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They asked him every year. Sometimes, even more than once a year if he wanted to be on Samwell’s promotional material.
Jack said no every time because he really didn’t have any interest in having his face plastered on billboards and on every brochure and course calendar they handed out to students, both prospective and current. He’d had enough secondhand publicity from his parents’ careers and he wasn’t going to go seeking it out while he was at Samwell.
The only allowance he made was when he was photographed with the rest of the hockey team because he understood that hockey was a big selling point when it came to convincing people to attend their school. One of the team photos was enlarged and put up in the sports complex, right between the women’s volleyball team and Samwell’s dance team. It had already gotten vandalized this year by some drunk LAX bros and had to be replaced (which the university was not happy about and last Jack heard, the bros responsible were on suspension from the team).
The university couldn’t get Jack, but they got Ransom and Holster to agree to photos other than the team one. There were some of them pretending to study in the library, or looking happy and not-stressed as they socialized. These ended up on the cover of last year’s Campus Life magazine and both Holster and Ransom both joked that they were wasting their time at school when they should be modelling instead. It still didn’t stop the recruitment team from continually asking Jack who refused to change his mind.
Little did he know it was about to be changed for him.
After Jack got back from Christmas, he started seeing one particular guy everywhere. Usually, Jack didn’t pay too much attention to the posters. They tended to change the photos and the people in them every semester. To Jack, they were always a little too stiff, like the university was trying a little too hard to sell this idea of a perfect and idealistic student life.
But, there was something about this particular guy that made Jack stop. It was an ordinary pose; the guy was looking right at the camera, his smile bright and wide, and his hand was up in mid-wave. He looked… genuine though. Jack considered the guy for a couple more seconds before moving on in hopes that no one caught him looking. Whoever he was, the university had clearly found a really good model.
Over the next several weeks, Jack saw more pictures of the same guy in different poses everywhere, on public transit buses, in the library entrance hall, even on the side of the screen whenever Jack logged into his student email. With his interest piqued, Jack even went looking for more photos on the university website. One night, he guiltily scrolled through the whole gallery for glimpses of the blond guy in their event candids.
Jack wasn’t quite sure what it was that had captured his attention so thoroughly, and even though he was a nameless stranger, he started popping up occasionally in Jack’s dreams, which only left him frustrated and confused.
Even the rest of the team were starting to notice Jack’s downturn in mood. “Dude, what crawled up your ass and died?” Shitty grumbled after a particularly grueling morning practice. They were getting changed but the usual camaraderie in the locker room was absent today.
Before Jack could answer, Johnson interrupted. “There’s a fundraiser bake sale at the Student Center today. We should check it out.”
“Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” Holster chirped.
“Not surprising. There’s a lot you don’t know,” Johnson chirped which resulted in a wet towel being thrown at his face. The tension was broken and the rest of the guys laughed along with ease.
Jack was about to leave but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Come with us,” Johnson said, leaving no room for argument.
The Students Center also doubled as the Art building, so it was unsurprising that it was a modern looking building with lively colours and various exhibit pieces hung and displayed all over the place. The atrium was an open space on the first floor that was brightly lit by the natural daylight coming in from the glass walls.
The bake sale was hard to miss. They had set up in the middle of the atrium with painted posters, helium balloons, and a mountain of baked goods that were spread over several tables. While the rest of the hockey team got excited, immediately scattering to survey the variety of food offered, Jack hung back. They were already crowded enough at the tables and Jack didn’t feel like anything sweet anyways.
“I know. The cupcakes aren’t that exciting, but I can interest you in pie instead?” The voice that came from behind Jack had charming lilt to it that stretched the vowels ever so slightly.
“Uh, no, I–” The rest of the sentence died in Jack’s throat when turned around saw him.
It was him, the guy that had been on so many of the university posters and advertisements this semester.
“I promise my pies are two-time tri-county fair award-winning pies. None of that crap you get in the frozen section of Stop and Shop.” He flashed Jack one of his famous smiles, and Jack’s mind seemed to shut off after that.
“I– sure.”
The guy led Jack to his table where slices of pies were already pre-cut and on display for hungry students. “What kind?”
Jack studied the names on the tags propped up in front of each pie plate. “Maybe the apple,” he said, hoping he didn’t stutter. He could feel his skin prickling in nervousness.
“Bitty, you need anymore paper towel over here?” A familiar voice interrupted. “Oh, Jack, I’m glad you made it.” Lardo grinned at him from the other side of the table as she handed a roll to the guy (Bitty, Jack had now learned).
“What are you doing here?” Jack asked in surprise.
“Uh, it’s the Art faculty bake sale fundraiser to help underprivileged kids go to summer art camps. Why wouldn’t I be here? I told you about this last week.”
