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Up until this moment, Trent would have safely and confidently said that his trip to visit relatives in London was one of the most uneventful things ever–and that includes the time he and the Total Drama Bros had to wait six hours to get a spot at the stage they had booked beforehand for their concert, but was given to some elderly band due to some mix-up. Between Justin’s bemoaning, Harold’s statistics that the odds of them regaining the stage were astronomical, and Cody pining over the female demographic of their followers, Trent was close to pulling his hair out–or better yet, marching on stage and booting The Tremblers off their hard-earned stage.
He’d worn the floor of the main room down with his pacing, and what’s worse? They hadn’t even gotten the damn stage.
Harold didn’t even get to open his mouth before they were all on top of him, pummeling him to the ground.
But that was that, and this is now. A family get-together in a totally different country shouldn’t be so boring, but Trent is ready to book a flight back to Canada. He’s had enough of being pinched on the cheek and aunts commenting about how he would “get the ladies” with that hair and guitar.
He couldn’t even strum a chord on his guitar without his grandma appearing out of nowhere, snapping at him to “stop that noisy nuisance, and listen to your father and focus on accounting!”
Since the latest outburst from her two weeks ago, his guitar stands propped up in the closet, catching dust.
Yeah, he definitely wants out.
His mum wasn’t amused.
“Don’t you even think about it,” she’d told him. “This vacation will get your mind off that reality show.”
Ironically, the more he spent time with his family, the more he thought about Total Drama. After the show had gotten renewed for a third season, he didn’t know what exactly to feel. Most of his friends would be on it–Gwen, Harold, Cody, Owen, Noah–and the ones who weren’t had complained occasionally of following Geoff when they should have just stayed on the bus. Whenever they tried to pull Trent into the complaint session, he always tried to find an excuse to back off–he still had nightmares about how terribly Total Drama Action went for him.
Probably why he hasn’t even watched the show thus far. It makes him feel weird seeing everyone on there without him. The only connection he has to them these days is through Geoff’s Aftermath show, but due to how spaced out the Aftermath episodes are, he has no idea which country they are in now.
With no guitar to take his mind away from Total Drama and his family clustering him, constantly asking him to tell them stories of his time on the show, Trent nabs the golden opportunity to get the hell out of the house when his mum asked him to go out to the store and get some milk.
The moment he steps outside and takes in exactly four breaths of fresh air, he feels his chest contract and his shoulders relax. After Action, he’s tried to tone down on the whole Number Nine business because he thought it would make other people uncomfortable, but doing certain things only one time made his head hurt and his lungs feel prickly; he had powered through it for all of four weeks until Justin caught him having a panic attack in one of the Aftermath boys bathrooms and set his head straight. It was wild getting advice from Justin, of all people, but the Hawaiian model told Trent seriously that people liked to judge others for the smallest things because they think it makes them the bigger person when it doesn’t.
“Don’t listen to them. The trick is to not let it affect you– that makes you the bigger person. What you do and don’t do is what makes you you, Trent.”
Looking into Justin’s dark eyes and peripherally noticing the way he hadn’t cared about his jeans getting dirtied by the restroom floor as he crouched in front of Trent, he can’t help but wonder if there was more to this than just Trent's OCD.
They remained like that, crouched on the tiled bathroom floor until Trent’s breathing steadied and his hands stopped feeling like needles punching through the soft part of his palms. He stopped forcing himself to ‘be normal’ and found himself feeling a lot less prickly and better, in general. Along with the number nine, the number four became his favorite number, in honor of the two people who helped him accept the part of him many–including himself–shunned: his grandfather and Justin. Sometimes he does things nine times, sometimes he does them four.
His trip to the market is quick, he finds the milk at one end of the store, and everything is normal and usual until he sees lights flickering against the wall of an alley. Intrigued, he sets off in that direction, hoping, as he ducks into the alleyway, that he’s not walking in on a gang party or, worse, a gang war.
What he finds upon rounding the corner is neither, but it still takes him by total surprise.
It was a chapel–White Chapel, he recalls one of his cousins pointing it out to him on his first day here. But that isn’t what’s surprising, it’s the honest-to-god concert taking place in it. And, from the sounds of the bass pounding the walls of the lopsided building, it looks to be in full swing.
Now, don’t get him wrong, Trent’s usually a pretty focused guy. He knows he has to get this milk to his mum before she throws a fit. But here is a concert practically begging to be looked at, and being the music lover he is, Trent never wastes an opportunity to attend a concert. Besides it would make him less bored. Who knows? It might even be the highlight of this trip!
He’s at the door when the thought of tickets hits him. He’s empty-handed and the bouncer at the front looks pretty mean–getting punched would be the opposite of a highlight. To his relief, the bouncer lets him in with only a scrutinizing look, and slipping inside, Trent finds out why.
Everyone in the chapel is some sort of punk or uber-rockstar.
Piercings everywhere, tattoos, wild hair, bandanas, studded rings, and chokers. No wonder the bouncer had looked at Trent weirdly; he was probably wondering why someone so opposite was hanging around here in this punk club.
