt to get a read on him. He did remember that in the summer, Jason had introduced himself as someone who could play in any position. But up to the current point of the season, Jason had only played as a midfielder. Could he really be asked to fill in at centre-back? 

"Yeah, so," Jason said, drawing in a breath before continuing. "I was just thinking, because we all know that Ian is really good at passing the ball, keeping the tempo at centre-back. And Eddie" — Jason's gaze darted to him — "is like the warrior, always winning duels and tackles, and so they make a good pairing."

A part of him was surprised to hear Jason speak so candidly about his role. Was it flattery? But Jason's words seemed sincere, Eddie thought, and there was no point trying to butter up to him rather than the gaffer. 

"I know that as a midfielder, when I play deeper, I'm pretty good at playing the ball forward," Jason continued. He looked at Eddie again, and their eyes met briefly, before Jason looked down. "So I thought maybe at centre-back, I could try and push up more, do the same thing, and you can stay back, still focusing on your strengths instead of covering for someone else. But only if, you know, you and the gaffer agree to it."

This was perhaps the most reticent and unsure Eddie had ever seen Jason, in stark contrast to the vibes he displayed in the dressing room. It was also an insightful suggestion in terms of tactics and player profiles, which was unexpected but welcome. With Jason's penchant for partying and joking around, Eddie had not penned him as someone with a great interest in the detailed workings of the game. He supposed he had been mistaken.

"Yeah, I think it's a great idea," Eddie finally said. "At least in the short-term, of course. It lets us continue with the way we're playing until Ian gets back, which will make it easier for all of us, so I think it's a good suggestion."

"All right," Mel said. "I was mostly interested in your thoughts, Eddie. Since you seem to be okay with it, we'll have Jason be your partner for the next few drills. If it goes well, then I'll make my decision about the lineup on Friday."

The coach dismissed the two of them back onto the pitch, Jason settling in by Eddie's side. Eddie took careful note of the way Jason played, the way he received and passed the ball. Despite his earlier display of timidity, when Jason was on the pitch, he demonstrated impressive confidence and smoothness on the ball. The rest of the training session passed without a hitch, and so too did those few games with Jason as a makeshift centre-back.

As luck would have it, it was not until nearly two years later that the flowers of their budding centre-back partnership would truly blossom. 

In what was perhaps the most unfortunate event of his footballing career so far, in the first week of preseason, with the chance to impress under a new head coach, Eddie found himself out for two months with a knee injury. 

Injuries were part and parcel of football, and Eddie had already experienced a three-month absence in the middle of last season, but none of that made dealing with this one feel any easier. Frustrated by his inability to help the team, Eddie could only watch from the sidelines as the manager designated Jason, now a full-time centre-back, and youngster Danny Smith as his backline duo.

Observing him occasionally in training and in games, Eddie could see that Jason had improved greatly since his first stint in the defense two years ago. He was more comfortable off the ball, breaking up play and generally being a nuisance to opposition attackers. He certainly looked the part of someone who had finally made a spot in the starting lineup his own. Eddie was curious as to, when he finally returned from injury, if Jason would be able to maintain his position and they would be able to play together again. 

It turned out that the manager was wondering the exact same. 

"I don't need to be told twice about the quality you can bring," said Sean. Sean had previously been Mel's assistant manager, and he and Eddie had worked closely together before. "But my job is to get the best out of the whole team, so I need to know where and how you think you fit into this back line."

"I think… I remember playing together with Jason a couple years ago. I can tell he's a lot better than he was back then," Eddie said with a small laugh. "But I think we worked well together, we had different attributes that could complement each other. So I'd probably say playing alongside him would help get the best out of us and the team."

And so, when Eddie made his long-awaited return from injury, coming on as a substitute against Notts County, it was the young Danny that he replaced, slotting in comfortably on Jason's right.

They saw each other more often, now, typically paired together in training. And while Eddie wouldn't describe their relationship as particularly close — off the pitch, Jason still hung around his party of mates, while Eddie preferred the company of those like Richard — they were certainly cordial, able to strike up conversations about football from time to time.

"Did you catch the Arsenal game at the weekend?" Jason asked once, randomly.

"I did, yeah," Eddie responded. Remembering Jason's apparent interest in football tactics and philosophy, Eddie decided it was safe to elaborate. "Great game. I just love the way they play, with so much energy and intensity."

Jason smiled softly. It was different to the way he laughed around his friends. "I feel the same. I think it's amazing what Wenger has done so far this year."

So they had similar viewpoints. It was interesting; despite being entirely different personalities, the way he and Jason thought about and viewed the game was the same. It was also just nice, Eddie thought, to be able to have someone to talk to about the finer details of football, when for so long he had felt rather isolated for thinking so deeply compared to those around him. 