“Oh,” Jack said. Then, after a moment, he said, “So, you two know each other?” Jack felt slightly betrayed that Lardo had known the guy from the posters but hadn’t bothered to mention it before now.
“Yeah, Bitty’s helping us by contributing to the bake sale. Plus, him being the face of Samwell makes us look really good when he stands here and looks pretty.” Lardo winked before moving on.
Bitty flushed and Jack found it incredibly endearing. “So, Bitty, huh?”
“It’s what everyone calls me. I’m Eric, actually. Eric Bittle.” He passed Jack the slice of pie wrapped in wax paper, and after Jack handed over his money, he smiled broadly. “I hope you enjoy the pie.”
Not only Jack enjoy the pie, he devoured it. He rushed back to the Student Center after his Anthropology class, partly because he planned to buy more pie but mostly because he wanted an excuse to see Eric Bittle again.
However, he was disappointed in both regards.
“Oh, no, Bitty’s pies sold out over an hour ago. And he had to leave for class. I don’t know when he’s coming back,” one of the girls had said.
Jack went back to the Haus in a downcast mood. In the kitchen, Ransom was arguing with Holster about who ate the last cookie from the platter they had bought at the bake sale that morning. He refused to get roped into their spat and headed up to his room.
He searched “Eric Bittle” on the university website and came up with a few smattering of mentions. There was a picture and brief article on him at the campus Pride event last semester and the pictures on that Jack had already seen, but other than that, Jack couldn’t find much of anything else. A web search didn’t give too much either, although he did find a video from a Southern Junior Regionals of Bitty figure skating. It fascinated Jack and he watched young Eric Bittle move with speed and grace on the ice. He replayed it twice more before he deleted his browsing history.
The next week, Jack called the recruitment department to ask if they were in need of photographers. It was lucky that he had the excuse of his photography class that he was taking this semester, and unless his friends and professor had all been lying about him, Jack knew how to take good pictures. The recruitment people were excited at first because they thought that Jack was finally going to let them photograph him for their brochures, but when he explained to that he was only willing to be a photographer, their enthusiasm dropped but at least they begrudgingly agreed.
The deal was that Jack would take pictures and submit it to them and they would pay him for the ones they used. They were looking for pictures of people on campus looking happy, stopped to talk with friends in the hallway with textbooks in their arms, enjoying university-sanctioned events, etc, etc. It was usual kind of photos Jack had expected them to ask for, the kind to show how great Samwell was and to distract you from the ridiculously high tuition.
“What about the people who purposefully pose for you?” Jack pressed. “When do I photograph them?”
“Oh, those are our cover and poster models. They usually have to submit an application and sample pictures. We don’t pick those until the end of the semester.”
“I’ve never filled out application,” he said. He left out the so why do you keep asking me to do it? part because he already knew why. Not every university could brag about the son of a hockey legend attending their school.
“Oh, Jack!” The lady on the other end of the phone laughed like he’d just said the funniest thing.
The thing was that Jack didn’t even really have to go through his shameless plan to get close to Eric Bittle. He started noticing Bittle at his hockey games (usually sitting with Lardo) or he would pass by him on his morning runs. Bittle even brought over a “Congratulations! You Won!” pie over to the Haus once, but Jack barely got a word in with him before the rest of the guys monopolized his attention.
Even when Jack did get his much-awaited moments with Bittle, he always managed to stick his foot into his mouth.
“You were so great in that game,” Bittle said to Jack one evening in the lobby while he was waiting for the rest of his team. “And that last goal? Wow.”
Jack was caught by surprise. He’d seen Bittle in the stands but didn’t actually expect him to hang around so long after the game. “It was a lucky shot,” he blurted out because it was the truth. He also didn’t want Bittle to think that he was full of himself, so he did what he always did: deflected the compliment.
Something flickered on Bittle’s face, and his smiled dimmed fractionally, though enough that Jack noticed. Jack reevaluated himself and thought perhaps his last comment had come out a bit harsher than he’d intended. He was about to say something else when the rest of the guys started trickling out of the locker room, and when Jack turned back, Bittle was already gone.
It was almost a full month before Jack actually got to talk to him again. There were the glimpses here and there as they passed each other, but no opportunities to talk. While Jack was trying to come up with an alternative plan to have an actual conversation with Bittle, the opportunity fell into his lap.
Jack was in his room while the party raged on downstairs. He was going over some plays for the next game when he heard a thump from outside. Thinking it was a drunk party guest sneaking upstairs, Jack had opened his door, ready to tell whoever it was that the upstairs area was off-limits. Jack’s assumption was completely wrong. It was a drunk partier, but it also happened to be Bittle.