He can’t deny the music is pretty good though. Not as good as The Drama Bros, of course, but he appreciates music that makes his head bop, and the singles the band onstage (he hadn’t caught the name amidst the screams and yells) plays are head-smashers. Makes him yearn more for his guitar, and for the chords of the songs so he can try to recreate them, country-style.
As the tempo moves faster and the yells onstage get louder, Trent pushes through the crowd with murmured apologies that were unheard in the din. Drawn to the music and the blinding lights, he stops close to the center of the bursting crowd and lets the music take him. Boredom vanishing, he’s about to start full-on jamming out like everyone else is doing when he spots it. Or rather spots him.
A couple of heads in front of him, bouncing to the beat, is a mohawk. A familiar bright-green mohawk.
Trent stares, sufficiently distracted from music for the first time ever because why the fuck was Duncan here?
He blinks. Then blinks again. Blinks two more times for good measure. He rubs his eyes, and shakes his head, thinking the fog and lights had altered his vision. Or that the utter boredom he’d been enduring is making him hallucinate unboring stuff.
Nada. When Trent refocuses, there he is. Jamming out to the beat alongside the crowd, unaware that Trent is standing behind him, watching everything with wide eyes.
This has got to be some sort of weird irony. The place Trent assumed no one from Total Drama would come across him turns out to be the same place another fellow contestant eyeballed as well. Not just any old contestant, but Duncan. Back in Season One, Trent felt all sorts of different emotions about the guy–annoyed, jealous, indifferent, competitive…okay maybe most of what he felt for the other boy was on the negative side, but it’s not like that could be helped. Between the deal with Gwen and Duncan and Duncan’s innate ability to get under Trent’s skin (it’s like he does it on purpose sometimes!), the guy doesn’t make it easy for Trent to be his biggest fan.
But last he saw him, Trent is positive Duncan was not a music fan. He’s also positive that Duncan was one of the contestants chosen to be a part of World Tour. Which begs the million-dollar question: why is he here? He couldn’t have gotten eliminated so quickly, right?
Before he could think twice about what a stupid idea this is, Trent’s pushing through the crowd again, this time with more urgency, eyes fixed on that bright green mohawk. For some unknown reason, he knows he just has to get to Duncan and…what? Get answers? Chat? It’s not like they’re pals or anything.
Yeah, this is a really bad idea. But it’s too late to back out now. Trent’s already wedged next to Duncan, reaching for his shoulder, a fleeting touch that any other person wouldn’t have noticed. Then again, Mr. Juvie Delinquent is far from any other person.
Duncan turns, a hand shooting out to grasp Trent’s wrist. When he sees who it is, his grip loosens–remaining still as a warning to not mess with him, but loose enough to deem Trent as not a threat and for Trent to remove himself from the grasp if needed. (For some reason, the thought doesn’t cross Trent’s mind.)
After what feels like an eternity of staring while the music and shouting around them dulled to a faint pounding, Duncan says what’s been going through Trent’s mind from the moment he laid eyes on him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Trent retorts.
“It’s a punk rock concert.”
“So?”
Duncan looks at him like he’s got a screw loose, which Trent probably does given he’s still entertaining this conversation. “I’m a punk.”
“But it’s a concert,” says Trent, emphasizing the last word. “Aka involving music which I’m like a thousand percent sure isn’t one of your interests.”
“Oh yeah?” Duncan crosses his arms, fully turning to face him now. This entire situation is so absurd, Trent can’t wrap his head around it. They’re arguing in the middle of a grungy concert while people are screaming something that sounds like ‘ wanna take you down with me ’ in his ears.
Duncan’s waiting expectantly so he realizes he must have missed something. “Sorry, what?”
Duncan rolls his eyes. “I said, what do you know about my interests anyway?”
“Vandalism, graffiti, wood carving apparently according to Courtney, being a jerk, knife collecting, hiding the fact that you’re a softy deep down—“
“Shut up!” Duncan hisses, clapping a hand to Trent’s mouth. “I am not a softy.” He pauses. “Wow. You actually got most of the rest right. I’m impressed.”
It’s hard to see his expression to pinpoint if that was sarcasm; the flashing lights cast eerie shadows across his face. So Trent merely shrugs, unable to say anything else due to the calloused hand covering his mouth.
(A very small, teeny tiny, practically nonexistent, certainly insignificant part of him whispers that the feeling of Duncan’s hand, the texture of his callousness, and the roughness of it feels nice. But Trent knows if he dares to say that aloud, Duncan would laugh him all the way back to Canada.)
Duncan must not have gotten the memo, though, because his hand remains across Trent’s mouth “Why, is music too high of an interest for someone like me to enjoy, Guitar Hero?”
They’d been flat-out arguing like rivals a minute ago, where did this tension come all of a sudden? It’s sticky in the air around them, like a hot summer night, and seeps into Trent’s pores, making him hot under his shirt collar. Maybe something’s wrong with the heating system in this place.
