Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All characters are owned by Ngozi Ukazu, the creator of the webcomic OMG Check, Please! I am not making any money from this.

Eric thanked his lucky stars that he could to attend the Providence Falconers' last game against the Las Vegas Aces. Since his own final hockey match with Samwell ended at a terrible 6-1 loss a couple of days ago, he wanted the distraction of Jack’s hockey game. The coaches told him that there wasn’t much he could’ve done as captain. He disagreed. Outside of practice, the Waffles avoided him, as they rarely hung out at the Haus, no matter how many delicious pies he baked specifically for them. The other players, besides the inhabitants of the Haus, also left him alone. That lack of team unity cost them the season. He should have asked the captains of the other Samwell sports teams for advice, but they were always so focused on either his relationship with Jack, or so put together while he felt like a mess and was too ashamed to ask for help. I should have swallowed my pride. I should have talked to them. 

As he wandered with Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann to the entrance of the stadium seats, he noticed a group of people ahead of him, going in the same direction as well. They looked… well, different, for a lack of a better word. There was a huge, scary-looking Latino covered with tattoos, his arm around a skinny, Asian-American with some silver in his hair. A short, black-clothed goth-looking Asian girl wandered with them, listening to a brown-haired, bespectacled female; while a brunette trailed behind, holding the hand of a contented-looking blonde, gazing upon his companions. Wait, that blonde guy looked familiar… Oh lord, that’s Kent Parson.

Kent Parson. Eric felt a frown automatically form on his face; he still couldn’t forget the horrible, spiteful words he overheard at that Epikegster, even though it seemed like forever ago. Parson is an abusive, lying jerk who doesn’t know when to quit, he thought vindictively. However, he also felt a small, niggling, guilty itch that refused to be soothed. If rumors were correct, he and Jack inadvertently outed Parson with their romantic kiss back at the Stanley Cup win; subsequently, Kent was forced to retire.

Well, Parson looked happy, and he had his hotshot charity. He probably started it for the publicity since he’s such an attention whore. Eric refused to feel bad about the whole situation. After all, Parson looks great now, and Jack and I are out, so all’s well that end’s well, right?

Bob, busy talking with Alicia, noticed Parson as well. “Kent! Kent!”, he called out, striding over to Parson.

The group of people stopped and turned towards Bob. Kent looked startled, before he visibly erased that happy grin on his face and wore a disinterested smile.

“Bob Zimmermann." Parson breathed in. "Hello, Bob,” he responded politely. He turned to the other people and said to them, “Why don’t you guys continue on to your seats and I’ll meet you there, okay?”

The big, tattooed guy looked at Bob dubiously and asked, “Are you sure? I can wait with you; in fact, I’d rather stay.”

The brown-haired girl responded, “Well, Kent, I can take Ed, Amy, and Tim to their seats…”

The goth girl, presumably Amy, answered, “Holy fuck, nope, nope, nope. Not gonna miss this shit. I’m gonna stay.”

Parson rolled his eyes and resignedly said, “Okay guys. I’ll see the rest of you at your seats.”

Meanwhile, Bob and Alicia looked somewhat confused with this exchange between everyone. Kent grimaced, before wearing that fake camera-ready smile and held his hand out to shake Bob’s hand. “Um, you probably want introductions. This is Amy and Jack. Guys, this is Bad Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, and… Batting? Bartle? I’m so sorry, I forgot your name,” as Parson fumbled.

Eric glared at him, livid. The jerk probably did that on purpose. Forget my name, I don’t think so. Then he smiled, showing his teeth, and said sweetly, “Oh no, honey, it’s Eric Bittle. I was so sure you’d remember it when we met at Samwell, and where you acted -- well, I’m sure you just had too much to drink and that was why you couldn’t hold your tongue, bless your heart.”

Parson was about to apologize, when Amy cut in with a smirk of her own. “Oh, you’re full of sugar and spite, aren’t you, little southern boy?” She added, facing Parson, “Kent, he’s the… other half of the pair that forcibly outed you without any fucking warning and ruined your career. It’s not a surprise that you’d forget his name though, since that’s his only claim to fame. Little shit,” as she murmured that last part under her breath.

“Amy,” both Parson and Jack said simultaneously. Jack continued, rubbing his free hand through his hair, “I apologize for her rudeness. Amy, that’s enough; go sit with Jenn and Tim.”

Parson just sighed, put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Please. We can talk afterwards.”

Amy, the rude bitch, just rolled her eyes and responded, “It was so nice meeting you all. Not. Thanks, you all, for keeping a bunch of fucking terrified gay teens a fucking secret. Assholes.” She flounced away.

What in heaven is she going on about?, Eric wondered. Oh well. She’s crazy, but what should I expect from someone who likes Parson?

Bob looked even more concerned and hesitantly asked, “Kent, what is she talking about?”

Parson sighed and looked at his Jack. Jack put his arm around him, and answered for Kent, “If you really want details, we should probably talk about this in a more private setting. For the short answer, Kent’s organization has been working hard to help gay teens that came out and inadvertently exposed themselves to dangerous situations. A lot of teens did come out because of Jack Zimmermann’s actions; and so KPF provides the resources to keep them safe, like where to go and what to do to protect themselves.”

Parson added softly, steadily looking Bob in the eye, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the two most extreme cases. I was informed that the families of the fatalities were paid handsomely by the NHL and an organization in Montreal for a rock-solid NDA.” He added even more quietly, “However, Bob, there will be more deaths cropping up, and eventually there’ll be too many to sweep under the rug. You need to help the kids before it reaches that point, not ignore and hide them. That will help Jack a lot more than paying people off.”

As Bob was starting to turn red, sputtering, “What the hell are you talking about? What the fuck is this, boy? This is all bullshit!” Eric looked at Parson, who looked… just sad. Sad and resigned.

Parson then looked at Alicia, who coolly looked at Parson throughout the whole conversation, as he spoke, “It was nice to see you again, Alicia. Bob. And Bittle; sorry for getting your name wrong.” He turned away to walk to the stadium with his friend keeping an arm around him.

As Alicia tried to calm Bob down, Eric looked at the retreating figures. What in heaven’s name is going on? Is Kent lying or exaggerating? If he isn’t, why didn’t Jack tell me any of this? Wait, does he even know? Oh, lord, what a mess.

The game viewing was a wash. The jumbotron kept focusing on Parson’s ugly mug, and the announcer repeatedly mentioned his stupid group. We know he’s formerly the captain of the Aces; we know about his stinking organization that he named after himself, the egotistic jerk. They annoyingly recited the hotline number that Parson’s foundation provided for gay teens, over and over, which was extremely stupid, since most of the audience were adults. The game itself was a waste of time, since it didn’t matter if either team won. The Falconers played badly, disorganized and chaotic, although the Aces seemed energized enough, and ended up winning 3-1. Bob was still upset at what Parson and his friend revealed; and Alicia looked like she wanted to be anywhere but at the game. Eric hesitantly smiled at Alicia and said, “It’s been an interesting evening, hasn’t it?” She rolled her eyes but smiled back. “Yes, I have to agree with that.”

“Eric,” she continued, in a more serious mien. “Please don’t mention anything Kent said to Jack. Jack’s already under a lot of stress and pressure, and this bit of news may bring him over the edge. Bob and I will take care of it, and everything will be okay,” she smiled more, looking at him seriously.

“But… Parson’s lying anyway, right?” he forcibly laughed. “So there’s nothing to say to Jack, right?”

“Yes,” she responded, seriously. “There is absolutely nothing to say to him, and I’m sure that will continue,” narrowing her eyes a little at Eric before smiling brilliantly and adding, “Game’s over! Let’s go to the private waiting room and meet up with Jack there!”

As she led them all through the corridor, Eric felt a chill. What in the world was all that about? But both Bad Bob and Alicia have always been so kind to me, so concerned about me, and Jack said they loved me like a son. Anyway, it can’t be true. Jack didn’t have any impact on any gay kids, so Parson must be lying. Lordy lord, I shouldn’t take anything out of Parson’s lying mouth seriously, he thought.

Jack eventually arrived. They waited for a while, Eric reading his tweets on his phone. Jack was doing press which took longer than expected. When he finally arrived, Jack was sullen and grumpy with everyone, as he usually was after a loss. It was a tense atmosphere as they walked out of the room and towards the parking lot.

Of course, they couldn’t leave without accidentally bumping into Parson again. (Oh this is ridiculous, this stadium is huge so what are the chances of seeing them?) This time, Parson was surrounded by some of the Aces as well as his friends, as they slowly walked in the hallway. “Parse, you’re our lucky charm!” “You bastard, you should’ve come to more of our games!” “Damn, Parser, you’re looking great! Is this your boyfriend?” As Eric and the Zimmermanns got closer, a couple of Parson’s friends noticed them and they all quieted.

Everyone was silent. However, when Jack gazed at Parson, and stared some more until he caught Parson’s eye, Jack looked… sad? Why would Parson make Jack sad? Eric pondered. “Hi, Kenny,” Jack said softly as he walked by, slowing down a little bit. Parson said nothing, looking blankly shocked at Jack’s greeting, ignoring Bob and Alicia. As they reached the end of the corridor, that skank of a girl yelled out, “So that’s the infamous Jack Zimmermann! Ruiner of careers! Unrepentant outer of queers choosing to be in the closet! Killer of baby gays! Fucking asshole of the year!”

The stunned silence was broken with Parson’s growl of “Amy. Fucking. Stop. Now.” His response started the cacophony of high fives from the other Aces, and he and the Zimmermanns walked as fast as they could to their car, trying to get away from the fading jeers.

Alicia and Bob decided to have an early night at their hotel room, and left Eric and Jack to find a restaurant for themselves. As Jack seemed even more irritable after bumping into Parson and his gang (Darn that Parson, it’s all his fault), they also decided to go back to their hotel and order room service. Jack could watch some History Channel show while eating chicken tenders, and Eric could check his Twitter and text the Frogs and Tadpoles at school. It was some time after Jack had settled in with his show and his food when he abruptly asked, “What did she mean by ‘killer of baby gays’?”

