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Trent Crimm is minding his own business when it happens.
Or, well, minding his own business as much as anyone can expect from an ex-journalist, considering his business is technically to be observing and taking notes on everything that’s happening, but, you know, the point is, he’s really rather quiet and unobtrusive and not even doing anything.
Ted is giving some sort of pep talk right after training, cheerful and apparently in a good mood. Training had gone well. Trent was just off on the sidelines, watching—seeing how the players all easily interacted with each other, how they listened to Ted unquestioningly, how Beard was a silent sentinel at his side. Nothing new, information-wise, but Trent never failed to find it at least a little amazing: the sort of environment Ted had cultivated here.
And then Ted had made some sort of pun—looking right over at Trent as he did, eyes sparkling like he was waiting for a reaction—and Trent had obliged, returning, dryly, wordplay of his own.
This was not unusual, you understand.
While Trent generally blended into the background, and Ted generally let him, it wasn’t too uncommon for him to pull Trent in with a joke or a one-liner. Hell, even the players looked to him sometimes for opinions or what-have-you—perhaps it should have irritated Trent (he was certainly losing any objectivity he might have had) but instead it was just kind of nice. The culture Ted had created here extended to Trent, too: he was a part of something.
So Trent had not thought anything of it. He had grown used to throwing out a dry comment with a barely hidden smile, or even just giving up and outright making a terrible pun that made Colin give him a long look. Trent was reminded of the “homophobic dog” meme he had had forcibly explained to him against his will.
All of this to say: Trent made his witty rejoinder, tapping his glasses on his lips, and didn’t notice when Ted’s eyes followed the movement. He was unfazed by Ted exclaiming, “Trent Crimm! I appreciate you,” with apparent delight. His excitable energy was infectious—he truly was in a bouncy, good mood today, wasn’t he?—and Trent couldn’t help but badly hide a smile.
He did, however, very much notice when Ted—had he always been standing this close?—put both hands on either side of Trent’s face and abruptly pulled him in for a swift kiss.
Trent’s brain immediately crashed—he could almost feel himself glitching—and then it was over as quickly as it had started, giving Trent no room for anything other than shock filtered through gay panic.
Ted beamed, hands still on Trent’s face, apparently not thinking anything weird of this at all as the entire room gaped at him, then pulled away and said to the rest of the room, “Good work today, fellas!” and walked out the door.
Trent remained exactly where he was, eyes wide, completely frozen.
The truly worrying part was Beard, whose eyes were also very wide. He looked between Trent, the crowd of players, the door where Ted left, then back to Trent, then back to the door.
The fact that Beard didn’t know what was happening either made this far more terrifying.
Then Beard was moving, not quite running but definitely walking faster than usual as he followed Ted out the door. “Uh, Ted?” was the last thing they heard before the door swung shut behind him.
Trent was not ready to start processing anything yet. His only thoughts were, in no particular order as they were in fact all at once in an overlapping cacophony:
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- Ted Lasso just kissed me.
- what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fu
- Was it the pun? Was the pun that good? It wasn’t even that good. Why was he in such a good mood? How does good mood + pun = kissing me?
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- oh but it was a nice kiss though. trent was going to think about that kiss a lot probably. now that he was beginning to process it at all, anyway.
- TED KISSED ME?
- What The Fuck What The Fuck What The Fuck Wh
- So Ted kisses with by grabbing with both hands and pulling you in, huh? Interesting. Trent was going to think about this forever, probably.
- TED KISSED ME. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. THEY ALL SAW. OH GOD. OH FUCK.
- aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
- wait SHIT i didn’t kiss back shit shit shit shit
- UNLESS that’s a good thing. Maybe it was an accident. It couldn’t be mistaken identity but he was just—excited???? About the pun????? Whatever has him in a good mood?????? Maybe this is a good thing. But he didn’t seem upset when he left…
- HE LEFT :(
- This Was Not Going In The Book.
- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
- trent is going to go insane.
