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Trent was tired of being treated like a living bomb, waiting to go off at any moment. The truth was, he was fine. Beyond fine, he felt perfectly calm. Hendo had told him of his decision to leave before he’d left England for their preseason so really, he had been prepared for it. These things happened; players left, got loaned, fucked off to the middle of nowhere without a warning. Trent was used to it.
But then he just had to sign to Saudi. The pictures were splashed all over his phone: Hendo holding that shirt looking even more fine than Trent felt. Like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t abandoning Trent. No amount of preparation and prior knowledge would have been able to fill that hole devouring him from the inside as he scrolled and scrolled and scrolled past farewells and good lucks and foreign kits.
Fuck him.
Despite his anger, Trent had already known he was going to sign for Al-Ettifaq. Knowing didn’t change anything though.
The conversation hadn’t been easy.
He’d listened to Hendo’s voice in a country he wasn’t supposed to be in, a country that wasn’t his home, at a club that wasn’t his. This was his, this was theirs. They’d done this together, everything together, suffered through that devotion together and Hendo wanted out. He could shove it for all Trent cared. But even then, with that knowing that he wouldn’t be there right by him anymore, the pathetic pleading behind his plastered on smile and well wishes remained constant.
“You ready for it?” He asked, half hanging over the edge of the balcony.
And Hendo, well…Trent didn’t know what he’d been hoping for. Some divine miracle that would suddenly turn his mind away from the decision and give Trent a reason to pray every night. Then he would know it’s true, the love was true, Hendo wouldn’t leave him, that was true. These were constants and Hendo was tampering with the fabric of Trent’s truth.
Even then, even then, he couldn’t hate him for it.
He breathed heavy, sighed loudly, like Trent had asked something of him he shouldn’t have asked at all.
“It’s going to happen either way Trent.”
His voice was gentle, calm, annoyingly resigned like some willing lamb to the butcher’s axe.
Trent wanted to rage, tell him to turn back, look him in the eyes and plead with him until he accepted but he was older now. He understood now that there wasn’t anything he could do to change a set mind. The river had run its course and it was time for them to diverge paths.
At least ask him why. Why he would leave him. Why he would only tell Trent he was leaving once he’d left England for Germany. Not even give him the chance to look him in the eyes and cry until he couldn’t anymore. Only Hendo had seen him cry. Only him. And even that he’d deprived Trent of.
“I know. I’m just…” he leaned further over the edge. He was dangerously close now. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Hendo didn’t respond. He could go fuck himself. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said (begged), feeling smaller than he’d felt in a long time.
It took a second but finally Hendo spoke, tired, beaten down, like even a week’s sleep wouldn’t fix him.
“I don’t have a choice.”
It would have been fitting that Trent should cry now. He didn’t though but he wouldn’t have blamed himself for it if he had. What Trent felt was far worse: lost. It wasn’t that Hendo was leaving him, it’s that he was leaving him like this. After everything, after the last season. Too often had things felt like they were falling apart and now they truly were.
This was a fool’s errand. He stepped away from the balcony, pulling his jacket tighter around himself to fight off a non existent July chill.
“Hope everything goes well,” he said.
No he didn’t.
“No you don’t.”
His breath caught in his throat and it took a lot for Trent to swallow it down and ignore the mounting tears inside him.
“Goodnight,” he said quietly.
“Goodnight.”
He hadn’t talked to him since then. Hendo didn’t seek him out either which Trent was grateful for because he was sure if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to keep the tears at bay and he would’ve never stopped crying. Even when he posted his goodbye, he still couldn’t stomach talking to him. He needed to give it a couple of days, maybe then the hole wouldn’t feel so big.
Things were different now, the new players looked to him for guidance and Trent did his best to ignore the phantom urge to look over his shoulder for his North Star.
Virgil helped, so did Andy. They reassured him he was doing fine, that he shouldn’t doubt his leadership abilities. So did Klopp. Trent didn’t know what he would do without Klopp by his side always believing in him. Even with Hendo gone, he still had Klopp as one of his constants.
