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It all started at Snowy’s wedding. Or, to be more accurate, it started at Snowy’s wedding reception, after the cake was gone and the happy couple were making their farewells to family. Jack waved to the newlyweds and stayed where he was, arm wrapped around Bitty at their table. There were enough empty champagne flutes in front of them that Bitty was unselfconsciously tucked against Jack’s shoulder, flushed and danced out, and Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do you want to get married?” Jack asked, out of the blue.
Bitty leaned back and squinted at him. “Jack,” he said slowly. “Sweetheart, you know I love you but you’re not allowed to propose at someone else’s wedding.”
“I know that!”
“It goes against every rule in every single etiquette book, honey, and you may not have read them but I know your father has -”
“Bittle.” Jack reached out and pulled Bitty in, resting their foreheads together. “I know. I’m not proposing, I’m just - asking.” Bitty raised an eyebrow. Not that Jack could see it, as close as their faces were. “Gathering information.”
“Gathering information.” Bitty leaned back in his chair. Jack was smiling, that little half-grin that meant he was amused but not embarrassed. “Alright. Well, for your information, then, Mr. Zimmermann, the answer is yes. I do want to get married. I want a wedding.” He’d wanted one ever since he was a child, and only realized how much he’d suppressed that want when the hope came rushing back in, once it was actually possible.
“Alright,” Jack repeated. “That’s good to know.”
“Is it.”
“It is.” Jack stood, holding out a hand. “Come on, Mr. Bittle, the party’s winding down and I want one more dance.”
“I feel like I ought to counsel you on the general gaucheness of public proposals in... in general,” Bitty muttered, settling into Jack’s arms on the dance floor. Jack laughed at him.
The next time came a month later. “Now, I don’t want to alarm you, so I’ll say up front that I’m not proposing,” Jack said from the kitchen, drying dishes while Bitty pulled up their Netflix queue.
“That’s good to know,” Bitty said drily. Just for that, Jack was going to sit down and watch the documentary on alien involvement in the Cold War, and he was not going to say a word about it. Bitty pulled it up. “What are you doing instead?”
“Did you have a general idea of when you wanted to get married?” Jack asked. “Like, by twenty-five, or not before you’re thirty, or something like that?”
“Not really, no. I didn’t think it would ever be possible until a few years ago.” Bitty started the film and paused it on a black screen, so Jack wouldn’t see the title and object before it was too late. “Did you?”
“I think I just always assumed there wouldn’t be any call for it until after I retired.” Jack flopped down next to him, lifting his hands to accept Bitty’s feet into his lap.
“Throwing a wrench into your plans, am I?”
“Heh. No, I just meant I hadn’t thought of it either.” Jack snagged the remote from under Bitty’s arm and started the film.
“I will say this,” Bitty said half an hour later, pausing the film between outraged snorts from the other end of the couch. “I think, if you get traded, I’d rather move with you as a W than a G.” Jack frowned. “Wife instead of a girlfriend,” Bitty clarified. “So to speak.”
“Heh. So to speak.” Jack glanced at him. “Good to know.” Bitty lifted a foot to shove into his cheek and unpaused the movie.
“Not that I’m proposing, Bits, but would you change your name to Zimmermann, if we got married?”
“No.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really. No offense.”
“Then what about -”
“No, Jack, you cannot change your name to Jack Bittle. I won’t allow it.”
“What about Bittlemann, then? Hypothetically. Ow, Bittle, I said it was hypothetical!”
#nopropo but apparently shitty and lardo have already planned out our wedding party? shitty’s high and on my lap telling me he’s sorry but he thinks he’ll be a better best man for you than for me
Haha, I got that rant a couple of months ago. Apparently Chowder’s to be our Flower Boy.
AND WHAT AN EXCELLENT ONE HE’LL MAKE TOO #nopropo
“Not proposing.”
“Got it.”
“Are you allergic to any metals?”
“Why yes, Mr. Zimmermann, I am! Anything other than Olympic gold sets me off into an unholy rash.”
“Haha. Don’t go spreading that around, nothing’s confirmed yet.”
“As good as, according to your father. He’s smuggling me as much Canadian maple syrup as he can before February so I can properly cater the watch parties.”
“Won’t you be there with me?”
“Well of course, sweetpea, but I gotta leave some food for the Falconers.”
“Fair enough. Do you have it in you to root for Canada?”
“It’ll be a struggle, but I think I’ll manage somehow.”
Jack Laurent Zimmermann, what did you say to your mother.
Most recently, I said, “I’ll talk to you on Thursday.” Before that, we were talking about my father’s birthday. Why?
she keeps sending me gorgeous pictures of snow-covered montreal and talking about how beautiful it is, and how *photogenic* , and how many nice scenic spaces there are
She’s right.
do not propose to me through your mother, so help me god i WILL say no
Lucky for you I’m not proposing then. :)
and i’m not getting married in the cold, it’s either happening in the summer or below the mason dixon line
Understood.
possibly below the equator.
not that it’s not a moot point right now, because no one’s proposing over text
Of course not. I’ve read the etiquette books, Bittle.
The last pie tin was still damp when Bitty plunked it on the counter and dragged Jack to the couch. “That’ll leave water stains, it’s glass,” Jack chirped as Bitty pushed him down and climbed into his lap.
“You can wash it again later.”
“Can I?” Bitty could feel Jack’s smile against his hair. “Well, that’s good then.”
“I missed you,” Bitty whined into Jack’s shirt. “I haven’t seen you in person in three weeks.”
“And we’ve spent the past twelve hours together, Bittle.” Jack’s arms were tight around Bitty’s shoulders, though, so Bitty decided to ignore him.
Something had been itching under Bitty’s skin for those twelve hours, and for thirteen days before that, since Jack had asked, “Not proposing - how do you feel about kids?” over Skype with a bland hotel room wall behind him, seven months after their last dance at Snowy’s wedding.
“To hell with it,” Bitty said into Jack’s shirt. He sat up.
“What?”
“Will you marry me?”
Jack’s look of blank shock lasted long enough for all Bitty’s internal oh shit alarms to go off, before he blinked and his most devastating smile took over. “Yeah,” he said.
Bitty blinked. “Excuse me. Did you just say yeah?”
“Yeah, hold on one second.” Jack got his hands underneath Bitty and lifted, depositing him on the cushions before standing up and heading to their room, and Bitty was going to have to have a talk with that boy once the spike of lust died down. Jack came back a second later, little black box in hand.
“You beat me to it,” Jack said, dropping back down next to Bitty and handing him the ring box. “I meant to do it months ago, I just couldn’t figure out how.”
Bitty cracked open the box to see two empty ring slots inside. “Well, Mr. Zimmermann, I think I’ve found your problem,” he drawled, reaching out to poke one.
“Haha. I went looking a few times, but.” Jack shrugged. “It didn’t feel right, picking out engagement rings without you.”
Bitty tipped his head back and groaned, closing his eyes. This. Boy.
“Is that a yes?”
Bitty opened his eyes again to glare at Jack. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I asked you first.”
“And I answered!”
“Alright then! That’s settled.” Bitty did his best to scowl through the happy tears pricking at his eyes. Jack seemed to be in the same state, and Bitty clambered back into his lap, ring box still clutched in his hand. “If you say yeah at the altar, Jack Zimmermann...”
“You’ll keep buying that terrible fake maple syrup?”
“Too right.”