“What, Jack?” Eric said. He was in the midst of a fierce debate about the thousand cockroaches vs. the person in the attic argument. Apparently, Shitty asked the Tadpoles about this, and the debate Just. Would. Not. Die.

“That girl with Kenny, when we walked by them. She called me ‘killer of baby gays’. What did she mean by that?”

Eric put his phone down and sighed. He had promised Alicia that he wouldn’t mention anything to Jack about that odd conversation; and Parson could have been lying anyway. “Jack, honey, we bumped into them right before the game, and she’s just delusional. A rude, unpleasant person. She said a bunch of horrible things that were all lies, and she seems to be even more of an attention whore than Parson; so don’t you worry about what she said,” he responded, calmly, grabbing Jack’s hand and stroking it.

“But she didn’t lie about the other things,” Jack insisted.

“What?”

“She didn’t lie about the other things. I did accidentally out Kenny. I also heard the rumors that he was forced to retire because of that,” he responded.

Eric smiled and said, “But you’re not the asshole of the year, so she wasn’t completely truthful.” Putting Jack’s plate of cold chicken tenders aside, Eric straddled Jack’s lap and gently stroked his face between his hands. He continued, “She really is a dumb liar and she wasn’t right about everything. She’s probably exaggerating or something, just forget what she said,” and he swooped in to give Jack a kiss.

Well. That was distracting enough, and especially what happened afterwards, and so they didn’t talk any more about that awful girl and that jerk Parson.

Chapter Text

Eric busily unpacked his things after spending a nice week with Jack over Spring Break. The vacation was fun overall, once Jack and he forgot about that unfortunate incident with Kent Parson at the stadium. Sure, Jack was grouchy about the match, and acted a tiny bit more like he did when Eric was a freshman throughout the week, but it was understandable. Jack had such a lousy season, with the more homophobic teammates requesting trades (We didn’t need them anyway!), and the other teams seeing Jack as even more of a target (Darn homophobic players, why won’t the refs do anything about the upped attacks?). Plus, the Falconers really couldn’t play very well as the team was practically half new with all the trades, and so there were more losses than anticipated. Still, Eric was sure that positive that Jack’s next season would be better, just like last year. This was just all an adjustment period. Once he started winning again, Jack would be right as rain and be the sweet man he was so in love with.

As for that jerk Parson… No, I will not google anything. That would prove that I may believe him a little bit. I need a distraction… Baking. I can make pie for my Frogs and the Tadpoles. Yes. That’s my plan!

As Eric took the pecan pie out of the oven and slipped in a pan of brownies, ready to be baked, Ollie and Wicks as well as his Frogs came out of the woodwork, enticed by the aroma wafting throughout the house. “Bitty, this all smells so good!”, enthused Chowder. “Let me grab a slice,” Wicks said while he dug around the cabinets to grab a fork and a plate.

“Nope, nope, y’all will have to wait for it to cool down. I have some blueberry muffins ready though, you can eat those right now,” Eric trilled as he started the filling for an apple pie. “What did y’all do over Spring Break? I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly; I needed to fly out to Las Vegas for Jack’s game, so I didn’t have time after my class to chat.”

As Wicks and Ollie talked about an internship they did in Boston, Chowder became quiet, grabbing his phone and things, trying to leave unobtrusively. Dex, however, had the subtlety of an elephant and interrupted Ollie’s rant of being an unpaid intern with, “Hey Chris, where are you going?”

As all eyes in the room looked at Chowder, he hemmed and hawed before blurting out, “Um, I gotta meet with someone! Um, yeah, Whiskey! I told him I’d meet up with him right now!” before turning around and running smack dab into said person.

“Woah, woah, Chris! I thought we agreed to meet here?” asked Whiskey, grabbing Chowder’s arms to keep him upright.

“Oh hi, Connor! Um, nope, thought we were going to meet at your room with Adam?” answered Chowder, turning red.

“Uh, Adam’s not in yet. He’s still on his flight from Los Angeles; but you knew that, right?” Whiskey gave Chowder a strange look, letting go of Chris and waving to the room, “Hi everyone.”

“So Chris, how was your internship with that Parson charity?” he asked, grabbing a muffin and a seat. “Did you meet Kent Parson? I saw the photos you posted of the Sharks, too. What happened last week?” Whiskey added, grilling Chowder.

“Um, so, yeah!” Chowder, oddly enough, guiltily glanced at Eric before continuing, “I got an internship with the Kent Parson Foundation for Spring Break, and it was great! They needed someone to help with the launch of a new homeless LGBT+ teen and young adult shelter in the Silicon Valley, and since I grew up in the area, I helped with their outreach program. Parse also got the Sharks involved for publicity, and I actually worked with some of them! I also played a lot of hockey with Parser, too…”

“Wait, you keep calling him by his nicknames. Are you two bros now?” interjected Nursey incredulously.

“Oh! Yeah Derek! He is so, so nice! He was able to get me to play with a gay hockey team that he’s joined, and he is so, so good! He gave me tips on how to goalie better, and even roped some of the Sharks into playing a friendly match with us. Oh my gosh, they are all so good. I can’t believe these players aren’t in the NHL.”

“Wait, Chowder, the Sharks are in the NHL,” Dex retorted.

“No, no, Dex, I mean the gay team! They call themselves the San Francisco Hustlers, and they are ‘swawesome! I’ll show you a Youtube video of one of their games. I think I can get a video of the match we did with the Sharks, too. The thing is, we almost won! It was such a close game, 2-1! And Martin Jones, the Sharks goalie, even said that I could be good enough to play for the NHL! And I met a high schooler, his name’s Benjy, who also plays with the Hustlers, and he got accepted to Samwell and he’s going to be here next year on a hockey scholarship, and he’s so, so, good, too! And Parse said that I could work for KPF again, over the summer. And if I wanted to work for them full-time after college if I don’t get picked up by the NHL, he’d make sure to keep a spot open for me!” he gushed.

“Wait, what’s ‘KPF’?” asked Ollie.

“Oh, we call the organization ‘KPF’, it’s easier to say than ‘the Kent Parson Foundation’. Plus, I think it makes Parser feel all awkward and stuff if we say the full name. He seems pretty embarrassed that it’s been named after him,” explained Chowder.

“Well, he always thrived for attention so it’s not a surprise he named the group after himself,” muttered Eric, irritated at how Chowder, his own sweet smol summer child, was taken in by such a conniving jerk.

It became awkwardly quiet as Eric realized the others heard his snide comment. Finally, Whiskey calmly stated, “No, Bittle, it was a good move that he named the organization with his name. He wants instant name recognition, and everyone’s heard of him. It’s basic marketing. It really was a very savvy business and PR decision.”

Chowder added in, “I know you don’t like him, so I didn’t want to tell you about it.” When Eric tried to interrupt with, “Oh no, Chowder, you can tell me anything!”, Chris continued, “But Bitty, he’s doing so much good right now. He’s helping so many teens.”

As he spoke, Chowder’s cheerful expression turned solemnly grave. “I don’t know why it’s not in the news, but a lot of teens came out because of Jack. Some of them got kicked out of their houses. Benjy’s one of them, and if it weren’t for Parser’s help, he would’ve ended up dropping out of high school and barely surviving. He didn’t have any money and he was literally starving,” he shivered. “I also met other kids at the shelter, and their stories are pretty similar. If it weren’t for KPF, they would’ve – well, they were in really, really bad situations before KPF helped them.”

Chowder looked at Whiskey as he said, “But I really do need to go. Connor, I need to refrigerate these custard buns before they spoil so we should head out, anyway,” as he gestured toward a plastic bag next to his backpack.

Wicks cut in, “Hey, Chowder? Uh, we have a fridge here,” stating the obvious.

Chowder sighed. Then he murmured, “Um, the last time I put any of my Chinese snacks and buns in the fridge, they, uh, got tossed pretty much after I put them in.” Chris smiled as he added, “But that’s fine, Whiskey has a mini-fridge in his room, and his roommate and I put our food from home in there and it all works out.”

Whiskey added, “And I get to eat some of them, so I don’t mind at all,” he smirked, and as they left, they both yelled out “Bye!” and “See you later!” walking out of the kitchen.

Again, there was a strange silence after they heard the front door bang shut, before Dex said, “Wait, was it those moon cake things a while ago? For Chinese New Year that his parents overnighted to him? He let us taste them, and they were so good. Who would throw them away?”

“I remember them! They had egg yolk in them, but they were ‘swawesome! Different, but I enjoyed them,” added Ollie.

“Maybe it was Ransom or Holster who threw them away? Or someone else who graduated?” queried Wicks. Nursey said nothing, just looking at Eric with narrowed eyes before he laughed and retorted back, “Well, it’s all cool, now. Got some more muffins, Bitty?”

Eric, with a start, remembered them. They were in an odd-looking red metal tin, and when he saw them, he took one of the pastries and broke it apart. He saw the egg inside, wrinkled his nose, concluding they were a Haus experiment gone wrong. He threw the rest of the contents away before tossing the tin in the recycling bin. He recalled that he needed more room in the fridge for his butter anyway and forgot to tell anyone what he did. I owe Chowder an apology, he thought. As for Chowder’s reluctance to mention Parson around him… I owe Chowder a couple of apologies, he sighed again.

And what if Parson was right? Chowder wouldn’t lie. And… and if our kiss inspired people to come out, why haven’t we heard of this before?

Eric stood in his kitchen, woolgathering as the other people chatted and chirped each other. If I were a teenager, lonely and scared in Madison, and a great NHL player came out after winning the Stanley Cup, and told everyone to stop being afraid and everyone could play hockey, would I have been inspired enough to come out? If I did, how would Mama and Coach have reacted? Would they have kicked me out of the house?

“Hey, Bitty! The timer’s beeping. Do you have something else in the oven?” interrupted Wicks from his thoughts.

“Oh my goodness! Yes! Silly me, getting lost in my daydreams!” He turned the timer off and grabbed oven mitts to take out the brownies.

