Work Text:
August 2022
“Where are you going?” Trent sits on the edge of a hotel bed he’ll be sleeping in alone tonight, hands folded and head down. Doesn’t want to watch the man across the room from him, haphazardly throwing all of his things into a bag, leave again. Seen it too many times already, knows he’ll see it plenty more after this, but can’t bear it right now. Not after a loss that stings, full of poor play that makes his chest hurt, makes him wonder if maybe the rumors are right, if maybe a change of location is in store for him next season. Blinks to try and clear his mind of that, stomach turns with the mere idea, and he’s nearly forgotten he’s asked a question until the response comes, low and cool.
“You know where.” Jordan sounds as tired as he feels. A dull throbbing behind his right eye. Defeated, down, and in no mood for the conversation Trent is trying to have. The conversation Jordan knows he owes the younger man. But he can’t just then, all focus on the person…the healing…waiting for him a short drive away.
“All the way to Brighton, then? We’ve got training tomorrow, yeah?” Not sure why he’s prolonging the inevitable, Trent doesn’t expect an answer. Waits to hear the door close on someone who’s already miles away in his mind, gone even though he’s still standing in the same room.
“Not Brighton…” Jordan sighs, zips his bag, hikes the strap up and over his shoulder, and stares at a man who won’t look at him. Shakes his head and moves towards the door. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in time for training.” Stops with fingers wrapped around the handle. Can’t help himself. “Trent?”
Against his better judgement, Trent raises his head. Says nothing, just lifts an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry.”
Jordan’s voice is thick with regret, but his words do little to soothe the pain that his departure is bringing. “You’re not. You know you’re not. No point lying about it.”
“That’s not fair.” He knows he should go, wants to go, should save these words for a better time, when he’s more suited to handle the emotions they pull from Trent. “I don’t like knowing that you’re…”
“You did this to me,” he cuts Jordan off before he can finish the sentence. Doesn’t want to hear more falsehoods from a mouth responsible for teaching him so many truths. “You think I want to be this way? That I’d choose this for myself? Do one.” All that gets him is the slam of the door he’s been waiting for. Shoulders slump and he covers his face with his hands, not much for crying but can feel the sting of salt at the corners of his eyes all the same. Hates himself. Hates Jordan. Hates the entire situation that is their relationship. Also knows damn well he’s not ready to do anything to change it yet. It’s not thirty seconds before there’s a knock from the hallway, pulling Trent up and off the bed. Checks the keyhole and can’t help but laugh softly, though there’s no humor in the sound. Nothing funny about how he feels but appreciative of the friend he sees standing outside.
“Saw the dickhead leave,” Curtis says the moment the door is open. Doesn’t wait for an invite, just enters the room. “Nah, lad. Fuck him.” Plops down in one of the chairs near the table in the corner and shakes his head, diamond earring shining in the lamplight, completely unimpressed look on his face. “It’s not right. Not after that match.”
“That match is why he left.” Not completely true but close enough, knows Curtis won’t ask questions anyway, so he shrugs and closes the door and returns to where he’d been seated on the edge of the mattress. Doesn’t have much else to say so he stays quiet, takes a breath, tries to pretend that he feels better than he does.
“Just another bullshit excuse from the skipper.” Curtis rolls his eyes, wastes no energy in hiding his dislike for someone who’s supposed to be a leader but acts like anything but in his opinion. Not that anyone’s asked. “We’re not doing this tonight,” he continues before Trent has the opportunity to speak. “Not gonna sit here and watch you feel sorry for yourself.”
“Fuck off. ‘m not feeling sorry for myself.” Adamant because he means it, directing anger at someone who doesn’t deserve it but who’s a good enough friend to take it without complaint.
“You are.” Curtis doesn’t allow him to believe his own lies, pulls no punches but means no harm. “Can see it on your face. Looked about ready to cry when I showed up.” There’s disgust in the way he shakes his head this time, mixed with annoyance and a loyalty to Trent that can’t be mistaken. “He’s not worth it, T. You deserve someone who makes you happy.”
Trent thinks but doesn’t say that he doesn’t even know what that looks like anymore. Happiness or anything close. Doesn’t have it with the woman who likes to share his face on Instagram and can’t recall what it feels like with Jordan but is sure it isn’t this. Thinks Curtis will have plenty of ideas about how to create a false sense of the distant emotion, but he isn’t up for that right now and says as much. “Not gonna find that in whatever bar you’re thinking of. Not tonight, at least. Better if I stay in.”
The sigh Curtis gives is heavy and exaggerated, accompanied by an eyeroll that makes his thoughts on the matter clear. Still, he shoves his hand down deep into the pocket of dark denim and comes back with two baggies. Tosses them on the table, one full of white powder, the other tightly rolled joints much more Trent’s style, and shrugs. “Knew you’d say that, didn’t I? Came prepared. Going out or staying in, that sad gay-boi look ain’t it.”
Trent scowls in spite of the interest he has in one of those two bags. “’m not gay,” he insists not for the first time. Doesn’t bother saying he isn’t sad. Knows that won’t be believed so no point in wasting his breath. There’s no animosity between them so the disagreement doesn’t stop him from getting up and moving to the chair opposite Curtis. Opens the bag with his drug of choice, pulls one out and sparks it with the lighter tossed in his direction.
