Chapter Text
Even as he strides through the hall—keeping his pace to an unhurried amble despite the frantic sense of late-late-late itching beneath his skin—Trent wonders if he should be here at all. Training is almost certainly over by now, and in the absence of a match over the next couple days, Ted and his fellow coaches aren't likely to be staying late to plan strategy. It's damned silly to show up at the very end of the workday, when everyone will be wrapping up and going home. He could have saved himself the commute.
Then he draws near the locker room, where laughter and the sounds of roughhousing carry through the open doors, and he knows he made the right call. He's had a truly shit day, but the weight of it eases as he steps into the maelstrom and feels Richmond's affectionate energy bubbling up around him.
A matter of months ago, he would have stepped into this room and been met with sudden uncomfortable silence. Today, the team's boisterous affection carries on, rising to include him, and he exchanges quiet greetings with several players as he eases into the space. There's nothing unusual in the antics playing out before him. Dani, with his excess of enthusiasm, is chattering at alarming velocity to a nonplussed Jamie Tartt. Both of them are still dressed from training, all grass stains and dirt and sweat—and Trent suppresses a chuckle when Jamie looks up long enough to meet his eyes, giving Trent an almost pleading look, as though hoping Trent will sweep in and rescue him because Jamie doesn't have the heart to tell Dani to shut up and let him take a damn shower.
It's a remarkable change from the Jamie Tartt who first came to play for Richmond. That young man would've had no qualms about shutting someone down for his own sanity or convenience, or hell, even simply to prove he could. Just one of a hundred subtle—and not-so-subtle—shifts that have taken place during Ted Lasso's tenure.
Trent ignores Jamie's imploring eyes and bypasses the conversation. He admires Dani's unflagging energy, but he's ill-equipped to face it after the day he's had.
"Hey! There you are!" Colin's voice is all the warning Trent has before there's a hand on his arm, tugging him to a stop and then holding on in a gesture of… worry? Has he made Colin worry? Sure enough, a moment later, he catches sight of Colin looking serious and concerned. "Where've you been? You missed training!"
He says this as though Trent is a member of the team who has committed a cardinal sin by being absent—not a supposedly neutral observer with no impact on the team's success. Colin's hand is still a firm presence where he's got hold of Trent's arm, and Trent is honestly surprised that he doesn't feel a stronger urge to shake loose. Before his time shadowing Richmond, any unexpected contact from a footballer would've had him jerking away and bracing for a fist to the jaw. A man doesn't make an entire career out of criticizing muscular athletes, in a field crowded with toxic masculinity, and not get punched in the face occasionally.
But today his heart isn't even racing. He feels safe here. In a locker room full of footballers. What a strange and novel experience.
"Everything alright?" Colin asks in a quieter voice, and though his grip eases it doesn't let go. Like most of the team, Colin has already changed into clean clothes, his hair still damp from the shower.
"Yes, Colin." Trent resists the urge to roll his eyes but can't entirely keep the exasperation from his tone. When Colin still does not let go of him, Trent thumps him lightly on the chest with an open palm, and some combination of word and gesture finally makes Colin's hand fall aside. "Everything's perfectly fine. My car died this morning, and I needed to coordinate with Lou to get Evie to school. And then waiting on recovery and dealing with the battery both took… a while. It hasn't been the best day, but I'm good now."
It's more detail than he would have bothered providing before Amsterdam—before Colin moved into the friend-shaped space he's come to occupy in Trent's life—and without any need to explain about his ex-wife and his daughter and the negotiations required for coparenting in the face of unexpected challenges. These are things he's already confided, because Colin is nosy and stubborn, and Trent has surprisingly few defenses to the young man's earnest intensity.
"You should have called me!" Colin protests. "I'd give you a ride."
He tries to picture Colin's Lamborghini pulling onto Trent's narrow street with its cozy and outdated buildings, and the image makes him smile.
"Colin." He sets a hand to Colin's shoulder in a gesture of exaggerated solemnity, "I truly appreciate you, but I will never get in that car. And neither will my offspring."
For a handful of seconds, Colin blinks at him with an expression so blank that Trent fears he's caused offense. Maybe, despite the weeks in which Colin's been seeking out his company with ever-increasing regularity, they aren't enough on the same wavelength for Trent to tease him about his driving.
Just before Trent can really start to worry, a delighted grin spreads across Colin's face. "Smart choice, boyo. I'm a terrible driver." He leans in close a second later, the better to whisper directly in Trent's ear, "Between you and me, though? Off the record? Isaac's even worse."
The observation startles a laugh out of Trent, loud and sharp, and the sound draws curious glances from several nearby players and all three coaches at the other end of the room. Colin grins, clearly pleased with himself, then bumps Trent with his shoulder before wandering away. Across the locker room, Trent catches Ted's eye and offers him a smile.
It takes an uncharacteristic delay for Ted to smile back, and when he finally does, something in the expression isn't quite right. A moment later, Ted disappears back into the office, shoulders tense and hands in his pockets—leaving Trent to wonder what the hell just happened, and whether or not he should be concerned.
Then the office door closes, a little too hard. The sound startles the nearest players, but no one comments. So Trent does not comment either, even when it takes a truly intolerable quantity of willpower to turn his attention elsewhere. Whatever put the strangeness in Ted's behavior, it's none of Trent's business unless the man chooses to confide in him.
He's here to observe. Passively, at least in principle. And for the moment, that's exactly what he will do.