But that doesn’t explain the way the lazy goading intensity in Duncan’s eyes makes Trent’s chest squeeze suddenly. Back on Total Drama, he chalked up the contractions to jealousy whenever Duncan and Gwen interacted—which was more often than not.
Here, there was no Gwen for miles. So why was he still feeling this way?
Fumbling for any excuse to attempt to dispel the weird tension, Trent gives his best ‘you’re full of shit’ look oozing with deadpan and paired with an impressive eyebrow arch. His cousin, Kayla, is an expert at them and she’d taught him well.
Duncan blinks, thrown off. “What?”
Trent points at the hand covering his mouth.
“Oh.” Duncan scoffs, but there’s something off about it that Trent can’t place. Maybe the weird tension was affecting Duncan too. Either way, Duncan removes his hand, and Trent wastes no time saying “yes, especially when you’ve never been interested in it before.”
If possible, Duncan looks even more confused. “What?”
“I’m answering your question. Music is high of a standard for someone like you, Greenie.”
“You’re one to talk,” mutters Duncan, eyeing the favorite green shirt Trent has on. “Why are you here anyway? Didn’t think punk rock was your scene.”
“Any kind of music is my scene, dude,” huffs Trent. “Kinda offended you’d think that about me.”
Duncan raises his hands. “My bad.”
“Now that’s definitely sarcasm.”
“Really? What gave it away?”
“Whatever, man.” Trent’s ready to head out. The strange tension surrounding them hasn’t gone away, and he’s close to doing something stupid because of it. Like singing a solo for Duncan or dancing to the music with him—which is stupid because Duncan doesn’t even like doing those things. Damn, Trent hopes there aren't any drugs mixed in the fog machine. That’d explain the weird feelings roiling in his gut, but it would suck if he got home high as a kite by scent alone.
Apparently, Duncan isn’t ready to let the conversation go. “So you're here because you wanted to listen to the music? With milk?”
“Huh?” Trent glances down at the carton of milk he’s still holding. Man, he’d forgotten all about that. “Oh, I was just coming back from the store. Saw the lights and followed them here. Stayed for the music.”
Duncan’s brow arched, throwing his piercings into sharper light. “Just the music?”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Uh, yeah? What else?” Then, before he could stop himself, “Not you.”
Inwardly, he winces. Whoops. He really needs to get a better hold of his mouth.
Though he needn’t have worried. Duncan only scoffs. “Feeling’s mutual, bud.”
The music changes to something slower but still vibrant and loud. The crowd surges up, reaching for their friends or significant other.
“Punk rock version of a slow song?” Trent shakes his head. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Never mind that,” Duncan throws a disdainful look at the stage and the crowd pressing them closer. “Care to tell me why you’re all the way here?”
“Uh.” He raises the hand holding the handle of the milk carton. “Visiting family.”
A smirk creeps up Duncan's mouth. “Here? In the White Chapel?”
Trent smacks him lightly with the carton. “You know what I mean. What about you?”
Duncan snorts. "Opposite as you." After another shove sends the two stumbling into each other, he grumbles “come on” and they push their way through the throng, ending up next to the entrance backstage.
“Give a shout again to your number one German Pancreal Band. The Schnitzel Kickers!”
“So that’s what they’re called?” says Trent in disbelief. “Great band. Terrible name.”
“Tell me about it,” agrees Duncan.
“You’re a music expert now?”
“I did say you don’t know half of my interests.”
“Great, you’re being elusive. That’s my cue to get the heck out of here.”
Duncan snorts. “Try it. I doubt you’ll get far before the ‘pull of the music’ gets you.”
He’s not wrong, but it’s not just the music’s pull that kept Trent leaning casually against the wall. This is the most relaxed he’s felt in a while, and it’s crazy to think that the main reason why is leaning next to him, their shoulders just a hair-breadths away from brushing. If Gwen was here, she would be stunned speechless, Trent thinks with no little amusement. Though it fades when another question pokes him, only growing insistent the more he tries to ignore it.
“What’s up?”
Trent starts, turning to Duncan and barely holding back a yelp at the other’s eyes already on him. “Um, what?”
“Your forehead is doing that thing it usually does when you’re overthinking shit.” He pokes Trent’s forehead. “Furrowing. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Trent raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about wrinkles?”
“I don’t.” He gestures to his pierced face. “Of course, I don’t. I was just warning you .”
“Are you sure you’re not drunk?”
Duncan clutches his chest. “The fact that you think I’d get drunk in a ditch like this is offensive.”
“Am I wrong though?”
“Nah. I mean, you’re not wrong about me being likely to get drunk in a place like this. But you are wrong about me being drunk right now.”
Trent rubs his forehead. “This night is going to give me a migraine.”
“Forget about that. What’s got you stress-thinking?”
“I’m not stress-thinking.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“Ugh. It’s…it’s a really stupid question.”
“As if you haven’t done stupid things in my presence before.”
Trent whacks Duncan’s arm.
