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Trent Crimm is very tipsy and very frustrated when he dials his ex-wife’s number, fully intending to leave a venting voicemail, because that’s their love language: giving each other all the gossip, hot and fresh, via a steaming hot pile of complaining. He’d listened to her mildly tipsy rant about that tosser from work who was definitely stealing her lunches yesterday, and also a stone-cold sober 2 am musing about a childhood teacher, both of which they’d had conversations about later.
He starts without even listening for the beginning of the voicemail machine, which is probably a bad idea because it’ll probably cut off or something but he’s held this in for too long already and it just bursts out of him.
“Goddamn it,” he says loudly, and then all in one breath, “Even getting absolutely railed by Roy Kent cannot fix me. What the fuck. How deep is this fucking crush on Ted Lasso if Roy fucking Kent can’t fuck it out of me what the HELL this is TERRIBLE I want a REFUND.”
He finally takes a breath, almost shaky in its intensity, and then says, still sounding wild and overly intense, “And I know you’re going to ask about the Roy Kent thing and believe me I will give you all the details later but right now I am staring at the ceiling stewing because I am a disaster of a person and I am fully going to deserve it when you laugh at me later. FUCK.”
There’s a long beat of silence where he just gives a shuddering exhale, and he half expects either her voice, amused and/or sympathetic (he hadn’t actually waited for the voicemail message, after all, and didn’t recall hearing it, so it’s possible she’d actually picked up, even if it is way too late an hour for her to be awake) or for the beep as his time runs out.
Instead, to his extreme distress, Ted Lasso says, voice rough like he’s just woken up, “Y’know, Trent. I have a lot of questions.”
Trent freezes, staring at his phone as if it’s just swallowed his hand whole.
“Not the least of which being,” said Ted, as if this were normal and regular and fine, and Trent wasn’t going to have to change his name and move to Argentina, “have ya checked your caller ID?”
There’s a long beat of silence. Somewhere else, Ted Lasso, sleep-rumpled and hair askew from having just been woken up, blinks heavily at his phone.
“FUCK!” Trent Crimm shouts, and then the phone clicks and the call has ended.
“Yeah, that’s on me,” said Ted out loud to himself, almost a mumble at this point. “Don’t know what else I expected.”
The next day Trent nearly crashes into Roy in the hallway. When he registers who he’s nearly collided with, he practically skids to a stop with a half-relieved expression like he’d been looking for Roy.
“I fucked up,” says Trent, eyes wild, looking generally harried.
Roy gives a slightly wide-eyed look upon seeing the state of him. Disheveled, eyes huge, pure panic creating a general lopsided chaotic look in both his expression and his general demeanor.
“Wow.” he says, perfunctory enough to warrant the full stop.
“Roy, I fucked up,” says Trent again, faster, hands waving rapidly in emphasis without his permission.
“Fuck, why don’t you go to the—the stupid fucking Diamond Dogs,” says Roy, more his usual grunt than before, although he’s still eyeing Trent with thinly-veiled concern.
“Absolutely not,” says Trent, slamming his notebook down on his desk. Ted and Beard are both out, for obvious reasons, and going to Higgins alone would be a severely awkward experience Trent would never recover from.
“What, fuck, do you need help hiding a body?” Roy asks. “Because I’m not the best pick for that, fucking Beard or Bumbercatch would pr—”
“What? No,” says Trent, then he doubles back and says, “wait, you think they would h—no, nevermind, not the point. I can’t go to the Diamond Dogs because it’s about Ted.”
“Oh, right, your big crush on him,” Roy says, nodding.
Trent stares at him, eyes round, with deep distress.
“What?” says Roy.
“Yes, it’s about that,” says Trent after a painfully long pause. “See, I told him.”
“…you. told him,” says Roy.
“I told him,” agrees Trent miserably. “Or more accurately, I shouted it at him in the middle of the night through the phone because I thought he was my ex-wife.”
Roy stares at him.
“I know,” says Trent, almost a whine.
“…Wow,” says Roy. “You fucked up.”
“I KNOW,” says Trent, hands tugging nervously at his hair.
“So,” said Ted. And then he said nothing else.
Beard, the only other person present at the moment, peered up at him over his book. The door to the office was closed. No one else was going to hear this.
“Going to finally tell me what’s got you acting like a jumpy weirdo?” he asked.
Ted sighed. “That obvious, huh?” he said.
“No,” said Beard. “Not really. So?”
“So,” agreed Ted.
He sighed, spinning his chair in a full circle before letting it come to rest so that he was facing Beard.
“I got an interesting call last night,” he said finally.
“Oh?” said Beard, raising his eyebrows.
“From Trent,” said Ted.
“Oh?” said Beard, raising his eyebrows higher.