However, Virgil and Andy’s reassurances were progressively getting more and more frustrating. They handled him with kiddie gloves and no matter how much he swore he was fine, they didn’t listen to him.
The same night Hendo’s announcement dropped, after Trent had posted his farewell and switched off his phone without a second glance, he’d wandered over to Andy’s room. They were in Singapore now and between the heat, his jet lag and Hendo, there was no way he was sleeping tonight.
Andy was sat cross legged on his bed, and Virgil was already there - perched quietly in the desk chair - when Trent entered.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to say anything. They both felt it too.
Trent could feel both of their eyes on him, following him until he settled beside Robbo on his bed, their fingertips almost brushing from where he’d leaned back on his palms. Ticking bomb.
“Can you guys stop looking at me like that?” He asked, feeling beyond annoyed.
It wasn’t even frustration. Something like genuine anger simmered under his skin when they turned their pity filled eyes on him. The looks of understanding and patience. Trent couldn’t handle being cared for right now.
“Are you okay?” Andy asked first.
“Yeah.” He shrugged, glancing between Andy’s puffy eyes and Virgil’s raised eyebrow. “I’m fine,” he gritted out.
“Did you even cry?” Andy asked.
He pushed his hand closer so his fingertips brushed against his over the bed spread. When Trent turned his gaze away from the skin of his hand over to his eyes ladled with heartbreak, it was a miracle Trent didn’t do what had been asked on the spot.
He’d never cried in front of Andy before. Trent wasn’t even sure how he’d react to seeing his best friend cry right in front of him. If there was a time to risk it, it wasn’t now. So he swallowed down the guilt in his throat for depriving himself of the mourning he deserved and pulled his hand away from Andy’s.
“I already said I’m fine,” he muttered.
The love remained. Trent just couldn’t challenge its new face yet.
The following days were a repetitive exercise in avoidance. Perhaps Trent was weak - call him weak, he didn’t care; he knew it to be the truth - but the avoidance was souring to grief faster than he liked. Even Virgil and Andy’s presence’s (warm hands and warm gazes, patient and waiting for him to open up) weren't enough to hasten the ripening.
The day was easy. He was almost happy. The hole wasn’t so gaping and he could fill it with new teammates and tactics and hours spent slick with sweat, training in the Singaporean heat.
The night always caught up with him though. The missing star in his constellation of constants made obvious in the darkness of the shadows.
It was obvious now that this pale imitation of anger had to be let go. But the problem was there was no betrayal without love and no matter how much Trent would try to wash it off himself, there was no recovering from a devotion that deep. Above all Trent blamed himself for surrendering completely to him. He blamed himself twice as much for refusing to face those feelings the way Andy and Virgil wanted, expected him too.
Hendo was gone. This was true. Trent couldn’t let go. This was true too. The biggest truth of them all was that Trent was still loved - by Virgil, by Andy - and if Trent was a coward for running away from the shadow of his love then so be it. There was nobody else he would rather be a coward with than the people that loved him.
But then, Klopp pulled him aside, hand firm against his shoulder, and crowned him vice captain. And he was happy, so happy. The day was hot and long and his chest felt truly light for the first time in weeks. It meant a lot to him that despite this, Klopp could see past it and still choose him. He had faith in him, even if it was getting harder these days to maintain that faith in himself.
It was nice too that Virgil knew too. They shared quiet congratulations on the pitch and for the night it was their shared secret.
Trent slipped easily into his room that night. Already, his desk was littered with tactic sheets and clipboards.
“Got you working already, huh,” Trent remarked, flipping through the pages carefully, not really looking.
Virgil hummed noncommittally.
“Just holding onto them.” Trent turned his gaze back to Virgil. “How are you feeling?” Virgil asked him.
He was tired of being asked that, especially by Virgil, but the lightness in his chest was still warm and, feeling honest, he told Virgil the truth.
“Happy. Tired.” He leant back against the desk. “For once I don’t feel so…”
Virgil knew what he meant; the avoidance, the anger, the frustration, shutting everyone out.
“I’ll be better now, I promise.”
