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Trent Crimm observed AFC Richmond’s new manager with a quiet, deliberate fascination, his gaze unwavering amid the chaos of the pressroom.
Because Coach Ted Lasso had a way of commanding a room without demanding it.
And Trent, ever the keen observer, took note of everything.
From the moment Ted arrived in Richmond—an event many considered nothing short of apocalyptic—Trent had studied him. The bemused glint in his eyes, the way he laughed at moments others found inappropriate. Ted didn’t have to speak for Trent to recognize there was more beneath the surface. He was a contradiction, an enigma wrapped in relentless sincerity, wearing his emotions as openly as a badge of honor.
In England, such transparency was often regarded as naivety, if not outright narcissism. Social decorum dictated restraint, a careful curation of one’s presence. Yet Ted either ignored the rules or feigned ignorance entirely. He was Trent’s opposite in every conceivable way—unshakable optimism tempered by an undercurrent of self-assured arrogance. What others dismissed as unearned confidence, Trent saw as something far more intricate. He hadn’t quite deciphered it yet, but he knew there was a story there.
And Trent, against all logic, found himself drawn to it and never seemed to stop thinking about it.
Ted’s arrogance wasn’t off-putting or terrifying; if anything, it was oddly admirable. He wielded control over a space with effortless ease, meeting ignorance with sharp wit, Trent watched as he turned dismissive questions into punchlines that left his colleagues shrinking in their chairs. Trent had to bite the inside of his cheek more than once to suppress a smirk. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, wasn’t supposed to revel in the way Ted unsettled the room. But he did.
Because Ted wasn’t just a showman—he was strikingly intelligent. Sharper than people gave him credit for. And Trent suspected that, despite appearances, he might be exactly what Richmond needed. The world saw a bumbling, overenthusiastic American stumbling his way through English football with a surplus of charm and a deficit of expertise. But Trent saw something else. He saw the rare moments when Ted’s smile faltered, when exhaustion flickered across his face in an unguarded second before vanishing beneath that ever-present cheer.
Ted wasn’t weak, but Trent knew what it looked like when someone carried a burden. And Ted Lasso carried more than most. He wanted to be seen, to prove himself in a world that had already dismissed him.
Trent, for his part, had spent his life on the fringes—watching, analyzing, dissecting but never participating. His sharpest words lived on his article’s, a safe distance from the subjects he scrutinized which he found even more pathetic. He had always believed that blending into the background was preferable to standing out. His father had ensured that.
Then Ted arrived, stepping forward without hesitation, occupying space unapologetically. He didn’t just move through a room; he shaped it, shifted it in his favor. And Trent, much as he hated to admit it, envied that. Envied the ease, the certainty, the ability to navigate the world without second-guessing every step.
But more than that—he found it maddeningly attractive.
Ted Lasso was impossible to ignore. And Trent, despite himself, didn’t want to ignore him. He felt the heat rise to his face whenever Ted so much as glanced in his direction, a visceral response he hadn’t anticipated and certainly hadn’t invited.
In his quietest moments, Trent wondered if Ted had any idea just how much he was admired. If he knew that his self-deprecation, his relentless need to be liked, wasn’t just personality—it was survival. Ted’s resilience was exhausting to watch, but impossible not to respect. And Trent understood, better than most, that the most compelling truths were the ones people worked hardest to hide.
And yet, for all his analysis, Trent still wondered about the pieces Ted kept locked away. What did he think about in those rare moments of solitude? What did he tell himself when there was no one left to perform for? Trent doubted he would ever get all the answers. Strangely, he didn’t mind. The mystery was part of the draw.
Because the truth was, Trent didn’t just want to observe Ted Lasso.
He wanted to be part of his story.
Not to fix him—no, Ted didn’t need fixing. But to see him. To look past the bravado, past the humor, past the carefully constructed armor. To understand the man beneath it all.
Trent didn’t know where this pull would lead him. But for once, he wasn’t looking for certainty. He just hoped that, eventually, he’d get to Ted.
And when he caught himself lingering outside the pressroom longer than necessary one day—the very moment Ted’s gaze found him, amusement glinting in his eyes—Trent knew by the way his face flushed, betraying him like some lovesick schoolboy.
He really, really liked Ted Lasso.