“Okay, listen, I just had to. I couldn’t help it.”
“Duncan, do you want to know?”
“Well, if you phrase it like that–”
Trent purses his lips, and Duncan raises his hands in surrender.
“Alright, Music Man, what’s the deal?”
“Okay, so like–” Trent shifts his feet, hands getting clammy. It really is such a dumb question, he doesn't even know why he wants to know; it’s like this stupid pressing of his brain telling him that knowing the answer will make him feel one way or another. “Um, on World Tour, and just during the past seasons, and it’s been on my mind especially ‘cause everyone else thinks so, and I wanted to, y’know, make sure, but–”
“Hey,” Duncan nudges him. “Tone it down, dude. Don’t worry, I won’t judge.”
I won’t judge. Seriously? Duncan’s known as one of the most judgemental people on the show, and Trent’s supposed to believe he won’t judge? Yeah right.
But judgment or not, he needs to get this out in the open before he loses his mind.
“Are you and Gwen…do you like her or something?”
Duncan stares at him for a solid five seconds before bursting into laughter. Genuine, unfiltered laughter coupled with wheezes and the occasional snort. It would have been adorable if Trent wasn’t on the edge of a precipice right now.
Whoa. Adorable? Where had that come from?
Finally, Duncan gathers himself enough to choke out one word: “No.”
No?
“No?” repeats Trent. “You mean, you don’t like her? You guys aren’t dating?”
Duncan shakes his head. “Listen, I know everyone else thinks we are or that we like her, for some reason, which is so fucking annoying because you can be friends with a girl without wanting to date her, but I swear, I don’t like her like that. We’re just friends. Nothing more than that. After Courtney and I were through, I'm just about done with girls.” He cocks an eyebrow, the ghost of his laughing escapade seen in the quirk of his lips and the looseness of his shoulders. “Why? I thought you guys were over.”
“Yeah, we are. We definitely are. I don’t know, I guess I wanted to get some closure if that makes sense.” Trent shrugs, hoping his face doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have assumed. Forget I asked that, okay?”
“Nah, you’re good. I’ve been doing some introspection lately–quitting World Tour brought out my inner critic, you could say–and I’m dead serious. Gwen and I are never going to happen.”
“Introspection?”
“Trust me, it’s been one hell of a ride.”
Trent drops it because Duncan is starting to look like his usual brooding, always-pissed self at the thought of the alleged introspection. He changes the subject to the band, and the two whittle the minutes away, discussing the pros and cons of attending German band concerts when one doesn’t understand a single thing in German. Somehow the topic switches to their favorite kind of tune (Duncan likes drum solos, Trent likes country guitar) which turns to them arguing about whether electronic or acoustic guitars are superior. (Trent plays both, but he’ll defend the acoustics until his dying day).
There is still that weird tension around them, but Trent’s deduced that it has nothing to do with how they’re acting with each other; now that he knows the truth about Gwen and Duncan, Trent’s gone back to feeling relaxed and content, all loose limbs and easy grins, and even Duncan’s lowered his barriers low enough that he actually laughs at a couple of Trent’s quips. Their arguing is more bantering, and Trent’s surprised that he really doesn’t want the night to end. Who knows what tomorrow morning will bring?
Alas, he happens to glance at his watch while running a hand through his hair as he’s explaining the difference between a regular keyboard and a synth-keyboard (Duncan thought they were the same, the music illiterate), and he’s shocked to see that it’s already past midnight. His mum will be royally ticked which is bad because when she’s mad, Trent’s mum gives the silent treatment instead of a regular verbal scolding.
“Shit, I’ve gotta go, man,” he says with heavy reluctance. Despite his words, he remains in the same position.
“Yeah?” Maybe it’s Trent’s wishful thinking, but Duncan looks a little disinclined to leave their little bubble too.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess this is it then. See you on the flip side.”
“Hopefully not on that damn island,” jokes Trent.
Duncan snorts. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than get myself into that show again.”
Trent pushes himself off the wall, hesitates, then blurts out, “I hope we talk again.” A part of him wants to ask for Duncan’s number, but he thinks that’s crossing some invisible limit.
Duncan tilts his head, eyes never straying from Trent’s as he nods slowly and says, “Yeah. Hope so too.”
He says it like he’s saying more than just those words–saying it carefully, which is so unlike Duncan. Like there’s some hidden underlying message. But whatever it may be, Trent doesn’t get it.
He tips a hand in a salute, which Duncan lazily mimics, and he’s only turned and taken one step away from Duncan when a yelp stops him cold. Whipping back around, he takes in the significant lack of Duncan, and the two familiar girls standing where he was.
“Courtney? Gwen?”
“Oh. Awkward,” mutters Gwen.
“What are you two doing here? Where’s Duncan?”
Gwen chuckles awkwardly. “Funny you should ask…”
“We’re borrowing him for a short while,” interrupts Courtney. She points at a wriggling sack he hadn’t noticed until now.
“ Borrowing him? Seriously? He could suffocate in there!”