“Sorry,” Bittle apologized. He got up off the floor and picked up the chair he’d tripped on, the one the guys had left with the sign that had said keep out. “I was looking for a bathroom. The one downstairs is occupied.”
Jack could have told him there was one at the end of the hall, but instead, he tipped his head and said, “There’s one in here.”
Bittle raised a suspicious eyebrow and Jack opened his door further to show that there really was an adjacent bathroom and not some plot to get Bittle into his room. (Actually, yes, yes it was, but for non-nefarious reasons other than the fact that Jack just wanted to talk to him.)
Jack pretended to study his book while Bittle was in the bathroom, and when Bittle came out, he tried even harder to to appear nonchalant while reading on his bed. The truth was that he hadn’t been able to focus on a single word on the page since Bittle came in, but Bittle didn’t need to know that.
“So, why aren’t you at the party?” Bittle asked with gentle curiosity.
Jack shrugged. “The noise, the crowds, it’s really my thing.”
There was a pause between them and Bittle shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Well, thanks for letting me use your bathroom.”
“No, wait. Um,” Jack said before he could quite stop himself. “You don’t have to go yet.”
A surprised grin bloomed on Bittle’s face, but he moved closer. “So… whatcha reading?” he asked as he took a seat in Jack’s chair.
Jack had to glance at the cover to remember what he’d been previously reading. “It’s for my Anthropology class. It’s an ethnography of the Ju/‘hoansi.”
“Any good?”
They started talking, their conversation easygoing and entertaining. Bittle was chatty (even more so because of the alcohol, Jack suspected), but that worked out perfectly because Jack preferred to do most of the listening anyways. Bittle was funny and earnest. He told stories about himself in an unguarded manner that made Jack comfortable enough to laugh and offer his own anecdotes. They talked for what felt like a short while to Jack but a quick glance at his desk clock said otherwise.
“Oh my goodness. Is that the time?” Bittle exclaimed. “I should probably go.” He stood up hesitantly beside Jack’s bed. “Thanks for letting me stay here with you. It was fun.”
“Sure. Any time.” Jack licked his lips nervously. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something. Um, I have this project for this photography class and I need a subject. I was wondering if I could ask you.” Then, he added as an afterthought, “Seeing as you already have modelling experience.”
Bittle laughed but his face flushed pink. “I don’t know if being the pamphlets they hand out to high school kids counts as experience. I didn’t even want to sign up for it in the first place. It was John’s idea.”
“John?” Jack’s heart did a weird flip at the prospect of Bittle already having a boyfriend.
“Johnson. The guy across the hall from you.”
“Wait, you know Johnson too?” Jack wondered if everyone but him was acquainted with Bittle.
“Yeah, he was the tour guide and coordinator person at my freshman orientation last semester. Anyways, it was his idea, and the only reason I agreed with it was because I didn’t think that they would actually pick me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because they generally pick photogenic people, first of all. And it’s not like I play on a team or have done anything important campus. I’m just… me.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.
The idea that Bittle thought he wasn’t extraordinary left Jack reeling. “I think,” Jack started after taking a measured breath, “That you’re already amazing the way you are.”
Bittle stared at him blankly before he broke out into giggles. “Okay, I am definitely still drunk. I should go now before…” He spluttered and stopped when Jack stood up from the bed and took a step closer towards him.
“Before what?”
“Before I do something reckless.”
“Like what?”
“Like kiss the captain of the hockey team.”
Jack stood in front of Bittle and studied his mussed, blond hair and wide, brown eyes. “Be reckless,” he dared.
Bittle moved first, launching himself upward at Jack. There was a brief moment of panic before Jack was running on instinct and a bit of adrenaline, and they both found their rhythm in the kiss. They were both breathing hard when they broke away.
“This is not quite how I imagined this,” Bittle admitted with a choked giggle that he was trying to smother.
Jack laughed. “How did you imagine it?”
“It usually starts out in the locker room.” Bittle laughed again and shook his head. “So, do you still want to take pictures of me or was that an excuse to…” he waved his hand vaguely.
“To kiss you in my bedroom?” Jack supplied helpfully.
“You know, I am not complaining at all.”
“I really do have a photography project that I could use some help with.”
“Sounds great. How about we start now?” Bittle quirked an eyebrow at him.
As much as he wanted to say yes, Jack knew needed to give both of them time to adjust to this turn of events. “How about tomorrow?” he suggested.
“Fine,” Bittle said resignedly. Jack kissed him again, but this time slower and deeper.
When Bittle finally left, Johnson opened his door from across the hall and poked his head out. Catching sight of Jack, he nodded approvingly and gave him a double thumbs up. Jack blushed. “Nothing really happened,” he said firmly.
Johnson grinned in reply. “No, it’s just starting, actually.”