As a centre-back pairing, they grew more and more of a connection and understanding on the pitch. Jason would push up, while Eddie would stay behind. Eddie would win the ball back, pass it to Jason, and Jason would progress it further up the pitch. Eddie would bark out occasional orders — where to pass, who to mark for this set play — and Jason followed.

("Do you ever think I should be the one giving commands, since I'm older?"

"No chance, mate. I'm the senior player — you have to listen to me.")

For a season and a half, on the pitch, they were nigh-inseparable on the pitch, playing almost every minute of every game together. But Eddie craved more; he craved the feeling of success, of moving higher up the football pyramid, of winning trophies. It was why, when he received a phone call from a certain Harry Redknapp in March of 2002, and with the club floundering in the relegation places, that he packed his bags without looking back and made the journey one hour east to Portsmouth.

All footballers knew that no matter how much you tried, there were just some things that you could not control.

Eddie returned to Bournemouth in 2004, having played in fewer games than he had suffered knee injuries and complications. It was tough, having been in a new environment, surrounded by people he barely knew, desperately wishing to perform but his body screaming back at him in response. Even now, with him theoretically being almost back to full fitness, part of him was afraid his knee would once again give way as soon as he stepped onto the pitch for a game. 

His body had suffered, but so too had his mind. The dreams he had carried ever since he was a boy —of success upon success, of playing in the top flight and lifting trophies — had come crashing down in fifty-nine cumulative minutes of football. And although he was not quite ready to bring the curtain down on his career, Eddie had a growing feeling, born of the recovery days spent in solitude, that this was the beginning of the end. And, he supposed, there were not many better places to end his career than where it all began.

Things had certainly changed in Eddie's two years away from the club. He no longer recognized half the squad; even his old shirt number had been taken by a player who had joined soon after he left. He settled for the new number 20, only two numbers down from Jason, who he learned had also suffered a serious knee injury just a few months ago. Once a partnership on the pitch, now they could be partners in the physio room, Eddie thought wryly. How quickly things moved in football. 

Coming on as a substitute against Hull City, just as in his first-ever professional appearance, the loyal Cherries supporters cheered Eddie's long-awaited return. His knee, miraculously, did not collapse after just seven minutes this time; and despite his initial reservations, his first season back in the newly-rebranded EFL League One passed relatively smoothly. 

In the following season, however, Eddie was not as lucky, and after four games he found himself once again sidelined for months on end. The process of recovery was slow, but it was made slightly less isolating by the fact that Jason had finally returned from surgery and was also aiming for a winter return action.

"It was really, really difficult," Jason admitted. "I didn't know if I would ever play again. And I still don't, to be honest."

Eddie let out a soft murmur of consolation. While at Portsmouth, there were days where he had felt the same. It was difficult to not let the negative thoughts consume his mindset; even at the best of times, he had always been a bit of a pessimist. 

"But I just kept telling myself, I just have to get through this day. And it's one day closer to being back out there playing football again." Jason sighed and leaned his head back on the pillow of the examination table. "That's all I'm thinking about, even now."

Eddie gazed up at the ceiling of the physio room. It was an uncomfortably small space, the white walls and fluorescent lights evoking the feeling of being trapped in an enclosure rather than an area intended to let players relax. And yet he was comfortable in the lapses of silence with Jason — that despite their differences, they could together commiserate their respective situations. 

"When's your contract up?" Eddie asked, after a few moments. 

"Oh, yeah, it's just up in the summer." It was said with an air of lightness, but Eddie understood the hidden meaning. After 18 months out and counting, and with the club in a tough position financially, it was highly unlikely that Jason's contract would be considered for renewal. 

Eddie looked sideways at Jason, who wore an uncharacteristically somber look on his face, and decided he should probably change the topic. "You could think about going into coaching," he said. "I feel like you'd be quite good at it, since you understand the game well. Not everyone has that kind of footballing mind."

"D'you think?"

"Yeah, of course." Eddie thought back to those shared moments crowded around a tactics board discussing their roles, or voicing their opinions on the most attractive style of play in the Premier League. "I think what's most important is a clear vision for how the game should be played, and of course, you have to have that desire and determination to be successful as well. And I think… you've shown that pretty clearly."

It was strange, how Eddie's perception of Jason had changed over the years. At first, he was your typical East London boy, with a brash voice and the confidence to match. The type Eddie might disregard entirely if they had met in another context. Then Eddie slowly learned of Jason's thoughts on football, how he wanted to play, how he wanted to improve. Then playing side by side, Eddie was able to witness firsthand Jason's determination and ability to back his skills and his ideas. And that was something Eddie had come to truly respect. 

"Sounds like you should be the one doing the coaching, not me," Jason said, a small smile on his face. 

Eddie couldn't help but laugh in response. "Me? We'll have to see about that."

