Work Text:
Text from JACK: when you're in town, come to dinner with Bits and I
Text to JACK: idk if that's the best idea. U told him abt us???
Text from JACK: I mean, yeah, but I've talked to him, told him about our chat in Vegas
Text to JACK: ur sure he won't murder me?
Text to JACK: I'm sure he's great but like he prolly doesn't trust or like me
Text from JACK: he doesn't have to trust you - you're nice
Text to JACK: debatable. send me info
Kent's flight landed in Providence late on a Wednesday night. They had practice the next morning, and a game on Friday. They left on Sunday. Jack had asked Kent to accompany him and Eric to dinner on Saturday, to try and let the two bond.
The Aces won the Friday game. Kent got a hatty before the Falconers scored once. Tater slammed Kent into the boards twice, and both hits were particularly hard. Alcohol and Swoops helped him forget, but when he awoke, his sides were covered in blooms of purple. He winced as he stretched his back, rolling his shoulders to ease the tense muscle. Jeff brought him a waffle, aspirin, and a coffee. Kent ate the waffle and drank the coffee, but snuck the aspirin in his pocket to discard of later. He didn't trust pills.
He spent most of his day in the hotel’s pool, and after getting bored of that, in bed with Jeff. They made sure the marks left on Kent’s skin were below the line of the collar of the dress shirt he would be wearing. Kent showered, Swoops standing right behind him, helping him clean off the chlorine and residual mess from their day. Kent, somehow, still left on time, which was not a given when they were alone together.
He called a cab to take him to the restaurant, marveling in the smell of the back of the car. Cabs in Vegas were not that clean, and smelled like any number of illegal drugs. The ones in this city were much better. He took in the sights of Providence, admiring the clear river and the tall skyline. The city wasn’t cluttered like Vegas was. He bet that Jack liked it there.
He stepped out of the cab and paid his fee, leaving a generous tip for the driver because he hadn’t tried to make idle conversation like most do. It was appreciated.
Text to JACK: where are u
Text from JACK: Lobby of restaurant, waiting for you.
Text to JACK: fuck off
Kent jogged up to the large double doors of the fancy restaurant, and was quickly met by warmth, and the smell of food. His mouth started to water -- he hadn't eaten lunch (Jeff would have begged to differ), and breakfast was a single waffle and a couple slices of bacon. It was good, but Kent played professional hockey. He could always eat.
Jack waved him over, and he shook Eric’s hand. Eric was small, tiny, even, Kent found it hard to believe that he played hockey. Jack patted him on the back. It was colloquial and manly, an assertion of dominance.
He followed the server to the table. It was in a less crowded spot than most of the tables, obscured by fake trees. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Text from SWOOPSTER: Did u get there okay?
Text to SWOOPSTER: yeah with them now
Text to SWOOPSTER: ru going anywhere tonight
Text from SWOOPSTER: yeah but I'll be back before you. Go socialize
Text to SWOOPSTER: you're lame
Text from SWOOPSTER: xoxo
Kent laid his phone face down on the granite-topped table. In the low light, he saw Jack’s hand resting on top of Eric’s and he smiled. When Jack noticed he was paying attention again, he returned the grin. Eric smiled too, albeit quite awkwardly with his lips pursed, which made him just look incredibly uncomfortable. Kent couldn't blame him. This probably was Jack’s idea -- having Kent meet Eric to try and smooth relations and break the bad impressions they may have of one another -- so Eric had the right to be a little weird about it.
Contrary to what he had told Jack, Kent actually remembered Eric. He was a bit drunk when they had met, but not drunk enough to forget him. When Kent found Jack, he was standing, talking to Eric. Eric was the one who overheard all the shitty things Kent had said to Jack. He was a dickheadband and didn't mean it, but he still said it.
“Hey, Jack, Eric?” They both looked at Kent confusedly. “I'm sorry. I know I probably came off on the wrong foot, especially to you, Eric. I've already apologized to him about this, but what I said to Jack was wrong, and honestly, complete bullshit. I was drunk and angry that I didn't get my way, and I'm sorry that was your first impression of me. I'm not usually like that.”