“Not straight though, are ya?” Curtis winks and lights a joint of his own, always enough so they don’t have to share. Easy to get more if they run out either way. Takes a few hits, let’s the smoke fill the space and quiet between them, an offer of help the best way he knows how. Willing to do just about anything to make his teammate turned brother smile. Just about. He has his limits. Lines drawn right around the time that cocks start getting involved but more than happy to be a wingman when Trent needs, for women or men. Doesn’t bother Curtis in the least, just wishes anyone but Jordan Henderson was the person in the picture.
“Don’t know why he even bothered starting this if he was never gonna leave Adam anyway,” Trent says after too much silence. Nearly half smoked joint telling him he should slow down. Stands up, grabs a plastic cup to ash in, and immediately returns to his chair. Too tired from the match and everything after to do anything but sit now. Takes another hit and stares at nothing.
“Been two years, lad,” Curtis scoffs. “He’s done more than start it. Selfish is what he is. Wants the both of you and doesn’t care who it hurts. It’s not right.” Watches Trent, waits, gets no immediate reaction so continues on with, “don’t know why you stay.”
They’ve had this talk before on multiple occasions. Always ends the same and Trent knows tonight will be no different. “Fell in love, didn’t I?” Sounds completely neutral to the thought, neither good nor bad, just fact. It is what it is. Trent Alexander-Arnold loves Jordan Henderson. Thought he might in Russia in 2018 but pushed it down and away for two years, tried to ignore it until he couldn’t anymore. Until Adam was off to a different city with different colors and Jordan finally let himself realize that he needed what Trent could give him. Still gives him. Tries to give him if he’d only stick around long enough to receive it.
“Exactly why I’m never doing that shit.”
Trent laughs, can’t help it, maybe not as big and loud as usual but choking on smoke that billows from his nose and mouth all the same. Puts down the joint before he burns himself and manages to force out past his laughter, “What? Fall in love?”
“Not for me, T. Nah. Curtis don’t need nobody.” He sounds very sure of himself, and Trent thinks about questioning if he’s broken that news to Saffie, the woman he spends nearly all his spare time with but decides it’s not worth it. Curtis will be exactly who he is and nothing Trent says will change that, so he doesn’t bother. Is thankful for the laughter and the smoke, can breathe a little deeper now, doesn’t feel quite as heavy as he did at the start.
“It’s not all bad, you know?” Can tell a smile is pulling across his face that feels more genuine than he’d expected. Hadn’t thought he’d be able to manage anything but frowns once Jordan left. Is glad he was wrong, or at least it’s starting to feel that way.
“Love?” Curtis asks skeptically, eyebrows raised high into his hairline, wrinkles in his forehead full of doubt. “Or Hendo. And if it’s Hendo don’t tell me.”
“Both.” Trent says nothing as Curtis grabs the second baggie that he’d thrown on the table earlier, cuts out and promptly clears three lines of cocaine right from the wooden surface, and then leans back in his chair with a long sniff. “But okay,” he continues when his friend is done. “I won’t tell you.” Keeps his eyes on the powder for a moment longer but in the end decides against it, glancing back up at Curtis with a one shouldered shrug. “Won’t make you like him anyway, will it?”
The reality is Curtis has already heard Trent’s truth. More than once. About Hendo and love and all the reasons why his friend puts up with a partner that isn’t good for him. And he doesn’t understand it. Can’t, won’t, doesn’t want to. Sees the hurt caused by a man he thinks is taking advantage and only wants to erase it, always does his best to do just that in his own way, even if he knows that most of their teammates think he’s a bad influence because of it. But his friendship with Trent isn’t going anywhere, least of all because of pointless chatter in the dressing room. Will gladly take whatever reputation they want to give him if he knows in his heart of hearts that he’s doing right by his brother. And that is something Curtis never questions. Knows Trent doesn’t either. A pair forever now, come what may. “Don’t need to like him,” he says with a strong dose of nonchalance. “You do enough of that for all of us.” An obscene hand gesture is directed at him from a few feet away and he snorts, corners of his mouth curled up in a lazy grin. “Don’t know how to tell you this…but you’re not my type.” The laughter eases and quiet spreads between them once more. Quiet he eventually has to fill. “You alright, then?” It’s probably too soon for the answer to be a truthful yes but he’s hopeful.
Trent isn’t alright. He’s high, grateful for it, and distracted by the playful banter, but he knows as soon as the drug wears off, he’ll feel exactly like he did the moment Jordan walked out the door. It’s an ache that doesn’t go away when he’s gone, sometimes doesn’t even fully disappear when he’s back. An ache that stems from so many unanswered questions and concerns, from a need to feel a different kind of ache that no one else has ever given him, from the realization that he doesn’t think anyone else ever will. “I’m alright,” he lies. Has gotten good at it he thinks. Or maybe he hasn’t. Maybe Curtis just lets him have these moments because it’s easier than trying to convince him to walk away from something he’s not sure he can breathe without.
Mouth open to speak, Curtis reassesses and picks his battle. Not tonight. Not worth it. Can see in the way Trent still holds himself a bit too straight and anxious that it’s not what he needs. Pulls another joint from the bag of many and slides it across the table to him, hands him back the lighter as well, waits.
Trent knows a way out when he sees one. An offer to forget. At least for a few hours if not the whole night. Takes it without a second thought, breathing harsh smoke deep into his lungs and closing his eyes. He’ll pretend while he can, a respite from all the heavy, and do his best to forget that there’s another man in another place touching, tasting, and holding the only thing he actually wants and the one thing he can’t have.