When first-team manager Kevin Bond suggested to him the possibility of helping coach the reserves, Eddie was at first hesitant. The ambitions for himself that he had made at approximately age nine had not included coaching, especially not at such a (relatively) young age. He supposed, however, that those plans also had not included losing more and more months of an already-short playing career due to recurring injuries. Thus, with nothing better to do except sulk from the sidelines while his knee recovered, Eddie tentatively agreed. 

It surprised him, how quickly and how naturally coaching came to him. Eddie had always considered himself a thinker, someone who was intelligent enough to read the game, so perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising after all. But he found he enjoyed explaining concepts and roles to others, helping them become better and stronger versions of themselves. In a way, it was almost therapeutic; although he wasn't able to achieve all he wanted to as a player, he could now channel that frustration and lost potential into helping others with their own goals. 

Soon enough, alongside working on recovery and fitness, Eddie began taking courses and studying for his badges. He stayed up later and woke up earlier than usual, just to cram in more hours of revising. It was a new obsession that doubled as a welcome distraction.

Another ligament tear in his knee in January dealt the final blow to Eddie's season, but even more painful than the initial injury was the admission to himself that it was finally time to hang up his boots. It was tiring, taxing, constantly being in and out of the medical room to the point where it was practically his second home. Eddie's body could no longer keep up, and neither could he. 

"Playing for Bournemouth was an honour and a privilege," he said to the media after making the announcement public. Asked for one thing he would change: the injuries.

The one solace he found was that he had now completed enough hours to be able to continue working with the first team as a coach.

Eddie had worked under plenty of experienced managers as a player, but he soon found that the experience was vastly different compared to being a part of their first-team staff. The day-to-day processes were much more involved and detailed than even he had anticipated, with a vast amount of work occurring behind the scenes that the players were never even privy to. He wanted to learn and take in as much as possible by observing the methods of as many managers as he could; some videos he would watch online, but he preferred to visit in person if at all possible. 

That was how, one day, he found himself an hour west, at the grounds of Weymouth Football Club. 

"Jason," Eddie greeted. He extended a hand, which Jason clasped. "I see that you did end up taking my advice." 

He had heard that Jason had unexpectedly been asked to take charge of Weymouth after the departure of the previous coach. Eddie was interested in seeing the ways Jason, as a manager, implemented his vision and philosophy — with which he was already familiar — into his team. 

"Yeah, well." Jason attempted a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "Didn't really expect it to be so soon."

Both of them were yet to reach age 30. Injuries had robbed them of their prime years on the pitch and relegated them to the touchline. 

"Me neither."

Eddie soon learned that even as a coach, there were still some things in football you could not control.

A combination of ownership and financial problems led to the administration of Bournemouth in February 2008. With the team consequently suffering a ten-point deduction, they were essentially doomed to relegation without needing to refer to the results on the pitch. An upturn in form in the last two months of the season spared the team's blushes somewhat, but it was too little, too late. 

The club was undoubtedly struggling, and Eddie was witnessing it firsthand but could do very little to change anything. Although their temporary transfer embargo had been lifted, the consequences of relegation meant that they had to rely primarily on loans and free transfers to bolster the squad, while letting star striker Sam leave to Wolves for a hefty sum in order to help fund daily executive functions. Yet bad quickly transformed into worse, as the debts continued to remain unpaid, and Bournemouth kicked off the first matchday of the following season with a whopping negative seventeen points. 

Eddie knew that this season was essentially make-or-break. The majority of previous clubs that had lost professional status with relegation from the Football League had not had an easy time returning, if they returned at all. It would also only exacerbate the club's already-dire financial situation, with fewer investor and ownership opportunities. The goal was thus clear: survive at all costs.

A run of five winless games to start the season saw Kevin lose his job as first-team manager, and so too did Rob and Eddie as his assistants. But despite being sacked, Eddie felt that he could not yet abandon the club in this time of need. In order to stay, he willingly took a pay cut of his already-measly salary and began working with the youth teams at the Centre of Excellence. 

The turn of September saw the arrival of new manager Jimmy Quinn and the coincidental return of Jason Tindall, who had been integrated into Jimmy's backroom staff at Cambridge United. From Eddie's post in the academy, he had even less influence on the day-to-day workings of the club; he could only watch as bailiffs and legal officers made themselves known around the facilities, as players complained about not receiving their salaries on time, as their position in the table remained firmly in the drop zone. 

A 2–0 home loss to 21st placed Barnet, with the club now seven points adrift of safety, spelled the end of Jimmy's short-lived stint on the south coast. The news came only hours after chairman and co-owner Paul Baker, who had joined just a few months prior, announced his decision to step down. It thus came as a bit of a surprise when Eddie was called into the executive office to speak with the board (or at least what remained of it).

Walking through the door, if Eddie was being honest with himself, he was half expecting to hear that he had been laid off in order to cut costs. What was one more departure amongst the current administrative shitshow, anyway? 