Thankfully, exactly none of this was expressed out loud in any way. Less thankfully, the alternative was that Trent was still just standing there, completely frozen. Rest in peace, Trent Crimm. Struck stone-dead by gay panic thanks to the deadly lips of an infuriatingly wonderful US American gaffer. There were worse ways to go, but also less humiliating ones.
“…Is he dead?” whispered Richard Montlaur. The players watched in fascination as Trent continued not to speak or move, instead just frozen, stiff, slowly turning red.
“I don’t think so,” whispered Jan Maas back. “Dead people don’t stand. Or blush.”
“Oi, what about, uh. Vigor Mortimer,” said Jamie.
“…Rigor mortis?” said Sam.
“Yeah, that’s the bitch!” said Jamie, snapping his fingers and pointing at him.
“I think that takes a while,” said Sam.
Trent remained exactly where he was, not processing any of this.
“…What the hell was that?” someone said loudly, and like a spell was broken, the room erupted into noise.
“Hey, Ted?” said Beard, in the tone of someone on the verge of losing it. “Ted? Hey, Ted?”
Ted blinked, still smiling, and turned to look at him, not actually slowing. “Yeah, Coach?” he said. “Coach, coach, coach?”
“Ted,” said Beard, putting both his hands on Ted’s shoulders and gently but forcibly stopping him in his tracks. “I ask this respectfully and affectionately and with all the love in the world. What the fuck.”
“What?” Ted said.
“Do you even know what you just did?” Beard said. “Or are you—are you high right now?”
Ted frowned. “No, absolutely not,” he said. “And what do you mean, ‘what I just did’?”
“Oh my god,” said Beard, leaning back slightly. “You don’t. Ted. Ted.”
“What?” said Ted, now a little defensive.
“Ted, you just kissed Trent Crimm on the mouth.”
Ted did a little double take, shaking his head in time with the rapid blink. “I did not,” he said, emphatically.
“Oh, you did,” said Beard. “In front of everyone, by the way.”
“…did I?” Ted blinked, going over the last minute or so in his brain, and then his eyes went huge. “Oh, goodness. I did.”
Beard clapped him on the shoulder. “You did,” he re-affirmed.
Ted’s eyes did not get any less wide. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Oh, my.”
“You can say fuck, it’s just us.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Back in the locker room, Trent was now sitting on one of the benches, face in hands, still, unfortunately, bright red. Colin was sympathetically patting his shoulder.
Isaac had gotten the players to stop shouting with a healthy mix of being a truly loved and respected captain they all looked up to and being better at shouting than them, but regardless, the debate was still going furiously. Votes as to what the hell were going on ranged from “april fools day in the wrong month” to “epic rom com moment epically mistimed” to “we all hallucinated that, collectively”.
“It’s alright, boyo,” said Colin earnestly, patting his shoulder with the awkwardness and sincerity of a golden retriever trying his best. “Arguably, this is a good sign for your crush, isn’t it?”
Trent made an inarticulate noise into his hands.
“Crush?” said Thierry, who was nearby enough to hear this.
“Oh, did we not all know about that?” said Jan Maas, turning to look. A distressing amount of players made knowing mhm noises, although several also looked like they’d like to know how the hell anyone reached that conclusion without them, please.
Trent, for his part, made another inarticulate noise, generally giving off the impression of someone who would like to sink into the ground, or perhaps magically transform into an ant and be instantaneously squashed, all humiliating thoughts of being kissed by their crush in front of an entire team of football players squashed along with them.
“Sorry,” Colin whispered, so loudly it was more like a stage-whisper.
“’ts not really that much of a disaster,” said Jamie loudly. “You just gotta communicate, right? All healthy like?”
“Communicating sucks,” said Thierry definitively, crossing his arms.
“What if Ted doesn’t like him back?” said another player, sounding distressed on his behalf.
Trent cringed, visibly radiating I Would Like To Slam My Head Against The Wall Until I Am Unconscious, Please energy.