“WHAT DO I DO,” Trent says, almost a wail, still tugging his hair anxiously. It was a bad habit but he was very, very stressed at the moment, thanks.
“Stop tugging your hair,” Roy snaps, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Trent nearly makes a joke about Roy tugging his hair instead like he did last week, but thinks better of it.
“I mean, I can’t talk to him,” says Trent, as if Roy hadn’t said anything. “That would be crazy. But he knows. Do I just pretend it never happened?”
“Trent,” says Roy.
“Also, I may or not have mentioned that we had sex,” says Trent.
“You what,” says Roy. “Wait, no, just—Trent.”
“It’s going to make everything so awkward,” says Trent, and he looks a bit like he’s going to start whining like an anxious dog in a moving car. “I mean, he didn’t sound mad, but—”
“TRENT,” says Roy.
Trent finally falters. “Huh?”
“Come with me,” says Roy shortly. And he grabs Trent’s hand—oh!—and tugs him in the opposite direction.
“Wh—”
“Roy? Really? Huh,” says Beard thoughtfully.
“Not the point, Coach,” says Ted.
“Yeah, yeah, no, I got it,” says Beard. “just saying. Okay. So. Trent has a crush on you.”
“And he wants to get rid of it,” says Ted helpfully, voice just a hint strained. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Don’t be stupid,” says Beard. “It’s not a puppy.”
“I think it’s following him home and chewing on his furniture. Metaphorically.”
“Thank you for the clarification; I assumed the crush had literally grown teeth.”
“It has.”
“Your crush or his?”
“…who said anything about mine.”
“Everything about your face for this whole conversation.”
“……fair enough. Uh, to answer your question: both.”
“Yeah. That tracks. So are you gonna kiss him, or…?”
“He said he tried to get fixed, Willis.”
“We’re cutting off the puppy’s balls now? This metaphor’s getting mixed.”
“What in the hell are you tal—oh. Right. No, I meant—the feelings, Coach. Jeez.”
“I know. I’m just messing with you. Anyway, I reiterate: don’t be stupid. He likes you. He only wanted to stop because he probably thought you wouldn’t like him back.”
“Why wouldn’t I like him back?” Ted says incredulously.
Beard shrugs even as he gives a short little exhale through his nose. “So, I reiterate again: you gonna kiss him, or what?”
“I feel like I need more of a game plan than just ‘kiss him in the locker room’.”
“If you say so. You should probably go find him soon, though.”
“…Why’s that?”
“You weren’t the only one on that phone call.”
“What?”
“Trent also knows that you know, and there’s no way he isn’t freaking out.”
Ted remembers Trent’s parting shout on the call.
“Ohhhh. Yeah. ……Shoot.”
“ALRIGHT, EVERYONE!” shouted Roy, kicking the door in and practically dragging Trent behind him, and the room snapped to attention. “HUDDLE!”
Without question, every player and coach in the room flocked to Roy like a swarm of birds all diving after the same piece of bread.
As Roy is holding him in place, the huddle forms around Trent, who is now trapped.
He shrinks under the multiple arms thrown over his shoulders and back as they all huddle, but he will admit that it’s kind of nice. Both being included and being casually touched.
Well, he’ll admit it to himself, anyway. No one else.
“TRENT FUCKED UP!” Roy shouts, at the top of his lungs, despite everyone being near him. A few players closer to him flinch, as does Trent, but most of them are used to his volume by now and are therefore unfazed.
“Do we really have to do this,” Trent mutters, so flatly it’s not even a question, and Roy says, lower, “What, you want to go to the Diamond Dogs? With Ted there?”
“How about I go to no one,” said Trent. Roy levels him with a look that says yeah fucking right, and Trent sighs.
“RIGHT!” he says again, and the team snaps to attention. “Trent fucked up! He’s into Ted but he told him in the worst way possible! Because he’s a loser!”
Trent sighed louder. The team murmured loudly. It was unclear how much of it was agreement, sympathy, confusion, or protest on his behalf.
“But he’s our loser! So we’re going to help him!”
The team shouted their agreement. Trent wanted to melt into the floor. It was the kind of embarrassment one gets from people you care about mercilessly making fun of you for stupid shit you’ve done, where you’re a little pleased, but also a little murderous.
“Trent, you should buy him an apology ps5,” Jamie says, addressing him and jumping right into it.
“I am not doing that,” said Trent.
“He don’t need to apologize,” said Roy. “That’s not the issue.”
“Love is love,” beamed Dani.
“Right, thanks,” said Trent, uncertain how to take that.
“Have you tried ignoring the problem until it goes away?” Van Damme asked helpfully, holding up a hand.
Beard shook his head, and was soundly ignored.
“Promising idea, point for you,” said Trent.
“Yes,” said Van Damme, pumping his fist.
“Oi, we’re doing points now?” said Jamie. “I want a point!”
