Being Seen; Remaining Unknown

by Lakespider

Summary:

Jamie was the first to speak, “You’re smart and shit, right?”

“Uh.” Trent blinked at them all.

“Like, you read a lot?” Sam clarified.

He nodded.

“You are gay as well, yes?” Jan asked.

Trent stared at the horde of footballers who were surrounding him. “Yes?”

Isaac nodded seriously. “Perfect.”

“For what?” Trent asked, looking increasingly concerned.

OR: Trent interviews Colin, the first active Premier League footballer to speak up about his sexuality. The world proceeds to lose its shit. (It's the one everyone's been waiting for!!!)

Notes:

• Inspired by How Trent Crimm Accidentally Fixed Homophobia in the EFL by Lakespider

It's finally here! Yay!

If you're here from "How Trent Crimm Accidentally Fixed Homophobia in the EFL," first let me say, welcome! I highly recommend you read the two previous fics first, but it's not necessary to enjoy this :)

Read on!

Chapter 1: Straight Chicken

Notes:

This is early because I wanted it to be (updates every Thursday).

Enjoy it!
This is a loving threat :)

Late September 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

It was just when Trent thought he’d finally left journalism behind him, that the perfect story fell into his lap. He would never publish it, of course. One of his biggest regrets was placing Ted’s private matters into the greedy hands of the public, and Colin’s story had the potential to do so much more damage.

Despite knowing all that, as he walked down the darkened street, he couldn’t stop his brain from sketching out the beginnings of a tell-all article: ‘Colin Hughes: Gay Premier League Footballer’. His steps slowed and he felt himself frowning, he shook his head. Thoughts like that were the reason he’d quit The Independent in the first place. It’d become far too easy to pick apart someone’s life and ruin it in a matter of sentences, and an article like that… even imagining the repercussions made him want to lose his supper.

Trent knew himself well enough to know that he couldn’t just ignore this, for a multitude of reasons. He was one of the few people out there who knew what it was like being gay in the professional football scene, even if he wasn’t quite as in the thick of it as Colin. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least offer himself up as an ally in those spaces.

There was also the fact that he was just plain nosey; it was what had drawn him to journalism in the first place. Every part of him wanted to sink his teeth into the story, to figure out Colin’s place in the world (and what a lonely one it must be).

It also couldn’t be ignored that Colin had been snogging a man not fifty yards from his entire team, coaching staff, and a retired journalist who had a history of exposing people’s private business. Trent needed to let him know that he had to cut that the fuck out if he wanted any chance of staying in the closet, which he had little to no doubt Colin did.

He wondered if anyone else knew. On the team, the most likely candidate was Isaac, but based on how he’d heard the boys talking in the dressing room, Trent highly doubted it. Isaac seemed like a better friend than that. He didn't seem like the kind of person who would continue to say the things he did, despite knowing how they affected his closest friend.

He wondered if Colin’s family knew. Trent had a complicated relationship with his own family, but Colin spoke fondly about his family regularly enough that they probably either didn’t know or knew and were accepting of it.

There was a chance Colin was bisexual, but if that were the case Trent would’ve expected him to just stick with women, it would be easier and so much safer. No matter the specifics, being a gay professional athlete was the shittiest of all shitty situations. The only options were to deny your sexuality, which Trent knew all too well was not a sustainable solution, hide it, or be out, risking your life and career in the process.

---

Early October 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

A few weeks after accidentally stumbling upon the story that was any sports journalist’s wet dream, Trent finally had to give in to the inevitable conclusion that Colin Hughes was incredibly and incurably thick. All the Richmond players were. It wasn't to say they weren’t also incredibly smart, which they were as well. The two weren’t mutually exclusive amongst this lot, a fact that was more frustrating than anything, especially when one was attempting to subtly send a message to one of the players.

Since Trent had stumbled upon Colin’s secret, he’d made several changes at work. Starting small, he brought in some little subtle indicators of his sexuality, the kind that only those in the queer community tended to be able to spot: a pen with a muted rainbow colour palette, a sticker with simple black text on a white background proudly proclaiming ‘Safe Space’, and queer novels of all genres with ambiguous titles scattered across his desk, the kinds one would only know the contents of, had they actually read any of them.

He wasn’t overly shocked when his first attempts proved fruitless, but it was a good start. Colin had been entrenched in football dressing room culture since before hitting puberty, so it was no surprise that he had a weaker gaydar than most.

From there, Trent had upped the ante with a brightly rainbow-coloured mug and a few similarly coloured beaded bracelets. He had to be careful to remember that he was also a gay man surrounded by footballers, and even if his level of risk was lower, it was nowhere near nonexistent. He might not be in the closet, but he certainly hadn't been advertising anything up until now for a reason.

Both of the new additions to his workspace could be easily explained away by the mere existence of his daughter. It may make him look gay, but what father wouldn’t accept a snoopy mug and handmade bracelets from his daughter who was ‘going through a rainbow phase’? It wouldn’t even entirely be a lie, both things were from his daughter, and her rainbow phase was currently in full swing—and yes, maybe the rainbow phase had been triggered by her personal experiences with queer people in her family, but that was just semantics.

When his second attempt at drawing Colin’s attention fell just as flat as the first, Trent decided it was time to crank it up a notch. He needed something big, something obvious, something very, very, very gay.

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but it certainly felt very monumental to be placing a small rainbow flag in his pencil holder at his place of work. AFC Richmond was unlike any other team in the EFL, but it was still a part of the EFL.

He nervously waited for someone to notice or comment on the sudden addition to his desk. He waited… and waited… and… alright, it was frankly getting ridiculous.

The only acknowledgement he got was an approving(?) grunt from Roy, a downright concerningly wide smile from Beard, and Ted making a face that made him appear to be on the verge of happy tears (different from his sad tears face, which looked like he’d seen someone kick a newborn).

The only bright spot in the sea of ignorant footballers and strangely responding coaches was the small addition of a pink, purple, and blue mug to Ted’s desk. At least he got to smile in amusement as Ted also had to experience the discomfort of Roy’s concerningly ambiguous grunt and Beard’s unsettling glee.

Ted later admitted to Trent over a pint, that he’d been openly bisexual since college—tending to take the same approach as Trent, not hiding but also not advertising—and Beard had only ever known him when he was already out and actively dating both men and women, which only made Beard’s glee all the more strange and disconcerting.

---

Mid-October 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

When enough time had passed that it seemed Colin would never pick up on the clues Trent was laying out for him, he finally concluded he'd have to go about confronting the young man himself, rather than waiting for Colin to come to him. Since he wasn’t in any rush, he decided to wait until a good moment presented itself, and Colin sneaking out to a bar called ‘Prik’ in the middle of Amsterdam was the exact sort of opportunity he'd been waiting for.

He approached Colin with a certain degree of caution—he fully snuck up on him—right as the bartender was in the middle of telling him to stick around for something called ‘Thunderdong’, so Trent said the only reasonable thing that popped into his head at that moment, “Sounds fun, I’m in.”

He immediately regretted his choice of words but was quickly distracted when Colin turned to face him, a wide-eyed and utterly panicked look on his face. “Trent! Hey. Uh…” Colin turned back to the bar and knocked over several things in his panic. “Can I get a drink for my work acquaintance, please?” Trent could see his eyes boring into the bartender’s, begging him to pick up on the very unsubtle SOS signals he was sending.