“Uh, thanks?” Eric said quietly. “I wasn't holding a grudge. Jack explained a lot to me.” Kent took a harsh, deep breath. “It's very mature of ya to apologize, I appreciate it.”
“Thank God this can be less awkward, now. Neither of you has said more than like, two words, eh?” Jack prompted. When no one said anything, he took a more commanding approach. “Please talk. I'm not talkative. Bits. Help.”
Kent laughed, not at what Jack said, but to ease the stress that was accumulating in the room.
The waiter came to take their orders, so they ordered. Eric talked about how he was going to riot if what he had ordered wasn't better than the version he makes, claiming that “y'all, 20 dollars is so ridiculous for a lamb chop!” Jack tried, and failed, to calm him down. Lamb chops were important. Kent smiled the entire time, a stupid grin plastered across his face that Jack and Eric couldn't help but smile back. His genuine smile was nothing like his cocky grin. The stupid smirk radiated arrogance, while his real smile was contagious, and made people feel good.
The food came, and all three dug in. Jack had chicken with seasonal vegetables, which looked good. Eric had the lamb chops, which he claimed were acceptable. Kent, like the sophisticated professional athlete he was, got a cheeseburger and sweet potato fries. His phone kept buzzing while he ate, but his hands were too greasy to pick it up, so he ignored it. It dinged more times over the next few minutes, which agitated Jack.
“Kenny, can I read out what this person is saying?” he asked, reaching for Kent’s phone. He had used a fork for his chicken and vegetables, unlike Kent and his cheeseburger and fries.
Kent shrugged. “If it's bugging you? Might be something you don't want to see.” Eric laughed, which made Jack smile.
Jack wiped his hands carefully on his napkin before reaching over to grab Kent’s phone.
“Who is it?” Kent asked, his mouth full of cheeseburger.
“Kati.”
“Who's Kati?” Eric inquired. “Girlfriend?”
Kent made a psshhh sound. “Sister. Older than me. Plays in the WNHL. Did she text?”
“No,” Jack responded. “She's been calling for the past few minutes. She's called like twenty times.”
Kent’s face dropped. “She doesn't call. We're not exactly on the best of terms.” He put down the remnants of his burger, and wiped his hands on the cloth napkin. “Gimme.”
“Say please,” Jack joked.
“ Please don't be an asshole.” He snatched his phone back from his friend across the table, and walked in the direction of the bathroom.
He clicked on his sister’s icon, and then the call button. She picked up on the second ring, and Kent could hear her breathing, even though she wasn't talking.
“Hey, Kati. What's up?”
“Firstly, Kenny,” she took a gasp of air. “I don't hate you. I never hated you, I hated your choices. Please don't hate me for what I'm about to say. I'm a hypocrite. A goddamn hypocrite.” Kent knew better than to interrupt her. “I'm bi. I have a girlfriend. I told mom, yesterday. She flipped out, tried to kick me out, but like, I don't live there, so she couldn't?” She paused to catch her breath, again. “Well, I left the house, and I just got a fucking call.”
Kent had a pretty good idea of what was about to be said, but he wasn't prepared.
“ She left the goddamn house, Kenny. She got in her fucking car.” She sobbed a bit. “They found her in a goddamn ditch with a car full of empty bottles.”
“Is she okay?” Kent could feel that he was pale.
“She's fucking dead, idiot. I mean, I always knew she'd end up doing something stupid while drunk, that's what she always did, even when we still had dad, but,” Kati left a silence that Kent was reluctant to break, “she's gone, Kenny. I know you were never close with her, and I wasn't either, really, but still, now we have no one.”
“Come on, Kati. You have me.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
Kent tried his best not to cry. “I really don't know. I'll try to be.”
