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Trent,
I'm going to stay in the hotel with Michelle and Henry. You insisted a hundred times over that it was okay for us all to stay with you, but I figured this was for the best.
Don't apologise.
Ted
-
Ted,
You know I'm still sorry. Infinitely sorry.
Trent
-
Trent,
I know you are. But I also know that space is probably a good idea right now. For both our sakes.
Ted
-
Ted,
I agree. And whilst it's completely unfair of me, I still want you to know that I miss you. I hope you're having a nice time with your family, but if I were a worse person, I'd be dragging you back home whether you liked it or not.
But I couldn't do that to you. You deserve space. You're absolutely right.
I'm still sorry.
Trent
Trent was about five seconds away from exploding. He had completely fucked it all up, and now Ted couldn't even be in the same house as Trent anymore.
He wanted to rip all his hair out, burn all his notebooks, and never see the sun ever again. That's what he deserved, surely. His best friend wouldn't look at him anymore and it was all Trent's fault. He had absolutely, completely, fucked it beyond belief. And he hated himself.
Trent's hands were shaking so violently that he almost dropped his phone as he dialed Lisa's number.
"Trent? What's the problem now?" She replied after only two rings, her usual sarcasm lacing her voice.
"Ted hates me. I fucked it. He's with Michelle and Henry and he won't talk to me other than in writing. I don't know what to do. I'm completely lo-"
"Shut up. Stay right there. I'm coming over." Before he could reply, she hung up.
Trent stood in complete frozen silence as he waited for Lisa to get to his house. She sat him down on his lounge, a glass of wine in both of their hands, and stared daggers at him until he starting talking.
"I kissed him."
"There it is." Lisa whistled. "I knew it. I fucking knew it."
"I kissed my heterosexual best friend and now he won't speak to me. I ruined it." He stared into his glass, wishing he could drown in it.
"What happened, exactly?"
"Well, we were in our kitchen the other night, washin' up after dinner," Ted felt that his palms were getting incredibly warm, "and we started talking about memories from when we grew up together. Harmless little stuff. Road trips, sleepovers, movie nights, that kind of thing."
Ted couldn't look at Michelle. He didn't want her to see how embarrassed and anxious he was, and he knew it was written all over his face.
"And there was one in particular that I remembered, a night at his house when we got really drunk for the first time. He told me he'd never been interested in a girl before, and started cryin', saying that there had to be something wrong with him. I'd never seen him cry before that."
"Ya know, I tried to comfort him, but there's only so much one teenage boy can do for another before an adult probably needs to step in. But, his parents weren't the most open-minded, so he started talkin' to my exchange parents a lot, and he was sorta livin' with us, and then I had to tell him I was leaving."
Ted lifted his head to see that Michelle was still watching him, a sorrowful look on her face. "How did he take it?" Michelle asked, though surely she already knew the answer.
"I was worried that he'd stop speakin' to me, and that our last few weeks together would be ruined. But... I mean, he wasn't happy about it, but-"
"It'll be okay." Trent eventually spat out through tears and heavy breathing. "It'll- we'll be fine, right?" He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, then ran his hands over his face. "Fucking hell."
"I'm really sorry, Trent. I told you as soon as I heard- They never told me an exact date, but..." Ted leant further into Trent's space, locking eyes with him, "we've still got a few weeks. We should... We should spend the time right, yeah?"
"Yeah." Trent choked out. "Yeah. We should." Trent hung his head, laying his chin against his chest. "Fuck. I knew you weren't staying forever, but..."
"And then he said something that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget, as long as I live. No offence, Michelle-"
"None taken." She smiled.
"But it's still the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me."
"You really got under my skin, Ted. I can't believe you used to be just some guy I met in the library. And now you're my best friend. No one knows me better than you, and I doubt anyone ever will."
Trent ran his hands through his hair. Ted couldn't help but hold his breath.
"Even if I didn't want you to, you wormed your way into my life and subsequently into my heart and now... now I don't know what to do with it. You're- let's just... just not waste this time, yeah?"
