#also Trent Crimm with a navy blue blazer and a Joy Division shirt under would be A Look™ lets just be real

[here-there-everyfuckenwhere]

ted washing/braiding/appreciating trent's hair. trent gets VERY flustered. shenanigans ensue. (bonus if they are "friends" and don't realize they have the hots for each other yet because i am a slut for that trope)

A/N: I'm sorry this took a while to actually write, it ended up being like twice as long as I originally hoped lol. As soon as I read this prompt I immediately thought "this sounds like a job for drunk!Ted" and then one thing lead to another..

I know the prompt was probably for a cute fluffy one shot but it really just turned into a big angsty hurt/comfort fic Idek how that happened lol

I also wanna mention that I (sorta) reference @leupagus's fic "A Kind Of Dwell and Welcome" when referring to Trent's daughter as "Seraphina" but this fic doesn't take place in the same universe. I just love A Kind of Dwell and Welcome and wanted to (sorta) mention it. If you haven't read it yet GO READ IT!

+++

Title: Cafuné

Pairing: Ted Lasso/Trent Crimm

Word count: 4k

TW: s*icide mentions, alcohol, slight swearing

+++

It was mostly quiet in The Crown and Anchor, as it typically was at half ten on a weeknight. It wasn’t really Trent’s scene, but it was within walking distance of Ted’s apartment and it was typically a sure-fire place to find him when he wasn’t at Nelson Road. And it turns out, he wasn’t (Trent realised this after waiting outside for at least half an hour). It was unlike Ted to miss a day of practise. While he waited, he attempted to get a quote from Roy Kent who, upon realising it was Trent, started walking very fast towards his car muttering “fuck off fuck fuck off fuck off-“ in Trent’s general direction before he even got the chance to ask him about their most recent loss on Saturday, or where Ted might have ended up.

Normally whenever Trent attended The Crown and Anchor, he would spend no longer than about five minutes in the building; he would come in, take a quote down, greet Mae politely and quickly make an exit, leaving no trace. But as he entered the establishment at half-ten on Monday, the 13th of September 2021, he knew this would be different.

It seemed as if he might have been the only person left in the whole place, with the exception of Mae and three of her regulars who had either fallen asleep or passed out with their heads resting on the bench. As soon as he entered through the wooden door, greeted by the piercing sound of a bell and a warm smile from Mae behind the bar, he immediately scanned the room for Ted. He was usually sitting in a quiet corner, across from Beard, chatting softly with two pints between them. But Beard was nowhere to be found.

Trent searched around the room to eventually find Ted in the usual spot, sitting completely alone. Surrounding him were empty glasses littered all over the table with Ted in the middle of the mess, sleepily resting his head on his fist with his eyes only half-closed. As Trent walked closer, tentatively, he racked his brain trying to find a contextually appropriate quote from some old American movie to break the ice with him as he usually did, but he soon felt a gentle hand land on his shoulder.

“Maybe not tonight, love,” Mae quietly muttered to him, slightly shaking her head.

She glanced over at Ted, looking at him with the same almost-maternal concern she looked at many of the patrons who stayed until half ten on a Monday night.

“Look, it’s on the house-“ she finally said, gesturing for him to sit.

“No no, that’s okay Mae I don’t intend to stay long,” he smiled at her, but it was a disappointed smile.

Mae glanced over at Ted once more and shrugged.

“You can try, but.. tonight isn’t a good night, maybe come back tomorrow?” she offered, before scolding someone trying to climb over the bar.

Trent considered what Mae had told him for a moment, before deciding to bravely make his way over to Ted regardless. He knew something was off; it didn’t take decades of investigative journalism to clue him in. But whatever it was, Trent was determined to get to the bottom of it. Partially because of his own curiosity, and his urge to chase what might become the next big story. But mostly because, though he struggled to admit it at times, he deeply cared for Ted.

Trent cautiously stood over his table, looking down upon him. At first he appeared to be struggling to keep his eyes open, but his face immediately brightened when he noticed-

“Trent Crimm, The Independent!” He slurred, arms outstretched, offering Trent the seat opposite him. Trent hesitantly sat down, carefully, trying to seem less like a reporter and more like a friend, something that he often attempted (clumsily, most of the time) when meeting Ted.