"We'd like to offer you the option of coming in as caretaker manager," said Alastair Saverimutto, chief executive and director. 

Well. Happy early New Year to him, he supposed.

The prospect of finally making the step up to first-team management was enticing. But as a caretaker, he would likely take charge of two — perhaps three if he was lucky — games before swiftly being replaced by the next manager, the person that the club actually wanted to hire and didn't just turn to as a last resort. 

Eddie had no doubts about his own ability; if he was going to do something, he would commit to it fully. His determination stemmed from those late nights in the parks of Verwood with no one but his mother, the family dog, and a ball at his feet. Work hard to make sure you live with no regrets, she would say.

"I'm open to discussing the job," Eddie answered finally. "But I do have a few conditions I'd like to be agreed upon before I accept."

First: He would accept the caretaker role, but with a clear view towards obtaining the position on a permanent basis, contingent on results. He did not want to be discarded after just a few matches only to end up right back where he started. He wanted to be able to commit to a longer-term project, to have the chance to grow and succeed.

Second: He wanted assurances that the transfer of ownership of the club would be completed by the end of the season. Although the managerial position carried with it the possibility of high reward, Eddie was keenly aware that it also carried incredible risk, and he needed to feel on the pitch as well as off it that the club was moving in the right direction.

And finally…

"Have you spoken with Jason? Jason Tindall?"

Alastair shook his head no.

"I'd like to request that you keep him on as well."

Perhaps it had been unwise for Eddie to make such a demand without asking Jason whether he wished to work together in the first place. But in the moment, standing there in front of the executives, he was not sure what had come over him: only that he had a gut feeling it would work.

"It's going to be a difficult job," Eddie said. "I'm sure you already know, you've seen the situation we're in. But I'm determined to do the very best I can for this football club. And to do that… I want us to work together."

They had never been truly close. Even now, they were still very different people. But Eddie had grown accustomed to Jason's footballing views, his philosophy, his mindset — and in these aspects they were one and the same. Eddie needed someone to collaborate with, someone whose foundation he could build upon and vice versa. Someone who could challenge him when needed. Someone he could trust.

The silence stretched on for a beat too long. Jason's gaze bore into him, countenance unreadable, as though he were a million miles away.

"That's only if you want to, of course," Eddie added hastily. 

Jason blinked twice, and he was back. "No, 'course I want to," he said. "Just like old times, yeah?"

"Just like old times," Eddie repeated, a grin forming on his face. His heart felt lighter, somehow, shedding a weight he hadn't known he was carrying. "When I would kick the ball nearly out of play trying to make a pass and you would have to run after it."

"Or when I would lose the ball in a duel and you had to win it back from them," Jason fired back. 

That drew a small chuckle from Eddie. "We did complement each other quite well, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Jason echoed, trailing off. Presumably, he was reminiscing on their past. Eddie also let himself indulge, briefly, in the memories of their celebrations, their discussions, their struggles.

"Listen, Jason." Eddie's voice was a touch more serious now. "Like I said, it's going to be tough. And I want to make sure you know that, and you're comfortable with that."

Jason's posture shifted as he moved to face Eddie directly. "I am comfortable," he said. There was a self-assured glint in his eyes that took Eddie back to one of their very first days sharing the same pitch, the penalty replaying itself in Eddie's mind. "Growing up in the East End, it wasn't always easy. I'm used to feeling that pressure, I'm used to having to fight for myself and for what I want. Even now" — Jason gestured around to the dingy room they were currently in — "I just try to keep fighting and working hard every day."

The gaze of Jason's dark brown eyes on Eddie's own was intense, filling him with a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Eddie was the one to look away first, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Good. No, that's great to hear." He let his eyes close briefly, in an attempt to collect himself, before continuing to speak. "...I trust you to give it your all. And I'm going to do the same."

Jason's murmur of agreement was so soft it was almost imperceptible. 

"I'll tell the board that I'll take the role of manager with you as my assistant. But," Eddie paused. "Just because those are our positions doesn't mean you have to agree to everything I say. If you don't agree with me, I want you to let me know. I don't want you to lie just to please me, because that won't work. If we're both open with each other and working together toward the same thing, I believe we can make something happen."

That dingy little office space quickly became Eddie and Jason's second home. The sight of notepads, computers, whiteboards, and loose sheets of paper became more familiar than their own beds. On days with training — and even on days without — they would be together from 8am to 8pm, constantly working, adjusting, tweaking. 

It was, Eddie admitted to himself, a difficult adjustment. The club was still in no position to sanction or pay for additional backroom staff, including opposition scouts. As a result, before every game, Jason would drive Eddie in his own car, sometimes for hours, to watch the opposition themselves. 

(Eddie wouldn't have minded being behind the wheel occasionally, but Jason was insistent that he be the one to drive. For what reason, Eddie wasn't entirely sure why, but he was grateful nonetheless. It was one less thing for him to worry about, in any case.)