“Please! My knot-tying skills are impeccable, I learned it—“
“—during your CIT training, yes, we know,” finishes Gwen with an amused smile. Rolling her eyes at Courtney’s indignant huff, she turns back to Trent. “Don’t worry, Trent,” she tells him. “It’s just for a challenge. We can’t go back empty-handed so we picked the next best thing.”
“What were you supposed to get?”
“A criminal,” choruses the girls.
Well. When they put it that way, Trent could see where they were coming from, snatching Duncan. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded—he might’ve even supported it to a degree. This is Duncan after all.
But then he looks back at the sack, a weight in his chest holding him back from letting the girls do…whatever they’re planning on doing, reminding him of recent events–the version of Duncan he got to witness like a hidden glint of gold. Talking about music, ribbing each other, swaying idly together. The flash of silver caught in the blinding lights. The intensity in his eyes, and the rough texture of his hand that Trent couldn't help liking. I won’t judge.
He takes in a breath, knowing what he has to do. Even though it goes against everything he’s known about his and Duncan’s rapport, Trent’s a nice guy. And unfortunately, nice guys don’t let old frenemies get carted away via burlap sacks.
(The possible addition of seeing what Gwen and Courtney, along with his other friends, are up to on Total Drama is totally unrelating to the matter at hand, no siree.)
“No.”
Gwen and Courtney exchange bemused looks. “What?”
Trent crosses his arms. “No.” When he realizes how that sounded, he tacks on, “At least not if I don’t tag along.”
Fuck what is he doing? This is the exact opposite of what his mother wanted him to do–move on from Total Drama, his butt! But the words were out and now all he can do is wait for the verdict.
“I won’t try anything weird,” he adds, raising his hands, when he still gets no response. “I just want to…I don’t know, see how things are going? I’ve been out of the loop for a while. Plus I can say hi to Cody–man, I miss that guy. The Drama Bros isn’t the same without him.”
He’s aware he’s rambling but he can’t put a cork in it. Until Gwen speaks up and effectively stems his flow of random words with just two of her own.
“Yeah alright.”
“What?!” Courtney sputters.
It’s overlapped by Trent’s loudly spoken: “Nice!”
“Gwen?” Courtney wheels on the other girl. “What are you on about? We can’t bring him in! He doesn’t even know what’s going on!”
“Hey, uh, I’m right here, you know.” Trent raises a hand, but he’s ignored by them both.
“Court, you want to win this challenge, don’t you?”
The nickname takes Trent by surprise. Based on his perception of Courtney, he isn’t sure the girl would take kindly to being called a nickname in public, but Courtney allows it, surprisingly.
“I want to win, yes, but picking up Duncan and Trent isn’t going to get us in first-class, you know that, Gwen! We’ve already lost. We’re just using Duncan as…as a consolation prize!”
Trent holds back a wince. Yeah, if Duncan heard that, he wouldn’t be too happy. Good thing he’s in that sack.
“But who knows what goes through Chris’s mind?” Gwen persists. “I don’t know–maybe we’ll lose. No, we’re definitely going to lose. But we might as well lose with our hands full instead of empty. To show that we tried. And Courtney, I owe this to him.” She meets his eyes apologetically. “For last season.”
Oh. So Gwen hasn’t forgotten. Maybe things won’t be so sour between them after all.
Trent offers her a hesitant smile, conveying all that he was thinking, but mainly forgiveness.
Gwen’s face lights up just a bit, which was all the confirmation he needs.
Courtney looks between them. “Ugh, fine! But when we lose, we’re voting off who we agreed on, okay?”
Trent has no idea what she’s talking but Gwen’s nodding like she understands completely so he doesn’t ask.
“So,” the three of them stare at the wriggling sack where muffled shouts and curses could be heard from within. “Who wants to carry the sack to the plane?”
***
They run into Noah and Owen, who are holding their own lumpy sack, on their way to the plane.
Noah cocks an eyebrow at Trent. “Seems like you two caught more than just the Ripper.”
“Which you didn’t anyway,” adds Owen, grinning and holding up the sack he’s gripping tightly. “Because we caught the actual Ripper.”
“Trust me,” sighs Gwen. “We know.”
“Then what’s in your sack?” asks Noah.
“You’ll find out soon enough. I’m not ready to explain this mess of a situation twice.”
“Why do you have a corgi?” asks Trent, just now noticing the small dog cradled in Noah’s arms.
“This show’s so traumatizing, I need a source of comfort,” is Noah’s version of a suitable response.
“You mean a method of therapy,” says Courtney as they all ascend the steps to the plane. “If that’s what you’re going for, those corgis are probably not the best choice. They almost ate Gwen and me alive back at the banquet hall. Vicious creatures.”
“Hey!” Noah claps his hands gently over the corgi’s ears. “Show a little respect. Have you ever considered that maybe it’s not the dog who’s the problem?”
Courtney scoffs. “If not the dog, then who, genius?”