“I know I need to be stronger, fuck, I'm almost thirty, but she gave birth to me, you know?” Kent didn't know, but he continued to let his sister talk. “ I love her, even though she was an asshole sometimes. Like, no matter how shitty she was, she was still my mom. Now I don't have one.”
“Hey. I've gone for a few years without a mom, or even a family, really, and it sucks, but it gets better. You'll adapt. You'll start seeing your team as your family. You'll be your own mom and dad. You're strong, K. Don't forget, you have me. Now, where are you? We don't have another game for a while, I can try and fly up there?”
“I have my girl with me, I'll be okay. I've already told her, she's helping me through things.”
Kent was glad that she had help, but he was a bit jealous. He had no one he could talk to, and even if he did, he wouldn't.
“Kenny, ya there?”
Kent shook his head around, trying to clear it. “Yeah. I'm good. Sorry.”
“Will you be okay if I hang up?” The concern was evident in her voice.
“Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, Kati. Will you?”
“Yeah. Bye, brother.”
His phone beeped three times, signaling the end of the call. Kent locked his phone and leaned back against the wall, sighing heavily. He knew he had to go back out to Jack and Bitty, but he didn't want to. They would notice that something was up, and Jack would push until Kent told him. It's what had always happened. Jack thought he was helping by forcing Kent to let his feelings be heard, but, naturally, he was not. Kent did not want to face them.
There was a window in the bathroom.
He impulsively climbed out, only realizing what he was doing when he was already on the ground outside. The alley he had climbed out to was damp, and smelled like rotting garbage. He saw rats scurrying away as his feet hit the ground.
He took off his sport coat and threw it over his shoulder as he walked. He didn't have a destination in mind, he just hoped he was heading in the direction of the hotel. It was peaceful, but Kent knew it wouldn't last. Jack would eventually start calling. Kent hoped he wouldn't, praying that he just didn't care enough to try and locate him.
He didn't want to go to a bar, so he stopped at a grocery store and bought a bottle of Vodka and a 6-pack of beer. He headed down to the river. He turned his phone off as he sat down on a bridge that said “ ROAD CLOSED .” His legs hung off the edge, swinging as he drank. He tossed the cap from a now drained bottle of beer in his hand until he missed a catch. He didn't hear the splash as it hit the water down below. His phone buzzed from where it lay in his pants pocket, so he fished it out. It was Jack, as he expected. He put it on do not disturb mode.
He didn’t even try to count the hours he spent there before anyone noticed.
When he woke up, the sun was dawning in the sky. There was a hand on his shoulder, roughly shaking him.
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”
Of course it had to have been the fucking cops. This wasn’t Kent’s first encounter with the police, though. He knew what to do.
“Morning officer. What are my charges?”
The officer rolled his eyes. “Loitering, and public intoxication.” Kent shut up then, because he had done both of those things. He slept on a closed bridge, and drank way too much. He’d pay the fine and get on with his life.
He enjoyed the ride to the police station. The cop was nice and didn’t try to talk to him, which was appreciated. The only words exchanged were ‘since you do not seem drunk anymore, we will cut that down to one charge of public intoxication’.
He knew it was coming, yet Kent still tensed up when the officer manhandled him out of the car. Kent didn’t have any hard feelings towards the officer, he just had a ton of trouble dealing with being touched without consent. Even back pats could be rough. He twitched a few times, trying to get the energy and thoughts out of his head, and continued walking. The cop noticed, but said nothing.
They sent him to the on-site medical examiner for some bloodwork to make sure he was mostly sober. When the results came back that he was, the doctor asked him if he was okay, because his hands were shaking so violently. Kent just nodded. He was fine. The doctor eyed him with skepticism, yet still let him go. He heard talk of searching his medical records.
They stuck him in a holding cell with no one else in it, and gave him a token for the phone. He had one call, but he didn’t know who to call. He could call Jack, who would judge him harshly, and somehow guilt trip him into going to rehab. He could call Jeff, but he didn’t want to. Jeff was his best friend, he was burdening him enough already. He could call Kati, but she’d call Jack or Jeff, depending on whose number she still had. Management, maybe, but they’d make a huge deal out of nothing. He couldn’t choose the lesser of the evils, so he waited.