Chapter Text

After a heart-to-heart talk with Chowder a couple of days later, Eric felt that things were better with his smol, precious son and himself. While Chowder said he’ll try not to bring Parson up on his own, he’ll still talk about him and his experiences if other people mention KPF. Chowder also promised Eric that he would keep and share some of his Chinese dishes in the Haus fridge.

“After all, Chowder, honey, I’d love to know more about your culture!”, he gushed, as they talked about the refrigerator issue.

Nursey, waiting for Chowder near the kitchen entrance, gave Eric an odd look at that comment, as Bitty gazed at Chowder who looked… irritated?... before he started beaming and babbling off thanks, standing up to leave for a class that both Chowder and Nursey were taking together.

He didn’t have the opportunity to ask Jack about the homeless teens that Chowder mentioned. Jack was just so withdrawn and terse, as usual. Also, Eric remembered his promise to Alicia. He knew Jack still had some anxiety attacks. He didn’t want to inadvertently increase them because of this bombshell. If it were true. Parson fibs so much… he thought, conflicted.

Anyway, I don’t even know how to broach the subject with Jack. And – and if Chowder’s right, then I’m also at fault. After all, I pushed Jack into kissing me at the Cup. And I’ve done absolutely nothing for the LGBT+ crowd. He sighed.

He still didn’t google anything online. Parson is not very trustworthy. It could be that he misled Chris.

However, a minute part of his brain whispered another thought.

I just don’t want to know the truth.

I’m a coward.

About a week later, as Eric procrastinated from his thesis by baking chocolate chip cookies, Ford, Dex, Ollie, and Wicks joined him in the kitchen and gobbled the molten-hot treats as Eric transferred them to the cooling rack.

“So Bitty, what are you going to do after you graduate?” asked Ollie through a mouthful of cookie.

“Um, I’ll be moving to Providence and living with Jack,” responded Eric, slowly. “I thought that was pretty obvious?” he added.

“Well yeah, we all know that. But what are you going to do? What kind of job are you getting?” Ford asked.

“Oh! I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far, yet. Maybe I’ll find a bakery to work? Or make more of my Youtube videos and live off that income?” Eric gradually answered.

Dex replied sagely, “It must be nice, having a rich boyfriend who’ll take care of everything, so you won’t have to worry about money.” He shoved another cookie in his mouth.

“William Poindexter! What are you implying? Of course I won’t be living off of Jack! He’s not – he’s not my sugar daddy or anything!” Eric exploded, offended.

Dex swallowed his mouthful, and replied calmly, “But I’m right. Even I’m starting to think of what I can do after I graduate, and I’m only a junior. I need to line up an internship or a job this summer that can help me land a permanent gig after college, or at the very least, make my resume look better. I’m going to have to make a lot of money, because I have a shitload of student loans. Plus, I will not move back to Maine. No way, no how. I need a real job after school.”

Dex grabbed another cookie and shoved it in his mouth, and added, “I’m not saying that having a millionaire boyfriend is bad; it’s not, really, and I’m pretty envious of you. You don’t have to worry about money like the rest of us have to.”

Ollie added, “Yeah, you really are lucky, Bitty. That internship I did over Spring Break really sucked, and I’ve been contacting Samwell alumni to see they can help me get a job. Unless you have an ‘in’ with them, most places won’t hire a fresh college graduate with very little or no experience; or if they do, it’s either an unpaid internship or the pay is ridiculously low. So yeah, you’re super lucky you have someone who’ll take care of you.”

Eric blustered, “But I don’t! I don’t! I don’t expect Jack to take financial care of me! We’re not even married, oh my lord!”

Wicks asked, “But you’ll be staying with him at that swanky apartment, right? Are you going to have to pay rent? How about food? Or utilities? Jack will probably take care of all of that; you’ll only have to worry about your spending money, or student loans if you have them. Right?”

Ford added, “They do have a point, Bitty.”

Eric asked, resignedly, “Well, what about you, Wicks? What are you going to be doing?”

Wicks smiled from ear-to-ear and gushed, “Chowder hooked me up with KPF! Even though I didn’t talk to Kent Parson himself, I talked with his Las Vegas staff! They just emailed back today that they have an opening that I can interview for in a couple of weeks. They really like my resume and the work I did over Easter at that crappy internship. Chris’ good word also helped a lot.”

“’Swasome!” “Cool!” “Hey, can you hook me up if they hire you?” As Ford, Dex and Ollie continued to hound Wicks with questions and congratulatory words, Eric sighed.

As much as Eric wanted to deny it, they were right in that Jack would pay for everything. He also wasn’t stressed out like Wicks and Ollie about what sort of job he’d have after graduation; Jack would take care of it all, so he didn’t have to worry about his room and board.

Honestly, the financial disparity between Jack and him bothered him a lot. He not only did he feel like a charity case, he also felt that he wasn’t contributing enough in our relationship, especially since Jack took on all the financial burdens. They could only be more… equal if he baked a lot for Jack, or smoothed ruffled feelings amongst his Falconers teammates by offering tasty treats, or cooked meals for Jack, or cleaned up the apartment when he was there, or offered massages or lent an ear to Jack’s venting, or made his apartment more cozy and soothing with photos or throw rugs or what not so that Jack would feel better after a game loss.

Jack does so much for me, and never complains about paying for everything, plus he happily gives me money for all the cookware and butter. I need to do so much to make it up to him, he thought. Despite his thoughts, the whole money business bothered him, like a little splinter burrowed in his skin.

Chapter Text

“And that, Jack, is how I got to get Chowder to put some of his Chinese food in the fridge. Can you believe it, he was using Whiskey’s mini dorm fridge! Poor child, what will I do with that son of mine?” rambled Eric, fondly, lying on his bed, chatting away on his phone.

“Mm,” grunted Jack. Eric mentally rolled his eyes; Jack was in his crabby hockey robot mode. He’s been like that so much for the past year. It’s getting… old and tiring, Bitty thought before he stopped those negative musings.

“So, honey, how are you doing? Anything good happen, sugar?” he asked, sweetly.

“No.” Silence.

“How was the locker clean-out?” Eric knew he had to prod Jack, gently, to get any answers that were more than monosyllabic.

“Fine.”

“Have you talked with Tater? How is he? Is he staying in Providence over the summer?” continued Eric.

“No. He doesn’t talk to me much anymore. I don’t know what he’s doing over the summer,” Jack mechanically answered.

“Jack, why not? I thought you two were both such good friends,” worried Eric. “Did he like that blueberry pie I made him last time? Does he need more jam? Maybe you can call him and use me as an excuse to get in touch with him?”

“He got the pie, I made sure of that. He said thanks. If you want me to, I’ll text him, but not right now; I’m in the middle of watching tape,” monotoned Jack.

But the season’s over, Jack; there’s no need to watch tape, Eric despaired. “Okay, honey, I’ll make sure to remind you when I see you next time,” soothed Eric.

Silence.

Eric mentally sighed and started filling the quiet with cheerful babble. “So, I was talking to Ford, Dex, Ollie, and Wicks, and we were talking about jobs after graduation! Dex is already looking for internships for a, how did he word it, ‘real job after college’, and he’s not even going to graduate this year! Can you believe that? Talk about jumping the gun. Anyway, Ollie’s all worried because his spring internship didn’t work out, but Wicks is all happy since he’s most likely working for KPF after gradua –"

“Wait,” Jack interrupted. “Wicks is going to work for the Kent Parson Foundation?”

Shoot. Didn’t mean to mention Parson, Eric berating himself mentally. “Oh yes, honey, Wicks got an ‘in’ somehow with Parson’s group, and he said they’ll be interviewing him soon for an opening! Isn’t that great? I know how much Wicks was worried about getting a job after sch…”

Again Jack interrupted with, “Who was Wicks’ ‘in’?”

At least Jack got out of his “hockey robot” mode, Eric sarcastically thought. “Oh sugar, Chowder worked at an internship with KPF over Spring Break. I guess the group opened a new shelter in the same place that Chowder’s family lives. Since Chowder knows that area, he was able to help them get along with the local groups? Or something like that, I don’t really know, I wasn’t paying much attention to the details. Anyway, Chowder apparently impressed Parson enough so that when Wicks put in his application at KPF, Chris mentioned it to Parson, who got Wicks’ resume to move to the top of the pile, which got Wicks an interview. Or something. Who knows what that Parson is thinking. Or doing.”

Eric stopped to take a breath when he realized, “Oh my lord, do you think he’s doing this to somehow get back with you? Or do you think he’s using Chowder to get an ‘in’ with you? Oh, that lying, arrogant, egotistical jerk! I swear, I can’t believe…”

And yet again, Jack interrupted Eric, “No, Bittle, he’s not. That’s not fair for you to say.” Jack sounded peeved at him.

“Jack, honey, what do you mean?” he asked, a bit timidly; Jack rarely got irritated at Eric directly.

This time Jack sighed. “Bittle, I don’t know what you’ve heard in the news, but even I’m aware of how Kent’s been helping the NHL rebuild their LGBT+ positive reputation. I don’t know why Kenny’s doing this, but he’s placed himself to in the public as the league’s Token Gay Hockey Player, which relieves me of that burden. Since I never wanted that role in the first place, Kent’s taken it. He’s doing all the work and heavy PR that comes with that. Have you seen all the interviews and the endorsements he’s already done? His group’s airing so many commercials to advertise his hotline. He’s always in the news; and every time he’s in the public eye, he’s advocating, and working his ass off, to put gay rights, especially teen gay rights, in the forefront right now.”

After a pause, Eric replied quietly, “Sweetheart, I know you feel that you owe Parson something because he had to retire early, but you don’t owe him anything. We both know that he’s getting a lot out of being the center of attention. I’m sure he’s also making a ton of money, and becoming even more famous, now that he’s the gay hockey ‘It’ boy.”

Jack growled with frustration. He growled at Eric. “Bittle. You don’t know Kenny. You don’t know him at all. You only know of him from that one conversation that you overheard at Epikegster. I’ve said a lot of fucked-up things to him at other times that were even more vicious. And unlike me, he took the time to apologize afterwards. He apologized for what he said at that party and deleted my number so that he'd leave me alone. And he has. Other than a package of my stuff that he sent to Montreal, he’s left me alone. Bittle, you have no idea what he’s like, and that shit you’re spouting about him isn’t fair. It’s not fair.”