Noah’s spared from answering–which is probably for the best–when they enter an area in the plane filled with monitors as well as Chris and the other contestants. Trent may not be completely in the Total Drama loop but from his appearances in the Aftermath show, he’s able to put a name to each face present.
“Sweet, everybody’s okay!” says Owen delightedly.
“Yep, everyone’s fine,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You guys were so stupid to be worried.”
“But it was reassuring to see that some,” the new guy, Alejandro, practically spits the word out, “were concerned.”
Noah shifts as Alejandro glares daggers at him. Okay, Trent is majorly confused. The last he saw, Noah and Alejandro had been somewhat cordial with one another. What changed?
Noah’s eyes flick to the monitors. “You…were watching everything, weren’t you?”
Alejandro’s silence (and intensified glare) is enough of an answer.
“Wow, that’s awkward.”
“Like an eel dipped in grease, huh?”
Oh. Yikes.
Heather snickers. “I don’t see what’s the problem. It’s the truth.”
Alejandro bares his teeth. A shocking move; from what Trent has seen of the guy, he’s not usually so prone to exposing his anger so transparently. Noah must have really rankled him.
“Yeesh, talk about overly sensitive,” mutters Heather.
“Oh, don’t you start too–”
“Doesn’t matter!” interrupts Noah quickly. “Because we caught the Ripper-type guy!”
“Heck yeah!” cheers Owen, turning their sack upside down, and dumping whoever they’d caught out. “And it’s–old man Jenkins?!”
“Who?” asks Trent.
“Not quite!” Chris swoops in and rips off Jenkins’ face like it’s a mask–which it was.
“Ezekiel?!”
The former contestant snarls at them. He’s wearing a cape and holding a rubber knife; one of his ears looks like it’s been bitten, his eyes are rimmed with red, and he’s missing his beanie. Otherwise, he looks exactly the same as when Trent saw him last during the second season’s Aftermath Show.
“Yeah, guy’s been having some communication issues, so if he doesn’t respond in proper words and phrases, and only grunts and snarls, that’s why,” explains Chris. “He’s been holed up in the cargo hold, homeschooling with the rats. Chef had to wrestle him out.”
“Stupid kid.” Chef shakes his head. “Why did you have to freak us out hiding in the shadows? Should’ve taken that plunge of shame like a champ.”
“I was gonna let him back in the game if he could avoid getting captured, but since he could not, you’re out, buddy. Again.”
Ezekiel hangs his head.
“Chef, remind me to drop him off at the nearest hospital or rehabilitation center or something before we take off. Legal will be on my butt if I chuck him out of the plane, unfortunately.”
“Sure.”
“Right now, I’ve got more dramatic matters to handle,” he turns to Trent, and the wicked grin on the host’s face makes Trent inadvertently gulp.
Oh why, oh why did he force Gwen and Courtney to take him along?
“Team Chris brought Ezekiel and Team Amazon brought me Trent?” Chris looks him over critically. “Why are you in London, anyway?”
“Visiting family,” says Trent for the second time. “Or is that a crime now?” he adds under his breath.
“Oho! Looks like the kid’s got some spunk in him after all! But if all you guys got me is Trent which, no offense, I’m definitely letting him in, but he doesn't exactly fit the vibe of the challenge–”
“Whoa, hey! We caught the Ripper. Why are you even giving them a chance?” snaps Noah.
“You’re letting me in?” Trent asks blankly.
“Wait!” says Gwen loudly. She hefts their sack around in view of the rest. “We do have someone else!”
“Hm…consider me highly intrigued,” says Chris, grin returning. “Who else did Courtney and Gwen catch?”
Gwen grins nervously. “Well, Chris said you wanted a criminal. So okay, we didn’t catch the right one but…”
She rips off the sack, revealing Duncan who blinks disgruntledly in the bright light. Numerous gasps of his name sound around the room.
“ Here ? You brought me back here?” Duncan huffs. “Ugh, where’s the stupid exit again?”
“Not so fast!” says Chris. “Quitter thought you could skip out on the game, eh? Thought I wouldn’t find you, hm?”
“Um, you didn’t.” Courtney raises a hand. “We did. Sorry.” She adds as an afterthought.
“Technically Trent found him,” says Gwen.
“What were you guys doing together, Trent?” asks Owen, wide-eyed.
“At a concert,” responds Trent.
“None of your business,” retorts Duncan at the same time. He groans. “Dude, why?”
“What?!”
“Duncan likes music ?” gasps Owen.
“Yeah. Apparently, I don’t know half his interests,” says Trent. “I was surprised too. Still am.”
Duncan glares at him. “I will gut you with my knife.”
“Sure you will, Punk Rock.”
Chris clears his throat. “And that is why both Team Amazon and Team Chris each get a new team member. Team Chris—D-Man’s on your team. Trent, you’re now a part of Team Amazon.”
“Nice!” Cody gives Trent a high-five. “Finally, another guy!”
“Also, Team Amazon wins the challenge!”
“ What?!” choruses Team Chris.
“Head on back to the elimination room, dudes!”