It was sincere and Virgil saw too how long Trent had struggle getting to this point. He smiled at Trent invitingly, lacking all the sympathy from before, and leaned back slightly in the chair.
“Well then vice,” he started, causing Trent to smile shyly, “you keep it up and you might just put me out of my job.”
And Trent tried not to think about it, he did, but the thought set in before he had time to even recognize it. Hendo really wasn’t coming back. He was one step away from being to the team what Hendo was to him. Hendo was gone, even Milly was gone. It was just him and Virgil now.
His eyes fluttered as he blinked back the tears and luckily, Virgil didn’t notice how his grip tightened against the edge of the desk.
“Well, I’m proud of you Trent,” he said.
Maybe the knowledge that Virgil was now where Hendo would have been was what drove him to do what he did next or maybe he was looking for a way out that didn’t make him feel so empty or maybe it was just because now more than ever he needed someone to tell him he was doing good. Maybe it was a combination of everything.
Trent could think of ten reasons why what he did next was wrong.
Feeling lost and searching for a compass in Virgil was wrong especially this way but Virgil didn’t push him away.
Virgil might have been captain now but that didn’t make him Hendo. And Hendo had never been this for Trent. It wasn’t right to expect anything from Virgil especially now but Trent was a cold creature and Virgil with his pride and faith was like a fire begging Trent to find solace in something.
Maybe it was none of that and Trent just felt destructive. Maybe, just maybe, he hoped Virgil wouldn’t accept him and he would have a reason to shut him out completely too. Maybe Trent just wanted to forget.
Virgil inevitably pulled away, one hand gentle against Trent’s face, keeping him at a distance.
“Sorry,” he apologized.
He towered over Trent and, feeling trapped, Trent backed out of Virgil’s grip before digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. The tears were out though, there was no stopping them now, not when he’d been running from them, burying them even, for so long. The grief had finally caught up and there was nothing Trent could do about it.
Hendo was gone and Trent was breaking down while Virgil watched. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“It’s okay,” Virgil reassured as he pulled Trent’s hands away from his face.
It was worse this way because Virgil didn’t reject him. The look of worry was gone and Virgil almost looked relieved that Trent was crying. It hurt more because Trent knew no matter how much he raged and screamed and tried to fuck shit up, Virgil wouldn’t leave him; never.
Trent tried to fight out of his arms when Virgil gathered him up in them but even that lacked the usual pushback they had all become familiar with in the last few days. Giving in was so easy when Virgil was so gentle with him, more gentle than he’d ever been. He shushed him and held him close even with the heat making their skin sticky with sweat.
The tears were equally as hot, fueled by the oils of his anger, and he held on tighter to Virgil; his singular anchor in a deep sea of sadness. And he knew he shouldn’t but he wanted to feel it again. Wanted to get close to him, climb under his skin and have him keep him safe from the storm raging inside him.
His gaze was pleading but it didn’t take much for Virgil to grant it.
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured him. He pressed his lips to his lightly, chastely, and told him again like if he said it enough, Trent would believe him too. It was going to be okay. With tenderness coating his actions, he leant down and sealed his words with the pressing of his lips to Trent’s.
And Trent believed him, would’ve believed in anything Virgil said in that moment. He thought of Virgil telling him he’s proud of him and he thought about the way he kissed him softly, letting Trent decide what he wanted from him.
Kissing Virgil felt less like the prelude to something expected and more like dedication. He tasted of faith and devotion and everything else Trent had been struggling to maintain his belief in for the last few days. The tears didn’t stop but they meant nothing as long as Virgil had him.
Feeling close to overwhelmed, Trent pulled away, blinked through the tears and watched as Virgil swipe away the stray string of spit still connecting them.
His arms came to wrap around Virgil’s shoulders and he stood on his toes, supported by Virgil’s arms firm around his waist. Trent sniffled lightly and buried his tear streaked face into Virgil’s chest. It was a bad idea to do anything with his teammates but if it had to be anyone, let it be his captain.
“Should I tell Andy to come?” Virgil asked, resting his cheek against Trent’s hair. He swayed them lightly and despite the micro tears of heartbreak in his chest, Trent felt calm, safe even.
