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“Darlin’?” Ted calls through the bathroom door, voice raised just loud enough to be heard over the drumming of water on the moss-green tiles.
Tilting his head back, Trent begins to rinse the soft suds of citrus-scented shampoo from his hair, eyes closed as he responds with a fond smile playing on his lips.
“Yes, love?”
The terms of endearment are new. Pet names, thrown easily between the two men as they navigate their developing relationship. It had started with a teasing ‘sport’ directed at the ex-journalist, leaving a soft blush on the slightly younger- but still middle-aged - man. From there it had only grown more loving, verging on corny at times, of course that was always to be expected from the American gaffer. Sweetheart . Buttercup . Pumpkin . Just to name a few of Ted’s favourites. But darlin’ was still his go-to, and Trent couldn’t help the way his heart warmed whenever he heard that specific word honeyed by Ted's Kansan drawl.
“Can I borrow your laptop? Boss needs me to read somethin' and ya know the tiny print on my phone makes my eyes go all funny.” Trent can picture Ted's face, scrunched and squinting as he tries in vain to read the too small text. He stifles the affectionate laugh behind his hand as he shakes some of the water loose from his thick hair.
“Of course, it’s in my office. And I’ve told you, we can enlarge the text on your phone, old man .” Trent's voice is full of affection, with just a sprinkling of exasperation.
“Thank you, Florence Pugh.” Trent notes the way Ted pointedly ignores his teasing comment, not yet having forgiven the man for pointing out his very first grey hair earlier in the week.
Trent can just about hear the door to his office being opened, that one creaking floorboard at the threshold of the room making an obnoxiously loud sound as Ted enters his study.
There's a deep fondness that sits in his chest as his fingers work conditioner through his hair. Deftly untangling the multitude of knots- caused by an entirely different pair of hands the night prior - as he lets himself be warmed by the domesticity the pair have found for themselves. Small moments of calm and of laughter, things neither of them expected to have again after their previous encounters with love and romance.
There's a quiet niggling itching away in Trent's mind. An inner-voice telling him that he's forgotten something important. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to remember what it is and it’s only as he's stepping out of the shower that the memory comes to him.
As his barefoot touches the cold tile of the bathroom floor it all comes flooding back. The last thing he had been doing with his laptop yesterday, just before Ted had turned up for an impromptu date night.
Oh god .
There's no way that Ted won't see it. It'll be the first thing that pops up when he opens the laptop. Trent silently curses his bad habit of simply closing his computer, very rarely shutting it down completely. The damn thing will light up like a beacon, highlighting exactly what Trent does not want Ted to see.
Shit. Fuck. Bollocks.
Why didn't he close the tab? Delete his history? Throw his laptop out the sodding window?
Trent is paralyzed with panic and a hearty dose of humiliation. Stuck staring at himself in the fogged up mirror, even coated in condensation he can see the deep crimson flush that's embedded itself across his cheeks, the uneven redness trailing down his neck and bare chest.
There is not a chance in hell that he's leaving this bathroom. He'll simply have to live here now. That's all there is to it. Him and his shame, bathroom-roommates for the rest of his life. He wonders absently whether Waitrose will deliver through the small window behind his toilet…
Trent's not stupid, he's well aware that he's most likely overreacting, but- but what if he's not? He's got a good thing going with Ted. It's only been a few months but they're happy. They're, well at least he's, well on the way to being deeply and madly in love with the American.
Christ, who's he kidding, he's been in love with Ted ever since he first laid eyes on him. It was a whole ‘love at first sight’ moment that Ted would be thrilled by. And yes, he does know how much of a cliché he is, thank you very much.
When he hears the quiet shuffling of feet on the plush carpet of his bedroom, his body comes back to life, thrusting him into fight or flight. Only, his body can’t seem to make up its mind. Trent is caught between facing the music, having what will be an absolutely mortifying conversation, or seeing if he’s slender enough to fit through the tiny window that he’s now sure if push came to shove Waitrose would be willing to deliver through, if he paid them a big enough tip. And he’s back to his original plan of simply living in this bathroom for the rest of time.
“Trent, sweetheart?” Under normal circumstances Trent would be soothed by the Kansan accent calling out to him, but as it is, he instead panics. A chill runs through him as he shuffles from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do. But said chill brings another realisation, and that is that he is still standing naked as the day he was born in the middle of his bathroom. In his rush to grab a towel, ready to wrap it around his bare waist, he stubs his toe on the base of the toilet.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck ." Trent hisses, doubled over as he tries to breath through the pain, because of course, what better time to stub a toe than when he’s already in the middle of a minor meltdown.
“Are you alright, Trent?" Ted's concerned voice breaks through Trent's muffled stream of curses, his teeth wrapped around the meat of his hand as he tries in vain to pull himself together.
"Y-yes. Just stubbed my toe. Everything's- I’m fine ." Well if it wasn’t obvious that Trent was firmly on the side of not fine before, it is now with that embarrassingly high pitched answer. Great job, Trent. He drags a hand over his face, grimacing as he realises he’s still pretty damp all over, a layer of condensation-caused sweat urging him to take another shower.
"You’ve been in the bathroom a heck of a long time.” The thick accent rings clear, as if Ted is standing as close to the door as he possibly can. Which, knowing Ted, he probably is. He’s most likely itching to reach out and pry it open, to confront Trent about what he must have seen on that stupid bloody laptop. But Ted would never do that. It’s one of the many reasons Trent loves him. His kindness, his patience. His eagerness to look after everyone around him.
And yet Trent can’t help but think maybe this time, he’s gone just a step too far, done something that Ted can’t simply overlook. Will he try to hide his grimace behind a smile as he lets Trent down unbearably kindly?