The room erupted into arguing again, speculation rampant.
The door swung open and they all fell silent like naughty children caught out of bed after dark. But it wasn’t Ted or Beard—it was Roy.
Roy looked around at the scene in front of him—everyone caught mid argument, Trent still sitting with his face in his hands, bright red and inarticulate, and Colin awkwardly continuing to pat his shoulder in a way that must be getting tiring—and said, “What the fuck is going on.”
“The gaffer kissed our emotional support journalist, didn’t he?” reported Jamie.
“Our what,” said Roy, somehow more horrified by this description than by the main event.
“Ex,” mumbled Trent, not lifting his head, the first word he’d said since making The Pun That Made Ted Lasso Kiss Him.
“Ex journalist,” amended Jamie.
“Hold on,” said Roy, holding up hand. “Who kissed Trent?”
“Coach Lasso,” said Colin helpfully. “Right on the lips.”
“Right,” said Roy, unconcerned. “Finally. What are we all arguing about?”
A sea of wide eyes stared back at him. Even Trent had finally lifted his head to look at him.
“What?” said Roy.
Ted, unknowingly mirroring Trent, had his head in his hands. “Coach,” he said to the floor. “This is quite a pickle I’ve gotten myself into.”
“I mean, if you actually like him, it’s not so bad,” said Beard. “Alternatively, I can get you a new identity and a passport to Australia if you need it.”
He sounded dead serious, and Ted happened to know this was well within his capabilities. It was genuinely unclear if he was joking.
…He was probably joking.
“No, another overseas move is not at all what I need,” said Ted. “I can’t believe I just—grabbed him. This is not at all how I wanted it to go.”
“Aha,” said Beard. “So you did want it to go.”
“Sure did,” said Ted. “Not in the locker room, though. Or with an audience.”
Beard suddenly remembered he had left a still-near-catatonic just-kissed Trent Crimm alone in the locker room with a pack of himbos.
“Hm,” he said.
It was probably fine.
“I thought it was obvious!” shouted Roy. “They’re like an annoying fucking will-they-won’t-they lead couple in an obnoxious crime procedural!”
“Always getting into fights for no reason over ridiculous things in a contrived attempt at keeping them from finally getting together?” Higgins, who was somehow here now, said with his brow furrowed.
Trent had given up on this not being an extremely public humiliation, and was now cycled through all the stages of panic to land in This Might As Well Be Happening mode.
“No,” said Roy, almost a growl, “Making so many goddamn heart eyes at each other but never making a move that you just want to smash them together.”
Disturbing.
“Like Barbie dolls,” added Bumbercatch helpfully.
Thank you. That was worse.
“For kissing?” asked Richard. “Or for—” and he made a motion of knocking skulls together.
“Yes,” said Roy curtly.
“Should I go back there?” Ted said, now pacing. “Would that be weird?”
“Anything you do now will be weird,” said Beard. “We’re past weird.”
Ted shot him a look that said unhelpful, thank you.
“Don’t, though,” said Beard, thinking of the fact that once again he had inadvertently abandoned Just Kissed Trent to a room of football players.
“Text him,” suggested Rebecca, who was now here as well. “So you can get a moment alone.”
Beard snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Good idea,” he said.
“What do I text him?” Ted said hopelessly. “Sorry for kissing you, see you tomorrow?”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” said Beard at the same time as Rebecca said, “Ted Don’t You Dare.”
“I wasn’t being serious,” said Ted, slightly grumpily.
“Ted, apologizing is only going to make him think you regret it,” said Rebecca.
“I kind of do, though,” said Ted.
“Regret kissing him in general, not regret kissing him like that,” Beard clarified.
Ted blinked, mystified. “Why would I regret kissing him?” he said, genuinely nonplussed. “He’s—y’know. Trent. Trent Crimm.”
As if being Trent Crimm meant being kissable was completely self-explanatory.
Rebecca and Beard exchanged a look.