And waited.
He fell asleep on the uncomfortable bench, used the toilet, splashed his face with water, and paced around. He needed to call someone -- the clock said that the team’s bus to the airport was leaving from the hotel in three hours. He had no idea where he was, he didn’t even know if he was in Providence anymore. He fought the urge to punch a wall. His team was counting on him. He had let them down.
A different officer came to the cell this time, holding one of the electronic keys. The door opened, and he grabbed Kent’s arm. He shook a bit, but Kent was relatively unfazed this time, probably because he really didn’t give a fuck. The officer gave a quick speech about what to do now that he was released, he was bailed out and his fines were paid. That’s as much as Kent was able to comprehend. When he got to the lobby he saw Jeff.
He thought he’d naturally run to him, but he didn’t. Jeff’s arms were open, inviting, but Kent avoided them, mumbling a quick thank you. Jeff got the memo.
“What happened, Kens?” Jeff’s voice was soft, barely overpowering the air conditioner in the taxi.
Kent didn’t respond.
“Okay, if you won’t tell me, just know that I’m here for you.” Jeff’s tone was comforting, but it didn't affect Kent. He was stoic, unmoving. “Do you want some food?” Kent shook his head. “Alright, then we’ll just go back to the hotel?” His friend’s support was much appreciated, but Kent just wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to just float away, to be one with the clouds, to not have to--
“Kens. Hey? We’re here.” Kent shook the fog out of his head, and nodded. He struggled to his feet and walked up to the room, Jeff in tow. Kent had to wait for Jeff to unlock the door, because he didn't have his room key (he never did). As soon as it swung away, Kent rushed to his suitcase to grab some clothes for a shower. He didn't acknowledge Jeff.
His shower took an hour, and he cried almost the entire time. Kent had been holding in all the emotion about his mom for the past seven years. It was too long, but now that she was gone, it was different. He couldn't ever talk to her again, he couldn't say what he had to.
Not that she would have let him anyways.
His mom wasn't the only thing hurting him, though. The only family he had left was his sister, and she was distant because of her career. She had someone, though. Someone that she could talk to, someone who supported and loved her for who she was, no matter what. Kent wanted that. Hell, he needed that. He had thought he had it with Jack, but he was just a burden, then. He would still be, now. It fucking sucked.
He walked out of the bathroom with nothing but his boxers on, because he really didn't give a shit. Swoops gave him a look from the bed he was on, but said nothing. Kent went to his own bed and laid down on top of the covers. He wasn't planning to sleep, but it took him anyways.
Kent dreamt of happiness. He was married, he had a beautiful husband and two kids. He still played hockey, and his kids did, too. His husband was a hockey player who had retired. He was in love. His dreams were full of his husband just talking things out with him. It was good, but even better, functional.
“Kent, wake up, we gotta go.”
Kent’s travel clothes were laid out next to him on the bed, and his suitcase was zipped up, leaning against the door. He stretched as he got up, admiring the hotel room. The curtains were closed over the windows, but they didn’t block out the natural light that was flooding the room. He pulled on his jeans, then turned around. Jeff was packing his own bag. He had bags under his eyes, but he held them wide open, trying to mask the deprivation of sleep he was experiencing. Kent wondered if he was up all night searching for him. He put his shirt on, but couldn’t bring himself to ask, so they finished packing in silence.
Kent was surprised that Jeff didn’t try to ask, but he also felt a little neglected. He knew that he would snap and yell, because he was still hurting, but Kent was sad, and couldn’t decide whether Jeff cared too much about him or didn’t care at all. He looked over again as Swoops took a deep breath, and released it noisily.
“Jeff,” Kent started quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Swoops didn't respond, he just stared at the beige carpet.