What the hell? He’s defending that jerk? Eric screamed internally. “Okay, Jack, then tell me. How is this not fair? Why don’t you tell me? I’d really like to know,” he demanded.

Again, Jack was still before he answered. “Bittle. We did hook up in the Q. I’ve told you that before. But -- we were more than fuck-buddies. I don’t really remember that time very well. I was abusing anti-anxiety meds with a lot of alcohol, and they messed with my memory. He let me know, when he apologized, that after I once complained about being left behind, he swore to never abandon me. Over the years, Kenny tried to keep that vow. The problem is that I don’t goddamn remember any of that night. Otherwise I would have freed him from that oath a long time ago.”

Eric replied snidely, “Well, it looks like he couldn’t even keep that promise, since he seems to have abandoned you anyway. My lord, he’s probably lying about that as well.”

Again, silence. As it stretched to minutes, Eric asked, “Jack? Jack, are you there?”

He replied quietly, woodenly, “If you really believe that, then… Crisse. Bits, he was trying to be available for me for six years before he finally gave up. He dealt with a lot of shit for me those six years, so he could be there if I ever needed anyone.”

Jack’s voice heated up, becoming more animated. “Did you know that he was the one who found me when I OD’ed? He saved my life, calling Emergency and doing CPR on me, but was kicked out of my hospital room by Maman and Papa because they blamed him for my overdose. No one bothered to tell him that I survived, so he only found out that I was alive from Yahoo News. Then I ghosted him, and my parents had to tell him that we were done because I didn’t want to talk to him. No, Eric, he never abandoned me. Despite everyone, even myself, pushing him away, he was always there for me until after Epikegster.”

Eric responded gently, “Okay Jack, you’re right” although he thought, Parson’s still an arrogant jerk, and the bottom line is that he ended up breaking his promise if he’s not lying about that.

He continued, “Jack, I do want to know one thing: why did you lie to me about your relationship with him?”

Another silence, and then Jack replied, “I was ashamed of how I treated Kenny. And I didn’t want you to know that you weren’t the first man I fell in love with.” After breathing in, Jack continued, “I need to go. I’ll call you in a couple of days,” and before Eric could respond, Jack hung up the phone.

“Fucking Kent Parson. Fucking Saint Kent Parson,” growled Eric, as he flung his phone onto his pillow. And Christ, I wasn’t even able to bring up the whole homeless teen issue to Jack. Fuck. Fuck Parson and his fucking charity. As he sat there, seething, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jack lied about anything else. And his stomach hurt, when he realized that while Jack was his first love, he was not Jack’s.

Chapter Text

“I got the job, I got the job!” sang Wicks as Eric, Chowder, Nursey, and Dex sat in the kitchen. It was mid-April, and Eric finally finished the rest of his thesis and submitted it to the board after his presentation. He was waiting to see if he passed, which he figured he did; and then he was going to move to Providence directly after graduation. Dex was again lamenting about his summer prospects, as it appeared that a couple of internships in Boston he applied for fell through, and he didn’t know what to do next.

“Congrats, Wicks! It’s with Vegas’ KPF branch, right?” beamed Chowder.

“’Swawesome! Could you get me an internship there?” begged Dex.

“Woot, woot, it’s time for a Kegster! I got the job! ‘Swawesome! I’m employed!” raved a euphoric Wicks. “Shit, gotta tell Ollie and let him know! Yes! I got the job!” as Wicks danced his way to his attic room.

“Wait, wait!” Dex hollered. “Can you get me an internship there?” he cried, plaintively.

“Dude, chill,” Nursey responded.

“Dex, hold up! I’m telling you that you’d probably do better at a high-tech company, rather than KPF! Seriously, let me get in touch with some of my high school friends in that area and see if they know anything!” yelled Chowder.

Dex sat back down, looking at Chowder. “Seriously, you’d do that for me?” he asked.

“Yep, and you can even stay in our guest room. Don’t worry, the Valley’s doing really well right now, so there’s something there for you, I bet”, responded Chowder, enthusiastically.

Nursey looked at Eric and casually mentioned, “So Bitty, talking about opportunities, I was chatting with a friend from Andover, and he mentioned an internship that made me think of you.”

Eric lifted his eyebrow and said, “But you know that I’m going to be moving in with Jack in Providence, right?”

Nursey replied, “Yep. I thought of you anyway. My friend’s dad works at Food Network, and they need an intern who can be a gopher, as well as test recipes that they post online. If the internship works out, they’ll eventually hire you as a full-time employee. It sounds perfect for your skills, and that’s why I thought of you.”

Chowder butted in, “Wow, that job was created for you, Bitty!”

Eric asked wearily, “All right, but what’s the catch? There’s gotta be one.”

Nursey sighed, “Well, it’s in New York City, so you’d have to move there. I know, I know,” as Eric tried to interrupt, “You’re going to move to Providence to be with Jack, so I know you probably won’t apply. Still, I thought I’d throw it out to you, since it sounds like your dream job. Just think about it. Think about it,” again stopping Eric from interrupting. “Give me an answer by graduation, so I can let my friend know.”

As Nursey got up to leave the kitchen, he asked Eric, “If Jack were traded to another location far away from here, he’d expect you to follow him, right, and leave everyone and everything behind? Even if you have a good job and good friends? Are you just going to keep Jack the center of your life and ignore everyone and everything else? If you’re cool with that, then more power to you. Anyway, gotta go set up my own interviews for this summer,” he winked at Dex and walked away.

“Wait, Derek, where are you applying to?” asked Dex, standing up and following Nursey.

As their voices grew fainter, Eric looked at Chowder, and waited for his input. At first, Chris stared hard at the table, before looking up and stating, “Derek’s right, Eric. I’m so, so happy that you and Jack are together. You two seem so joyful and in love. But Bitty, it looks like you’re giving up your life for his. You’re giving up your independence – financial and emotional and mental – and depending on him to fulfill all those needs. That’s not healthy, Eric. And… I hate to mention it, but if you and Jack break up, what will happen to you? He’s your first love, and I hope he’s your forever love, but you just don’t know what will happen and how much people and relationships can change. Believe me, I know.” Chowder looked back down at the table, scowling at it.

In the growing silence, Eric could feel his face turning red. Fury, creeping from his stomach to his lungs to his throat spewed out as he spat, “Well, whatever happens will happen. I’ll be fine, bless your heart for worrying so!” How dare he say that! We will love each other forever! And I won’t depend on just Jack for everything when I move in with him! Chowder knows nothing. He’s a smol, immature child. A baby. He’s just jealous of what I have with Jack. As Eric stomped back to his room, he ignored Chowder’s call of “Bitty! Come back, I’m sorry!”

As he looked through Twitter and responded to new comments on his latest vlog, he couldn’t help but think of what Nursey and Chowder said. He loved Jack so, so, much. And yet, they hadn’t really been talking with each other recently. They both ignored the spat over Kent Parson, and he'd been so busy with his thesis that he didn't call Jack as much.

Truthfully, they hadn’t really talk-talked since Jack’s season started. Jack had reverted back to his Hockey Robot mode and didn’t seem to care if Eric was in the room, or talked to him on the phone, or baked him his favorite maple-crusted apple pie, or kept his apartment clean. The few times that Jack showed initiative in talking would end up in arguments; or rather, Jack would spit out some vitriol and Eric would try to soothe his temper and give him sweet words and kisses and apologies. And yet, Eric knew that when Jack would start winning in hockey again, he would be that sweet, wonderful man that Bittle adored so much last year and in France. But was it worth waiting, until then, for Jack?

Jack is his first love. They’re going to have their happy ending.

But you’re not Jack’s first love, a horrible thought whispered.

Chapter Text

Eric texted Lardo later that night. He hadn’t heard from her for a long time – not since Christmas – but he didn’t know who else to talk with about his tumultuous thoughts. As he waited for her to respond, he absentmindedly googled “Providence Bakeries” to see if he could get a job in the food industry. Lord, all this job talking is getting me to look for one, too, he sighed. When Lardo texted back, he asked if he could call her. The phone rang a minute later.

“Bits! It’s great to hear from you! What’s up?” she happily said.

“Hi, Lardo! I just wanted to see how you’re doing, and what you’re up to. How are things going with you?” cheerily asked Eric.

“Oh, I’m getting ready to move to New York. Boston isn’t a very good place for budding artists, so I hooked up with friend who has connections to a gallery there. While I’m not good enough yet for showings, I’ll be able to work there, and connect with established artists, so it’s a great opportunity,” Lardo enthused.

 "Congratulations!" he gushed. Then he stopped as he realized, “Well, wait. What about Shitty? Is he okay with you moving away from him?”

He heard Lardo breathe in before she gently said, “Bits, Shitty and I broke up around New Year’s. The distance wasn’t working out, and we don't have much in common anymore. We’re still friends, and we’re both cool with each other, but last thing I heard is that he’s involved with another Harvard law student, and my girlfriend will be moving with me to New York.”

“Oh! You’re queer?” squeaked Eric. And Shitty and Lardo broke up? We really haven't talked in a while.

“Pan,” laughed Lardo. “Anyway, Bitty, I’m sure there’s another reason why you called. Seriously, what’s up?”

“Um, I was talking with Chowder, and he pointed out how much people can change after college. Is that true? I mean, obviously you and Shitty changed enough that you two aren't together anymore. But is that the same with everyone?”

“Weellll,” Lardo drew out the word as she was thinking, “I can only really talk about Shitty and me, and not anyone else.”

“Okay, then can you tell me about what happened with the two of you? I thought you guys were going to be together forever!” Eric exclaimed.

“Sure. The short answer is this: after Samwell, we drifted apart. After Shitty adjusted to Harvard, he found a great bunch of law school friends that are just as passionate about changing the world as he is. As for me -- in Boston, I've immersed myself in the art scene. In fact, the only Samwell people I see regularly now are my art buddies that you never met since they aren’t into hockey. It makes sense, since we all share the same passion.”