Noah and Owen wear twin expressions of pure jaw-dropped shock, which would’ve been funny under different circumstances (Trent shoots them a supportive thumbs-up instead). Tyler’s shoulders are slumped, and Alejandro’s eye is twitching worryingly.
Meanwhile, Courtney drags Duncan away to a private corner. Trent does his best to ignore their gesticulating and flurry of expressions as words are exchanged, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself glancing over his shoulder at them, half-listening to Cody rambling as he’s dragged to first class, only pausing when Chef snatches his carton of milk, mumbling something about 'better refreshments for the pilot'.
Man, his mum is going to be super pissed.
“—so glad you’re here, dude. I’ve only had Sierra to talk to and,” Cody shudders, pulling Trent into first-class. “Well, you probably have an idea of what she’s like, watching the season and all.”
“A bit, yeah.” They glance over to the minibar where Sierra is perched on one of the stools. She gives them—correction: Cody—a finger wave and simpering smile.
The two boys look away quickly.
“She’s crazy!” Cody exclaims quietly. “I’ve got my own stalkerlicious superfan, and I hate it!”
“Don’t worry, man, I got your back.” They slide down into the seats farthest away from the minibar. Cody gets the window seat for maximum distance from Sierra, who’s pouting at them.
“Thank fucking god for that.”
It’s funny how Cody’s fanbase range from the majority calling him an ‘innocent baby’ to a handful referring to him as the exact opposite. Clearly the former haven’t witnessed Cody’s swear-dumps whenever he gets stressed. Or anxious. Or frustrated. Or excited.
Gwen enters first-class, shooting Trent a smile before settling on one of the sofas, tuning out Heather’s rant about something or other. Courtney joins her not long after, and the two strike up a surprisingly animated conversation that has Trent thinking that maybe Gwen’s actually serious about being friends with Courtney.
Guess crazy things can happen. They are on Total Drama, after all.
He tries to listen to Cody, he really does. But with the stress and revelations of being on international television again making his head whirl, Trent needs to let off some steam. Usually, he would do so by tapping a nonsensical rhythm on his guitar and turning it into a song, but his guitar is back at his grandparents' house several miles away. He taps his fingers on his thighs but it doesn’t have the same effect. The closed-in feeling and tightness in his chest don’t leave.
Abruptly, Trent stands, stopping Cody mid-word.
“Sorry,” he says, suddenly hyper-aware of Gwen watching him with great concern, and the brightness of first-class. “I just–I’ll be back.”
"Dude? What's wrong—"
His guilt at leaving Cody alone, possibly at the mercy of Sierra, is short-lived when he exits first-class. He takes in a breath of air greedily, making sure not to look too eager–his anxiety had already caused enough problems in front of the cameras last season–before trekking through the plane, taking in where everything is.
He passes the cargo hold, what looks like a mess hall, and a small atrium that he knows is the elimination room (he can see some members of Team Chris assembled there, but doesn't intrude). The next turn he takes leads him to a small alcove with a door that looks like a bathroom–or better yet, the confessional bathroom; either option sounds good, he needs a place to take a breather, and if this is the confessional, then, heck, airing out his thoughts would help.
When he pushes open the door, however, he’s both surprised and horrified to find someone already in it. A super familiar someone with a bright green mohawk, who’s part of the reason why Trent’s so discombobulated.
More perplexing is his horror ebbs away a bit at the sight. Since when does seeing Duncan help lower his anxiety?
After five seconds pass with them just staring at each other, Trent finds his words. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t know–I mean, I think the lock’s broken.”
Duncan doesn’t get in his face. Honestly, Trent isn’t sure what he expects Duncan to do, but inviting him in by moving to the side with a simple shrug is not it.
“You can come in if you want. I wasn’t saying anything personal anyway. Just airing out my thoughts after tonight’s shitshow.”
“No kidding.” Trent shuts the door, hopping up on the closed toilet seat. He adds after seeing the sprawl of passports on the countertop, “Still haven’t decided?”
“Not even close. I got Noah and Owen ‘advising’ me to vote out Alejandro. Then Alejandro comes along as I’m entering the confessional and says something about–” his face does this weird thing–darkens and turns pink–and it takes a second for Trent to understand: Duncan’s embarrassed and he doesn’t like it! “He wants me to vote for Noah.”
Trent’s still hung up on the fact that Alejandro said something about Duncan to actually embarrass the guy that he doesn’t respond for a minute. He’s wracking his brains, thinking. What could have possibly made Duncan, of all people, embarrassed?
“Trent? T-Man?”
“Are you ever going to stop coming up with outlandish nicknames?”
Duncan smirks, passports forgotten as he turns to face Trent, his back to the confessional camera. “Nope. You’re just going to have to deal with it, Loverboy.”
Today’s one full of surprises apparently because Trent finds that he doesn’t mind that as much as he probably should.
“Hey. What’s wrong with your paw?”