Once the game concluded, they would drive back to their shared office and immediately begin conducting debriefing and analysis. Or if the distance was simply too far, they would find a nearby hotel to use as a makeshift office for the night before heading back the next morning. The first time, it was Eddie who paid for their shared hotel room, and it was Eddie who laid uncharacteristically wide awake as Jason snored softly in the bed next to him, until he eventually fell into a fitful sleep, that same strange feeling clouding his mind.

After matches, their analysis routine was similar. If it happened to be a later kick-off time than usual, they could find themselves in until midnight, discussing what went wrong and ways to improve. Jason had suggested the idea, saying that the best time to work was when the game was still fresh in their minds, and Eddie had agreed.

The squad was also thin, and the club's lack of physiotherapists — aside from the ones he and Jason had brought in with their own change — meant that players were often unfit or out injured. They had managed to pick up some form in recent weeks, but the difficulty of keeping momentum for the games ahead was compounded by the inability to field their best players at once.

"We can barely glue two centre-halves together at the minute." Eddie frowned, poring over the notes from the day's training. "Do you think you could still put in a shift?" 

It was meant as a half-joke, with Eddie expecting Jason to easily laugh it off. Instead, Jason said, "I probably could do, honestly…"

Eddie blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, why?" Jason's voice was contemplative. "Maybe not the full ninety minutes, but I know we're missing players, so if you need me there as a substitute, I could probably do it, yeah."

"Nothing, I'm just…" Eddie shook his head to refocus himself. "Surprised you're willing to, I guess."

"I'd do pretty much anything to help out you and the team," Jason said. "That's why I'm here, ain't it?"

It was thus at the seventieth minute away at Dagenham & Redbridge, with the game tied at 0–0, that Jason made his return. The Cherries had been more in control of the second half after defending for most of the first, and Eddie had felt that by replacing a more defensive-minded centre-back with Jason who could play more forward, they could try and push for the three points.

In the final minute of stoppage time, Eddie was already resigned to taking away the positives from a hard-earned point at a difficult away ground. That was when Jason sent an inch-perfect ball over the top to midfielder Mark Molesley, who won a diving header to send the away end into a frenzy. 

Eddie's first instinct was to celebrate with Jason, who often took up the position to his left during games; he turned, and there was, of course, no one there. He settled for watching the team's joy as they crowded around each other to celebrate their first away win in five months.

"How did I do, gaffer?" Jason asked, later, his expression one of cheek. It evoked an image in Eddie's mind of a dog in search of praise after having played fetch. 

Eddie pretended to ponder the question for a moment. "Well, I have to say, it was a great assist. Although it was quite lonely trying to celebrate a goal by myself, so maybe it's better if you stay on the touchline next time."

The one downside, if you could call it that, to spending so much time with someone was that it became exceedingly difficult for Eddie to hide whenever he was in a bad mood. Perhaps due to the high-stress nature of the job, there were often days when Eddie found himself agitated or on edge. It was easier for him to conceal from the players, due to their emotional and physical distance — of course, unless the players themselves were the source of his ire, in which case he was not shy about letting them hear it — but it was much harder to appear unaffected to Jason, who was by his side for twelve hours out of the day. 

Once, Eddie had accidentally gotten snippy with Jason over a misplaced file on their next opponent. But instead of talking back, as Jason might have done if the conversation was about the team's defensive shape off the ball, he stopped and asked if Eddie was all right. Eddie could only apologize as Jason then made him a cup of tea: milk and no sugar, his favorite. 

Although the goings were still tough, Eddie had quickly grown to lean on Jason's presence, his reliability to relieve at least a chunk of his burden. The once-lanky young boy had long since filled out his frame, transforming into a mature and dependable partner. Eddie had grown comfortable trading jokes with Jason, working with him all through the night, even simply sitting in silence together as they drove to their next opponent, windows down and a cool breeze caressing his face. 

There was still that inexplicable feeling Eddie got sometimes, one that had become more known to him now in terms of familiarity but not in terms of nature. It seemed to only occur when Jason was around — but he was always with Jason, so he supposed that wasn't the greatest metric to use. As long as whatever it was Eddie was feeling did not detract from the task at hand, which was working to secure safety with only three games to go, it would not become a problem.

As soon as the full-time whistle blew at Dean Court for the final time of the season, Eddie fell on his knees into the earth, burying his head into the grass below his feet.

They had done it. From a seventeen-point deduction, two managerial changes, mismanagement of the stadium and staff, and ownership rug-pulls, to securing their status in the Football League at home, in front of their fans, with one game to spare. It was another great escape, and Eddie could scarcely believe it. Perhaps he could have been convinced it was a fever dream, were it not for Jason dragging him unceremoniously back up to his feet, back into reality, where history was unfolding in front of his eyes.