He tried to interject, but Colin was still talking, now throwing on a vaguely confused tone, still clearly undercut with stress. “Sorry, did you say, ‘Thunderdong’?”

“Mhm-hmm.” The bartender nodded, glaring at Trent; the customer service equivalent of a glare, anyway.

Colin pushed away from the bar. “Ah. Oh, I think I’m in the wrong place. My mistake. Cheers.” He smiled and tapped Trent on the arm in a friendly manner as he all but ran out of the bar.

The bartender plastered on a tense smile and looked at Trent. “Happens all the time.”

Not having a moment to spare to convince the man he wasn’t a homophobe, Trent simply sighed and muttered, “Yeah.”

He followed Colin’s retreating figure out of the bar, calling after him, “Colin!”

Colin was gradually picking up speed, and Trent found himself jogging lightly to keep up.

Colin glanced back and yelled, “Hey. Good to see you, Trent. Whoa, whoa.” He stumbled out of the way of a passing bike.

“Colin.” This time, at the call of his name, Colin froze and looked back. Trent spoke slowly, approaching him the way he would a startled deer. “I already knew.”

Colin looked petrified.

“I’ve known for months.” It wasn't entirely true, but the few weeks he'd known had definitely felt like months, with how they dragged on due to all the anxiety the whole situation had been causing him. He continued, still carefully keeping his voice soft, “I haven’t said anything to anyone... I must have a good reason for that, mustn't I?”

Finally, the realization dawned on Colin’s face. His whole body sagged and he sighed out, “Right.”

“We should probably talk… elsewhere.” He glanced around the bustling streets.

“Yeah… Right. Yeah.” Colin nodded but made no move to go anywhere.

Trent quickly racked his brains for where they should go, coming up blank. “I- Uh, I interrupted your beer earlier. Shall I grab us some to go?”

Colin nodded, almost frantically, probably just grateful to get a minute to himself to gather his thoughts. There was a chance he’d run off, and Trent wouldn’t blame him for choosing to do so, but there was a far greater chance he’d stay, even if only out of fear of the potential blackmail Trent now held over him.

He walked back inside and up to the bar, waving down the same bartender from earlier. “May I have a six-pack, please?”

The bartender silently glared at him and slowly grabbed the beer from under the counter, placing it down in front of Trent with far more force than necessary.

“Oh, for fuck’s sa-” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m gay!” He gestured at the entirety of himself. He wasn’t normally a fan of stereotypes, but it was incredibly amusing, if not a little bit satisfying, to watch as the man finally noticed his rainbow bracelets, Dolly Parton shirt, snakeskin shoes, and well-styled hair.

“Oh.” The man said, wincing. “Sorry, mate.”

Trent waved it off with a small amused smile. “Don’t worry. We have to look out for one another. You’re just doing your job.”

The man chuckled, before sobering and lowering his voice. “That kid? He’s okay?”

“Ah, yes...” Trent took a deep breath. “I believe so. He also missed several of the, er, signals, per se, that I was attempting to put out to see if he might approach me. I clarified some things,” he lifted the beers, “-and now we’re going to have a chat.”

“Good. He seemed nervous… and very closeted. I’m glad someone’s looking out for him.” He nodded at the beers. “On the house, love.”

“Oh, you don-”

“No. An apology for my rudeness, as well as, uh, ‘looking out for one another’.” He gave Trent a flirty wink.

He felt himself blushing slightly. “Well, it’s appreciated. Have a pleasant night.”

As he turned to leave, the man called out behind him, “Oh, I’m planning on it!”

Trent was still smiling as he stepped outside into the night holding the beer. The chilly air cooled his cheeks, dulling his slight blush. He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn’t immediately spot Colin, but his wandering eyes soon found the footballer lurking against a wall and taking visibly deep breaths with his eyes closed—to hazard a guess, probably fighting off a panic attack.

His guilt swelled, and he cleared his throat, causing Colin’s eyes to snap open and his entire body to jerk as he let out a startled, “Aghh!” After a beat, he relaxed slightly and muttered, “Sorry.”

“No, my apologies for startling you… But, uh, I've got the beer,” he said, holding it up.

“Uh,” Colin was fidgeting nervously, “Where should we, eh… go?”

Remembering a good quiet spot he'd passed earlier that day where they could talk in peace, he gestured for Colin to follow him. “I know a place.”

After they’d been walking in silence for a few minutes, Colin asked, “Where are we headed?”

Trent fiddled with his sleeves, wishing for his notebook so he had something to fidget with, but knowing bringing it out would probably only freak Colin out further, and he was already wound incredibly tight, despite knowing—well, being told, at least—that Trent wasn’t going to say anything. “I’m not sure exactly. It’s just a spot I remember seeing earlier that seemed quiet. It’s by several monuments that I assume are generally more attractive to the general public during the day.”

Colin nodded, and they continued walking in silence until they reached their destination. Trent took a seat instantly, trying to appear as casual and comfortable as he could to hopefully help ease Colin into calming down a bit. The poor man was going to give himself a heart attack at the rate he was going.

Colin slowly lowered himself down next to Trent, who silently cracked open two beers, handing one over.

After a few minutes of awkward silence had passed, Trent decided to just start talking. His voice was quiet as he said, “I realized I was gay when I was 44 years old, thirteen years into marriage with a woman.”

Colin stiffened but said nothing.

“Kat, or Katherine is her full name. We knew each other, quite literally, our entire lives… Our mothers met in a birthing class. We were inseparable; best friends our entire childhoods, and everyone expected us to grow up and get married… So we did.”

He took a sip of beer before continuing, “We got together at 23 and married at 31. We didn’t have sex until marriage, mostly because we both grew up extremely religious. In hindsight, it was always a little too easy to wait. I don’t think our families actually believed we stuck with it, but we did.”

“Kat and I were great at some parts of marriage, perks of being lifelong friends, I suppose, but horrible at others. That’s probably why it took so long to realize… because we were never actually unhappy being together. We still, to this day, define our relationship as being platonic soulmates... and I truly do love her, probably more than I’ve ever loved anyone, just not...” he heaved in a deep breath, “-not in that way.”

“Because of how we were raised, we didn’t know what was considered normal. I was shocked the first time I learned just how often most people have sex with their partners. We probably only did it every other month or so, but it worked and was normal for us, so life continued on.”

“Daisy, my daughter, she was an accident. A happy accident… but still very unintended. About a month after her birth, Kat sat me down and said, ‘Trent… I know the timing is shit, but I just need to say it or I'm gonna burst. I’m a huge fucking lesbian, and I’m so sorry I didn’t figure it out until now.’”

Colin snorted in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And then I just stared at her before eventually asking what I was supposed to do with that information.”

Colin finally cracked a small smile at that, seeming to finally be loosening up a bit. “Everyone talks about gay chicken, but I think you two just invented straight chicken. Really, boyo.”

“Yes. I’m fully aware of how ridiculous it all is in hindsight,” he admitted with a small chuckle.

“So, what did she say?” Colin looked calmer and was staring at him with wide curious eyes.

“Well, she announced that we would be getting a divorce, and I just nodded along as if we were discussing the weather. A few hours later, I had a sudden, ah, epiphany, over a cup of tea, so I barged in on her in the shower announcing that I was gay.”

Colin let out a chuckle at that, and Trent smiled. “Yes, not my finest moment.”

“So what happened then?”

He snorted lightly at the memory. “She said, ‘No, you’re not, Trent. You’re just freaking out about my lesbianism,’ then asked me to leave so she could finish her shower in peace.”