“Wait, what about Ransom and Holster? Aren’t y’all still friends?” interrupted Eric.

Lardo again breathed before answering, “Truthfully, I haven’t talked with them since Thanksgiving. We really don’t have much to talk about besides Samwell and hockey. They don’t really care about art, which is totally cool; and I’m not into their high-tech jobs. We don’t have anything in common anymore. While I’ll always love them for the past we shared together, and if they need me, I’ll be there.  We’ve just grown apart since we don’t really have anything to say and we have our own different set of friends.”

After another silence, Eric said in a quieter voice, “So after college, we’ll all end up drifting apart? That’s kind of sad.”

Lardo slowly answered, “Well, I don’t want to lie and say ‘no, we’ll all still be close with each other’, because that’s not really true.”

She breathed out. “Bits, after college, we’ll keep making choices that are best for ourselves and grow and change because of them. It sucks, partly, because when we grow and change, we may outgrow or want different things from the people we love and were close with before; so yes, some people will drift apart.”

She added, as Eric’s first tears started trailing down his cheeks, “On a good note, sometimes your changes and choices give you opportunities to become closer to people you weren’t friends with before, or your close friends and loves also change in the same way and you become even closer to them. That’s what happened to me, as some of my good friends now are people I didn’t really know at Samwell, and a couple of my closer art acquaintances from my college days are now my best friends.”

“And anyway,” she wrapped up, “Do you want to remain the same all the time while everyone else around you change and may outgrow you? That’s an impossibility, anyway, because a person can’t stay stagnant, whether they want to or not.”

“But I don’t want to lose any friends. I love my friends. I love you, so doesn’t that count?” Eric despaired.

Lardo kindly replied, “And I love you, too, Bits. But let’s face it, we’ve drifted apart after I graduated. We haven’t talked for the past few months or so, and we don’t really know what’s going on with each other’s lives. I still want to be there for you, and I will. We were really close in the past, and maybe if we both make the effort to stay in touch, we’ll be able to grow closer again.”

“Thanks, I’ll try harder to text you more,” Bitty near-whispered.

“Me too,” she responded.

After she cleared her voice, Lardo said, “Honestly, Bits, I was terrified when I graduated from Samwell. People kept telling me that college will be the best time of my life, but if that’s true, then what the hell about the time after? Thankfully, I’ve found that they was wrong. Don’t misunderstand me; I love Samwell and grew and learned a lot while I was a student. On the other hand, I’m so thankful I’m done with college. Sure, there are things that’re fucking scary now, like having to adult without having a safety net. But still, I would never choose to go back. That period of me is done, and I’m even happier, and hopefully smarter, than I was even a year ago. Does that help?”

Eric murmured, “But what about you and Shitty? Aren’t you sad that you guys broke up?”

She answered thoughtfully, “Well, it was inevitable. And yeah, it did hurt when we ended it, even though it was a mutual decision. If I had decided to move to Cambridge to be closer to him, instead of moving to Boston right after graduation, that would've meant me choosing our relationship over my dreams for an art career. I'm betting that if I did choose him, then yeah, we would still be together today. And maybe I would’ve been as happy as I am now. But sure as shit, I would have grown to resent him, even if it were my own decision to give up my passion for our relationship. And that would have been worse. Right now, I still love him and always will, and if the timing's right for the both of us in the future, then maybe we'll even get back together. But if I had chosen to give up my dreams for him after I graduated, I can guarantee that I would have hated Shitty, which honestly makes me sad to think about.”

As Eric blew out a shuddered breath, he asked, “What about me? Everyone, even some of my Frogs, are talking about life after college, and what jobs they can get, and how they’re moving on without hockey and without Samwell. Without me. They think I’m stupid for just planning on moving in with Jack, and not doing anything else other than taking care of him.”

Lardo sighed gustily. “Bitty. I don’t really know what’s going on with you and Jack. I don’t really feel like I can say anything about your relationship. With all that, is there anything else you want to do? What about your dreams, your goals? It’s great that you want to be there for Jack, and I know how much you love him. And it’s fine, really, that you don’t know what you want to do right now. But while you’re in Providence, will you be able to have the space to figure out what you yourself want, outside of Jack? Will he help you find your path?”

“Truthfully,” she continued, “I don’t really think there’s anything wrong with moving in with Jack, as long as you have the opportunity to find out what you want. If it ends up that your goal to focus on Jack and his hockey, there’s no shame in that. There are plenty of people out there whose personal dreams are their partners’ careers, and they seem happy and satisfied. If you are truly content with that decision, after making it from a lot of exploring and soul-searching, no one can judge that.”

Eric sniffed and wiped his tears with his shirt sleeves, and said, “I hear a ‘but’, Lardo.”

He could hear her smile as she replied, “’But’, as you’re correct, if you’re going to move in with Jack because you’re afraid of losing him, or afraid of the future, or hell, afraid of anything, without giving yourself the space to really decide what you want in life, then I can guarantee that in a couple of years, five years, maybe even as long as ten or twenty years, you’ll hate him. If you’re fine with that, then no one can really blame you for your choices.”

Eric kept weeping as he broke the silence that followed Lardo’s words when he finally whispered, “Nursey told me about an intern position at the Food Network that’s perfect for me, but it’s in New York, and I’d have to live there, away from Jack.”

Lardo said gently, “And you discovered that that’s the next step you want very much. And you’re afraid, because it’s something that you really want but it doesn’t involve Jack.”

“Eric sobbed, “Yeah. Yeah, I really want the position. But I love Jack. I really love him. So I don’t know what to do, Lardo. I really don’t know what to do.”

Chapter Text

The day after his talk with Lardo, Eric had brownies cooling on the rack, and was in the middle of making a chocolate pecan pie. It’s her favorite, and she helped me so much last night. I’ll send it to her later today. Humming to the song playing through his phone speakers, he felt lighter, better than I had felt for a while now.

After Lardo calmed Eric down from his hysterical crying, she helped him make a tentative list of what he should do. (1. Talk to Jack.  2. Apply to the internship now; I may not even be able to get it.  3. Talk to Jack.  4. If I get the job, see if we want to continue a long-distance relationship; and if we do, figure out how to make it work for us.  5. Talk to Jack. And finally, 6. Talk to Jack.) However, even though he promised to talk to Jack before he applied, he figured that he’d skip that step. If he didn’t get the internship, then he’ll proceed to move to Providence, and it won’t really be an issue to work out.

Oh, I hear Nursey and Chowder and Whiskey in the living room. I can get the Food Network contact info after I pop this pie in the oven, he thought, delightedly. And I owe Chowder another apology. Poor sweet boy. He’s been having a hard time because of me.

After he set the timer for the pie, he wandered into the room with the other Frogs (and one Tadpole). He was surprised that they were all eating some weird, white blobs on the coffee table.

“Oh my gosh, Connor, please thank Adam for these. They are so good!” exclaimed Chowder.

“Yeah, I used to get them from a small Korean bakery in New York. I miss ‘em; thank your roommate for sharing them with us,” enthusiastically raved Nursey.

“How are they still so fresh? Did his family overnight them all the way from Los Angeles?” asked Chowder.

“Yep, Adam’s really stressed out right now with finals and all, so his crazy aunt decided to make him a huge care package of all the stuff he likes but can’t get here,” answered Whiskey, genially. “She really went nuts. This is just a small portion of what she sent. There’s no way he’ll be able to eat everything.”

“Um, guys? Hi, what’s up?” interrupted Eric, unsure.

“Oh hi, Bitty! We thought you were still baking!” answered Chowder, being his cheerful self.

“Oh! I’m about done, the pie’s in the oven right now,” said Eric. “Um, what are those?” he asked, pointing to the white blobs.

“Oh, my roommate got some Korean food sent to him from his family, and he gave us these,” answered Whiskey, genially. “They’re basically rice cakes. These ones have dried pumpkin and sweet red beans. Did you want to try a piece?”

Eric thought, They look and sound nasty, but I did promise Chowder that I would try his food. Well, this isn’t Chowder’s, but it’s Asian so it’s close enough.

As he took a small bite, he was overwhelmed with the dryness and the lack of sweetness he was used to. These are really gross, he thought, as he tried to swallow it down. He smiled weakly, “Oh, they’re not my thing. Thanks for letting me taste one.” He brightened and added, “But I have freshly baked brownies that you guys can eat! Let me cut y’all a slice!”

Whiskey just looked at him. “Um, Bitty, thanks for the offer of brownies, but we’re enjoying this dduk right now. Maybe later?”

Nursey retorted, “Why do you always have to be like that, Bitty? That’s not cool at all.”

Chowder looked down at his piece of… whatever that white thing was.

“What do you mean, Nursey?” asked Eric. “I’m sorry I didn’t like this thing, but it’s not to my tastes! I just wanted to offer y’all something even more delicious than this… dook or tok or whatever it’s called.”

Chowder finally looked up. “That, Bitty. You’re judging something that’s not white and not American and not you, so it must be worse than what you are and what you can offer. Because you don’t like this dduk, it must be less, even though there’s a long history of Korean culture behind it. Because my mooncakes, that you threw out, were different from anything you’ve ever made or had, you judged them to be of less value than whatever you created, and so you got rid of them, even though my parents spent a lot of money to overnight them to me, and even though it’s a tradition that my family and I have.”

Eric loudly protested, “But I already apologized! How many times do I have to say ‘I’m sorry!’ Of course I am! You’re my sweet smol child! Of course I don’t want to hurt your feelings!”

Chowder’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly, Bitty, you’re my friend, and I know that since you’re from the South, you probably grew up with mostly other white people. I think of that when you say racist things to me; I know you don’t really understand, and I let them go. Anyway…”

Chowder seemed to fizzle out and looked at Whiskey instead. “Anyway, Connor, do you wanna go over to your room? Maybe we can see if Adam has other stuff he’ll let us eat. Hey, do you think there’s a Korean equivalent to moon cakes? Maybe we can ask him!” as he and Whiskey stood up to leave.

After they left, white blobs on the table (“Hey, Derek, want the rest of ‘em?” “Hell yeah, I’ll eat them all!”), Nursey spoke softly. “Bits, that was really not cool.”