"Yeah." Ted swallowed.
"There was clearly more he wanted to tell me, but he couldn't. So he didn't. And we spent those last few weeks doing everything together." Ted clenched his jaw. It hurt.
Michelle reached out across the dinning table, and Ted allowed her to hold his hand in hers. She squeezed his hand, imploring him to continue.
"And the other night when we were talkin', I asked him if there was anything he hadn't said back then. And he froze, and I thought I'd completely ruined it."
Ted closed his eyes, remembering the horrified look that had crossed Trent's usually calm face.
"He didn't say anything for a long while. And then he stared straight at the wall, not daring to look at me, and said-"
"I wanted to tell you exactly how I felt about you, but I couldn't, because if I did, you most certainly wouldn't be living with me right now."
"What do you mean by that?" Ted hadn't forgotten Trent's admission when they were drunk, not long after he'd moved in. About how he used to have a crush on Ted, when they were teenagers.
And how it hadn't really gone away. He couldn't forget that even if he tried, no matter how drunk he was.
"Fuck, Ted, please don't make me say it." Trent still wouldn't look at him, and it broke Ted's heart. "I- I can't do it."
"If you can't tell me things that are clearly important to you, well I don't think that's the basis of a good friendship." Ted paused. He was truly testing the waters. "Is that right?"
"Sure." Trent's voice was so small, he felt like he was being bullied by his own words as they spilled out of his mouth, threatening to choke him with each new vowel and consonant.
"Then you should be able to tell me. I want you to be able to tell me." Ted was desperately trying to get into Trent's line of sight, in order to catch his gaze so Trent might turn his head and finally look at Ted. But he also didn't want to get too close and invade his space, as that would just make Trent panic more.
"I don't- I can't lose you. Not again." Trent's throat was on fire. He couldn't look at Ted, because if he did, he knew he might just vomit all over both of them.
"If I promise that I won't leave you, will you tell me? I can't stand if something's eatin' away at you like this." Trent could feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes. 'Don't you dare cry', he told himself, 'this isn't worth crying over'.
"You can't promise that, Ted."
"I can try." Ted wanted to reach out to Trent, maybe touch his shoulder or his arm, but he knew his friend well enough to know that in moments like these, psychical touch was the last thing Trent wanted. "I can try."
"I love you." Trent's voice was so strained, so broken, that Ted could barely hear him. But he knew what Trent was going to say long before he said it. "I have for a long time. And because I'm selfish, I kept you in my life instead of letting you go. Which would've been better for you, but I just..."
Trent finally turned to Ted. His eyes were the most devoid of emotion Ted had ever seen.
"I never should've responded to your first letter. You deserve so much better than-" Trent looked away again. "Than what I'm able to offer. And I do not say that to be self deprecating."
Ted privately begged to differ. His friend was the king of putting himself down. The weight of Trent's insecurity was crushing, immobilizing, to the point where he often couldn't think of anything other than how much he wanted to change about himself. It was really the only thing Ted didn't particularly like about Trent.
"I say that because I am a shell of a person who can't offer you, or anyone, the emotional availability that is required for a healthy relationship."
"Trent, I learnt all about my marital problems indirectly, yet still right in front of my face. I'm not exactly accustomed to 'emotional availability'."
Ted didn't tell Michelle that part, at least, not in so many words. That was an entirely different issue, for a different time.
Preferably, never-o'clock.
"Did you know what he was trying to tell you?" Michelle asked. She seemed genuinely invested, rather than disgusted or offended, as Ted had feared.
"Yeah. He's told me before, when he was drunk. He obviously didn't remember sayin' it, or at least didn't-"
"I really don't think he remembers me saying that, and if he does, I'm going to k-"
"Trent."
"Sorry. I'm an idiot when I'm drunk."
"You're an idiot when you're sober, too."
"Uncalled for."
"Extremely called for." Lisa smirked. "Go on."