“Yeah,” he breathed out.
Virgil disentangled himself from Trent and looked at him once more with pride, affection…Trent couldn’t pinpoint it but it made him feel less alone.
“Go wash your face, I’ll be right back.”
And he was gone.
Left standing alone in the middle of Virgil’s empty room, Trent became stupidly aware of his actions. What was Trent even doing here? As much as Virgil and Andy had been there for him the last few weeks, they couldn’t fix any of this. Finding a temporary way out wouldn’t change things in the long run.
He rubbed his face and ambled over into his bathroom.
He tried not to cry so much. It was easier to hold it in when Virgil wasn’t watching him. Just him and his reflection and his reflection held very little sympathy for him.
The tap ran cold and he was appreciative for the coolness it brought over him. His temples still hurt and his ears still burned hot but the feeling in his chest wasn’t so bad now. The occasional tear still slipped out but Trent could handle a little heartache.
“Trent?” Andy called out from the other side of the door.
He took one last look at himself in the mirror before taking in one big steadying breath.
“Come in,” he called back.
Andy entered the bathroom with the gentle click of the door behind him. He watched Trent carefully, took him in for a good few seconds before walking cautiously to where he was waiting for him, head bowed, by the sink counter.
“How you feeling Trentski?” He asked, bumping his shoulder into Trent’s lightly.
The nickname made Trent want to smile but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so yet.
There was barely an arms reach between them and Trent wanted more than anything to skip the ‘talk your feelings out’ part. Talking it out would make it real, which he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to face yet.
“Fine,” he muttered, focusing his attention on the floor and his fingertips that were gripped tight underneath the counter top.
The problem with Andy though was he would never accept Trent’s attempts at brushing him off so easily. ‘Fine’ didn’t work when Trent was purposefully avoiding looking at him because he would begin to cry again if he did. ‘Fine’ didn’t work when Andy loved him this much and Trent had been shutting him out like he didn’t.
And the truth was Andy didn’t care if Trent never cried, he didn’t care if it all caught up to him once every other year and then he couldn’t stop crying at all. Andy didn’t care either if Trent never cried around him. But he cared if Trent would make it a habit to believe nobody was there for him.
“Stop shutting me out,” he said firmly.
“I’m not,” Trent cracked out, voice betraying him.
It was something akin to guilt that crawled up Trent’s throat when he finally faced Andy and the look of familiarity painted across his face. This time he couldn’t fight it off but Andy had him too before he could collapse in on himself. His arms were familiar and Trent would have recognized his hold no matter what but now with so many avoided truths spilling out of him, they felt like glue holding his flickering heart together and stopping him from falling apart.
Trent was caught out far from the shore and Andy, with his cheek pressed right against Trent’s and his quiet presence strong and everlasting, was the single mooring point keeping him whole.
The last few days had been a waltz in maintaining his composure. Dancing along the fine line between happiness during the daytime and fighting off the loneliness that the night provided. The world had been caving in around him because he refused to face the music but it was time. Between the three of them, it was their secret to keep; not Trent’s alone.
“I can’t help you if you won’t even talk to me,” he said softly.
That same softness Virgil had treated him with lived inside Andy too. It was in the way he spoke to Trent, the way his body felt molded into his and the way his fingertips dug into his back and the nape of his neck. It was a kindness Trent had gotten comfortable denying himself but now, he reveled in it. He held Andy closer, until his chest was melting into his, and breathed in every part of him that he’d come to recognize by scent alone.
Yes, Hendo was gone and he wasn’t coming back but he wasn’t alone either. He never could be.
“I wish he hadn’t left,” Trent finally spoke into the space between Andy’s collarbone.
Andy held him tighter as though he were trying to pull Trent straight through him. There was no difference between the two of them at this point.
“He’s an idiot for leaving,” Andy said and it’s the first sane and true reaction he’s heard about Hendo’s departure.
Trust Andy to not sugarcoat or wish him well like they were expected to. And Trent was all the more grateful for it because it made him feel less selfish for wanting to trap Hendo in a place he didn’t want to be in. He couldn’t keep him like a rat in a cage even if the cage was supposed to be his home.