“I don't want to talk about it yet. Letting it spill would be bad. You don't need to know.”
Kent saw his friend tense up. “Really? I don't need to know ? I looked for you all night! I called the goddamn police! I thought you were fucking dead! I trust you with everything, and you can't even tell me the reason you drank yourself into jail? Fuck. You,” Jeff spat.
Swoops grabbed his bag. It was brown, and had four wheels to roll on, but he dragged it on two as he sped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
They didn’t talk for the next two weeks.
There were back pats, ‘good games’, and cellies, but they didn’t hang out like they used to. Kent didn’t randomly show up at Jeff’s apartment, and Jeff sure as hell didn’t appear at Kent’s. They didn't text or call, and Jeff was the only person Kent ever called or texted. His most recent phone activity was thirty seven missed calls from Jack, one accepted from his PR representative. He had a lot of texts from Jack that he had left on read. He knew that he should have responded by now, just to let Jack know that he was alive, but he was more concerned with Jeff. Their divide was starting to affect the entire team’s dynamic on the ice. Kent had the worst string of games that he’d ever played -- this feud had to cease.
Kent and Jeff lived in the same “apartment” complex. The suites were more similar to condos, but no one cared enough to call them that. The floor of the entry of the complex was made of white marble tiles, making it look more elegant than it actually was. The lobby smelled of the obviously fake plants it was filled with, and all Kent heard was the bubbling of the fountain, and the clacking of high heels on the tile.
Their places of residence were in two different wings of the comple, so Kent had to cross the atrium to get to the elevator to Jeff’s floor. His luxury sneakers made little sound on the smooth marble. He tweeted out a quick I hope this goes well, xoxo . Kent was bad at tweeting while walking, so he wasn’t exactly surprised when he ran face first into someone. He looked up. The guy was much bigger than him, not in build, but in sheer height, and his hair looked familiar, oh, wait, it was Jack.
On that realization, Kent started shaking. He forced himself to get it under control, not because of the people around (there was one, a middle aged woman who didn’t seem to give a shit about anything), but because he knew Jack. Jack would prod and pry until Kent spilled his guts.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Kent ? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What the hell, man!” When Jack started talking, his voice was soft, as it would have been if he was talking to a stranger, but as he realized that it was Kent that he had encountered, he started yelling. “I’ve been calling you for weeks, and you haven’t responded! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Kent held himself together. He was in his twenties. He played a violent sport. He could talk to an angry Jack without crying. “Something bad happened, and I needed a bit of time. I’m sorry.”
“You could’ve at least told me that you were okay!” Jack scoffed, angrily.
“You didn’t tell me that you were okay when you almost fucking died!” The look on Jack’s face, even from where Kent sat on the floor, showed that he had crossed a line. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so sor--”
“You. Always. Say. That.” Jack made intense eye contact, which made Kent feel something in his chest. He didn’t know what. “You always fucking say that, but it’s not the same. Nothing you’ve ever done has come close to that. Fuck you.” Jack turned around to walk away, but before taking a step, he seemed to reconsider. “You want to know why I really cut off contact with you? Huh? You say you care, but then you say stuff like this, and it’s not right! I knew you loved me, but you’d say these fucking insensitive things, you’d compare my problems to yours, and I knew you’d end up doing that with, uh, what I did. That’s why I cut you off. What happens in my life does not relate to yours. We’re two completely different people.”
Jack walked away.
Before he got too far, Kent started to talk. It was miraculous that he had not let any tears slip. “You’re right. I did do that a lot. What I just said, though? That wasn’t that. You’re right, we’re not the same. We have different problems. I just thought that maybe saying that could make you understand how I felt.” He stood up, brushing off his shorts. “Why are you here, anyways? You don’t just come to Vegas unexplained.”
Jack had stopped walking at this point. He hadn’t gotten very far yet, he had slowed down to let Kent know that he was being heard. “I was worried about you, and, honestly, I thought that I had done something.”