“Make a better suggestion, then,” said O’Brien.
“Where’s your suggestion, mate?” said Jamie.
O’Brien turned to look at Trent. “Fuck someone else, get it out of your system.”
“Tried that, didn’t work,” said Trent.
“We can try again if you want,” said Roy.
“WE?” said Jamie.
“Invite him to a party,” said Richard.
“NO SEX PARTIES,” said several players at once.
“Ugh,” said Richard.
“Are we not going to talk about ‘WE’?” said Jamie, high-pitched and incredulous.
“Have you tried telling him how you feel?” said Ted. “Open and honest communication and all?”
“He’s got a point,” said Beard. Sam nodded thoughtfully.
“Ted, that’s ridiculous,” said Trent, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m British, I would explode. And also he would definitely reject me. Anyone else?”
“My offer stands,” said Roy, and Jamie made an indignant noise.
Trent sighed. “Ma—hold on.” He abruptly straightened, eyes going wide. “Wait. Go back.”
“What, to the ps5?” said Jamie.
“No,” said Trent, his voice going up an octave. “To Ted. Standing right there.”
Everyone turned to Ted, who was part of the huddle, and gave them an innocent blink, as if to say who, me?
“Well, I still think the ps5 would work,” said Jamie grumpily.
“What the hell,” Trent said.
“In my defense,” said Ted, “No one told me the huddle was about me until the huddle was completed.”
“WHY DID NONE OF YOU PRICKS SAY ANYTHING,” said Roy.
“Ted’s always here,” Sam said, to nods and shrugs from everyone else.
“He’s our coach, innhe?” said Jamie. “Hey, Trent? Trent? Did you and Roy fuck?”
“What’s important here,” said Van Damme, “Is that I win.”
“Win the huddle?” said O’Brien, turning to look at him.
“I got a point, didn’t I?” he said.
“He has a point,” Colin said reasonably.
“Literally,” said Sam, nodding wisely.
“No one’s winning,” said Roy. “Fuck!”
“Coach,” said Beard to Ted, not even bothering to lower his volume as the players had all descended into squabbling, “I don’t think this is working.”
“Yeah, me neither,” said Ted. “Hm.”
“Just ask him out,” said Beard. “Look at him. He’s a disaster.”
“Yeah,” said Ted, smiling fondly as he watched Trent ineffectually attempt to ward off a player who had decided he needed a braid in his hair for god knows what reason.
“Aw, look at you,” said Beard, clapping him on the shoulder. “Adorable. Now seriously, put him out of his misery.”
“Hey, Trent,” called Ted, raising his voice over the hullaballoo.
Trent froze, mid-attempting to smack Colin’s hand away. Colin, who was currently saying something about braids and being batted away, as sneakily, behind Trent, Colin’s accomplice was very slowly braiding a different strand of hair.
The players took no notice of this new development, too busy continuing to argue (with no actual heat, if plenty of passion).
Ted jerked his chin up in a silent gesture of follow me or perhaps, with that gleam of mischief in his eyes, more let’s get outta here. And without waiting for Trent to untangle himself, he—with all the grace of an experienced coach and father—deftly ducks out of the huddle unhindered and slips away, waiting for Trent to follow him.
Trent does follow him. Of course he does. He’d follow Ted Lasso into hell if he asked, and honestly, probably if he didn’t. He’d been following Ted around like a puppy the whole season, why stop now, even when Ted was tugging him along by a leash made of pure embarrassment?
So yes, he manages to slip away from the squabbling pile of players—frowning when he realizes he has a sloppy half-braid in his hair that swings with the movement of his head, and fiddling with it as he walks—and then into the hall.
He looks both ways—turns, taps his glasses against his lips. Where is Ted, anyway?
“You thought about my suggestion?” says Ted from behind him, and Trent startles and nearly drops his glasses, only barely managing to catch them.
“Wh—what?”
“Open and honest communication,” Ted says with a little grin, and his hands are in his pockets as he rocks from heel to toe and back.
“…right,” says Trent, after a moment too long. “Um. So. That phone call.”
He falters. Tries to think of what to say.
Ted waits patiently.
Tries to think of what to say…
…hm.
“…not meant for me, I take it?” Ted says, a gentle nudge at starting the conversation. He casually steps a little closer as he does.
“No,” says Trent sheepishly. “My ex-wife. It’s. Yeah.”
He’s a writer. He should be better at—fucking. words. God. Ted’s looking at him, though, and that expression, it’s not uncomfortable or freaked out or disgusted or angry. It’s… coy? Is it coy? Warm and teasing and coy?
Ted moves closer again as he says, “so, what, our names next to each other in your contacts?” Casual, light-hearted, not at all mad, but Trent’s heart rabbits anyway, and he isn’t sure it’s the steadily increasing proximity, the complete lack of discomfort at Trent’s exposed feelings, or the anxious expectation of rage he knows isn’t actually coming.