Trent rolled his eyes. "Anyway, then I told him-"
"I'm sorry, Ted. I'm sorry that your marriage fell apart. I'm sorry that Michelle didn't love you the way you deserve. I'm sorry that you had to move across the ocean in order to restart your life. I'm sorry that you don't get to see your son every day. And all of those reasons are exactly why I can't be honest with you."
"I think I can handle-"
"And then he just... kissed me. I don't think he really thought twice about it."
"What did you do?" Ted really didn't want to answer her.
"I didn't-"
"I told you about Jake."
"I know, and-"
"And you said it would be okay, and I promised I did not cheat on you." Ted nodded.
"I know, I know you wouldn't do that."
"Then what did you do?"
"Nothin', I-"
"Oklahoma." Fuck. Fair play, he supposed. This was honesty time.
"I kissed him back."
"No, he didn't kiss me back. Why would he?"
Now it was Lisa's turn to roll her eyes. "Somehow, I don't believe you."
"He's-"
"Not a cunt. And hell, even if he isn't into you, he wouldn't have 'let you kiss him'-" her finger quotes seemed patronising, but Trent figured he deserved it, "for as long as you say it went on for. He would've pushed you away."
"Not necessarily-"
"I'm going to kill you."
"He didn't-"
"I kissed him back. Because I wanted to. Because I think I was in love with him when we were kids and I think... I think that's come back. Since movin' in with 'im."
Ted stared down at his Nikes, wishing he could simply melt into the floor of the hotel room. He could feel Michelle's eyes on him, full of pity and sympathy, which he absolutely hated.
"Does he know any of this?"
"No. He didn't give me a chance to say anything, he just-"
Trent was kissing Ted. His hands were on Ted's shoulders, and Ted was bracing himself against the kitchen bench with one hand. His other hand was gripping Trent's waist, as if he might disappear.
Ted was only frozen for a moment, before he began kissing back with an intensity he wasn't aware he possessed. Ted took his hand off the bench and reached up to cradle Trent's jaw.
Trent started losing his breath, and thought he might pass out. But he couldn't stop. This moment was perfect, even if Ted didn't want him. He knew in the back of his mind that he should've asked, and he knew he was being an asshole, but he knew he'd never get this opportunity again.
So he didn't stop.
Not until he made a noise in the back of his throat, a desperate, embarrassing noise that he never wanted to acknowledge, and he was ripped out of the moment. Trent staggered backwards, pushing Ted away from him.
Ted had a soft look on his face, slowly blinking his eyes open after they'd been squeezed shut. All Trent could see was upset and pity.
All Ted was feeling was love, and like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He couldn't get the cotton out in time, because Trent just ran.
Trent knew this was his own home, and he'd have to go back eventually, but he couldn't face Ted. Not yet. He couldn't face what he'd done, and he knew the consequences would be detrimental, but he couldn't think.
He could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he knew it was Ted, which, fuck. Great. He thought about throwing his phone on the ground, but that seemed dangerous. So he simply put it on silent, and kept walking to find a hotel. Thank fuck Lisa had shown him how to put your credit card and licence on your phone.
"And I was so worried about him. Out there on his own, not answering calls from anyone."
"And you guys haven't spoken properly since?"
"No." Ted sighed. He hated how this had all spiralled so quickly. "No, he went to a hotel for a few days, wasn't speakin' to no one, and then by the time he came back to the house, I was here with you. I reached out to his ex wife, see if she knew where he was, and he hadn't even told her anything."
"And you wrote to him?"
"Yeah, I just said I'd be staying here with you and Henry, and he said that was alright. I just asked for a bit of space, which I think he needs too."
"Yeah, wow." Michelle breathed out, rubbing her temple. "That's a lot to take in, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Have you always known?"
"Known what?" Ted swallowed. He had to be honest again.
"That you loved him?" Right. She still wasn't angry, thank god.
"I didn't know growing up, no. I knew our friendship was a bit out of the ordinary, but I couldn't put my finger on it. If he was a girl..."