Kent let out a small laugh. “You didn’t do anything. Thank you, though.” The silence was a bit awkward, until Kent broke it with a “do you want to get coffee, or something?”
“No, I want you to tell me what happened,” Jack responded.
The blond rolled his eyes. “It has nothing to do with you. I promise.”
“Dude, I don't fucking care.” He laid a hand on Kent’s shoulder. “It's obviously bothering you, so I want to know.” Kent tensed up, then released. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just -- Jeff! ” Kent had spotted Swoops out of his peripheral vision. Swoops had obviously not seen Kent, for when he looked over, he immediately put his head down and kept walking, faster than he had been before. “Hey, man, I saw you! We need to talk!” Jeff slowed down, but continued out the large, glass double doors. Kent saw him look back.
“What happened between you two?” Jack inquired, confusion evident on his face. He had only seen their interactions on the ice, which were friendly, and strong. This was weak.
Kent decided not to sugar coat it. “I fucked up. Real bad.”
Jack sighed. “Take me to your apartment, and tell me all about it.”
Kent did. He told Jack everything that had happened with Jeff (somehow excluding their “relationship,” and the fact that this problem had spawned when his mother had died), and Jack just listened, making no input. When Kent was done, he still remained silent.
“So?”
Jack pondered again. “What didn’t you tell him about? Is it the same thing that you aren’t telling me?”
Jack’s question was so innocently worded, yet manipulative in meaning, that Kent was caught a bit off guard. He almost told Jack the information he swore to withhold, but he caught himself. “That won’t work. I’m kind of dumb, but I’m not that dumb. I’m not telling you.”
“You were going to tell Swoops!”
“He’s my best friend!” Kent exclaimed. “Of course I’m gonna tell him!”
Jack waved his hand in dismissal. “Whatever.”
As the day progressed, Kent didn’t get any closer to telling Jack about what had happened. He played his happy playlist, and Jack seemed more at ease, but they sat in silence. The soft music echoed through the halls of Kent’s large apartment. Jack didn’t leave until 11. He said that he would be back the next day.
Swoops didn’t call, or come over.
The next few days continued about the same. The teams were at a lull in the season, so Jack was okay with missing a few practices. Kent went to his morning skates, but came straight back to his apartment, where Jack was waiting for him. He tried to get the blond to break down and tell him what was going on, but failed every time. Kent wouldn’t budge. Jack kept reiterating that he would not go home until Kent was feeling better, so Kent did his best to look happy. He smiled a lot, and made sure that he looked like he was loving life. Jack left after a few days of seeing that, hoping that Kent wasn’t faking.
They were so out of touch, he didn’t expect Jack to understand.
After Jack had left, Kent tried to visit Jeff every day. Most days, he only got halfway through the atrium before giving up, scared out of his mind. The one day he made it to the door, when he knocked, no one answered. He heard noises, though -- he knew that Jeff was home.
The Aces still continued to win games, so he didn’t try to push anything. Maybe Kent just couldn’t have friends. He’d always struggled with that, anyways.
He went running a lot more, ate a lot less, and still drank. He was pushing himself not to slip away. In some ways, he was more present than ever. He responded to Jack, and his administration’s phone calls and texts quicker than ever. Kent wouldn’t admit that that was because he was waiting for a call from Jeff. He sent one text to Swoops -- I’m sorry .
He did respond.
Me too
5 minutes after he received the text, Kent heard his doorbell ring. He got up from where he was laying on the couch, and padded across the wooden floors in silent sock feet. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole -- he knew who it was. As the door swung open, he was picked up into a hug. Jeff smelled like Bourbon, and familiarity. Kent hugged him back, inhaling deeply, and trying to not let the tears that were threatening to slip, fall.
They fell anyways. Kent had always been a crier. It was a valid way to express emotion.
Jeff pulled his arms away from where they were encircling Kent, moving instead to caress his cheek. “Kens, I’m so sorry. I flipped out over nothing.”