“What?” Lifting his hand to inspect it, Trent sees crescent-shaped red marks dotting his palms. Probably while he was forcing himself to stay calm in first-class. He hadn’t even noticed. “I just got tossed in front of international television all over again, I think I’m justified in a little anxiety.”
He hisses softly when Duncan lightly brushes his fingers over the angry red marks, the pain is short-lived in the face of Duncan’s rough callouses. Trent looks up. Duncan’s eyes are far away, distant, deep in thought. Over his shoulder, the confessional camera blinks at them, waiting.
“You know,” says Duncan. “I’ve done a lot of crazy stupid things tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Gone to a concert of all things, for one.”
“I knew you liking music was a lie!”
“Talking to you, for another. Actually liking it, for a third.”
“Gee, thanks,” says Trent sarcastically. A smile is quirking the corners of his lips, he can feel it.
Duncan’s closer now, when had that happened? It’s like time is jumping from one moment to several seconds later, leaving Trent dizzy. That has to be the reason he’s feeling like this, and not because of Duncan’s blue eyes which, despite their faraway look, have turned all intense-looking again.
“Today’s a day full of crazy shit,” he murmurs, still sounding thoughtful.
“You’re on camera.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’ve never given a shit about how I look on TV.”
“Must be nice not to have fans to worry about your image with.” Trent grins with a nonchalant shrug.
Duncan rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re hilarious, hardy har har. Now will you shut up and listen?”
Trent mimes zipping his lips and locking them.
“I’ve been thinking–”
“Careful, you could get hurt,” Trent blurts out, then grins sheepishly at Duncan’s unimpressed glare. “Sorry, couldn't help it.”
“As I was saying, I’ve been thinking, what’s one more crazy stupid thing to add to the list?”
“Uh…I don’t follow.”
When Duncan meets his eyes this time, they’re no longer distant; they’re intense and determined like he had been mulling over a worrisome decision that he’d finally made and is ready to set into motion. “Coming to London at the same time as this freak show was purely coincidental. Meeting you at that dumb concert was the same. But hey, maybe this could be my lucky break.”
“What? Coming back on the show?”
“No. At the concert. The tension around us. That was what Alejandro was talking about to me.”
“Alejandro was at the concert with us?” Trent’s beyond confused. “I didn’t see him.”
Duncan rolls his eyes, but Trent swears there’s a glimmer of amusement and something else unrecognizable in their depths. He knows for sure there is because he’s drowning in those eyes again. “Hold on, dorkus.”
“Hold on to wha–” he stops. Everything stops. The plane must have stopped moving. The world must have stopped spinning. Time must have stopped moving.
Because Duncan is fucking kissing him.
Duncan . The guy Trent thought the straightest out of everyone is kissing him with a fierce determination like he’s trying to shove all his emotions into Trent via lip-to-lip contact.
Like a light switch turning on, suddenly a lot of things tonight make sense. The tension Duncan had referred to about them in the concert and on the plane–probably what Alejandro had caught on to, the leverage he’d tried to use on Duncan; the constricting feelings in Trent’s chest he had alluded to the music and the crowd; how he wasn’t so worked up about seeing Gwen again.
The very reason why he even approached Duncan in the first place in that grungy room.
Kiss him back. Kiss him back, you fool! His mind and heart, for once, scream in union.
And Trent does. He kisses back, hesitantly first, then gradually with the same amount of fierceness, conveying his own emotions to Duncan. His hand unconsciously reaches for Duncan’s, clasping it, reveling in its rough texture that soothes his frenzied mind as much as the kiss does.
They’re a mess, he knows. Both of them. A mess that needs a lot of work, but this, this, was a step forward. It was progress of some sort in a direction that might make more sense in the future. It was like creating the perfect chord, and tonight, they’d found a harmony that shouldn’t have been possible, but it is.
A mishappen, crazy, impossible, beautiful mess. That’s what they are.
Slam!
They break apart, whipping around to look at the confessional door as it slams shut. Some poor soul must have had the same wrong idea as Trent because of that broken lock, and gotten an eyeful of their makeout session.
“Who the heck was that?” he says breathlessly.
Duncan shrugs, eyes sparking. “Who cares?”
Something strikes in Trent and he breaks out into a fit of snorts and snickers. Duncan stares at him like he’s gone bonkers before grinning along, shaking his head.
“Sooo,” Duncan drawls, propping his chin on one hand. The piercings on his eyebrow shine in the fluorescent lighting; Trent wants to run his hands over them, see if they’re as smooth as they look. “Did I floor you or did I floor you?”
“Get over here, Macho Man,” Trent laughs, pulling him back toward him by the waist, legs wrapping around Duncan.
"That better not be sarcasm," says Duncan, hands resting on either side of the toilet seat, one hand covered by Trent’s. But he's kissing Trent again before Trent can respond, and Trent's kissing him back, so the conversation falls just like that, both preoccupied with other, more important, matters.
As they continue kissing in front of the confessional camera for everyone to see, Trent thinks that maybe he’s caught his lucky break too. His crazy-stupid lucky break.