"It would've been different?" Michelle offered.
"Maybe."
"So, are you... bisexual? Queer?"
"Bisexual. I think I've known that for a long time, a lot longer than I wanted to admit, but ya know, where we lived..." Ted mentally told himself to keep going, or he'd never be honest again. "I never wanted to be afraid that you wouldn't... But, everyone else around us wouldn't have accepted it, and my mum-"
"I know, Ted. Well, I don't-"
"Yeah, I get what you mean." Ted smiled sadly. "So, you aren't upset?"
"I mean, I was a little surprised, but you definitely dropped hints over the years. It's a bit on me for not recognising that."
"No one's to blame except a homophobic, Midwestern American society that meant I didn't feel safe to be honest about myself."
"That sounds about right." Ted chuckled for the first time in a while, feeling a tiny bit lighter.
"I really need to talk to him, don't I?"
"You do. I don't know the guy, but from what you've told me about him, I'd assume he's falling apart."
"Yeah..." Ted sighed.
"Can you tell me a happy story, from when you were in school together? That might make you feel better..."
"And?" Ted leant forward.
"And I like the idea of you getting more comfortable to talk to me again."
Ted smiled slyly, and Michelle smiled back, a brighter smile on her than he'd seen in a long while.
"Okay, yeah I like the sound of that." Ted ran through his extensive collection of Trent stories, before settling on one.
As Ted watched Trent tie up his steadily growing hair, his sleeved already rolled up, he couldn't help but think how this was going to be an utter disaster.
Trent flipped the tennis racket around his hand, flicking his wrist effortlessly. Ted couldn't stop staring.
Ted knew Trent's overall hatred for playing sports, and his general love for watching and commenting on them. Tennis, however, was the complete opposite. Trent found it incredibly boring to watch, but thoroughly enjoyed playing it.
And Ted had never cared for it on television, but it was a completely different story when it was being played right in front of him. And if he secretly wanted to just stare at Trent the entire time, passing it off as camaraderie, then that was between him and his complex feelings.
Trent was always quite good at tennis, which Ted hadn't expected. Trent was small at best, scrawny at worst. He had a high metabolism and a low appetite, but he was healthy, and kept fit with tennis, playing 3 times a week at a minimum.
Ted didn't understand the rules of tennis. He had vowed to learn, but every time he tried to watch the game and learn how it worked, he got... distracted.
"So, what happens when you win this game?" Ted asked, causing Trent to roll his eyes and scoff.
"When?"
"Yeah. When."
"Okay, uh, whoever wins this game-"
"Which will be you."
"Whoever wins this game wins the school tournament."
Ted gasped. "Is there a trophy?"
"I don't know, Ted. I think it's money. It all started so long ago, I honestly forget."
Ted grinned, leaning forward to rest his chin on Trent's shoulder. "You've got this, T. No matter what happens, I'm proud of you."
Trent sniffled. Ted knew that 'I'm proud of you' was Trent's trigger phrase to an extent. His relationship with his parents was incredibly complicated, and he was worried that they wouldn't speak to him after he moved out and went to uni. His dad didn't approve of his career plan, and couldn't tell his son he was proud of him.
So, Ted did it. He knew it wasn't the same, and it never would be, but Trent seemed to appreciate it.
"Thank you, Theodore."
Ted had the sudden urge to kiss Trent's cheek, but he didn't. Instead, he stood back up, patted Trent's shoulder, and told him to kick some ass.
Ted went and sat back in the little stands their school's court had, and couldn't help but smile at how packed it was. Most of their year was there, as well as some younger groups, spilling out behind the fence and onto the edge of the court. Everyone genuinely wanted to see the final match, and Ted felt his entire body swell with pride.
The game started, and despite not knowing the rules too well, he knew Trent was good at it. The other boy was definitely bigger and stronger than him, and could hit harder, but Trent was incredibly quick, and could run from one edge of the court to the other with an ease that Ted knew his team back home would be jealous of.