Kent leaned into the touch. “It wasn’t nothing. I should’ve just fucking told you, man, I was a dick, I’m sorry.”
“We both messed up. Let’s talk about it.”
Kent raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“What, what?”
They both laughed at that, Swoops’s deep voice sounded dumb saying something so trivial. Kent was first to collect himself. “You want to talk? We’d be fine if we didn’t.”
Jeff squished Kent’s cheeks together, making his lips form an outward pout. “We would definitely not be fine, Parser. Three weeks, man. We went three weeks without really seeing each other because we couldn’t talk things out. I love you man, we can do this.”
So they did.
Kent and Jeff sat for two hours, talking and crying, explaining and consoling. Kent relayed the story of how his dad died, how his mother kicked him out, and how she died. Swoops supported him through the entire thing, and unlike Jack (who Kent had told about his father when they were in the Q), he didn’t offer any suggestions. Kent loved that. After he finished, he let Jeff speak, who tried to explain his avoidance.
“I just didn’t want to come back to you while I was still angry, dude. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, and when I get angry, I get really angry. I didn’t want to take it out on you, Kens. I needed space, and I’m sorry. I promise that I’ll tell you what’s going on next time.”
Kent’s eyes widened. “Next time?”
Jeff sat up from his leaning position on the couch. “Yeah, of course. Did you think I’d ditch you because we both made some mistakes? Of fucking course, Kent, I won’t let go that easily.” He took Kent into his arms, hugging the blond to his chest. “I won’t let go, unless you need me to.”
Kent woke up to sun streaming through his blinds. He sat up straight as he saw the time on his alarm clock, 12:06 PM. He knew he had fucked up, he was supposed to skate in the morning, but he couldn’t dwell on it -- it had already happened -- so he pet Kit. He heard a crash, which sounded like it was from the kitchen, before he remembered that Jeff had come over the night before, and they had reconciled.
With that knowledge, he went out to the kitchen.
Jeff was wearing an apron, which Kent thought looked absolutely idiotic, but cute, in a way. He was cooking, or at least trying to, cook some variety of pancakes. There was a stack on a plate already, but he still had a bowl of batter, which he was scooping onto the griddle intermittently. Kent just stopped to watch him for a while. While Jeff wasn’t an amazing cook, he really did enjoy it -- he loved creating his own recipies. He sang and danced while he worked, and Kent smiled.
Swoops sang and danced for a while, but as he started to sing into the spatula, he went to do a turn, and looked Kent right in the eyes. The silence was awkward, until Kent couldn’t bear it, and started cackling. Jeff was quick to follow suit.
Kent wanted to kiss him so badly, but he knew better than to do that. He didn’t really know what he had with Jeff, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it.
“How’d you sleep?” Jeff asked, turning back to the pancakes that had started to burn onto the griddle.
“Better than I have in weeks, you?” Jeff flipped the pancakes that were ready onto the heaping stack that was already way too many pancakes for the both of them. “Where did you sleep, anyways? You weren’t in my bed, I don’t think.” When Kent had woken up, the covers looked undisturbed, and there were two pillows on the opposite side. Jeff only slept with one.
“Yeah, I was on the couch. Before you freak out, it’s fine, I was comfortable.” He flipped more pancakes. Kent started to worry. There were a lot of pancakes there.
“How’d you know?” Jeff flipped the last pancake onto the plate, and walked over to Kent, roughly grabbing the blond’s hips, and pulling him close.
“Because I know you , come on Kens. I’ve known you for six years now, man. I know how you act.” One of his hands drifted up to Kent’s face, where it brushed one of the untameable strands out of his eyes.
Kent wrapped his arms around his friend’s middle. “Can you tell me that thing again? The one you said last night? Is it still true, or were you drunk, or--”
Jeff couldn’t deny the pleading look on Kent’s face. “I love you. I won’t let go, unless you need me to. I promise you that.”
It took everything Kent had left in him to restrain himself from kissing Jeff.
“I love you too, man.”