Colin’s laughter was even louder that time. “Holy shit! This is the best coming out story I’ve ever heard.”

Trent sighed. “She moved into the guest room, and we agreed to keep living together for Daisy’s sake. We still do to this day, although we did get a bigger house so we could have slightly more privacy after she remarried and we had the money… But back then, after some brief discussion, we agreed to continue our marriage and not tell our families. It didn't last very long though—it was too hard to keep it to ourselves—so we broke the news to them just a few weeks later. It was an incredibly hard secret to keep. It ate at both of us and made us miserable.”

A glance over at Colin showed the other man frowning at the ground. Trying to lighten the mood, he added, “And a month after that was when I slept with a man for the first time. I barged into the house the next morning announcing it like I’d just won the World Cup.” He looked up at the night sky, lost in the memories, and his voice softened, “And that was the second time I came out to her,” he said with a sigh, and Colin let out a small chuckle. “This time, however, she believed me. And now… we’re closer than ever.”

“And your daughter?”

“Yeah.” He nodded with a small smile. “She’s never been happier.” Colin reached over with his beer bottle, and Trent clinked his against it. He sucked in another sharp breath, growing more serious. “My point is, it was really difficult to hold on to that secret…” He looked over at Colin. “But I’m not a professional athlete.” Colin scoffed, as he asked, “How do you do it?”

“Well…” Colin breathed deeply, “...my whole life is… two lives really.” Trent nodded but said nothing. Colin’s gaze was distant as he said, “You got my work life. Like, no one at the club knows. I’d- I’d like to think they wouldn’t care, but… it’s just easier that way. Then you got my dating life. Some guys think it’s hot. Others say they don’t care, but eventually, they get tired and they move on. Then the club brought in Dr. Sharon… and she helped me realize that I have…” He gestured to his chest. “...an ache.”

Trent clicked his tongue and breathed deeply. He knew exactly the pain Colin was describing. It hit home in a way that verged on uncomfortable.

“An ache for both my lives… to be my only life.” Trent looked away as Colin continued, “I don’t want to be a spokesperson. I don’t want a bunch of apologies.” He let out a tired sigh. “All I want is for when we win a match, to be able to kiss my fella… the same way the guys get to kiss their girls.”

Both of them were sporting small bittersweet smiles at the thought. After a beat, Colin said, “And I know we can’t fix every ache inside of us… But I shouldn’t have to pretend it’s not there either.” Colin took a deep steadying breath, looking on the verge of tears. Tone changing to something lighter, he looked over at Trent. “How’d you know? About me?”

Respecting his desire to change the course of the conversation, Trent took a deep breath. “Well, I used my Holmesian powers of journalistic deduction.” Colin stared at him, clearly not getting the joke. Trent huffed out a small laugh. “Saw you kissing a guy outside Sam’s restaurant.”

“Ah.” A smile bloomed across his face, and he chuckled. “Yeah.”

In the distance, a bell tolled and he saw Colin look around for the source of the sound. Trent pointed behind them. “Those are the bells of the Westerkerk.”

“Oh.”

Trent saw Colin looking in the direction he’d indicated, so he continued explaining, “Anne Frank heard those same bells every night.” He looked behind them and moved his finger to point at a different spot. “She lived just there.”

“Oh, right-” Colin’s gaze shifted and his expression changed to one of confusion. “Right by this big pink triangle?”

Trent felt his eyebrows furrowing. “Think that came a bit later.”

“Oh, yeah.” Colin’s face cleared and he chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while until Trent suddenly remembered to say, “You probably should snog a man so close to your entire team in the future.”

“That’s what he said too,” Colin said wistfully, then paused. “Wait… didn’t you say you’ve known for months? Back at the bar?”

Trent let a little smile creep onto his face. “Semantics.”

Colin made an affronted noise.

“Sorry… I wanted… or, I didn’t want to worry you. I knew once I explained, it would be okay, but I assumed if you believed I’d kept it to myself for longer, it would be less…” he trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Terrifying?” Colin filled in.

Trent let out a small surprised laugh. “Well, yes… I suppose.”

Colin snorted. “Funny enough, that’s the only time I’ve ever taken a risk like that... Little less scary when it took my slacking off for us to be found out.” His face fell. “I was lucky it was only you who saw... I have to be more careful.” His laugh was bitter that time. “I actually thought I was being over-cautious before, but apparently that’s just how things are.”

“They shouldn’t have to be,” Trent replied.

“I’ll drink to that,” Colin muttered, holding up his beer in mock cheers before taking several large gulps. Trent drank in silent solidarity.

It was quiet for a while, then, out of the blue, Colin suddenly said, “My two lives… it's like… they're only getting further apart.”

“Hm?” He looked over at Colin.

“Michael.” Colin had a small, shy smile on his face. It was clear he didn't get to talk about this very often and was a little overwhelmed by the prospect. “My fella. The guy you saw me kissing outside Sam's. We've been together almost a year and a half now.”

“That's wonderful, Colin.” Trent smiled.

He looked off distantly and sighed, smile fading. “The thing is… It's just, we live together, and it's wonderful… It is. It really is.” He frowned deeply. “The problem is, I own two houses to manage it… A house and a flat, really. One’s for my work life, my football life, and the other for my personal life… I mean, how sad is that?” He swallowed hard and glanced at Trent before looking down at his feet. “It's like, every time I do something to make myself happier, my two lives get further apart and I have to lie even more to the people I care about.”

Once the silence had stretched out long enough he was sure Colin was done talking, Trent gently said, “I’m sorry, Colin.”

“Don’t be.” Colin let out a humourless laugh. “Nothing to be done. ‘S just how it is.”

The silence was longer than time, and Trent was again the one to break it by eventually saying, “Colin?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think you’d ever be interested in doing an interview about… all this?” He waved a hand vaguely through the air.

As the look of pure terror unfolded across Colin’s face he quickly realized how his question had probably been misinterpreted. “Oh! No, no. I mean anonymously.”

“...What?”

“Well,” he took another swig of beer, “-you said you don’t want to be a spokesperson. I imagine by that you mean you don’t want the press and public hounding you, or players and fans yelling slurs on the pitch, or the neverending wave of rainbow capitalism?”

Colin nodded. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to be a role model for all the guys out there who don’t think they can play… especially at this level… but I don’t want that if it means I have to be ‘the gay footballer’. I just wanna be Colin Hughes, Richmond’s number twelve, y'know? But… the second I come out? That's over for me. Forever. Not to mention the danger that would come along with being out. And not just for me, for Michael, my family, even the team if they show too much support.”

“What if you can do all that, be that inspiration, just without the spotlight… or the danger.”

“I mean… it would be great.” Colin was looking at him, a curious glint in his eyes.

Trent excitedly continued, “Just think about it. I’m a highly respected, well-known sports journalist—or, I was up until very recently. But if I publish an anonymous interview with a closeted Premier League footballer, people are going to know it’s real. It wouldn’t be dismissed as some sort of attention grab or a tabloid piece.”

Colin was frowning. “It sounds amazing, honestly, but won’t people connect the dots? It wouldn't exactly be hard, right? You work at Richmond now, which narrows it down by, like, a lot, and I’d have to share some details. At the very least the people on the team would figure it out in a second.”