As Ted watched the game, he took his notebook out of his bag and decided he wanted to document the match in some way. Trent was always the one to do that, writing entries for the school newspaper on all the sporting events in town.
But Ted knew he didn't have the way with words that Trent did, not even close. However, he could draw...
He twisted his pencil in his hands, watching Trent zip around his side of the court. He didn't have a ruler, and his notebook pages weren't lined, but he still desperately wanted to capture the moment any way he could.
His eyes flickered up and down between watching the game and tracking his pencil strokes. The score was 20-0 to Trent, and apparently 0 was actually 'love'. Ted stood by that that made no sense, but whatever. He didn't invent tennis. But that didn't matter. His friend was winning.
Ted sat in complete silence throughout the entire game, which he could acknowledge was rare for him. He couldn't speak, in case that jinxed it. And he couldn't think about jinxes either, as that too was playing with fire.
He spent a while sketching Trent's expression, attempting to capture the intense focus etched into his friend's typically calm face. Trent had very unique features, a combination of soft and hard, masculine and feminine. Whilst he was wonderful to look at, he was bloody hard to draw. But Ted persisted. If the school wouldn't give him a trophy, then Ted would.
It was 40-30, and the end was in sight. Ted sketched Trent's trainers, battered and black with faded white soles and fraying blue laces. He drew Trent's t-shirt, with its faded Beatles logo and stretched neckline. It then occured to Ted that was, in fact, his own t-shirt, and not Trent's.
Ted hoped that this drawing, no matter how messy or imprecise it was, could show Trent how much he was appreciated. A picture paints a thousand words, as the saying goes, but those thousand still weren't enough for Ted.
He wished he had a better grasp of words, as he might be able to say something more poetic and impactful. But for now, he would settle with a drawing.
Ted wanted to tell everyone in the surroundings, anyone who would listen, that Trent was his best friend, that he was just incredible at everything he did, and that Ted felt ridiculously lucky to know him. He wanted to drive Trent home in his crappy rental car, screaming out the window at the top of his lungs that this boy was a vision.
His eyes flicked back up. Trent's rival landed another point. Ted didn't know much, but even he knew that meant it was the match point. There was something called an 'advantage point', and then whoever won with that won the entire game. He understood that American football could be confusing, but at least once you win, you win. Ted was adamant that tennis was a stupid sport, but Trent loved it, so here he was.
Trent's eyes shone in the afternoon sunlight, bright and full of energy, piercing as his gaze, dark as his determination. He didn't wear his glasses when playing, but that didn't slow him down in the slightest. He didn't smile much, but Ted drew him with a sharp grin on his face, matching the one he currently sported.
Ted always drew Trent with hair slightly longer than he actually had, because he knew that was how Trent really wanted to look. His hair was black and thick back then, naturally curled and threatening to burst the hair tie it was currently bundled up in. His skin was flushed and Ted privately wanted to know how warm it would be under his fingers.
As Ted's pencil ran over the page, and as Trent and his opponent passed the advantage point back and forth like a hot potato, Ted's entire body ached with what he assumed was misplaced want. Trent looked beautiful, never letting his focus drift for a second, showing exactly why he belonged in this final.
He felt the urge to run to Trent, tell him how wonderful he was, how incredible he looked, and Ted figured this was how their friendship would be. It was certainly a unique bond, especially for two teen boys, but it wasn't like his relationship with Willis was particularly normal either.
Ted just believed this was how male friendship would be for him, and that the way he thought about Trent was just his normal.
However, a part of him, a small voice in the back of his brain, was completely aware that this wasn't normal. This was the way boys thought about girls, wasn't it? And for the millionth time, Ted was reminded that Trent wasn't a girl.
Boys didn't think about each other this way. They weren't supposed to have their best friend stuck in their held all day like a catchy tune, and they certainly didn't want to sing said tune incessantly to anyone in the general area.
Boys didn't feel tight in their chest, squiggly in their stomach, and uncomfortable between their legs when they thought about their friend.
