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Trent Crimm thought the last time he'd be corralled into an extremely small space with Roy Kent was during the Chelsea match months ago.
But alas.
"CRIMM!"
Trent jumped just as he did his first week observing the club. While he hadn't the faintest idea what Kent's issue had been the day he was emotionally eviscerated in the away-team locker room showers, Trent knew what his issue was today.
Or, at least, he hoped he did. If only to
protect himself.
"In the office, now!" Roy continued, using the slam of the door to heighten tension. The few remaining players from the days events stared wide-eyed at the interaction, flinching at the sound Roy was able to produce. Trent figured that slamming the door was more dramatic than useful, but he had no intention of arguing that point. He was too frazzled to do anything but obey.
Trent rose from his seat, being the set of lockers and benches previously loaned to Zava that have since remained vacant. He slinked away to the shared office space like a child that'd just been punished. He felt like one too, sickly sweet anxiety swelling under his ribs. Trent was getting deja vu.
Best not to keep the man waiting.
Trent turned the knob and pushed the door in, noting the drawn blinds. Mercifully, Kent was toward the far end of the room, leaving the door available for use if Trent were to need it.
To escape, he thinks, a shudder ready to wrack his body. He holds it down until Roy turns to face him, eyes dark and accusing.
"Who the fuck do you take me for?"
Well, that was not what he was expecting.
"Pardon?"
"You've been avoiding me all fucking day since that article dropped. Don't think I haven't noticed you avoiding eye-contact and all that... body-language shit!"
Roy's hand flopped in the air, gesturing over the expanse of Trent's frame. Trent blinked.
"I'm not sure what you're implying."
"I'm not sure what you're fucking implying! What, you think I think you were the source for that piece of shit Ernie Lounds? Avoiding me 'cause you think I'll headbutt you, or some shit?"
"Well, I mean... you don't have a reputation of civility," Trent muttered, finding courage in the fact that Roy was, primarily, defending himself and not attacking Trent (with words or otherwise).
"Right, so that's it, then," Roy established, looking distraught that Trent hadn't gauged the same change of heart in Roy as Roy had in Trent.
"Partially," Trent admits. Before Roy dove into protecting his character, he fully believed he wasn't leaving the office without some sort of bruise. Maybe it was instinct.
"Then what's the other fucking part? You think I was homophobic?"
At this, Trent stops for a moment and observes.
Roy looks incredulous, like even the notion of him being discriminatory is incomprehensible. His eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed, but he looks heartbroken. Furious, but heartbroken. It's an expression he'd never seen on someone so stoic.
Trent doesn't know what to think, so he doesn't. He answers honestly and selfishly, regurgitating all of the feelings he pushed down during his twenty-year career as closeted sports journalist. All of the things he wanted to say to his Dad. All of the things he wanted to tell his ex-wife the first time he came out to her, when shame and frustration were the only two emotions he felt for months afterwards. Because, goddamn it, he deserves this moment. Colin deserves this.
"We couldn't be sure."
"You couldn't be sure?"
"No, Roy, we couldn't be sure. While I appreciate your desire to defend yourself, this isn't about you. It's about Colin's safety." It's about my safety.
"It's about Colin's safety! You think I'm a threat to Colin's safety?"
"We couldn't be sure," Trent repeats, because that's really it, isn't it? The queer experience is most often accompanied by a deep, primal sense of doubt and fear. There is no way to predict a person's reaction to queerness, unless they have specifically stated their feelings on the matter. And how goddamn unfair is that?
"This is ridiculous," Roy exasperated.
Trent had the strange urge to laugh.
"Is it, Roy?" Trent asked, his voice clipped, "Is it ridiculous for a player to be fearful of what his mentor feels of him when he is outed and thrown to the wolves of homophobic sport?"
"That is not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean? Did you mean it's ridiculous that we could have ever assumed you as a threat?"
Trent gives Roy a pointed look and a moment to speak, taking pity on his shock. After seconds of heavy silence, Roy's body sags as if relinquishing his pride. He doesn't respond, so Trent continues, softer.
"Let me to explain something to you, Roy. A dear friend of mine once said, 'All people are different people,'. Now, while this sentiment was used to encourage open-mindedness in its context, it can be applied here, yes? If all people are different people, all responses to a given situation are different responses. And not all responses are pleasant."
Roy grunted.
"Now imagine an unpleasant response from someone you admire. Do you see how fear can build in that? Do you understand that that fear has been validated before? By some of his loved ones, even?
"Do you understand that it is safer to assume someone is dangerous than to trust without forethought?"
Roy grunted again, eyes cast toward the linoleum. Trent let him stew in his thoughts, while he mulled over his own. God, preaching was exhausting. Soon enough, Roy sighed and lifted his head.
"Oi, I'm sorry for being a prick. You're right, this isn't about me."
Trent smiled, grateful that his message was received fairly well.
"I have a question, though," Roy hesitated, only continuing at the insistence of Trent, "If this was about Colin, why were you avoiding me?"
Trent considered him for a short time.
"All I can say is... you never know who is hiding."
Roy seemed to understand well enough.
---
A few quick knocks forced Roy and Trent out of the bubble they'd created in the coaches' office. A familiar voice proceeded.
"Hey, you fellas alright in there? It's gettin' pretty late, don't want you to miss the meetup at Ola's."
Trent rolled his eyes at Ted's concern but smiled all the same, "Just a moment, Coach Lasso."
"Oh, c'mon now, Trent, it's way too late in the season to be all formal."
"Yeah, well..." Trent began quietly. Roy raised his eyebrows and smirked, nodded towards to door. Trent muttered a quick 'bugger off' before turning to exit the room. Just before he turned the knob, though, Trent had to ask, "How were you so sure I wasn't the source?"
Roy scoffed.
"The prick's quotes didn't have enough adjectives in 'em."