He shook his head, grinning widely, probably a little beyond buzzed at that point, not that he could bring himself to care, too caught up in his idea. “No, no, no. That’s where the good bit comes in. We twist the truth. We say I was travelling alone, not with the team, and as a gay man, I found myself in a gay bar in some foreign country, but I don't say which. While I was there, I spotted this mystery Premier League footballer, who, due to my many years as a sports journalist, I recognized. I approached said footballer and reassured him that I would not publish information concerning his sexuality, both due to my morals and ethics and also being a gay man myself who understands the risks. Then we talked about being gay in the sport, and he agreed to an anonymous interview. It’s perfect!”

Colin looked dazed. “That- That could actually work… couldn't it?”

“I wouldn’t put you at risk, Colin,” he grew more serious, “-especially not like this. I would only publish it if I was sure it couldn’t be traced back to you. And don't forget, I've been travelling by myself for months now, and it's not like I've been ignoring gay bars everywhere I go. No one who tries to trace it back to Amsterdam could be more than, like… 20%(?) sure; probably less. I take my journalistic integrity very seriously.”

“Could- Would I be able to read it before you publish it? If I wanted you to take something out, you would? Or not publish it at all?”

“Of course.” He nodded firmly.

Colin stared down at his hands as he fiddled with the beer bottle. “I’ve gotta think about this… definitely sober. Probably talk to Dr. Sharon and Michael too.” He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the night sky for a few peaceful moments. Eventually, he turned his gaze on Trent and said, “It sounds great, honestly… but I’ve gotta be sure, yeah?”

Trent nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

The two of them finished their beers in silence, basking in the camaraderie and mourning the need for secrets.

The second the last drop was drained from his bottle, Trent turned to Colin, knowing he would probably regret his next words, but unable to bring himself to care. “So, I seem to have distracted from your plans for the night. Any interest in attending Thunderdong with me?”

Colin looked over at him, eyes lighting up with a childish kind of glee, and grinned widely.

Notes:

So......

What do we think?

:)

(There will still be a chapter next Thursday, so don't fret!)

Chapter 2: The Truth

Notes:

Happy Thursday!
This is a good one, folks!

Late October 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

Colin loved his teammates. He loved spending time with them both on and off the pitch. He loved movie nights and FIFA tournaments. He even loved Coach Lasso’s team-building games and ridiculous metaphors. But sometimes that love was mixed with a strong dose of hate, or at least frustration, most often when the lads were doing everything in their power to get him laid.

Hyperaware of the several pairs of eyes locked on him from across the bar, Colin flashed a smile at the girl across from him, sure to expose just a few too many teeth. “Your hair’s pretty blonde, but, like, your eyebrows are brown.” She stared at him in bafflement. “It’s good hair though,” he added, widening his smile just a little bit further. She was on the verge of bolting. “Good hair usually means a good woman, yeah?”

It only took two more strategically placed awkward comments for her to make her excuses and leave him alone at the table. Colin breathed out a sigh of relief the second she was out of sight, but he wasn’t given long to recover, as moments later Moe, Isaac, and Richard were all sliding into the booth with him.

“What the hell did you say to her?” Moe asked, voice incredulous.

“She looked as if she wanted to eat you not ten minutes ago,” Richard added, and he wasn’t wrong.

The three of them were out celebrating their first match in a long time—since Zava was on the team—that hadn't been complete shit. It was also their first match since the trip to Amsterdam, and the team seemed to be clicking a bit more, despite the fact that they still lost 1-nil. There was a rumor amongst the lads that the coaches were cooking up something new, so there was a frightening feeling of hope in the air.

The night had been going perfectly until his mates noticed the woman staring him down. She was beautiful, yes, but that didn't change the fact that he had zero interest in sleeping with her. He’d tried to brush it off, but they insisted he at least get her number for a later date if not that night.

Colin shrugged nonchalantly and said, “You guys have heard me flirt before. You know I’m shit at it.”

Admittedly, he didn’t lay it on quite as thick when any of the lads were within earshot; that would be far too obvious. But even so, he definitely made himself out to be much worse than he was when he actually tried—and he knew that for a fact.

A while back, he’d asked his sister-in-law, an out and proud bisexual, if she’d mind him testing out a few different strategies of bad flirting on her. After his first few attempts, she’d very strictly informed him that being a top footballer—who, in her words, ‘rakes in way too much money for someone who just kicks a ball around a field’—smoothed over most of what he was trying to accomplish, and that he’d have to work much harder if he wanted to be able to consistently scare any women off.

Once he’d honed his methods to send women running for the hills, out of pure curiosity he’d asked her if he could try out some actual flirting, just to see how he’d do. It was just a bit of natural curiosity.

Long story short, it was—again, according to his sister-in-law—‘an absolute shame for all womankind’, that he was solely into men.

So… he was properly good at flirting with ladies. Who knew?

He was more puzzled than anything by that particular piece of information, given that his godlike skill for flirting with women didn’t seem to have transferred over in any of his attempts to seduce various men over the years. Michael’s only response to learning of this particular interaction was falling into a bout of uncontrollable laughter. He’d refused to elaborate, so Colin only left that conversation more confused than he'd entered it.

“You’ll get 'em next time,” Isaac said, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder and pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Cheers ta’ that.” He raised his beer bottle and took a deep swig.

Colin didn’t stick around much longer after that, far too paranoid the lads would find someone just desperate enough to pity fuck him despite whatever terrible lines he laid on her. When he announced his imminent departure, he was met with a chorus of groans and boos.

“Sorry, sorry. Early start tomorrow. Promised I’d help my sister with a home renovation project in the morning.” He smiled weakly at them.

Isaac nodded, looking appeased, though still extremely disappointed. “All right, mate. Tell ‘er I said hey.”

“‘Course, boyo.” He nodded. “See you!”

They all yelled their goodbyes after him as he hurried out of the bar. It was a shame, he'd been enjoying being out with his mates, and it sucked to have to leave early like that.

---

When he stumbled through the door of his home, Colin kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch. He wasn't in the mood for any TV, even the shitty reality type, and all he desperately wanted at that moment was to talk to Michael, and he'd kill for a cuddle too. He quickly typed out a text.

COLIN
- Any chance ur still up?

Unfortunately, it was more likely than not that since his boyfriend was out of the country, given the time difference, he was presumably sound asleep. He gave it a few minutes before sending a follow-up text.

COLIN
- Figured u werent
- Consider this my goodmorning and I love u
- Talk soon

As he sat there ruminating, his thoughts turned back to Trent’s proposal. He’d gotten the all-clear—plus the, ‘you’re not crazy to be considering this’—from both Michael and Dr. Sharon, and was just putting off agreeing due to his nerves.

After another moment’s consideration and a quick round of box breathing, attempting to stave off what felt like a slowly blooming panic attack, he finally sent a text to Trent.

COLIN
- I want to do the interview.

It was only a matter of seconds before three dots appeared, indicating Trent was typing his response. Colin bit his lip and tensely waited until the response came through.

TRENT
- Thank you, Colin.
- I know you’ve had your doubts about this, but I truly believe that it will be invaluable for both the sports and queer communities.

COLIN
- I really hope you're right.

---

Only a few days after finally agreeing to the interview, Colin opened the door to Trent with a tired sigh. He gave a weak attempt at a smile. “Hey, boyo.” Trent’s expression showed it wasn’t very convincing, so he let it drop. “Come on in.”

“So this is the secret flat?” Trent asked lightly as he peered around, a sharp curious glint in his eyes. Those damn journalistic instincts.

“Yeah.” Colin nodded absently.

“It’s beautiful.”