He stared down at the drawing in his hands. It looked like the cover to an album full of love songs that would break your heart in one breath, and put it back together in the next. He wished he could put his thoughts into a song. Maybe then Trent would realise how special he was.
Ted was jostled back to Earth by the sudden absence of sound surrounding him. Something was wrong? Ted's head snapped up so quickly it hurt, and his eyes immediately found Trent, who was doubled over, hands on his knees, breathing shallowly.
Ted's mind went to the worst places. Was he hurt? He didn't look it. Did he lose? He didn't seem upset, more like elated. The moment seemed to stretch on for minutes, whilst it was merely seconds, before the umpire (sport teacher) called it with her whistle and a shout.
It was over.
Trent had lost.
And Ted hadn't seen it.
And he also couldn't place why Trent didn't look remotely sad. He looked exhausted, and sweaty, and like he was about to drop, but not sad.
The crowd began buzzing once more, and though they weren't trying to be biased, it was clear they had been rooting for Trent. Ted was surprised. His friend wasn't necessarily bullied outwardly, but he existed on the edges, never really included in things. Now, everyone had seen what he could do. And they loved him for it.
Even if it was a little too late, it was acceptance, which Trent had been so clearly craving for so long.
Ted jumped up, abandoning his notebook and bag as he ran to his friend, who was still crunched in on himself in front of the net, racket at his feet.
"Hey! Are you... Alright?"
"Yes." Trent huffed out. He stood up, and turned to face his friend. "I'm okay. It's- I didn't need to win. That's not what matters."
"What matters is you had... fun?"
Trent smiled so wide it split his face in two. "Sure, but... I more meant that it doesn't matter because it's not really important, is it? It's a high school tennis game."
"But you're allowed to care about it, Trent."
"I know, and I do. But that game was also the first time I felt like I've fit in here. I wasn't being laughed at or ignored. They were... They were cheering me on."
"And they meant it."
Ted wasted no time. He stepped forward and wrapped Trent in a hug, who eagerly hugged back. Trent stood atop Ted's shoes in order to be level with him. Trent could lie and say it just made it easier to hug his friend, and Ted would surely grant him that grace.
As they walked back to Ted's exchange home, Ted still felt that swirling in his stomach, that unsettled feeling that swam throughout his entire being. He couldn't stop thinking about their hug, which possibly lasted a little too long. He loved having Trent in his arms, like he belonged there.
The squeeze in his pelvis was back, and it wouldn't go away. After they said their goodbyes, Ted was incredibly thankful that he was the only one home.
He raced to his bedroom and locked the door behind him. He knew he had to sort himself out; he couldn't be this pent up when he really needed a good cry.
Ted threw himself on his bed, laying face down into his pillow, stomach and hips on top of his blanket and sheets. He rested his face on one folded up arm, propped up on his pillow, and used his free hand to get himself off.
Ted had never sobbed whilst having a wank, but he knew there was always a first time for everything. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring how much the tears stung, and all he could see was Trent.
Trent playing tennis, tying up his hair, running across the school ground, lying on his bed, reading, writing, watching soc- football. Everything he ever did, he looked beautiful. Effortlessly so.
And for Ted, it hurt.
The way he looked at Trent made him hate himself. He knew this wasn't normal, and he could never tell anyone, especially not someone from home. He knew exactly what they'd say about people like him. He didn't want that life for himself.
But as he started stroking himself to thoughts of his best friend, everything else fell away. Any consequences that could come from this disappeared, and all he could think about was Trent. Rewinding memories over and over, allowing himself just a second to imagine what it might be like if they could be together.
What he would give to be able to touch Trent like this.
Ted obviously left out that last part, the part when he got home. Michelle didn't need to hear about that part, and if he said it out loud, it would only make it that much more real.
"You had a lot of shit goin' on back then, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did." Ted sighed, his smile sad.
"You don't... You don't hate it all so much now, do you?"
"No, god no. No, I think that would be a bit hypocritical. And counterproductive." Michelle nodded.