“And he’s definitely an idiot for not saying goodbye to your face.”
He leaned out of Trent’s grip, not entirely but enough to look at his teary face.
“Fuck him,” he said, looking almost angry for Trent and it warmed his heart to know Andy was on his side no matter the circumstances. “If I was him, I would’ve never left you. I don’t think I could.”
His smile was warmer than the heat and his words hung sticky like taffy around Trent’s heart. Their legs were tangled together and the fist worth of space between them felt nonexistent when Andy’s eyes were so open and vulnerable and sharing something Trent needed to hear so badly.
He thumbed his tears away and rubbed at his cheek lightly before settling his hand against Trent’s heated cheek. Trent leaned into it, seeking out the warmth.
“If you think I’m leaving you like he did, then you’ve gone mad. Cause I’d never leave you. So stop shutting me out.”
Trent nodded his head, promised to stay honest and it’s then, when Andy looked at him like he’d achieved the impossible and conquered all his fears, that Trent closed the fist of space between them and pressed their lips together. Sealed the promise with a kiss and he wasn’t sure when Andy pressed in close again but he was aware of the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat against his own chest.
His ears felt hot and the lightheaded feeling set in once more despite the chasteness of the kiss. Andy was right there and he wasn’t leaving him.
Andy pulled him out of the bathroom and Trent wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands but he noticed then and it made sense that it should be impossible to tell where his body ended and where Andy’s began.
Virgil was waiting for them patiently in the middle of the bed and Trent easily climbed into his open arms; Andy followed suit on the other side. They watched him cry quietly into Virgil’s shirt and for once Trent didn’t feel the need to hide his vulnerability in shame.
After all, these were the unavoidable aspects of life: feeling the things you didn’t want to and accepting the truths you had built as impossibilities to be your new reality.
They listened to him too, talk and talk until his throat felt dry with curses and bargains to nobody in particular except maybe the universe if it cared enough to listen to his pleas. He cried and sunk further into Virgil’s hold, kept steady by Andy’s fingers intertwined with his. Gentle kisses were placed to his cheeks, his hand, his forehead, and he wasn’t sure how long he cried and raged for but they stayed beside him all throughout it.
Even when he woke up the following morning, they were still right there, wrapped around each other beside him, arms loosely wound around him too.
There was an ebb of jealousy that washed over Trent as he watched them in the rising dawn. Their promises still lingered in his mind and he believed in them but his heart ached nonetheless seeing how Andy leaned into Virgil even in his sleep. His free hand was wrapped ever so tighter around Virgil’s that it was his and it struck Trent then that this was a scene of intimacy he wasn’t supposed to have seen at all. It wasn’t a jealousy for either one of them but rather an envy for something he wasn’t a part of; the connection between two lovers who knew each other completely and Trent had wedged his way in.
He was gone before either one of them could wake up and notice his clearly painted longing.
A new emptiness replaced the old one that had gotten comfortable pulsing inside his chest, which, albeit feeling lighter than it had in days, was riddled with an unyielding yearning that couldn’t be repressed.
Trent was hounded by an endless stream of thoughts throughout the day. It was the worst when he was in his shower, washing away the smell and heat of their bodies on him. He couldn’t help but think about them and he felt pathetic for it. There was no joy in fantasizing about stolen moments and borrowed intimacy and yet even then, knowing that didn’t change anything.
He tried not to think too hard about the way they had kissed him or the way they probably kissed each other when he wasn’t there. Were they only that soft because he was hurt or did they always regard each other with that tenderness? Even the way they held him, like he was the center of everything good and beautiful, was enough to bring the tears on once more.
No, Trent couldn’t let his thoughts get the better of him once more especially now when he’d just finally managed to reach an almost neutral ground about Hendo. But it seemed Trent enjoyed torturing himself.
People who drowned usually didn’t go back into the water but Trent had become too familiar with the feel of salt water in his lungs. He was willing to throw himself in again and again and again because…because…
Trent didn’t know why. Maybe it was love, maybe he was just stupid. These were the consequences of opening up entirely like he had and felt like he did the night before. He would just have to deal with them.