“How you doin’ Trent Crimm, The Independent?” He asks, his signature optimism present in his voice despite his intoxication. As he asks the question he seems to lean towards Trent, leaning further and further until he’s really closer to falling than leaning and Trent catches him by the shoulders.

“I’m fine, Ted. Are you alright?” Trent wonders, still gripping Ted by the shoulders supportively, keeping him from falling even though his head keeps lolling to the side. Ted ignores the question and Trent wonders if that’s on purpose or because he genuinely doesn’t remember being asked a question.

“What brings you here tonight, Trent Crimm The Independent?” He managed to stumble out.

Trent remembered exactly what it was that brought him to The Crown and Anchor that evening; he had spent the whole walk over repeating the words, “Care to comment on Richmond’s loss on Saturday, coach Lasso..?” carefully to himself before walking in, but that seemed insignificant now. Through his line of work, Trent had acquired some sort of sixth sense; he could often tell when people were lying, or trying to cover something up, particularly Ted. He could often remain objective, upholding his reputation in the press room as “Trent Crimm, The Independent- ruthless journalist who would go to any lengths necessary for the next big scoop”. But when it came to Ted Lasso, the surprisingly charming new manager from America, he suddenly resented this title. Something about Ted Lasso always drew him in closer, as if they were complete opposites, attracting like the ends of a magnet. But they were similar in a lot of ways too. Trent often felt that Ted understood him in such a way that nobody else ever did. When they weren’t talking about work, they often talked about books or old movies or, more recently, being respectively divorced parents. Ted sharing details from his personal life was a relatively new development that came after a year of fairly surface-level conversation, but with the help of Dr Sharon and months of building a deeper relationship with Trent, he finally caved and made Trent his closest confidant.

It was a peculiar relationship that they had formed. Trent had never felt about another person the way that he felt about Ted Lasso from America. Not even his ex-husband could ever make him feel like some sort of giddy high school girl, tripping over their own feet to talk to their crush. Trent had been hesitant to call it that at first; he was 41 years of age and had a daughter for goodness sake, he had well outgrown “crushes”. And, besides, even if he was “crushing”, their careers would soon thwart any hopes of a romantic relationship. Trent instead focussed all of his attention on reporting, as objectively as possible, on AFC Richmond the way he did under any other management.

But tonight was different. In that moment, he decided that he wasn’t at The Crown and Anchor at half ten on Monday, 13th of September 2021, as Trent Crimm, The Independent; he was at the Crown and Anchor as Trent Crimm, the friend that Ted desperately needed at half ten on Monday, 13th of September 2021. Because, unbeknownst to Trent, this was a night that Ted had been dreading for a long time.

“I’m here to see you, Ted,” Trent tells him, conveniently leaving out the part where he only came to gather an official statement.

“Awww, that’s real sweet of ‘ya,” Ted smiles, but it’s an empty, fake smile- Trent knows it as soon as he sees it. Ted’s eyes wander around the room randomly before finally meeting Trent’s for just a brief moment, all bloodshot and weepy. With his journalistic senses, as well as some common fucking sense and an ability to read the room, Trent deduces that the tears aren’t from drunkenness. Something inside of Trent’s chest feels as though its tugging and pulling once he realises. He gets up from the seat across from him and sits in the seat directly next to him, shuffling his chair in even closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he asks,

“What’s going on, Ted..?”

The smile on Ted’s face falters gradually as he finally meets Trent’s gaze. Something inside him seems to break, a crack beginning show in the optimistic facade he took pride in maintaining most of the time. He could feel the tears he had been fighting all night forming once again in his eyes. Meanwhile, Trent had gone full dad-mode, leaning in closer, slowly, reaching over to gently rub circle patterns on Ted’s back.