“Something like that,” says Trent, throat dry. Tara, Ted. Not too far apart. Not unlike the distance between Ted and Trent. Physically, not alphabetically. Although that too, he supposed.
Somehow Ted’s gotten so, so close, closer than Trent had had registered him moving, and his breath is just. caught.
“You said you tried to get Roy to fuck your crush outta you?” Ted says quietly, almost a murmur in his ear, all. low and teasing and Trent’s already feeling warm, okay. Wow.
“Um, yes?” he squeaks, more question than answer. Literally no one else can make him feel like this, all. flustered like a schoolboy with a crush.
Ted leans in further, nose brushing Trent’s skin, breath warm and making the little hairs on his neck stand up. “I could give it a try, if you like,” he offers.
He’s always so helpful. Really a generous one, Ted Lasso.
“To be honest, I think you’d just fuck it in deeper,” says Trent, not really thinking about it, and then he says, flustered and face growing even hotter, “Oh, that sounds. so wrong. I—forget I said that. That’s—”
“No, I mean, that kind of sounds like a better outcome anyway,” says Ted. “Technically—"
“This is. I couldn’t have worded it worse. I’m so bad at this. I’m sorry.”
“In your defense, I kinda started it,” Ted points out. “Don’t actually want the thing gone, do I?”
“I still—wait, sorry, go back. Better out—don’t w—wait, you just offered t—”
“Oh, are you only just getting this, sweetheart?”
“Sweeth—” Trent wheezes, visibly buffering as he tries and fails to process the idea that Ted Lasso is not only unopposed to his crush but actively wants to kiss and/or fuck him about it. “I. You.”
Okay, Ted tried words. “Hey, Trent, unless you say no right now I’m gonna kiss you, okay?”
“wh.” A beat. “I. okay???”
Ted kissed him.
And Trent—Trent melts, leans into it, kisses back, and his lips are warm and dry and soft and. they part a little under Ted’s as he gives the tiniest, softest little happy sigh.
Ted’s an excellent kisser; it’s warm and deep and gentle and Ted brings a hand up to cup his face. It feels so, so good. He hesitantly lets a hand settle on Ted’s side, lets himself be drawn in closer, lets himself relax.
It comes to a natural end, their lips slowly parting, noses still brushing.
“Still think I’d reject you?” Ted says into the space between their lips, his voice soft and teasing. His hand is still warm on Trent’s cheek, thumbing under his eye.
“I’m having this niggling feeling that I might have a chance,” Trent admits.
Ted gives him a little kiss, just—a quick, soft press of lips, smiling and small, and lets his hand slip away even as he says, “Trust your instincts, then. Unless you’re still trying to fix your crush?”
Trent’s hand skates up his side and then he slowly slings his arms over Ted’s shoulders, loops them around his neck to lean in for another kiss.
“I don’t want it gone,” he murmurs into Ted’s lips, “Never really did, honestly. Just moping.”
“And fucking Roy?” Ted says, with a little grin so Trent knows he’s teasing and not serious.
“And fucking Roy,” Trent agrees. “Or Roy fucking me. Same difference.”
Ted wraps arms around him, too, keeps him close. Kisses him again.
Ah, that’s nice.
They do not notice that several pairs of huge eyes peer through the window in the door.
“I guess it worked,” someone whispers.
“Do you think it’s because he and Roy did the horizontal tango?”
“Just say fucked, bruv.”
“Do you think it’s because he and Roy fucked?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe Roy’s dick is magic.”
“I think it was the open and honest communication to be honest.”
“No, pretty sure it’s Roy’s magic dick.”
“Maybe he ordered the ps5 online.”
“That doesn’t sound right.” “Definitely not the ps5 thing.” “Guys, I think they just talked.”
“…Wow. They’re still kissing.”
“Good for them.” “Go Coach!”
“So does Trent have a type, then? Coaches? Our coaches?”
“Ha. Look out, Coach Beard.”
“Eh. Would.”
“AHH!” “Shit! You’re actually here?” “He’s so quiet…”
“Never left.”
“…so. Uh. You think it was the magic dick?”
“Possibly.”
“Really?!” “Seriously??”
“No.”
“Aw.”
“Tara. Tara. Tara. Hey. Guess what.”
“She can’t guess, babe, this is a voicemail.”
“It’s a figure of speech. Guess what. You know that crush I told you about. On Ted.”
“Ha, you had a crush on me? That’s so cute.”
“Okay, a), you knew this, b), we’re dating. We’re literally in bed together right now.”
“You’re blushiiiiing!”
“Shut up. Hey. Tara. Guess what. You’ve probably already guessed but guess what anyway.”
(Tara, had, indeed, guessed what.)