Next time Trent is curious, he’s just going to open a bottle of wine and drink the curiosity away. The hangover would still be less of a headache than this stress induced panic.
Trent can’t find it in himself to respond. Part of him wants to reach out to Ted, fall into his arms and just stay there for the rest of the day. The other part wants to remain hiding, ignoring the metaphorical elephant in the room for just a little bit longer.
“How long are ya plannin’ on hiding in there?” Ted’s teasing lilt is almost lost on Trent’s panic-addled brain. It’s only when it breaks through the haze of his mini-crisis that Trent manages an answer, shivering lightly as the air cools around him.
“The rest of my life?" His words come out in more of a meek question than the confident statement one might expect from the ex-journalist, his voice wavering more than a little.
“Can I join ya?”
Trent exhales heavily, pacing the short length of the room for a moment, bare feet sticking lightly to the damp tile as he works up the courage to forgo his current plan of moving into the bathroom long term and instead accept his fate by letting Ted in.
As his hand comes into contact with the twist lock, his mind flashes back to the towel he is yet to wrap around himself. The flush that had finally begun to recede is back in full force as he hastily snatches the towel he’d forgotten about, tying it tightly around his slender hips before letting the deafening click of the door unlocking invade his thoughts, if only for a brief moment.
It only takes a few seconds for the handle to shift, but the next minute passes so slowly for Trent, stuck in a world of both hope and worry as he waits for Ted to enter what has been his safe haven for the past- he doesn’t actually know how long he’s been locked away, safe from the reality of how Ted will react.
His head hangs in shame as he spots Ted’s sock-clad feet enter the room, unable to look him in the eyes. He’s too aware of the dark flush that stains his cheeks, ever so subtly shaking his damp hair out of place in an attempt to hide at least some of it, trying in vain to retain whatever’s left of his dignity.
“Hi there, sweetheart.” The smile in Ted’s voice is clear, filling Trent with a quiet sense of warmth and even a little much needed calm. Perhaps he was lucky and Ted didn’t actually see anything? Maybe his laptop did him a favour and had one of those random updates that refreshed the whole damn thing.
“So…” There's an agonisingly long pause, dragging out Trent’s hope that maybe he's getting away with it, “I found some mighty interestin' reading material on your laptop.”
Or not.
“ Oh god .” Trent’s words are muffled by the hands covering his face. Why did he think letting Ted in was a good idea? It was a horrendous idea.
“Care to explain, Lois Lane?” Ted punctuates the question with a soft hand on Trent’s elbow, a signal of encouragement that's clear as day. Only, the action does little to settle his nerves. Fortunately it does just enough to have Trent lowering his hands slightly, allowing him to glance subtly at the man in front of him.
“Not really.” He mutters quietly, his voice verging on a whine as Ted looks at him expectantly. The moustachioed man has his eyebrow raised as he watches Trent.
“ Trent .” And there's that fondly exasperated smile that's usually painted on Trent's face. Trent finds he's not quite so keen about being on the receiving end of it this time.
“ Fine .” The shorter man can’t help the petulant tone he takes, begrudgingly looking Ted straight in the eye for the first time since he entered the bathroom. “Look, I know it’s weird. I’m so very aware that it’s weird. But after the book became popular, and then when we were all over the papers, I guess people got- invested in us?” Trent offers a half hearted shrug, complimented by an awkward wince as Ted lets out an obscenely loud, one syllable, laugh.
There's a soft pink hue on the American's cheeks as he looks down at Trent.
“ Invested ? That sure is one word for it, buttercup.” Ted chuckles quietly as he watches Trent squirm uncomfortably. But pet names, that's a good sign, surely? If Ted was about to let him down easily he'd be avoiding the affectionate names entirely, wouldn't he?
The ex-journalist splutters for a moment, trying to find the words to explain his mortification away. And decides for the second time since knowing Ted, to burn his source.
"It's all Anna's fault." He declares loudly, his eyes pleading with Ted to believe him.
Anna. His lovely, kind, infuriating ex-wife. A woman who was physically unable to resist teasing Trent whenever the opportunity arose. Especially when she discovered a particular link that was instantaneously sent directly to his email account, with one of those ridiculous winking emojis she's so fond of using.
A link he both thoroughly regretted opening whilst also thoroughly enjoying at least a little of the contents, even if it was more than a bit strange to be reading such content.
“She sent me a link to this site, and it had pages- pages upon pages of stories- about us . I shouldn’t have read them, but I was curious.” Trent tapers off at the end, head down in silent shame as his eyes peer up at the man that makes his heart thump heavily in his chest.
“Are you angry?” The question is so quiet that he fears for a moment that Ted won't hear him, but the soft smile on his face tells him otherwise.
“Angry? Not a jot, Gal Gadot." Ted's hands find Trent's, pulling him close enough that he can feel the warmth seeping through one of the American's many barbecue themed t-shirts. "Confused ‘n a little turned on? You betcha'.”
Trent's brain short circuits. He's momentarily speechless as he stares up at Ted, who's gently crowding him a little closer to the shower door, letting his fingers dip dangerously close to where the towel is held together around his hips.
“Care to re-enact the shower scene with me, darlin'?” The Kansan drawl has a shiver running up Trent's spine, leaving him helpless to do anything by nod dumbly as his cheeks turn an impossibly deeper shade of red.
"I love you." Trent breaths as his words come back to him. And this time he's not left with a single second to panic about the unintended confession.
"I love you too." Ted's response is muffled but the intention is clear as his lips are pressed urgently against Trent's own.