“But what did I say that was so wrong?” retorted Eric.

Nursey looked at him, almost in horrified wonder. “You really don’t know, do you?” he murmured. “Bittle, every time you call him your sweet son or whatever, you’re infantilizing him.”

“But he is just a child! He’s so sweet and a small ray of sunshine!” interrupted Eric.

“Bitty. Bittle. He is not a child. He is twenty-one years old. He has been a legal adult for the past three years. Even if he is, as you say, ‘a small ray of sunshine,’ treating him like a small child is not cool.”

“Okay then, explain it to me,” bit out Eric.

“All right,” sighed Nursey. “Asian-American males in American society have a problem being emasculated and infantilized. As a whole, they are seen as weak – physically and mentally – asexual and childish; either that, or they’re demonized as evil, exotic “Fu Manchu” types. That you keep treating him like a baby is, honestly, disturbing and insulting. He’s not your son. He’s enthusiastic, yes, and sometimes he seems naïve, but just because he has those traits do not give you permission to demean him the way you do. I mean, hell – Tango’s also pretty peppy and bouncy, but I don’t see you calling him your ‘son’ and that shit.”

“But… but he knows what I mean when I call him my child! He knows it’s my way of showing affection to him!” said Eric, bewildered.

“Well yeah, he knows,” Nursey replied. “But it still makes him cringe. Have you even asked if it were okay to call him that?”

“No, but if he didn’t like it, why didn’t he say anything to me about it?” Eric asked.

“Honestly, you’ll have to ask him that; but I’m guessing that it’s because you probably wouldn’t have really listened to him. Bitty, you ignore a lot of what he says unless it goes along with your weird fantasy of him being your child. I’ve noticed it as well as Connor; hell, all of the team sees it and it’s… it’s just not cool,” Nursey stated.

Eric snorted. I seriously doubt that. If it were such a problem, someone would have mentioned it to me before now.

“Bittle,” he continued, “You’re a cool guy. But you tend to be too much, sometimes, with the whole ‘Mom’ act. It’s the worst with Chris, but you do that with everyone else, to a lesser degree. I know you genuinely care, but a lot of guys on the team – the ones that don’t hang out at the Haus – don’t like it. No one likes an overbearing mother, but that’s how you are, sometimes.”

“If they don’t like it, then why did they vote for me for the C then?” asked Eric, irritated.

“I can’t speak for everyone,” he answered. “I voted for you because I knew you really wanted it, and you’re my friend. But also,” he added, “I thought that Jack would help you lead the team, or at least teach you how to captain us. I’m guessing that might have been part of the reason why everyone else voted for you.”

“So you voted for me because of Jack,” said Eric, dully.

“No Bitty, it wasn’t just because of your connection with Jack,” answered Nursey. “See, you’re not listening to everything I’m saying,” he continued, calmly. “Dex, Chowder and I voted for you because you’re our friend. We knew how much you really wanted the C. Sure, being with Jack helped; but we still would have voted for you, even if you and Jack weren’t together.”

“As for the other guys,” he added, “I can’t say why, and you’d have to ask them. But I can guess that part of it was because of Jack, based on some of their bitching about how he hadn’t been helping at all. Which was not cool, since he’s not obligated to help us out.”

“And some of the others, especially the gay and bi and pan and ace guys, thought you’d do more for LGBT+ rights, since you’re the first NCAA openly gay captain,” Nursey spoke over Bittle’s attempted interruption, “Again, based on the complaining I heard in the locker room about how you haven’t done anything about that.”

“What the heck? And what was I supposed to do? I’m just a student, for goodness sake!” protested Eric.

Nursey’s shoulders went down as he breathed out. “Bitty. Everyone who knows you have heard how you feel about Kent Parson. You haven’t been very subtle about how much you hate the guy. However, he’s been doing great work for LGBT+ rights. Hell, he’s even starting a gay hockey league, if what Chris says is true, on top of his work with KPF. When you diss him, you’re dissing his hard work for the gay community; or at least, that’s how people see it.”

“And, let me finish,” again as Eric tried to talk over him, “When you had the opportunity to help the LGBT+ scene, you didn’t. You and Jack were national news, and for a little bit, you were heroes. But you both took off to Europe; and Parson, even though he was called one of the greatest players of his time, was kicked out of the league because of what you guys did. Regardless, he took on the shitstorm you and Jack created and ignored. Even though he didn’t have to. And truthfully, that Really. Is. Not. Cool.”

Nursey plodded on. “And even after you guys came back, you did nothing, even on a smaller scale, except for that Samwell interview about how you and Jack got together, which was just filler, frankly. Did you join the GSA on-campus? Did you do any other interviews to talk about how difficult it is to be gay in the United States? How about your tweets and vlogs – did you advocate for queer rights on those venues? No, Bits – you didn’t do anything, either.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” cried out Eric. I didn’t know. We didn’t know. Just because Jack and I came out doesn’t mean that we’re obligated to act as spokesmen for gay rights! We just wanted to be out! We didn’t want anything else!”

Nursey was hesitated before he responded, “Bittle. That may be true if Jack weren’t a professional hockey player. However, because he is already in the public eye, he did have that obligation for social advocacy. It didn’t make it fair for him, especially because he never wanted that responsibility. Yeah, I agree that it’s fucked up that he had that burden on his shoulders. But society and people being the way they are, Jack didn’t have a choice. Anything, anything he said to the public was heard by a bunch of other LGBT+ people as well as the general public. He had the public’s attention that most others do not.”

“But it’s not fair, we just wanted to be left alone,” Bitty whispered.

Nursey stared compassionately at him. “Bitty, if you two just wanted to be left alone, Jack shouldn’t have chosen such a public career. He should’ve played with an amateur hockey team to avoid the limelight; he could afford to, since he certainly doesn’t need the money the Falconers pay him. Or, I hate to say it, you guys shouldn’t have come out if you really wanted to be left alone.”

He continued, standing up and taking the white things on the table, “I agree that’s totally not fair because you two should have the right to come out whenever and however you guys want, but he’s a famous professional athlete in a homophobic society. Honestly, what did you guys expect?”

Chapter Text

Shortly after Nursey left the room, the timer dinged for Lardo’s pie. After Eric took it out to cool and with a note (”Do not eat!”), he left the Haus, walking across campus, stewing at what Derek spouted.

First of all, he’s wrong that I’m such an overbearing… mother. He just doesn’t understand Southern hospitality. And just because that dook, or whatever it’s called, is Korean, doesn’t mean that it’s still nasty; my cooking is still better. And Chowder really doesn’t mind if I call him my sweet child; he knows it’s just my way of showing my love for him. And Kent Parson is an asshole. He just hoodwinked everyone with his fucking charity.

As for the other hockey guys – wait, is that Duncan? He thought as he spotted another hockey player on the team.

“Duncan! Duncan! Wait up!” he hollered. He seemed friendly to me, even though he didn’t eat my mini-pies and even refused to touch them that one time.

“Hi, Duncan!” he greeted with a cheerful smile. “Are you busy right now?” he asked.

“Uh, hi, Bittle,” answered Duncan back, slowly. A D-Man on the third line, he was also a senior and his African-American body towered over Bittle. Lord, these humungous hockey players; I feel like a child next to some of them, Eric internally shivered. 

Duncan asked tentatively, “Um, no, I’m not busy right now. What’s up?”

“Oh, I thought maybe we can go to Annie’s for a coffee! My treat! I’d like to ask you something, but it might take some time,” Eric responded.

Duncan hesitated. “Uh, I can’t go there, but we can talk here at the Quad.”

“Wait, why can’t you go to Annie’s? They have wonderful scones! They’re so delicious!” Eric raved.

“Oh, um, I guess you forgot,” Duncan reluctantly answered Eric. “I have really bad food allergies, including peanuts, nuts, dairy and gluten. Annie’s isn’t allergy-friendly, and any exposure to some of my allergies can literally kill me. I almost died from a peanut butter reaction when I was ten, so, uh, no – I really can’t go there.”

“Oh! Oh my goodness, why didn’t you tell me?” Eric asked, incredulously.

“Um, I did, back when we were freshmen. You made those tiny pies and you tried to give me one? But I’m really allergic, so even touching wheat could trigger a reaction and I told you that at the time. Uh, but you were busy so maybe you weren’t able to pay attention to what I was saying?” Duncan laughed weakly.

Eric grimaced. Oh, he’s wearing one of those medical ID bracelets, he noticed on Duncan’s wrist. How did I not see it before? “I am so, so sorry! Is that why you don’t hang out at the Haus?” he asked gently.

Duncan smiled, “Well that, but also, I’m clean. I don’t drink nor do drugs, and I don’t really like being in that scene.” He added hastily, “But no judging others who do either! I’m cool with all that!”

Oh my gosh, this is the most I’ve ever talked with Duncan outside of practice. I should have talked to him – and the others – sooner. I don’t know anything about any of them, except for the people who live at the Haus.

“Anyway, was that what you wanted to ask me?” inquired Duncan while Eric mused.  

“Oh! Um, I wanted to know why you voted me Captain? Only if you want to tell me,” inquired Eric.

Duncan thought, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, you seem like a nice guy, even though you act way too much like my parents. After I almost died, they would have wrapped me up in bubble wrap if they could. Part of the reason why I decided to go to Samwell was because it’s as far away as I can be from them; I’m from Seattle. And I knew you and Zimmermann were good friends. This was before you guys came out, if you remember.”

Eric interrupted, “What about Jack and me?”

“Um, well, I figured that since you were friends with him, he could help you lead us to at least a decent season.”

Eric asked, “So, uh, it wasn’t because you thought I’d be a good captain?”

Duncan spoke more authoritatively. “I’m here on a partial hockey scholarship, and my dream is to make it to the professional level. I’ve been working incredibly hard for this all my life. I needed to get picked up by a league scout. I needed a winning season this year. I also decided to come to Samwell since Jack Zimmermann was here. I thought that maybe I could get better if I played with someone as good as him. When it was time to vote for a captain, you seemed the best person to help me. After all, you have Zimmermann to help you lead so we should have at least made it to the Finals.”