He allowed a small smile. “You can thank my sister for that.”

Shrugging off his jacket, Trent asked, “So, just us today, then?”

Colin nodded. “Yeah. Michael’s outta town, so it’s just me and Casserole here. Just- doing this at my place felt… wrong, I guess.” He shrugged uncertainly.

Trent’s eyebrows shot up. “Casserole?”

“Oh, shit!” Colin’s smile was more genuine that time. “I haven’t told you about her yet, have I, boyo?”

“No-” a sudden scrabbling sound cut him off, and that was all the warning they got before Trent was nearly barreled over by the exuberant dog wanting to be his new best friend. He grappled the dog back to the floor, where he proceeded to be unwillingly roped into petting her. “And what if I was afraid of dogs?” he teased.

Colin rolled his eyes. “I know how much you loved Rodger, figured it wasn’t necessary.” He reached down to scratch between Casserole’s ears, cooing, “Isn’t that right, Cassie?”

“First of all, his name was Rosco,” Trent said dryly from his seat on the floor.

Matching his tone, Colin said, “My most sincere apologies.”

Trent chuckled. “And second, don’t try to sway the dog to your side. You’re ruining her non-bias.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” Colin played with a loose thread on his pants. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’d take some tea if you have any?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, turning and walking into the kitchen. Trent followed and they remained in awkward silence as they waited for the water to boil. A few minutes later they were each armed with a mug of tea. Colin leaned against the counter, feigning nonchalance but gripping the mug for dear life. “So… How does this work?”

“Well, we can sit where you’re most comfortable; couch, kitchen table, wherever. I’ll ask the questions we’ve already discussed, and any follow-up questions I ask you can choose to answer or not. I’ll record our whole conversation on my phone to be transcribed later, and while we talk I’ll take other notes to assist in writing the article.” Colin opened his mouth, but Trent quickly said, “I’ll delete the file off my phone as soon as I'm done.”

Colin pursed his lips. “Is there any way you can do it where you don’t have to record it? I don’t like the idea of that out there with my voice and name, even if it’s just for a little bit.”

“Hmm, if it wouldn’t bother you, I could stay here and do the transcriptions, deleting the recording before leaving?” He offered.

Colin was nodding, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. I think that would be okay. As long as it won’t take, like, all night.”

He shook his head. “No more than a few hours. I should be out of your hair before suppertime.”

“Okay.” Colin took a deep shaky breath. “I can do that. Okay. Yup.”

“You can still back out,” Trent said seriously. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. I know what a big risk it is that you’re taking here.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s just nerves. I want to do it.” He met Trent’s eyes, his steely gaze unwavering.

Trent nodded. “Let’s get started then.”

---

Sitting Down With a Gay Premier League Footballer
By Trent Crimm

When I resigned from The Independent last year, I truly believed my time in journalism to be over. Until recently, I was correct in that assumption. I was forced to reconsider when, while on holiday out of the country, I found myself at a small local gay bar. As I am a gay man, this is no unusual occurrence. I often enjoy exploring the local queer culture wherever I happen to find myself while travelling.

You can probably imagine my surprise when I looked across the room and spotted a familiar face. A man I’d seen plastered across my TV, both in a professional and personal capacity, for years. It was a footballer, and not just any old footballer, this man is currently a starter on a Premier League team.

Bursting with curiosity and filled to the brim with an endless array of questions, I approached this footballer and caught his attention. His immediate response was to panic, entirely understandable, given the history of gay footballers at his level. He had taken a risk in coming to a gay bar and had probably only done so because he felt sure that no one there would recognize him so far from home, especially not me, a retired sports journalist who had no business being at a gay bar in a foreign country and is known for a remarkably, shall we say, aggressive style of journalism.

I was quick to reassure him of my intentions, telling him that I was not planning to publish anything concerning his sexuality and that I understood what it would cost him if I did. It was clear to me that he wasn't entirely convinced, but despite that, the two of us struck up a conversation.

Over the next few weeks, we maintained contact. It took this footballer a while to truly believe that he wouldn’t wake up one day and find his biggest secret plastered across the front page of every major newspaper and TV station across the globe, but once the bond of trust between us had grown, he began to open up to me about his experiences being a gay man in professional sports.

I myself am in the unique position of being one of the few openly gay men familiar with the culture of football at his level—though I certainly don't advertise my sexuality, for many of the same reasons this footballer remains closeted. I’ve also spent the majority of this season closely observing the Premier League team AFC Richmond, and have grown even more familiar with the culture of casual homophobia in the dressing room. I could tell that it was a relief to this player that he could speak openly with someone who could even partially, yet still more than most, understand his situation.

As I grew to know more about this man, an idea began to form in my mind. What if I were to anonymously interview him? The two of us were in an unusual position. We could tell the story of an active gay professional footballer without forcing him out of the closet and endangering him. The culture surrounding football is unlikely to ever shift if no one is willing to take those first steps, and the two of us could do so safely, given our truly unique circumstances.

After giving it some thought, the footballer agreed to my proposition and the two of us sat down to talk. What follows is the sad tale of a man forced to live two lives, just so he can play the game he loves.

---

Q: “Thank you for sitting down with me today. This is an incredibly brave thing you’re doing, so may I ask why? Why would you risk putting your story out there, when there’s even the slightest risk that someone could trace it back to you?”

A: “Let me get this out of the way and say, I don’t want to be a spokesperson or anything like that. I don’t want to be ‘the gay footballer’. But it’s like you said a while back, how often does an opportunity like this come along for someone like me? No footballer’s gonna trust a reporter enough to go to them and ask for it to stay anonymous, that would be incredibly fucking stupid. It’s not remotely worth the risk. But in my case, it’s too late, y’know? I’m not trying to say anything about your character here, but I don’t really have any choice but to trust you, cause you already know. It's too late for me. I don't have to take that risk in order to tell my story, yeah? So if me doing this can help, even a little bit, then it’s worth it to me.”

Q: “So, what’s it like, being a gay professional footballer in the Premier League?”

A: “A proper living nightmare, if I’m bein’ honest. If I didn't love football as much as I do, there's no way I’d still be here, and some days, it's still a pretty close call. I don’t hide ‘cause I’m ashamed, ‘cause I’m not ashamed. Not at all. I'm gay, and there's nothing wrong with that. I know that. Everyone reading this needs to know that too. I’m just… well I'm terrified, really. It’s just this thing… hanging over my head… dragging me down, right? I can’t afford to slip up, not for one second. All it takes is one wrong move, one wrong word, and I’m totally fucked.”

Q: “What does your love life look like, being so deep in the closet? Are you worried any partners might speak to the press?”

A: “It’s terrifying. You're probably picking up on a theme here, (he laughs) pure pants-wetting terror. But to answer the other part of your question; for years I’d message guys on Grindr and ask if they knew football, then only hook up with them if they said no, but even then, only ever for one night. Then I'd spend the next few weeks terrified that I'd wake up and see my name splashed all over the papers every single time.”

Q: “And now?”

A: “Well… now I’ve got myself a fella. Definitely not sharing much about ’im, though. Don't want to give too much information that someone might be able to track him down. But I will say I'm still not a hundred percent on how I got him… All that matters is I love ’im. Can't ever say that publicly, so it'll be nice when this comes out and everyone knows it, even if they don't know any of the details. To all the homophobes out there who love football, you might be rooting for someone who's gay and loves his boyfriend. Have fun with that.”

