Work Text:
There were times, rare times, when Trent was writing and he wrote something out and realized it was True. True with a capital T. Writing that particular sentence had been one of those times.
Ted could be—inscrutable. Bizarre. He could do or say things with seemingly little rhyme or reason, sometimes that even seemed counterproductive. And there were still times, all these years later, that Trent couldn't quite get a read on him, which was something that would be infuriating if it were anyone else. But it did still give Trent an itch to know. To dig. To peel back Ted's layers the way Ted had peeled back his. Not to expose, just... to know.
But in the end... that wasn't going to happen, was it? Not with Trent, anyway.
Whatever the case, it didn't matter, because what really mattered was this: Trent trusts him. Worse, has faith in him. Even still.
Truthfully, Trent suspected that Ted's worst moments were when he doubted himself.
Otherwise...
His methods could be hard to grasp, but Trent had seen, had felt, the effects firsthand.
As long as Ted knew what he was doing, Trent could—can—trust the quality of the outcome.