They had a match today and so he focused on that instead; pushed the thoughts aside and tried to pay them no mind for the sake of the team and his sanity.
Trent kept his cool at breakfast. When Andy and Virgil came in and eyed him questionably, he managed a curt ‘good morning’ with barely a falter in his voice before slipping into the one singular empty space between Cody and Dominik, neither of whom, thankfully, tried to get him to open up about old teammates or - god forbid - let him kiss them.
By the time his press conference came around though, Trent was immeasurably grateful to Virgil and Andy that all he felt on the topic of being vice captain was happiness. The small bite of guilt for carefully avoiding them all day accompanied his joy but it was easier to ignore it in the new light of his dreams coming to fruition.
Truly he was happy. It was the first happy thing to happen to him in a while and the pride he felt drastically paled whatever prior internal conflicts he’d had. This was his and his alone and he had worked hard to get there and he’d be damned if he was gonna be miserable over it.
The match was okay and they all stayed properly professional on the pitch even if Trent was half sure Virgil and Andy were ready to corner him at any moment and give him an earful throughout the whole day. That same pride he felt for himself set in once more when he’d seen Virgil with the captains armband, leading the team to a 4-0 win.
At halftime, they were all packed into the locker room. Several tired, ruined bodies bumping shoulders and clamoring to hear what Virgil and Klopp had to say; which wasn’t much, it was only preseason after all. Still right there amidst teammates getting checked out and trying to catch their breath, Trent could feel their eyes on him. He avoided them still and did so even after they’d won the match.
That night, he didn’t seek either one of them out but they both showed up in his room anyway. The thrill of the match still buzzed in his bones and the lightness from the previous night hadn’t left him. It was easier to pack away the sadness now that he’d accepted it. In fact, he had even responded to Hendo’s pre-match good luck messages for the first time in days.
Still, it wasn’t shocking to see them there but a part of him had hoped he would have more time before the inevitable confrontation.
They tiptoed around him, looking uncertain about coming any closer lest he disappear again, and Trent felt like a small misbehaved child under their watchful eyes. Or worse a sitting duck waiting to be ripped apart.
“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked him.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He shrugged. A blatant lie even to an unknowing eavesdropper.
“Then why did you leave?” Andy spoke up, looking displeased.
“Do I need a reason to leave?”
“After last night, yes.”
Irritation flared up inside Trent at the imbalance of the situation. They never talked to him if they were upset and yet here they were questioning every decision he made and everything about him.
“Why does it matter?” There was a bite behind his words that didn’t go unheard.
Andy sighed deeply and rubbed one hand over his face.
Yes, Trent was being intentionally difficult, but it was only in hopes that they’d drop it.
“Trent,” Andy started, and Trent missed when he was sweet and soft with him the night before. “Did we do something wrong?”
Never, they could never do anything wrong.
Trent wanted to take it back and stop being difficult and admit the truth and do anything Virgil and Andy would ask of him if it meant they’d stay gentle with him but he already had one foot out the door and stepping out seemed worlds easier than fighting his way back in.
He wanted to ask them about the kisses. Ask them why they let him do so. Ask them if they felt different to them as they did to him.
It was self torture wishing for the answers when he knew he wouldn’t like them. Pity kisses for their dearest friend. And now really isn’t the time for Trent to be so entangled in romantic feelings and questioning the implications behind every interaction with his friends but he had brought this upon himself. He’d always had a nasty habit of solving a problem and creating three more in his efforts, except the problems had never been so pathetic.
“No,” he sighed, decidedly fighting his way back in because he couldn’t stand to lose any more than he had already, “no…you guys didn’t do anything wrong.”
Andy scoffed in disbelief but Virgil walked over to him and placed his hand against his cheek just like he had the night before. Trent looked to Andy from the corner of his eye for any reaction to Virgil’s actions, something that would tell him it wasn’t permissible, but there was nothing.
“What do you want, Trent?” Virgil asked, eyes open and true.