Q: “I imagine they'll have much to say after this article comes out.”

A: “Well, I know that, but this isn't for them, really. This is for the people with the power to make a difference that don't fully understand the problem or even know it exists. It's for all the queer people that don't think they could play professional football, all the people whose minds it might change, all the other closeted footballers out there, and anyone else it helps validate, or maybe even gives the courage to speak up for themselves, maybe even for the first time. The homophobes can fuck right off, for all I care.”

Q: “Are you sure you don't want to be a spokesperson, because from all that I’d imagine you'd make a very good one.”

A: “I'm fine with most parts of being a spokesperson—sharing my story, inspiring others, advocating for queer people in sports—my issue is with the fact that I don't want it to become the thing that defines me. I just want to be me. Like I said before, I can't be ‘the gay footballer’. I just can’t.”

Q: “Understandable… Circling back, I have to ask, is your partner okay with your relationship being kept as such a secret, not able to come out until you retire, which is surely still many years away?”

A: “Yeah. For some strange reason, he is. I've tried to scare him away enough times by reminding him of all that, but it hasn't worked yet. I'm pretty sure by this point that he's in it for the long haul. And thankfully we're not entirely closeted; we’re out to our families. I sometimes doubt he’ll actually stick it out that long (god, he’s gonna kill me when he reads this), but I’ll love him as long and as hard as I can. He… he shouldn’t have to be hidden like some dirty secret.”

Q: “What about your teammates? Do any of them know that you’re gay?”

A: “God no. The only people who know are my immediate family, my boyfriend, and his family. I wish I could tell my team. I hate lying to ’em more than anything. But it's not worth the risk as long as there’s even a one per cent chance that a single one of them will react badly.”

Q: “What specific risks are you talking about?”

A: “Just look up the history of gay football players, especially ones at my level, and you’ll understand. People don't realize it, but the culture around football is so casually hateful. People throw around the term ‘dressing room banter’ like it’s nothin’, but it’s fucking something! I’ve heard the kindest guy on my team throw out a ‘that’s gay’ like it’s nothing… and it really is nothing. That shit’s totally normal! I’ve gotta say that stuff all the time, just to avoid standing out. Sayin’ ‘that’s gay’ isn’t somethin’ anyone thinks twice about. Sometimes I even find myself saying crap like that before I realize it and catch myself because that's just what’s normal and what people expect from me. And that’s on the low end of the spectrum, you can probably imagine what it's like when it's supposed to hurt or be hateful.”

Q: “Is there anything you’d like to say to any footballers out there who may be reading this, closeted or straight?”

A: “Ah… feels weird, I've had to keep quiet so many times over the years, you'd think I'd have a million things to say now I've got the chance, but I don't… I guess, for any closeted players, just know you're not alone. And for any straight players, I only really have one thing to say... Okay, uh… Well, I’m not a gay man pretending to be a footballer… I’m just a gay man who’s also a footballer. A footballer who's gay. A gay footballer. However you wanna phrase it. Every time someone speaks up in the dressing room or on the pitch when someone says something casually or purposefully hateful, football becomes a safer space for people like me. It's not safe for us to speak up right now, but every little bit makes a difference. We get just a little bit closer to not having to hide. But we can't take that first step by ourselves. It's not safe. So all I ask of the footballers reading this, is that you pay attention. Pay attention to what you do, and who might be hurt by what’s being said and done, and I don't just mean the homophobic stuff, anything hateful or harmful in any way, really. And this last bit is just for my team. If you ever find out who I am, I hope you don’t hate me. You guys are my friends, and I never wanted to lie to you.”

Notes:

I hope y'all liked it!
How's everyone feeling about that cliffhanger?
:)

Chapter 3: Aftermath

Notes:

Happy Valentine's Day!
I got excited to post, so here's the chapter a day early!
Enjoy :)

Late October 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

“Oi! Colin, come look at this, bruv,” Isaac’s voice boomed loudly across the dressing room the second Colin stepped through the door, and he nearly bit his tongue off with how hard he flinched. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, all too busy staring down at their phones.

“What is it, boyo?” he asked, putting all his focus into stopping his breakfast from making a dramatic reappearance—yesterday’s breakfast, that is, not that he'd eaten much of it—he certainly hadn't eaten breakfast this morning… or dinner last night… or lunch. He knew all too well what it was they were all so entranced by that morning, but a twisted part of him wanted to hear them confirm it.

“You checked Twitter yet today, mate?” Isaac asked.

Colin shook his head and Isaac shoved his phone toward him. He looked down at the headline of the article he’d read practically a million times already, searching for anything that could give him away before finally allowing Trent to publish it. He could almost recite the whole thing from memory at this point.

He’d only really asked Trent to delete a few of the things he'd said. The first was a brief mention of his therapist on the list of people who were in on his sexuality. He was far too afraid of how that might narrow the pool of potential footballers behind the article. The other edits were on the few places where he'd hinted at the position he played, beyond just a regular starter, which he'd asked to be taken out as well. That information was even more likely to narrow the pool than a small mention of Dr. Sharon, if not even by name.

He made what he hoped was an appropriately shocked noise at the headline and scrolled down slowly, eyes unfocused, not actually taking in any of the words. As he pretended to read, he listened intently to the conversation flowing around him.

“This is crazy, innit?”

“Insane, man.”

“So, who do you think it is?”

“I mean, It’s really none of our business.”

“But you’ve gotta be curious.”

“Of course, I’m fucking curious. Don't make it our business though.”

“It was…” Sam hesitated, sounding unsure, “Well, it was a bit hard to read.”

Sounds of agreement echoed throughout the room. Van Damme spoke hesitantly, “Do you-” he cut himself off awkwardly.

“Do we what?” Moe asked when it became clear he wasn't going to finish the question.

Isaac's voice was flat, “I think he wants to know if it could be someone at Richmond.”

Van Damme hung his head. “Yeah, what the Captain said.”

“One of us?”

“Really?”

“Do you think it's possible?”

“Anything's possible, mate,” Jamie piped up.

“It's just… the things that guy mentioned people saying, I mean, I've heard them thrown around in here before.”

“Yeah… but I don't think I've been in a dressing room where I haven't heard that shit.”

“This is probably the club I've heard it the least at.”

“Only since Coach Lasso started here, bruv,” Isaac said. “Most of you remember what it was like under Cartrick.”

The room fell silent for a moment.

“We still do it, don't we? Even now, since Coach started at Richmond. Wasn't that this footballer’s whole point?” Sam asked, breaking the room’s quiet air.

They all let out soft murmurs of agreement.

Richard spoke up from the corner, “What do you mean by that?”

“Did you even read the article?” Isaac asked, sounding exasperated.

Jamie chimed in from where he was lounging across the benches, “Yeah, mate, he says it right ’ere…” he trailed off, scrolling on his phone. “Aha! Yeah, ‘I’ve also spent the majority of this season closely observing the Premier League team AFC Richmond, and have grown even more familiar with the culture of casual homophobia in the dressing room.’” He finished the quote and stared Richard down. “I mean, he pretty directly called us out ‘ere, mate.”

Isaac's voice was low as he said, “Trent’s gay, and he's had to listen to us spout,” his voice got alarmingly loud, “-all that crap!”

Colin’s head jerked up from the phone at the sudden noise just in time to see several people in the room wince, but Jamie remained still and solemnly said, “Yeah, even with all of Ted's peace and love shit, we still do this stuff, don't we?”

