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And Trent’s not a mess! He’s not. He’s got his life entirely together. He chose to reveal his source and give up his position with The Independent. He chose to start chasing book authorship as his new branch of his career tree. He chose his flat, and his car, and his life, down to the brands of tea he buys and the sorts of people he spends time with and the sheet sets he puts on his and Beatrice’s beds. He’s an adult man, for Christ’s sake. Of course, he’s got his life together. Everything is under his control, and it’s all fine. It’s entirely, completely, fully fine. Taking one last steadying breath, Trent opens his eyes and looks over the line of seven tests on the counter: the first he took a few hours ago, and the six he just took since. Each and every last one of them says he’s pregnant. Some have plus signs, some have two lines, some simply have the word pregnant. All of them may as well come together to form a little sign reading, Congratulations, Trent! You did it! You’ve finally made a goddamn bloody mess out of everything! Just wait until you have to tell Ted! Trent’s stomach turns for more reasons than one.