"Look at all of them," Jason spoke directly in Eddie's ear, his voice hardly audible over the roars of celebration from all nine thousand fans in the stadium. "We did it."

"Jase," Eddie said, suddenly. His heart fluttered with unspoken emotions. "Thank you." 

Jason simply smiled in response, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulder and steering him onto the pitch in the direction of the players and fans. They remained there for hours, until the sun began to set, and Eddie knew that this moment marked the beginning of a new dawn for him and Jason, the team, and the club. 

Before the final match of the season away at Morecambe, Eddie's pre-match talk was simple.

"We've already worked so hard to be able to get where we are today. We're safe, and no one can take that away from us. So just get out there and enjoy yourselves, and we'll have more celebrations after."

That night upon returning to Bournemouth, the players, Eddie, and Jason all ended up at a local club a bit outside of the city center. The festivities had been jointly planned in advance by Jason and their team captain, with Eddie having no input, luckily for him, other than giving the final approval.

"This stuff's not really my wheelhouse," Eddie had said, when the idea had been brought up to him.

"I know, mate," Jason had laughed. "I remember."

It being a Saturday night, the atmosphere on the floor was rather lively, and Eddie wondered offhandedly how many of the people there had watched the game. In any case, he didn't particularly fancy the thought of embarrassing himself in front of a room of people he didn't know. He had never been big on alcohol, either, always preferring to keep a clear head and remain in control. So Eddie decided to settle in the back with a cold glass of water, letting everyone else have their deserved fun.

But when Jason later dragged him onto the dance floor, palm sweaty in Eddie's own, urging him forward with a C'mon, Ed, he found that he had no desire to protest.

Although Bournemouth had finally been successfully bought by a consortium over the summer, they could not make the problems that had been building up over years go away overnight. The  club was placed under the highest level of transfer embargo, meaning that no new players could be bought or even loaned. However, from the very first day of preseason, Eddie's goal was clear: they were aiming for promotion back to League One. 

Eddie and Jason had begun to fall into a bit of a rhythm about the way they worked. They shared ideas across the board, but Eddie preferred to prioritize the attack, while Jason suggested changes in defense and set pieces. Jason was closer to the players, a liaison of sorts and a window into their thoughts, while Eddie kept a professional distance in order to act with a level head. Eddie was his same collected self on the touchline, whereas Jason projected emotion to the players and, occasionally, to the officials.

It was amusing how well Jason played that role. When they were in private, Jason was more often than not casual and difficult to anger. But if Eddie wished it, with one word, Jason would be right up next to the fourth official, letting their thoughts be known. 

They had discussed these respective positions, though most of what they did had arisen naturally, unspoken, as a result of their distinct personalities. At times, however, Eddie began to develop the slightest trace of a worry that their relationship was unbalanced, in that he felt Jason was giving to him much more than he was giving back to Jason. He wasn't sure. Perhaps that was just how it worked between managers and assistants. He never voiced his concerns, nor did he ever bring up the strange feeling that still afflicted him to this day.

It had been occurring more and more frequently, to the point where Eddie had begun to half-wonder whether it was actually a physical ailment that was going untreated. Sometimes it felt like a flame burning in his gut, and sometimes it felt like a tectonic shift pulling apart his chest. But, as with all things, as long as it did not impact the results on the pitch and their push for promotion, it was of little importance to Eddie.

Despite the transfer embargo and limited squad, the team never dropped below fourth place throughout the season. With each matchday that passed, people began talking, and the pressure from outside grew larger: hopes that they would make it, or speculation that they wouldn't. Eddie had never before been asked for so many interviews inquiring about his tactics, their training methods, how it felt to be working miracles. But he refused to entertain them until all was said and done.

A 2–0 away win at Burton Albion on the third-to-last matchday secured automatic promotion with 80 points, fourth-placed Rotherham unable to close the eight-point gap with two games to go. Without the support of their home fans like last time, Eddie could only revel in the moment with the away fans that had attended, with the players, and with Jason. 

Jason's countenance was one of pure, unbridled joy, his face reflecting the warmth of the sunlight above as he smiled down at Eddie. His typically well-groomed hair was now unkempt, having been tossed every which way from the celebrations. As Jason brought him into a tight hug, Eddie's heart began to pound in his ribs, so strongly that he wondered if Jason could feel it.

"Ed," Jason murmured in his ear. Eddie waited for Jason to continue speaking, but Jason only squeezed him tightly once more before letting go. Feeling as though his heart was about to burst out of his chest, as Jason drew back, Eddie's gaze followed the path of Jason's mouth. The first thought that came to his head was: I want to kiss him.

His immediate next thought was: Oh, no.

In hindsight, it really should have been obvious to him earlier. 