There was no use fighting anything back now; the tears streamed down Ted’s face, soft sobs spilling from his lips as he buried his head into the crook of Trent’s neck. A few heads around the bar turned to look at where the noise was coming from, earning an awkward smile from Trent, who was not totally sure what to do when someone other than his four-year-old daughter starting crying on his shoulder. Ted, however, thought he was doing a great job. Eventually he could feel his ragged breath becoming more even and calm as he focussed on the soft, smooth material of Trent’s jacket against his damp cheek and balled up between his fists, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke and rich cologne that clung to it.

They sat in silence for a while, Trent curious but mainly concerned, and Ted not wanting to talk about it just yet. Or maybe ever. Though he had worked a lot with Dr Sharon over the last little while on being more open to talking about his feelings, it just didn’t feel right to talk about his father. Especially not on this day, not the day that he-

“I’m fine,” Ted eventually choked out, breathlessly. That sense was going off in Trent’s head, that sense that told him when someone was lying to him. It went without saying that whatever Ted said to him in this moment was going to be off the record, but something was definitely holding him back.

Trent had learnt, through years of inquiring into peoples’ personal lives, that the best way to get someone to talk was to make sure that they were comfortable first. They sat in silence just a moment longer before Trent finally spoke,

“I’m going to take you home now,” He says, really more telling him than asking if that’s okay, but he’s far too worried about what’s going to happen if Ted stays here to worry about sounding pushy.

“Okay,” Ted basically whispers, not letting go of Trent who has to try to stand up while prying himself free of a very sad, very drunk American man.

When he eventually gets on his feet Ted seems to sort of slide down his chair slowly, and Trent can’t decide if he’s just really drunk or exhausted or, most likely, both.

He puts out his hands and pulls Ted up gently, careful not to throw off the very limited balance Ted is able to gain. As they weave through the tables of the last few hangers-on, Ted doesn’t let go of Trent’s hand.

+++

Ted’s apartment is more or less exactly how Trent imagined it; filled with pictures and nicknacks and fleeting glimpses into his personal life, separating it completely from the cold, empty, impersonal feeling of most corporate housing. Scattered throughout the home were little yellow post it notes with the word “believe” written in blue ink marker and despite how much it reminded Trent of cliched American sports movies, he made a mental note to ask Ted to make one for his apartment later.

As soon as they stumble through the door, Ted immediately staggers to the plush, grey couch in the living area and collapses. Trent’s eyes wander around the room, eventually landing on one framed picture of a pretty blonde woman holding a very smiley young boy in her arms with the inscription “Happy Fathers Day Ted! Love Michelle and Henry”, and suddenly Trent feels like he’s intruding on something that he is not meant to see; something very vulnerable and personal and intimate.

“My head hurts..” At first Trent isn’t quite sure if Ted is addressing him or not, still focussed on the framed photo on the wall, but after a moment switches back into dad-mode, searching around the kitchen for empty glasses and a sink.

He returns to the room, glass of water in hand, to find Ted lying face-down on the couch.

He sits down next to him and gently tries to get him to sit up. “I got you this,” he says, passing the glass of water over to him carefully and guiding it to his mouth. Taking care of Ted reminded him of all those years spent as the sensible designated driver at university parties, and he figured that probably would have been the last time he had to deal with someone in that state prior to this occasion.

“Thank, Trent, I appreciate ‘ya” Ted muttered before taking a very long sip and setting the glass back down on a small table beside the couch. Trent had noticed that Ted always said that,

“I appreciate ya”

He never said “I appreciate the offer” or “I appreciate what you��ve done”, he always said

“I appreciate you”, as if he was always thankful for the people in his life who were there for him and not just what they did for him. That was always something that stuck with Trent, something he tried as hard as he could to force out of his mind when he was “objectively” reporting on AFC Richmond, along with a rather sizeable list of other qualities about Ted that tended to make his job just a little bit harder. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if that was something Ted just said to everybody, or something much more calculated that he reserved for Trent; something that only Trent had heard him say, as if he was really saying,

“I appreciate you, Trent”-

His ruminating thoughts were interrupted when he felt a hand reach over, slightly calloused fingers combing gently through his hair.