I want to be beautiful, Trent thought to himself. I want to be so beautiful the thought of leaving me would seem unimaginable and I want to be good enough for you, I do. I want you to love me and I want to be unafraid of it.
But he didn’t say any of that. Couldn’t say any of that. Not now.
“I want you both,” he said instead.
It was a leap of faith, a semi-admission of the longing that had plagued him for longer than he would admit to himself. It was also the first real thing Trent had revealed to them since the night before.
He wanted to hide away, swallow the words back as soon as they had left his mouth but he wasn’t afforded the chance. Virgil’s mouth was already hot against his, making his claim on that confession.
I want you both.
I want you both.
I want you both.
He had them.
It was the three of them, Virgil and Andy, and Andy and Virgil, and Trent caught in the middle of it all. They shared this with him; something that nobody outside the two of them had experienced. Virgil’s warm hands against his thighs, bringing him closer than they’d ever been. Andy’s back pressed tight against his chest, hot and sweaty, littered in small bruises from where Trent’s fingertips pressed too hard, seeking more of him than he was sure he was allowed.
And they spoke into his hair, his skin, his open mouth; told him it was okay to pull them both in, told him they were his. It felt like an intrusion into what they’d built together but how could Trent dare to deny it when they held him so tenderly. It had been difficult the last few days, maintaining a solid belief in something, but right then, with Virgil’s large hands encircling his hips and Andy’s lips dancing across his ribs, Trent believed they were all made for each other.
It was like he was back on the pitch again, ruined body bumping into Andy’s equally ruined body as they passed by each other. Only this time, he wasn’t going anywhere. None of them were.
They stayed wrapped around each other. Trent was tucked against Virgil’s warm chest with his arm draped protectively around his shoulders. His heartbeat was just shy of his ear like the night before and it hummed against the back of Trent’s head where his hair rubbed damp and soft against Virgil’s exposed skin.
Andy was draped across the two of them, with his head laid gently against Trent’s body, and Trent ran his fingers through Andy’s hair. It smelled faintly of Virgil’s shampoo and with each pass through of his nimble fingers, he let out a small breath akin to a purr.
It was a strange thing, being beholden to the scene around him. The sheets were somewhat strategically placed but Trent could still see their nakedness. The contrast of Andy’s skin against their own and the way his fingers were wrapped loosely around Virgil’s thigh. Maybe they were all waiting to fall asleep, maybe none of them wanted to sleep at all but the way they merged into one another made it difficult to discern where he ended and where they began.
His eyes drooped and he smiled softly as Robbo toyed with his hand, twirling their fingers together and clasping them over and over again.
“Virg,” he muttered quietly when he was sure he were about to slip away.
“Hm?” His chest rumbled.
Trent wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask of Virgil. Several things; was this temporary, what happened now between them, were they staying the night.
Andy had his face turned up towards them and he listened carefully, waited to hear what Trent had to say with baited breath.
“Keep me safe,” he said and Virgil pulled him closer into his chest, splayed that hand across his bicep and placed a kiss to his temple.
It was a given. Virgil would always keep him safe but it wasn’t enough. Safety was just the boundary of something far worse; love. The idea of being caught wanting for it was more than Trent could stomach. He wanted to earn it, be worthy of it but doing it like this was cheap thievery. Boxing them in when he was vulnerable. He couldn’t ask for more when he was just barely beginning to sift through his plethora of problems.
But he loved them, he did. Loved them both so much his heart ached with it when he thought of them. He wanted to unzip his chest and pull them into his rib cage if only to soothe the longing.
Andy coiled like a cat and settled higher up his body. The weight of his body pressing down into Trent’s was comforting. Reminded Trent he was real, human, flesh, skin and bone, open to him (if only for the night) and willing to be anything he wanted him to be.
He would probably never tell him so but he’d do the same for Andy too, be anything he wanted him to be.
Andy smiled at him cheekily then leaned in close and kissed him once more. Their legs were slotted together and he let out a sleepy moan into Trent’s mouth. He knew how he tasted now, how he felt, what that sound meant.
It felt obvious now that all along he’d been looking for them. He didn’t know what would happen once the night ended but for now, he had them.