Jason had always been considered attractive, back when he and Eddie had first met as young adults, and perhaps even more so now that he had matured and filled out. Eddie would have to have been blind or ignorant to not acknowledge Jason's looks, and he liked to think he was a quite observant person. But recognizing attractiveness and actually being attracted to someone were different.

Eddie could not say that there was one specific moment in time that had caused him to develop feelings, but rather that they had grown slowly over time, starting with a shared philosophy between the two of them, then mutual trust, growing closer and more reliant on each other until their souls were practically inseparable. If you became so close with another person, it was inevitable that a part of them would eventually entwine with you, Eddie thought. 

It changed very little about their day-to-day routine, except that Eddie could finally place a name to the emotions that filled him whenever Jason's touch on him would linger, or when Jason brought him a cup of coffee, or when Jason comforted him with the positives after a tough defeat.

From the outside, more noise began to stir. Clubs from other leagues had begun to take interest in the manager who had survived relegation and then achieved promotion despite all odds. Eddie was contacted at first by Crystal Palace in the Championship, then Burnley, then Charlton Athletic. 

Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn't at all interested in a new challenge. After all, the reason he had started playing football as a kid, and the reason he had taken up management, was because he wanted to win, to achieve the greatest success possible. If he moved up to a club in the Championship, he would be able to challenge himself in a bigger league and at a club with better resources. Speaking only logically, it was a no-brainer.

But now, there was something — or rather, someone — else: he didn't want to lose Jason. 

They were a partnership. Whatever decision Eddie made, he wanted Jason to agree with it, too. If Jason wished to stay, then they would both stay. 

It was with these principles in mind that Eddie discussed with Jason the possibility of moving to Burnley. 

"It'll be a new challenge," Eddie reasoned. "Something outside of our comfort zone, to help us develop."

(I need you there to support me when it gets tough.) 

"Because they're in the Championship, they also offered higher compensation and better resources when it comes to club infrastructure."

(I want to chase success, but I only want to do it with you.)

"Burnley's far away, but again, I think that plays into the challenge of it, and us being able to gain these new experiences."

(I would go anywhere as long as you stay by my side.)

And so, on the 14th of January 2011, Eddie and Jason left everything behind to move up north.

Eddie wasn't doing well.

He had been speaking to his mother on the phone one week, and then the week after, she had been hospitalized in critical condition. He had initially tried to distract himself by burying himself in his work, but if anything, the effects were the other way around, and now they had lost three games on the bounce. 

He hoped that his players couldn't tell. Although he hadn't known them long, they were a nice group of lads who deserved to focus on their football without being burdened by the personal affairs of their manager. Eddie had never been one to get too close to players in the first place, so it was easier for him to draw back. 

On the other hand, Eddie knew that Jason could tell something was up. He was sure Jason must have noticed on at least one occasion his red-rimmed eyes with dark circles from lack of sleep. Yet ever the gentleman, Jason did not pry, instead dedicating more of his time to supporting Eddie and taking over greater parts of preparation. While Eddie appreciated Jason's actions, as he always did, it also filled him with a sense of guilt — he did not want to burden Jason or to give him any additional trouble, especially without letting him in on what was going on.

"Morning, Ed," Jason said as he stepped into their office. He was already carrying two cups of coffee, one of which he set down on Eddie's desk.

"Jason," Eddie responded slowly. "Could I speak to you about something?"

That caught Jason's attention, and he moved so that he and Eddie were no longer separated by furniture. "Of course."

"...It's about my mum. She…" Eddie paused, feeling his throat begin to tighten. "She's really not doing well. And I don't know if I'll ever see her again."

Jason's expression immediately shifted into one of empathy. "Oh, Ed, I'm sorry."

"To be honest, I didn't want to say anything," Eddie continued. "Mostly because I didn't want to burden anyone. But also because… saying it out loud would make it real." He closed his eyes, the tears beginning to threaten. "But I'll probably have to miss the next game to travel down. I don't know if I'll make it in time." 

Jason drew him into a hug, then, and Eddie's breath hitched with surprise, or perhaps it was a sob. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall onto Jason's shoulder. Jason's touch was stable and warm, a nightlight in the wake of darkness.

"You could never be a burden to me." Jason's voice was soft, yet it reverberated through to Eddie's core. "I can take care of things here for now. You should go see your mother."

Assuming someone were to walk into their office now, they would be greeted with a strange sight indeed. Some might consider it blurring the lines between professional and personal life — which Eddie was typically very keen to keep separate — but if he was being honest with himself, he had let the lines blur a long time ago anyway. He gripped Jason tightly, desperately clinging on to any semblance of warmth, the last pillar of support he had in this life.

If Eddie happened to leave any tear stains on Jason's tracksuit jacket once he finally pulled away, neither of them chose to bring it up.

Eddie Howe was a football manager because he wanted to win, but some matters of the heart were more important than anything else.