“If anything,” Ted said, a little miserably, “He’s gonna be mad. I just. kissed him. Like that. I don’t even know if he likes me like th—why are you laughing, this isn’t funny.”
Trent had once again buried his face in his hands.
Really, he should just leave entirely, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to, both because he was sure that if he tried to stand his legs might give out, and because—
Well, as unintentionally painful as many of these comments were (as well as cheerful offers to set him up with someone else should this situation implode) and as humiliating as it was to have the entire football club know about this (and apparently his big gay mortifying crush on Ted was visible from space, which he’d suspected but could have lived without having ever been confirmed) the whole situation was—weirdly nice, in a way?
Because this entire team of football players—and the staff, too—had seemed completely unfazed by his feelings for Ted, or by Ted kissing him. And he was part of the club, they were trying to be helpful, they were including him, they were genuinely concerned for him. Was this what it was like to be part of a community? Or part of a large family? To be embarrassed deeply but also cared for, worried over?
Colin had gotten distracted with what seemed to be defending his honor (Trent appreciated it, but it was also very funny and very bizarre and mildly horrifying to have a Welshman a decade his junior furiously and loyally insisting he was ‘hot if you were into that sort of thing and could totally get some if he wanted to’) and Trent was once again alone with his thoughts, or as alone as one could be in a room full of football players in heated discussion.
The thoughts in question were mostly cycling through variations of “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” and “Ted Lasso kissed me, still not over that one”, but what can you do. He could still feel the phantom touch of Ted’s hands on his face, of Ted kissing him. He never wanted to forget it. He wanted to forget everything that had happened today.
It was a special kind of heartbreak, that made him want to sincerely laugh.
Someone sat next to him, quietly. Too quietly. Trent glanced over, and sure enough, it wasn’t a player, nor was it Higgins. Will gave him a small, slightly sad smile.
“You alright?” he said.
“…fine,” said Trent, a little hoarsely.
“They mean well,” Will said, with a little half shrug. “You can go hide in the boot room, if you like.”
Trent gave a wry smile, and shook his head. “Thank you for the offer,” he said.
“OI, CRIMM,” shouted Roy, making Trent jump. “I’M CALLING KEELEY.”
“Please don’t,” said Trent, resigned to the fact that Keeley Jones was likely already on her way.
“Ah,” said Rebecca, looking at her phone. “Roy’s texted Keeley apparently.”
“Roy?” said Ted, raising his head from his hands to look at her, confused. He’d spent several minutes typing and retyping various messages before giving up and just letting himself stress out a bit again.
“Mm,” said Rebecca. “Higgins called Roy who called Keeley who called me.”
“Higgins?”
“Apparently you broke our biographer,” reported Rebecca. “Ted, really, I think at this point you should just kiss him again. What could go wrong?”
“Never say what could go wrong,” said Beard. “Ever.” Then he turned to Ted. “Just text him and you can talk it out.”
“Text him what?” said Ted, and when he flailed his hand to accentuate his frustration, the gesture caught the touch-screen of his phone awkwardly and managed to send a message.
Ted, Rebecca, and Beard all bent over to peer at what had been sent.
“Shit,” said Ted.
“Ted. just… texted me,” said Trent, faintly.
“What?” Colin demanded, and several players crowded behind him to look at his screen. Jamie Tartt had an arm half slung around Trent’s shoulder, which was bizarre. Isaac was leaning over his other shoulder, frowning at the screen. Roy hung back, unwilling to join in.
“…Hm,” said Will, who could also see perfectly fine from where he was still sitting.
The message read: gh,s.
“This is anti-climactic,” announced Jan Maas.
“Is that a typo?” Colin said.
“Well, now you have to say something,” said Rebecca.
“Act natural!” Beard said.
“Uhhh,” Ted panicked.
Ping! Another message.
Sorry there, Trent! That was a case of the clumsy fingers. Disregard :-)
“What does this mean,” said Trent, despairing.
Ping!
Hey, just so you knsgdshjkhj;’
Ping!