Sam nodded. “Jamie is right. I’ve heard it here, and I'm ashamed to say that I’ve participated in it, as well. We mustn’t think ourselves better than this behaviour, just because our club is more welcoming and open-minded than it used to be, or even that we are more generally empathetic than the other clubs in this league.”

“We’re gonna be fucking better! You all hear me?” Isaac asked—no—threatened the room, and Colin fought back a smile.

Sam nodded again. “Whoever this is should feel safe when they're here, playing against Richmond, and it’s up to all of us to make sure that happens.”

“And it’s not impossible for it to be one of us. I mean, Trent’s been travelling with us all season,” Bumbercatch chimed in.

“Yeah, but he’s also been taking like two solo trips a month since he started here. It’s part of his whole ‘visit every country before he dies’ thing.”

“Even so, it’s a much higher likelihood to be a player from our team than any other,” Jan said, looking up from his phone.

Damnit. Stupid Jan Maas. When he said something, people tended to believe it.

Dani was shaking his head. “But Trent talked about the club as a separate entity, yes? I do not believe it is one of us.”

“Either way, we should stop speculating. I imagine the last thing this guy wants is to be outed, even if it's done with good intent.”

There were murmurs of agreement from throughout the room, and Colin felt much of the tension he'd been carrying around melt away. Not all of it, certainly, that would be nigh impossible, but this was truly the best reaction he could’ve hoped for from the team (except all of them coming out in response, which he’d dubbed ‘The Oprah Theory’).

Trent chose that moment to walk in and the room fell abruptly silent. He made it all the way to the door of the coaches’ office, before pausing and turning to address the room. “I will not be speaking on the article that came out today, so don’t even bother asking.” He looked around the room with a firm gaze, just daring someone to try and contradict him.

From his spot at his desk, Beard looked up from his book and nodded at Trent. “Good man.” He went back to reading without another word.

The silence in the dressing room held, and Trent gave them all a quick nod of approval, before disappearing into his office.

The second the door closed behind him, the room burst into chaos as almost every person started talking at once, only to immediately fall silent when Roy blew into the room like a particularly pissed-off hurricane. Without a word, he stomped over to a blank patch of wall on the other side of the room and pulled something out of his pocket, muttering under his breath all the while. He held it up to the wall…

BANG! BANG!

Everyone jumped and Coach Beard and Trent poked their heads out of the office to see what the hell was happening.

Roy’s muttering was picking up in speed, volume, and intensity, but remained entirely intelligible. He turned and stomped out of the room. Colin doubted he’d even noticed other people were in there. From down the hall there was a sudden yell of, “FUCKING HOMOPHOBIC PRICKS!”

Colin looked back at the other side of the room, where there was a small rainbow flag stapled directly onto the wall in a manner that could only be described as vaguely threatening.

A sudden snort caused him to turn to where Trent was standing, two hands clasped over his mouth, trying desperately to stifle an intense bout of laughter. It was hard to believe he was the same man who caused them all such anxiety as a journalist not even a year prior.

“I guess we all know Roy’s opinion,” Colin joked lightly before joining Trent in laughter, the rest of the team not far behind.

Without another word needing to be said, the dressing room returned to a semi-normal state of chaos. The article was still the topic of the hour, but much of the room’s overall tension had eased.

A few minutes later Ted came into the room, and Colin watched as he observed the chaos of the dressing room for a few moments. His eyes seemed to linger on the pride flag, and Colin was having a difficult time figuring out what he was thinking.

Their coach was from that really homophobic part of the US, wasn't he?

Shit.

“Hey, everybody! Listen up!” Ted called, and the room quieted. “Now, I know we’re all busy thinkin’ about that article Trent wrote, and don't get me wrong, I am too. I just want to make it clear right now, that this team is a no-hate zone, I don't wanna hear anything bad about the article, the player interviewed, or Trent, y’all hear me?”

Colin let out an internal sigh of relief as affirmative sounds echoed from every part of the room.

“Fútbol is life, and love is love!” Dani said enthusiastically.

Coach Lasso grinned, “That’s the spirit! Thank you, Dani.”

Dani nodded. “No problemo, Coach!”

Ted stuck his hands in his pockets and scanned the room. “Now, while all this is very important, and somethin’ we're definitely gonna be havin’ a long discussion about at a later date, the other coaches and I have got somethin’ pretty important of our own to show y’all today, so I’m gonna need y’all to temporarily make like Swiss cheese, and get some holes in your heads.”

There were murmurs of confusion from around the room until Sam said, “I think that Coach is trying to say we need to forget about this for now so that we can concentrate today on whatever important things we are learning.”

“Ahh. So it is a slightly altered, far less effective, version of the goldfish metaphor,” Jan said with a smile.

“I… Yes. Thank you, Jan Maas.” Ted nodded at him, before looking around the room. “Admittedly, not my best work, but Sam’s right. Y'all need to make like goldfish and focus on the game for a bit. Everyone to the press room!” He turned to Beard. “Coach, the TV?”

As they all filed out of the room, Colin’s eyes lingered on the pride flag. He never thought he’d see the day one of those would be hung in a dressing room, by a coach and former player/captain no less. He caught Trent’s eyes, and the ex-journalist smiled and gave him a nod. Colin looked back at the flag and felt a small smile of his own bloom across his face.

---

Total Football was an absolute nightmare, but at least it was difficult enough that it seemed to have distracted everyone from the interview for the present moment. And doing the voices of his teammates during the versatility exercise was pretty damn fun too.

---

Early November 2022 - Early in the Season
Ted’s Third Year at AFC Richmond

“Coach Lasso!”

“Yes. You, go.”

“Concerning the article published earlier this week by Trent Crimm… Do you care to comment on the general public consensus that the closeted player he interviewed is believed to be a player currently with AFC Richmond? Trent’s been travelling with your team all season, after all, and he even mentions the club by name.”

“Now, listen up. Trent’s been travelling with us to work on his book about this team, and what he does outside that is none of our business.”

“But you have to admit, it’s probably one of your players, right? Like, statistically?”

“Listen, folks.” Ted let out a long sigh, sitting back in his chair. “Trent does more travelling these days all by himself than he does with us. He’s got a whole bucket list, travelling to every part of the world before he dies…” he waved a hand vaguely, “-thing goin’ on, so I don’t know what statistics you’re talking about, but they’re not the ones I was taught. Now, you know I love y’all, but if you folks start harassing my team about this, we’re gonna have a serious problem here. There are nineteen other teams out there that this mystery fella’s just as likely to be on, and no matter where he is, AFC Richmond gives him our full support.” The room appeared to be hanging on his every word.

Ted gave a wide smile, and his voice shifted to a conspiratorial tone, “But if he’s playin’ against us, I do hope his team don’t score too many goals. Our support don’t extend that far.” The pressroom let out a collective series of chuckles.

A reporter’s hand shot up and Ted pointed at her. “Hit me!”

“So, your official statement is that AFC Richmond supports the idea of a gay player in the Premier League?”

“Fully and without any restraint or hesitation. People of all types, no matter their sexuality, should feel welcome in this sport, and it’s a damn shame that right now they don’t. I regret that our locker room showed Trent the casual homophobia in football since he's been here, and I boy am glad he called us out on it, so we can work to be better. I also applaud this mystery fella for how brave he was in doing what he did.”

“But what about in the dressing rooms and showers? Isn’t it uncomfortable for the other players? Some have even been calling it violating.”

Ted frowned. “Well, that’s some nonsense if I’ve ever heard it.”