Six months after his mother's passing, six months after he had last been in the area, Eddie received communication from Bournemouth that stated they wanted him to come back. Although the club had made significant improvements since he had been away, the move was by all accounts a step back. From the Championship back to League One, from a 20,000 capacity stadium to one half its size. But the more Eddie considered the possibility, the more he wanted to take it. He missed his hometown, he missed his siblings, he missed the club with which he was brought up. Life was short and fleeting, Eddie now realized. He needed to go back. 

Eddie had not yet told Jason about his intentions. This time, his reasons were entirely personal, and he could not hide under the guise of career development. But he knew he had to tell Jason eventually; as an assistant manager, he was subject to the consequences of whatever Eddie decided to do. With each passing day, the guilt was beginning to eat at him. These were Eddie's personal decisions, his own affairs, and Jason did not deserve to be strung along from job to job against his will. Over the past years, Jason had done so much for Eddie, but what had Eddie ever offered in return? He couldn't think of anything.

In Eddie's eyes, loving someone meant that you should want the best for them, no matter what. He was just no longer convinced that the best for Jason came alongside staying with him. So after finally mustering up the courage to inform Jason of his decision to leave, Eddie simply stated that Jason did not need to force himself to come.

"You can stay here, if you want," Eddie said. "Or go to another club. They're probably all lining up to get your signature."

"What the fuck, Ed?" was all Jason said. Eddie nearly flinched at the hint of anger in his voice. Eddie had witnessed his anger in many previous situations, but never in one as personal and targeted as now. "Is this your way of sacking me? If it is, that's not fucking cool."

"Of course it's not," Eddie responded, instantly defensive. "It's just… I dragged you halfway across the country to come here, and now to drag you back, it's not fair to you."

Jason sighed, deflating slightly, and he ran one hand through his hair out of habit to calm himself down. "It's not dragging. I wanted to go with you then, and I still want to go with you now."

Eddie turned around in his chair, facing the wall. He didn't think he could bear to look at Jason right now, his heart heavy in his chest. He just didn't understand how Jason was willing to do so much for him, willing to sacrifice so much for him. Jason was a talented coach in his own right; he likely would have found success elsewhere as a manager on his own, getting the spotlight he deserved.

"Why me?" Eddie's voice came out shakier than intended.

"Sorry?"

"Why are you so insistent on staying with me?"

There was a pause before Jason answered. Eddie fixed his gaze firmly on the lines of mortar between the bricks in the wall.

"I think the real question is why I wouldn't want to stay with you," Jason said. Somehow, upon hearing this, the grip in Eddie's chest tightened even more. "I don't know if you remember it anymore. But that time, back in my first season at Bournemouth, when I was filling in at centre-back. You were one of the first people there to show faith in me and my abilities." 

Eddie did remember. Before then, he had thought of Jason as just another jokester archetype, who liked to kick a ball around but didn't think too deeply about the game. How far they had come from then to now. 

"And then when you kept me on as assistant manager, when I was originally supposed to have lost my job. I made a commitment that day, to myself and to you — that I'd repay you in any way I possibly can." Jason's voice was serious, resolute, cracking at the walls around Eddie's heart that he had so hastily constructed.

Eddie decided to try one last time. "Don't you have people you care about here?"

"Yeah, but… no one is as important to me as you."

Eddie felt as though his chest was about to splinter open. He stood up from his seat and turned to walk in Jason's direction, stopping just in front of his face but not daring to look him in the eye. Jason did not flinch, nor did he move at all. They were so close that Eddie could feel Jason's breath on his skin, hot and permeating. 

"Jason— Jase—" Eddie's voice broke. "Tell me you don't want to." 

Jason took in a heavy breath before responding. "Ed… Years ago when we first started, you told me not to lie to you about how I feel. So I—"

Eddie kissed him, then, with all the force of years and years of repression and unresolved tension. Jason's lips were rough and passionate on his own, sweeping fire through Eddie's body, burning his walls down, setting his heart aflame. Eddie gripped tightly onto Jason's jacket, pulling him closer, not wanting to see them separated. Jason's arms in turn wrapped around Eddie's waist, their bodies pressed up against each other, reaffirming his commitment to staying together. Selfish, a small voice in the back of Eddie's head chided. But if life was so short, perhaps he could be allowed to be selfish once in a while. 

Eddie's mouth opened wider, searching for more with his tongue, and Jason moaned into the kiss. The sound sent shockwaves down Eddie's spine, and he pushed his body weight forward, forcing Jason's back against the table of their desk. Desperation colored both their movements, their lips dancing together until it eventually left them panting for air, trying to catch their breaths. 

"...I do want you to stay with me," Eddie admitted, once he had regained full control of his respiratory system. "But I still feel guilty. I don't know why."

Jason let out a funny little laugh, and Eddie's heart jumped. He pressed his lips to Eddie's once again to silence him, chaste and sincere.

"Don't be; I made my choice a long time ago."