Trent this is Rebecca Welton. Come to my office immediately.
Ping!
Wow! Autocorrect is wild. Disregarsdfg
Ping!
[a blurred selfie that appears to be Coach Beard reaching ominously for the camera]
Ping!
Office. Now.
Ping!
This is not a threat.
Ping!
:)
That was the most threatening smiley face Trent had ever seen.
“…Why is Rebecca Welton here??” said Trent.
“Gimmie that,” said Colin, making grabby hands but not actually taking the phone from him. Trent, in a move that he would normally literally never ever do, handed Colin the phone without question. He was too tired to deal with whatever hostage negotiation shit this was.
“Okay, I don’t know who’s typing, but it’s not Trent,” said Rebecca, watching a string of emojis fly by.
“We didn’t just invite some rando who found Trent’s phone up here to kiss Ted, did we?” said Beard.
Rebecca squinted at what appeared to be a shovel talk written entirely in emojis. “I think this is one of the players,” she said. “Bumbercatch or Hughes, maybe?”
Keeley walked in to see the entire team gathered around one phone, arguing over what to type, in furious negotiation. Roy was at his desk, apparently washing his hands clean of the matter.
“…where’s Trent?” she said. They all went quiet, looking at each other, then at where he had been sitting.
“Um,” said Colin.
“You lost Trent?” she said.
“He slipped out into the hallway a while ago,” Will said.
They all looked at him.
“What?” he said.
“Shit,” said Rebecca. “Apparently they lost Trent. And I’ve been texting the entire team, plus Higgins.”
“They lost Trent? Ha,” said Beard. They were better at this. They were winning at Herding Their Friend Who Was Having A Gay Panic, something both normal to want and possible to achieve.
“…Beard,” said Rebecca, with a horrible suspicion, not looking up from her phone yet.
Beard felt dread. “…what.”
They both looked up. The office was empty.
“Shit,” Rebecca said, with feeling.
Trent was loitering alone in a dark hallway, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Hey there!” said Ted, making Trent jump a mile in the air. “Ope. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”
Right! Okay! Ted Lasso was right here, in front of him. Ted Lasso who had kissed him. Trent could be cool about this. Trent could totally keep his cool.
“Why did you kiss me,” said Trent, all at once, completely failing to keep his cool.
Ted gave a little rapid blink blink, like he was surprised. “Because I wanted to,” he said, almost automatically.
“…you did?” Trent said incredulously.
“Well, I wouldn’t have planned it like that,” said Ted. “That was, admittedly, impulsive. But yes.”
“…why?” said Trent, so disbelieving it was a little heartbreaking.
“Whaddayamean, why?” said Ted, shoving both his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth. It was obvious to him, after all: Trent Crimm was very, very kissable, and Ted hadn’t wanted to date someone this bad since—
In a long time.
He was funny as hell, smart as a whip, and a total dork. What wasn’t to love?
“I mean why, Ted?” said Trent, voice thin and frayed, “because if this is some—attempt at a friendly hookup or a quick fuck, or god forbid a deeply unfunny prank—” “Trent,” Ted said, but Trent continued on, bracing as though he were facing a firing squad, “Then I regret to inform you—”
“Trent,” said Ted, stepping forward to gently grab him—putting both hands on his face again. Trent fell silent immediately, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
“I happen to like you very much,” said Ted, and he leaned in just a little to whisper it like it was a secret and Trent had almost thought Ted was about to kiss him again.
“If you say like like I swear to god—”
“Do I look like a shield stealin’ worm to you?” said Ted.
It took Trent a moment. “The Legend of Zelda?” he said, and he’d shake his head if he could.
“Got it in one, Charlie Dunn!”
The banter was so easy and familiar Trent could almost forget that Ted’s hands—big, warm, calloused palms—were still framing either side of his face.
Almost.
As if sensing his inner crisis, Ted said, “But—in all seriousness—I had actually been planning on askin’ you out. For real. Not. Like that. So if that’s—somethin’ you’re amenable to—”
Trent kissed him.