From his seat next to Ted, Dani leaned toward the microphones with a bright smile. “Fútbol is life, and love is love!”

From his other side, Sam nodded. “Yes. Love is love, and no player on our team has expressed any discomfort at the possibility of it being one of us… Don't use a fake concern for me and my teammates to justify your homophobia.” He paused for a moment. “Also, earlier you were speaking about statistics? We statistically must assume there is an average of two gay players on each team in the Premier League, and at least one who is a starter. Just because they’re not out, or speaking about their experiences like the player Trent interviewed, does not mean that they’re not there.”

“Well said, Sam.” Ted gave him an approving nod, and Sam smiled. “Any other questions?”

The room burst into noise.

---

Colin’s reprieve from the team’s focus on the article was over before he even really had time to enjoy it, quickly reignited by the probing questions thrown at Ted, Dani, and Sam during their post-game presser. One would think that their team’s sudden mastery of Total Football as a brand new style of play would be the story of the hour, but no, it turned out people cared more about who shagged who. All the teams in the league were getting that treatment, but because Trent just so happened to be writing a book on Richmond, they were getting the worst of it.

Not that they were wrong… but that's beside the point.

After a few days of debate over the best way to handle things, the entire team and coaching staff ended up gathering in the press room to discuss the article.

Colin was pretty sure he'd had a nightmare that went exactly like this, except he hadn't been wearing any pants in the dream. While he was certainly thankful to be fully clothed, he would’ve preferred the nightmare to his current reality. At least no one seemed any closer to figuring out he was the anonymous footballer.

The coaches had rolled in a whiteboard and were standing next to it at the front of the room, making a list of the best ideas to make changes and show support around Nelson Road.

The list read as such:

1. Cats!!!

Colin wasn't sure what was up with number one. He hadn't been paying nearly enough attention, too busy trying to look exceedingly normal and not at all like a bug pinned under a microscope, which pretty accurately summed up how he was feeling at the moment.

2. Talk to Trent!!!

Number two he’d been paying quite a bit more attention to after hearing Trent's name come up in discussion. The bullet point out of context was concerning, but all it meant was that the team was planning to ask an actual gay person what they could do to make Nelson Road a safer and more comfortable place for members of the queer community. Colin wasn't all that unhappy with number two.

3. Posters!!!

Number three was alarmingly vague. The lads shamelessly loved arts and crafts, Colin included, and everyone seemed a little bit too excited about the prospect of making said posters, so that bit was sure to end up with some interesting, and possibly highly entertaining, results. He'd put money on at least one of his teammates accidentally making a homophobic poster instead of a supportive one.

4. Keeley!!!

Number four was simply ‘get Keeley involved’. If anyone could plan a successful campaign, it was her. The team was unanimous in that they wanted to do a pride campaign in support of the anonymous player, and they were just as unanimous in the fact that they wanted Keeley and her team at KJPR to be the ones to organize it.

---

Jamie was the first to speak, “You’re smart and shit, right?”

“Uh.” Trent blinked at them all.

“Like, you read a lot?” Sam clarified.

He nodded.

“You are gay as well, yes?” Jan asked.

Trent stared at the horde of footballers who were surrounding him. “Yes?”

Isaac nodded seriously. “Perfect.”

“For what?” Trent asked, looking increasingly concerned. Colin couldn’t really blame him.

“We want to learn about gay people,” Dani said cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Isaac said, “We figured you’d know what we should read and stuff.”

Sam looked sad. “We tried googling it, but very quickly became overwhelmed.”

Trent still looked caught off guard, but Colin could see the smallest hint of a smile on his face. He could sympathize; the sheer absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. Up until very recently, Colin could've never imagined a reality where 22 professional footballers would go the extra mile to educate themselves about the queer community.

What a world he was living in.

Colin had been present for that particular Google session and was, in all honesty, just as lost as the rest of them. Everything he’d learned as a gay man had either been directly from his sister, porn, past hookups, or Michael. He’d only ever used Google once, to look up the league’s history with queer footballers, and quickly vowed to never let his curiosity get the better of him again.

“Uh, there are many resources out there, and I’d be happy to provide you with a list to help all of you get started. But, boys, in the future, remember a queer person never has to educate you about the subject. I applaud you all for attempting your own research, and I’m not unhappy with how you approached me. It’s just important to remember that.”

There was a chorus of yeses, acknowledgements, and affirmations from the gathered players, and Trent smiled at them all.

---

The club had taken the initiative to bring in a presenter to hold a seminar for the team on queer history and identities; it went about as well as you’d imagine.

“Fútbol is life, fútbol is death, and fútbol is also love, because love is love, and love is life,” Dani said sagely.

Everyone stared at him in confusion, but Bumbercatch and Beard were nodding along as if that made perfect sense.

At the end of the seminar, the instructor passed out little goody bags, which the team took to with much enthusiasm. Each one contained a pride flag sticker, condoms and lube packets, a few pieces of candy, and what looked like a trading card with LGBTQIA+ terms on one side and queer resources in London on the other. The biggest part was a little booklet titled ‘A Basic Guide to Understanding the Queer Identity’.

The presenter called for their attention, “One more thing before you all head out; I’m sure you’ve noticed the booklet in your bags. These are personal, and you need to make sure not to pressure anyone else to share unless they choose to do so of their own volition. They are a roadmap for each of you to understand both yourselves and those around you who are queer, and many of the questions inside them may require personal answers. Of course, you are under no obligation to complete them, but I highly recommend it whether you’re queer, an ally, or still trying to figure it out.”

---

“So, guys. I’m a big fan of adding pride flags around Nelson Road… but, whoever’s been, ah, stapling them to the walls around the building… Please stop. It's damaging the infrastructure, and there have been some complaints from staff, and, uh, speaking as a queer person myself, I kind of have to agree.”

Everyone in the room shifted to stare at Roy, who raised a hand.

Keeley’s voice was flat. “Were you the one hanging the flags, Roy?”

Roy lowered his hand and his face remained blank. “...Yes.”

Keeley threw her hands up. “Oh, for fuck's sake, Roy. They’re fucking terrifying! No one can figure out if you’re threatening gay people or homophobes!”

“I fucking labelled them. There shouldn’t be a problem.” He glared around the room, just daring someone to contradict him.

Colin, who’d seen the so-called ‘labels’, snorted.

Roy’s glare turned to him. “Fucking, what?”

He raised his eyebrows. “All they say is ‘For Gay People’, Coach. You’re saying that clarifies it?”

Roy’s frown deepened and his expression turned contemplative.

“Not to mention your handwriting is shit, so it looks like a crazy person hung them,” Jamie added.

Roy threw his hands up. “Fucki- Nobody appreciates my effort to make this a more fucking welcoming and inclusive fucking environment!”

“Just take them down, Roy,” Keeley said, scribbling something down in her notebook with a pen that had a bright pink pom-pom attached to the end.

“Fine… Fuck. Why do I even bother.”

“Queer people appreciate you, Roy,” Keeley intoned flatly. “Our knight in fucking armour.”

The players all stifled laughs, not remotely cowed by Roy’s responding death glare.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed it!

ALSO: I'm taking a survey because I'm curious about what people want to see and have more/less of in the future for this series, so please leave your comments below!

Notes:

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It's my policy to include a little something for everyone. Since some people like to find errors, I regularly include a few in my publications to meet this need.

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Colin Hughes and the Big Gay Secret