"Thank you for... for telling me all that. I can't imagine that's been easy to deal with."
Ted chuckled. "No, ma'am."
"You've gotta talk to him."
"Yeah, I know." Ted dropped his chin to his chest.
"Can I see a picture of him? Is that allowed?"
Ted supposed that was maybe pushing it a little, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to brag for a moment. He took out his wallet, and produced a Polaroid that he took when they were younger.
"This was the last photo I had of him for a long time. We were, uh, we were driving to his favourite bookshop for our last day together before I moved, and I took my camera with me without saying anything. I kept trying to sneak a photo of him, but he caught me every time. Except this time." He slid the photo across the table.
Michelle picked up the photo delicately, which Ted appreciated. It was still in perfect conditio, and he wanted to keep it that way. "You've had it this whole time?"
"Yeah. I used to keep it in my book with all the other photos from school, and I brought the book with me when I moved. I put that in my wallet after I moved in with him, and it's been there ever since."
The photo was only slightly faded, a testament to how Ted takes care of things he loves. In the photo, Trent was standing up on his toes in order to reach a book that was on a high shelf. His face was stern with concentration, his hair sticking out from under a grey flat cap, and he looked like he truly belonged there. His foot was perched on a stool to give him a boost, and despite Ted's lack of photography ability, the sunlight hit Trent just right, warming up his cool coloured clothing. He was the perfect subject.
Amongst hundreds of books, hundreds of words and stories all categorised together, he stood out, yet blended in perfectly. Ted had spent hours as a teenager staring at this photo, wishing they could have more. He still prayed that someday he could possess even half of Trent's power with words. Then maybe, just maybe, he could spin his feelings into prose and finally make some sense.
"I didn't realise you were best friends with Sherlock Holmes." Michelle joked. "What book is he reaching for?"
"It was a short Virginia Woolf collection. He still has it, too." Ted smiled at the photo, memories rushing through his mind. "He loved that shop. They used to knowingly hide queer novels among all the others, and only a keen eye really would've noticed. And he did." Ted sighed. "He may not have known himself completely back then, but there was always something about those writers that drew him in."
"And you acknowledge that he looks like Sherlock?"
"Yeah," Ted laughed, "yeah, he did. Does that make me Watson?"
"He had a moustache, didn't he?"
After Ted headed to work, he rolled over his entire conversation with Michelle. She was completely fine with him being in love with a man. It didn't bother her. She was happy for him. She encouraged him to sort it out with Trent, which he absolutely planned on doing.
He also spent quite a bit of time reassuring Michelle that he never once questioned his love for her the entire time they were married. "No matter what," he told her, "you'll always be my family."
"You too, Ted." Her smile was soft yet blindingly bright.
He decided to drive the rental Michelle had hired. Considering how late he already was, walking wasn't the best idea. As he prepared to get out of the car, Ted realised he couldn't take his keys out of the ignition. His hands were just...
They were shaking so violently. He couldn't get a grip.
Ted's stomach plummeted to his shoes. His palms felt unbearably hot. His chest was tight and the weight of his heart seemed to be crushing him, holding him down, refusing to let him stand. His breathing was rushed and uneven, and he felt as though any control he once had over his body had vanished.
He'd never felt like this. What the fuck was happening?
His vision whited out around the edges, his hearing became blurred and piercing. Everything was falling away, Ted was convinced he was dying, and he-
"Coach?" A knuckle rapped on the passenger window. It was Beard, and his voice alone snapped Ted out of- well, whatever that was.
"Coach! Uh- yeah, sorry I'm late." Ted forced himself to get out of the car. "Michelle and I lost track of time, and-"
Beard quirked an eyebrow.
"No, yeah, I see know how that sounds. Nope, we were just chattin', catchin' up."
Beard nodded, unchanged. "You ready to head in?"
"Yep! Yep, let's go! Lead the way, Doris Day!"
Ted followed Beard into the building, shoving his wobbling hands in his pockets as he went.