Eric was gobsmacked. “You basically voted for me because you thought Jack would informally co-captain the team.”

Duncan gave him an unapologetic look. “Yep," he replied coolly, popping the 'p'. "I need to make it to the pros. If you want to judge that, I don’t care.”

He firmly added, “I don’t have a rich boyfriend who can buy me everything. Everyone knows about your new oven Zimmermann bought for you a couple of years ago, so it's obvious he gets you whatever you want. But I don’t have that. Even though my dad has a well-paying job, I have a ton of student loans because my scholarship doesn’t pay for everything. Plus, my mom has a chronic illness and healthcare in the United States sucks big-time, so expensive medical bills take a large cut of my dad’s salary. Basically, I need money. A lot of it. And I love hockey. It’s my dream. So yeah, I’m going to do whatever I can to make it.”

Why does everyone think I’m Jack’s sugar baby? That oven was a gift. But, but… if Mama were that ill, I know Jack would take care of her bills. How… how can I judge Duncan? I can’t even imagine being in his shoes at all.

Eric finally asked meekly, “So did you get picked up?”

Duncan grinned. “Yeah! I’ll be on a farm team, but that’s fine. It’s the next step to getting in the NHL so I’m really happy. And if it looks like I’m not going anywhere after a couple of years, I’ll go with my Plan B: quit hockey and go to med school.”

Duncan softened a little. “Bittle, I don’t really know you, but you seem pretty cool. We just all have to do what we have to do, so no hard feelings, right?”

Eric swallowed the grimace and smiled as best he could. “Of course! No hard feelings!”

After Duncan walked away, waving an awkward goodbye, Eric saw one of the Waffles in the Quad. What is this, ‘Bump Into a Bunch of Hockey Players Who Hate Me’ Day?” he cynically whined.

"Louis! Can you wait up?” Eric yelled.

Louis turned around slowly as he heard his name. “Oh hi, Bittle,” he said, quietly. “Do you need anything?”

“Oh no, no, I’m just peachy-keen! How are you doing?” forced Eric through a grin.

“Um, okay. Uh, is there anything you want to talk to me about?” Louis looked apprehensive.

“Oh, well – I would like to know why you Waffles didn’t hang out at the Haus. Y’all were welcome, but outside of practice, it seems like y’all were avoiding me,” smiled Eric.

“Uh, well,” hesitated Louis. “Um, for me, I can’t afford the fines everyone gives us. After Haze by Hazewest, I had no money that month and the next because it went all to your baking fund. Uh, it was a really tight couple of months, and my parents were furious with me,” he chuckled weakly.

Eric’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know what to say. What in the what?

Louis continued, oblivious to Eric’s reaction as he looked at his shoes. “Um, my family really can’t afford to send me here, so I don’t really have the extra cash that everyone else has. When we all kept getting fined, it kinda put my family and I in a bad place. My mom ended up sending some money to cover unexpected material fees from a couple of my classes. But they’re already in debt, what with sending me to college and buying my hockey gear and stuff, so I know that money was probably earmarked for something important when she had to send it to me. Uh, so – they were really mad.”

Eric finally replied, “Oh my goodness. I am so, so sorry. We aren’t fining you anymore though, so you should be okay at the Haus now.”

Louis laughed as he looked up. “Uh, no thanks. I mean, you’re still baking a lot, right? And your supplies need to be paid for by someone. We all know the fine money is exclusively for your cooking use, so when you need more butter or flour or something and there isn’t enough money in the Fine Jar to cover it, we Waffles are the easiest targets to hit. Yeah, no thanks.”

Louis looked away. “Gotta go to class but see you around!” as he turned away, leaving Eric behind, silent with shock.

Chapter Text

Eric lay on his bed, his head buzzing full of information from today. He felt uncomfortable and couldn’t find a soothing position. He turned Senor Bun around; he didn’t want his beloved rabbit to condemn him as well. He only wanted to bake for everyone. He didn’t realize, until after talking with Nursey, Duncan, and Louis, how much of a burden it could be for everyone else. And Nursey’s words to advocate, to do more for gay rights – they still rang in his ears.

 I can’t help Duncan; there’s no way I’ can make the Haus peanut- and nut- and gluten-free. Still, I shouldn't have taken his refusal to take my mini-pies so personally, and I should’ve been talked with him earlier – no, I should have taken initiative and talked to every member on the team individually, going to them instead of waiting for them to come to the Haus. Just because they can’t or won’t go to the Haus doesn’t mean that was an excuse for me to ignore them outside of practice.

As for the money and Louis -- Maybe I can cut back on the baking. Or maybe I could pay for it myself? However, when he thought of his last grocery trip and the amount he spent on butter – Why is butter so expensive? – he realized he wouldn’t be able to afford it without using the fine money.

Well, it’s only about three weeks left until I graduate, so it doesn’t matter anymore if I use the fine money or not. Besides, the jar’s for any Haus-related things, anyway; and baking for everyone is a part of that. However, he flopped onto his other side, the mattress still feeling like rocks.

As for not coming out. No, we had every right to come out! But… but maybe Jack could have said something more sympathetic at the presser? Maybe, during that Samwell interview, I could have talked more about how hard it was to be gay in the South, instead of just gushing about Jack? His guilty conscience whispered to him.

He abruptly sat up. He couldn’t quite nest in his bed comfortably, and Senor Bun remained turned.

Curious, he decided to see how much the Waffles had to pay. He softly padded to the kitchen and looked at the posted receipt list of past fines. As he reached the amount during the Waffle hazing week, he gasped at the sheer amount. We fined them $500 each from just that one week? We got $1500 from the Waffles after Haze by Hazewest? Why didn’t I know the amount? No wonder the Waffles don’t like me. I wouldn’t like me if I had to pay that much, either.

Eric slowly trudged his feet back to his room. He fell facedown on his bed. I really messed up. No wonder our season was so bad. I didn’t unify the team; instead, I tore them down.

As he internally browbeat himself, he heard Chowder go into his room.

Oh yes, Chowder. I also need to talk to him.

After ten minutes of an internal debate – I don’t need yet another intense conversation, but I owe Chowder this, but maybe we can talk tomorrow, but I should just get this done and over with, but it’s been such a crap day – he finally dragged himself off his bed and knocked on Chris’s door.

“Hey, it’s open, come in,” he heard Chowder softly answer.

“Um, hi,” Eric said quietly, as he walked in the room and sat on his bed.

“Oh! Hi Bittle,” Chowder replied as he put his phone down. “What’s up?”

“Um, well, Nursey talked more to me after you and Whiskey left. He told me I was infantilizing you? That there’s a bad stereotype with Asian guys that they’re like little kids, that they’re not real men, something like that? And, uh, I really wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to treat you like a little kid, but it’s my way of showing how much I care for you, and I really do see you as my son,” Eric babbled, tracing the pattern of the Shark on the comforter.

As the air grew still, he looked up to see why Chowder didn’t respond. Chowder sat, frowning, looking at the blank screen of his phone. Seeing his face in the dim desk lamp, Eric could see shadows casting on his cheeks. He doesn’t look like a child. He's an adult, Eric realized.

“Bitty,” Chowder started. “I know that you mean well. I know you don’t mean any harm. And I also know you don’t know much about Asian Americans, about how we’re perceived, what it's like to have all these small racist remarks thrown at us all the time, and how much that can wear on a person. I know you don’t know that. But you never showed that you wanted to know, either; and honestly, it’s not my job to educate you, that’s your own responsibility.”

“But I’d like to know, now,” Eric responded. “I feel bad, because you’re my friend and you’re important to me. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Chowder sighed. “Okay. How would you feel if I called you my sweet smol southern son all the time and treated you like you were five? What if I ignored whatever you said, or blew you off if you said or did anything that didn’t fit with what a small child would do or say? Because that’s what you’ve been doing with me. I know you mean well. I know you’re not being intentionally malicious about it, but -- “ He paused.

Eric prompted, “But? – “

Chowder breathed out and continued, “Did you know that I had a really hard time my freshman year? It was really hard to go from a place where I was surrounded by Asian-Americans and it was no big deal to be Chinese-American, to Samwell, which is mostly white and where I had to deal with stupid racist comments everyday. Lardo and an Asian-American therapist helped me so much with that year. I first tried going to you for support, but other than trying to feed me or ruffling my hair and calling me ‘your smol summer child’ you didn't listen. Then you threw away the mooncakes that I wanted so much at that time, because I needed something from home and something that reminded me to be proud of being Chinese-American. I saw them in the trash. And I saw your butter in its place in the fridge. I knew it was you who tossed them. I tried talking to you about it, but you just ignored what I was trying to say and offered me pie instead.”

Eric tried to remember. It was so long ago, however, so he couldn’t. “Chowder, I’m so, so sorry…”

Chowder exclaimed, “No, I don’t want apologies! I didn’t tell you this so you can feel bad! Just –"

Chowder took a deep breath, and quietly continued, “Just try to think of the people around you. Try to put yourself in their position. Try to hear to what they’re actually saying, and all of what they’re saying, not just what you want them to say.”

Eric slowly answered, “I can’t say I understand what it’s like to be a minority. But I’m gay, and so I don’t fit in like you seem to think I do. So I can understand, alittle, where you’re coming from. But I should’ve asked if it were all right to call you my child. I also should have listened to you more. I am sorry. I should have taken care of you better.”

“No! No, Bittle!” Chowder exploded. “You. Are. Not. My. Dad. You do not take care of me. We should be friends and equals, but you’re still treating me like a kid.”

He sighed after his outburst and his shoulders dropped. “Honestly, Bitty, it’s okay. I know you mean well and you really don’t need to apologize. It’s all right.” He quietly added, “I’m pretty tired, so I need to go to bed. But if you want to talk about this some more, we can tomorrow, okay?” as he smiled weakly.

Chapter Text

Eric thought he would need to avoid Chowder. However, Chris talked with Eric normally the next day; “Hi, Bitty! Hope you’re going to have a great day today!” Chowder shouted as he walked out with Nursey to a class.

