"There's a time it wouldn't be weird to walk off the pitch and end up in an unfamiliar city instead of the locker room?" he asks in return. He's pretty sure that's not possible.

For a moment Roy just sits quietly, thinking about what he's been told. He's not mad, that much is obvious, because Roy Kent's mental state is pretty fucking solid besides the anger issues. He's not high, because he hasn't done drugs in a very long time, not wanting to fuck his career by getting caught on something or having to take a drug test and being kicked out of the league. The paparazzi were bad enough for him without adding drugs into the mix.

He turns his head slightly, looking at the guy sideways, then reaches over and pokes his shoulder experimentally. As expected, he's solid, and Roy says, "Sorry. Just had to check."