“Ted, what are you doing..?” Trent asked, his voice sounding much more defensive than he intended. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, the thumping echoing in his ears causing soft, red heat to rise to his face.

“Shhh, It’s okay,” Ted cooed soothingly, and all of the sudden it felt like the roles were reversed from just moments ago, and now Ted was somehow the one taking care of Trent.

He sunk into a sort of rhythm, stroking Trent’s hair and slightly twirling the ends between his fingertips with a tenderness so typically uncharacteristic of most of the men in football that Trent had met before, simultaneously comforting him and intimidating him, making him feel completely out of his depth.

Trent cleared his throat and sat up slightly straighter, trying to shake Ted off to conjure his most professional reporter voice,

“Coach Lasso, about earlier? I was wondering-“

Suddenly Ted’s hand withdrew from Trent’s hair, and Trent hated how much he yearned for it, internally cursing himself for trying to get rid of it in the first place.

“I’d appreciate if we didn’t talk about that…” Ted murmured, sheepishly, not quite meeting Trent’s gaze. Ted had been avoiding it all night. He had been trying so hard to forget what it was like for him on this exact day, 30 years ago. He tried so hard to forget the sound, the piercing echo that reverberated though his family home that day-

Bang

The tugging feeling in Trent’s chest returned once more. He knew he had struck a nerve. As a journalist, he was used to asking people questions that often made them uncomfortable, but this was different. He was in Ted’s home, looking at photos of his family and the hidden details of his life that the press should never know about, he was sitting on a couch beside the man at his most vulnerable-

Again, Trent’s overthinking was interrupted by Ted reaching out to him. This time, gently removing his navy blue blazer, slipping it off his shoulder and sliding it down his arms slowly.

“Ted, what are you doing…?” He asked once again, this time much more delicately. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was secretly enjoying the attention; the care with which Ted touched him, unmatched by any other physical gesture he had ever experienced. He had noticed much earlier that Ted had an immaculate talent for making people feel as though they were valued. Trent had always admired this trait as something so uniquely Ted’s, but this wasn’t like listening to all of Nate’s ideas, or baking cookies on Seraphina’s birthday, or counselling Roy through whatever personal trouble he seemed to be having, this was something different; Something that was only meant for just the two of them that night.

Trent shrugged the rest of his jacket off, still attempting to maintain composure despite his racing thoughts. Ted clumsily attempted to sling it on the back of the couch but failed miserably, leaving it in a heap on the floor. Normally Trent would fuss about his work-clothes being left in a heap on the floor after hours spent diligently ironing them and hanging them up properly, but right now he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. His eyes were firmly fixated upon Ted, widened, staring in a strange mix or curiosity and confusion, but most of all, though he tried to fight it, longing.

It did occur to him that underneath his blazer he just so happened to be wearing a Joy Division shirt that once belonged to his ex-husband but eventually came into his possession somehow when they used to share everything, and suddenly he feels as though he’s the one showing Ted something that he was never meant to see.

Ted fell backwards, lying on the couch with his arms draped across his eyes, as if he was attempting to shut out the rest of the world. Though lying down in the darkened room was helping, his head still felt like it was spinning out of control and the regret started slowly but surely settling in, promising to hit him like a tonne of bricks in the morning.

Trent sat there for just a moment longer, even though the moment seemed to be over. Rubbing circles into Ted’s back as he cried into his shoulder, holding his hand as he stumbled home, withholding the urge to purr like a well-loved cat beneath his most subtle touch- all of it passed by, seemingly meaning nothing.

Trent sighed and began to creep out of Ted’s apartment before he heard a soft voice call out to him,

“Trent?” Ted sat up groggily to face him standing in the doorway, appearing even more disheveled than before.

“..Yes?” Trent replied, unmoving.

There was a silence between them for just a moment.

“Could you uhh..” Ted sniffled, and Trent realised he had been sobbing again.