Behind them, unseen, the face of Keeley Jones peered through the window in the door, lit up, and then ducked out again. Then appeared one more time, squinting like she was getting a better look, before ducking out for good.
“They kissed!” she shouted to the whole locker room, arms held up in victory.
Loud cheering. She turned in a circle, arms still aloft, cheering with them. Colin actually hollered, “FUCK YEAH! THAT’S MY BOY!” at the top of his lungs, a descriptor Keeley thought Trent might object to.
“GET SOME, CRIMM!” shouted Isaac loyally, clapping Colin on the back.
“I DON’T KNOW WHY WE’RE SO INVESTED IN THIS!” someone else howled happily.
“FÚTBOL!” Dani Rojas nearly screamed.
“Shouldn’t they have all left like an hour ago?” Rebecca said, sideways, to Beard, too quiet to be heard by anyone who wasn’t right next to her.
“Oh, for sure,” said Beard, not tearing his eyes off the celebrations. “Roy’s already gone.”
“Smart man,” said Rebecca.
“This is such a weird workplace,” Will said off to the side, unheard. He was smiling.
Elsewhere, Ted kissed Trent again, for perhaps the fifth time, and they were both smiling.
“Why were you in such a good mood, anyway?” said Trent, looking up at him with such an open and sincerely happy smile it made Ted’s heart hurt. Their lips were still inches apart.
“Uh, well, truthfully,” said Ted, a little embarrassed. “uh.”
“What?” Trent said, laughing a little, pulling away just enough to get a better look at Ted’s sheepish expression.
“Well,” said Ted. “I might have seen Rupert Mannion this morning.”
Trent’s eyebrows flew up. “…oh?” he said, skeptical that Rupert Mannion could produce a good mood in anyone.
“And he might have tripped and fell on his ass,” Ted finished. His sheepish tone was still very much in effect, but his eyes twinkled with humor. “He didn’t think anyone saw.”
Trent stared for a moment. Then he began to laugh. “But you did,” he said, and he couldn’t chase the image out of his head, and he couldn’t help but laugh more.
“I did,” Ted agreed, and he laughed too, until they were both giggling like idiots, still pressed very close together.
“I can’t believe,” Trent nearly wheezed, “You—you kissed me in front of everyone, because—because—” he nearly cackled, and seeing him laughing this hard sure was a treat, “—Rupert Mannion fell on his ass.”
“I’m not much of a spiteful sorta person, Trent,” said Ted solemnly, “But some people deserve a little ass-fallin’.”
“Ass-fallin’,” Trent cackled, leaning back with the force of it. “There’s no fucking way that’s a real phrase, you’re fucking with me—”
Ted chased the movement, leaning forward, arms ending up practically around Trent’s waist as he propped himself up on either side of him. “You don’t know that,” he said, “Ass-fallin’ is a perfectly normal US American phrase—"
“It is NOT,” said Trent. “It is not, it absolutely is not—”
“It is, case in point, Rupert Mannion deserves a case of it.”
“You,” Trent said, leaning forward a little, “are ridiculous.”
“You like it,” said Ted.
Trent’s expression melted from teasing and fondly exasperated to something more soft, trembling, and utterly sappy. “I do,” he said, much softer.
“Well, good,” said Ted, and he leaned forward and gave Trent a short, firm kiss, right on the mouth. “Because I like you, too.”
Trent just stared back at him, lovestruck and sappy for a moment. And then suddenly he let his head fall back and groaned. “Oh, god,” he said.
“…what?” said Ted.
“How on earth are we going to face everyone?” Trent said. “They still have my phone. Christ.”
“Mine, too,” said Ted, frowning. “Hmm. …sneaking out?”
“...Sneaking out it is."
They’d have to face the music sooner or later, but later seemed infinitely preferable to sooner. They could get their phones back then, too.
They had other things to do at the moment, anyway.