“Could you maybe stay with me..? Just a little while longer..?” He basically pleaded. Ted liked people to think that he never needed anything from them, that he would do just fine by himself. But it was dark, and he was alone, and if he sat there any longer by himself he wouldn’t be able to stop his thoughts from wandering-

Bang

Trent considered this for a moment. Maybe walking him home was one thing, and maybe staying for just a minute to see if he was okay might have been fine, but staying any longer felt like he was crossing some sort of boundary that should never be crossed. But as Trent looked into Ted’s big, sad, puppy-dog eyes, his mind seemed to make itself up without any rational input.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, and made his way back over to the couch.

He hovered for a moment considering the least inappropriate way to resume his position. Ted was now lying down with his legs across where Trent was previously sitting, but there was a small space he was not covering. Trent eventually sat back down, as rigidly as possible, only for a short moment before Ted’s hands landed on his shoulders, gently pulling him backwards into his chest. By this point, all caution had been thrown to the wind, and Trent gave in, shifting to get slightly more comfortable. He had never been so close to Ted before.

Almost immediately Ted began slowly carding his fingers through Trent’s hair once more, as if he missed the contact almost as much as Trent did, and the gentle touch that Trent had been pining for deep-down returned. It took every ounce of his waning self control not to sigh dreamily. He liked to think he could maintain some composure still, despite pretty much cuddling with Ted on his couch at this point.

“Ted, I really should be heading out, deadlines and-“ this time he cut himself off, his eyes almost involuntarily shutting as he melted into Ted’s touch, sinking against his strong frame and seeming to fit perfectly.

He wondered if Ted had sobered up at all, if this was just something that happened that he was bound to forget in the morning. He wondered if Ted completely forgetting about it would be better or worse. Most importantly, he wondered how the fuck he was supposed to go back to work the next day, eventually having to face him again in the press room after everything that he had seen and felt.

Eventually he managed to stop thinking all together, allowing himself to completely loose all sense of professionalism as Ted mindlessly caressed his hair.

Neither of them had any idea how long they must have been sitting like that, far too comfortable and content, lost in the rhythm of Ted’s long strokes through Trent’s thick, grey hair. Though his head was still spinning and had started aching, Ted felt completely at peace as he watched Trent, the ruthless journalist who gave him hell on his very first day at work, fall asleep on his chest. He stopped for just a moment, taking in the sight, taking sort of a mental-picture, praying that he would never forget it, even after the sheer amount of alcohol still swirling around his system, before realising that Trent’s glasses were still on.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, Ted reached out to remove them, brushing his hair behind his ears and carefully sliding them off carefully with as much precision as he could possibly muster.

He reached over to put them onto the table, but it seemed as if the table somehow got away from him entirely, the glasses clattering to the ground with a soft-

Bang

It felt as if something inside of him snapped, something he must have been holding together this entire time without even realising it.

Trent slowly rubbed his eyes and sat up slightly, weary and confused,

“What was that..?” He asked quietly, curiosity more present in his voice than genuine panic. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and the general fuzziness of not wearing his glasses, Ted came back into focus.

“I don’t know I- God, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-“ Ted seemed to choke out, all rushed and incomplete, punctuated by short, shallow breaths that seemed to get faster and faster. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and his hands that were steadily running through Trent’s hair moments ago were now clammy and shaking,-

“Hey, Ted, it’s okay,” Trent’s voice seemed to cut through the panicked thoughts, and he couldn’t remember how or why but Trent’s long, slim fingers were now laced between his. He tried to concentrate on them, the way that Trent moved his thumb back and forth over his knuckle soothingly, how they were still slightly cold from the walk home in the brisk, evening air.

“I’m real sorry, Trent, I didn’t mean to-“

“I know, it’s okay, Ted,” he smiled slightly at him, not letting go of his hand.

Trent rested his head against Ted’s chest once more, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing return to its steady, peaceful rhythm. He waited until Ted seemed to calm down before breaking the silence between them,

“I really should go, Ted,” he just about whispered, partially hoping that Ted didn’t hear it. He did hear it anyway, but neither make any attempt at separating themselves, their fingers still laced together with Ted’s free arm around Trent’s shoulders, desperately holding him close.

Ted, for the first time in his life, doesn’t say anything; just buries his nose in Trent’s now-messy hair, breathing him in.