Well, there isn’t much else for us to talk about anyway. And it’s only a couple of more weeks before I graduate, so we’ll just keep the peace.

And yet, Eric couldn’t help the odd prickliness in the middle of his throat. And he found that for the next couple of weeks, Chowder’s words would frequently come to mind.

He got the Food Network contact from a delighted Nursey later that day. After a couple of phone calls, he emailed his resume and waited to see if he’d make it to the interview stage. In the meantime, he stress-baked lots of pies, and cookies, muffins, and other assorted goods. There’s still plenty in the Fine Jar, so it should be okay. He still felt slightly guilty, however.

He also squeezed in a visit to Providence for a weekend right before graduation.

Jack was still temperamental. When Eric asked what was wrong, he only got a curt “I’m fine”, which was better than his other typical answer: a grunt, or even worse, silence. Eric also finally got Jack to call Tater, who answered and said that he was busy moving his family to New York from Russia but thanked him for the offer of pie or jam.

Eric chatted with him before he hung up, enthusing, “That’s great that your family’s closer now! Did they move to the States for you?”

After a tense moment, Tater curtly responded, “Family move so they be safer. Russia does not like comments I make. Russia does not support gays. They do not like that I support gay movement.”

He continued, quieter, “I not welcome back to Russia, so family come here instead.”

“Oh,” Eric said, shocked. As he regained his composure, he continued, “Oh! Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry! Thank you so much for your support, but it’s terrible that your family has to suffer the consequences like that. Are you able to move all of your family over to the States?”

Again, an awkward silence before Tater answered, “No, not all, can’t get them all in States. Asylum status harder to get for them, especially because of orange-cheeto president in office. But I will try. Keep trying.”

After another heartfelt apology from Eric, Tater finally hung up. Eric asked Jack if he knew why Tater’s family moved to the States.

Jack answered blankly, “Wasn’t it so they could be closer to Tater? Why else would they move?”

Eric didn’t know if he should laugh or cry at how little Jack knew about the repercussions other people had to deal with, thanks to their thoughtless kiss at the Stanley Cup win.

We’re a fine pair, Jack and I: I ignore whatever I don’t want to hear; and Jack is just oblivious.

Eric received an email from the Food Network: he was accepted to the first round of interviews for another position that wasn’t the internship. This job paid much better; and after a six-month trial period, he would be offered a permanent position with full benefits.

While Eric was still qualified for the internship, they felt, based on his resume, that he would be a much better fit in the research department, where he would look into and find dishes in the exotic locales that traveling TV hosts visit. If those dishes are popular to the viewers, he would be given the opportunity to recreate and post them onto the website.

Would he be able to Skype in a day or so, for an interview with a couple of the heads of the research department? If he made it through that round, he’d go through another round, before a final interview.

Wow. And he thought the internship was his dream job; this new position was better. But what would he tell Jack? Jack expected him to move up to Providence right after graduation, which was in a week. Eric figured that it was going to take at least two weeks before he knew if he was going to get this job.

Crap. I should have talked with Jack.

Chapter Text

For the next couple of days, he couldn’t help but revisiting Chowder’s message to him: To try to hear everything of what a person is saying, not just what he wanted to hear.

He sighed. As Chris talked more about his KPF internship at the Haus, Eric couldn’t help but hear all the good things the organization allegedly achieved.

“Yeah, after talking a lot with Benjy, Parser made sure the Homeless Shelter had a couple of specialized counselors to help the teen runaways who not only have to deal with homophobia, but also the cultural aspects of being queer in an Asian-American household. Parse is just so, so great!” Chowder gushed while he talked with Whiskey as they lounged on the toxic sofa.

Or, “Parse doesn’t have the time, but he’s starting to unify all of the West Coast gay hockey teams into a more cohesive association. He didn’t really say anything, but I think he’s hoping to eventually have a nationwide queer hockey league! That would be so, so awesome! I’d join if there were something like that now!” Chris enthused to an amused Nursey.

Kent Parson. Fucking Saint Kent Parson.

Oh, how I really dislike the guy. But... keeping in mind what Chowder had said, I probably only focused on the things that made him look like a jerk. And I need to take off my blinders. Even I know that’s not right, especially since everyone else seems to think he’s doing something good with his charity.

One night, Eric sat on his bed with his laptop. Senor Bun looked at him encouragingly from his position on his pillow. Eric took a deep breath. He googled Jack Zimmermann and gay teens.

After reading the first five articles that cropped up, he couldn’t deny it any longer. Chowder was right. More teens came out because of Jack’s and my kiss.  

He did another search on Kent Parson and KPF.

Despite his ever-present hatred of Parson, he read of how much KPF had done already to help the influx of teens who came out in unsafe situations and got kicked out onto the streets. Jack and Chowder and Nursey were all right. Kent Parson took up our slack.

He felt mortified and embarrassed. Eric felt like he was back in Georgia, shame coating him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, like a horrible smell that couldn’t be washed away. He sat, frozen, lost in his thoughts as he remembered the past Eric Bittle, back in Madison, struggling, striving keep safe while maintaining his hold onto bright hope that there were still people who loved and supported him and that the stifling oppression of being gay would eventually end.

Eric had kept his head down in school after they moved to Madison. Coach had quit his previous job mid-year, when the principal excused the football players who locked him in the janitor’s closet overnight. “Boys will be boys,” he lackadaisically drawled, as Coach vociferously and loudly recounted to Mama, utterly unaware that Eric could hear his rage-filled rant.

Even though his nails had long grown back – he didn’t even feel them rip off as he clawed at the locked closet door, panicked that he was going to die – a part of him still bled profusely, painful in the open wounds that were allowed to fester. Sometimes, he felt that he was still in that closet, abandoned and dead. Did he actually die in real life? Was this new existence in Madison actually a dream for his soul, refusing to rest in the afterworld?

When Coach and Mama talked to him about their decision to move to Madison, as he sat numb in his bed, staring at his bandaged hands, Eric had heard the unspoken message loud and clear: Don’t be different. Stay out of the spotlight. And so, after they moved and he attended his new high school, he stayed a ghost. Translucent, private, he smiled politely at friendly overtures, but drifted away from any gestures that would lead to something solid.

He kept an alert eye out for the big, bulky boys who loomed over him. Boisterous boys on the football team. Jeering boys on the basketball team. Rowdy boys who sat in the back of his classes, reeking of cigarettes, known for beating up the weak just because they could.

During their move to Madison, he quit his beloved figure skating, despite it being one of the few avenues where he could be free from the stifling, humid Georgian atmosphere. Coach was ecstatic when Eric told his parents of his decision. He beamed even more joyfully when Eric, still wanting to be on the ice and, desiring more of Coach’s approving grins, joined Madison’s local hockey team. It was a fun activity to do, and he was good at it. They even voted him to lead them during his senior year.

It was a good disguise. No one would think he was gay since he was the captain of the hockey team.

At home, in the privacy of his kitchen and his room and his laptop, he gradually let down that opaque, dull persona that he donned in public. He learned to wiggle his hips to the beat of Beyonce, making pies and cakes and muffins with his delighted mother. He furtively danced in front of his mirror, trying to improve his moves. He secretly tried on clothes, tight and sparkly and colorful, as he practiced sashaying in his room like the other gay boys he watched on TV. He started his vlog silently, filming only when his parents were away so he could babble about baking and whisper about handsome men. At home, he was free. “I’m gay,” he once whispered at night, two doors down from his parents’ room where they were sleeping, in the silence of his bedroom, as his heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. He never said that again when Coach and Mama were at home; what if his parents had heard?

For they didn’t know. Neither Mama nor Coach knew. And they could never ever know. But they loved him so much, so much, so much. So he ignored their disgusted comments about “the gays” when they watched TV; or when Coach gave him, his tiny, foreign son, funny looks as Eric would wiggle his hips to the beat of Beyonce; or when Mama quietly chastised him for wearing his pink t-shirt. “You don’t want people to think you’re like ‘those people’, Dicky,” she magnanimously explained. “We know you’re not, but your classmates and our neighbors might think you are – homosexual,” she whispered the last word, a dirty, forbidden, cursed in their home.

And his parents loved him. Mama had been so worried, too worried, as the wrinkles on her forehead turned permanent and aged her beauty; this is a woman who tittered flirtatiously when Coach drunkenly serenaded her during a long-ago New Year’s Eve: “Suzie, you look as fresh as a sweet sixteen-year old”. He knew Mama saw her little boy, her precious, effervescent Dicky, was now so tired, so withdrawn, so scared. Eric couldn’t hide how he jumped at every little sound. She saw how his eyes darted, back and forth, whenever they were out of the house; he practically hyperventilated when they bumped into Coach’s star quarterback, a rough boy who maliciously threw a freshman against a gym locker because he looked like a “twink”. He couldn’t pretend to be pleasant to this horrible boy, he couldn’t talk because he was drowning, and he ran to their car, lying down in the back seat, quiet and still. His Mama, his adorable Mama, tucked him in bed that night, whispering sweet endearments in his ear, wiping the tacky sweat on his face with a cooling damp cloth. “I love you, my sweet Dicky. I love you,” she repeated, over and over again, a mantra.

And Coach – Coach, while he didn’t understand, gamely ate the cakes that Eric would frantically bake after he’d dream of hulking, threatening monsters shoving him in that hellhole of a closet. Coach trudged through the pies induced by Eric’s stress of keeping himself tiny and still and alert in front of the loud, belligerent thugs of his school. Coach swallowed his fear-soaked minimuffins whole, nervously created when John the star basketball player looked at him as he spit out “faggot” before Biology class started. Coach loved him. Coach quit his prestigious position at a high school known for its football, for backwater Madison with its disappointing sports department. Coach took a massive pay cut, and so had to drive the old truck that broke down every couple of months instead of buying a brand new Ford. Coach did that for him. For Eric. So Coach loved his son. His son, even though he was nowhere near the kind of child he knew his father wanted him to be.

Coach, who raved about how his son’s baking was “Deelicious, I’ll need to get bigger trousers if I keep eating like this!” Coach, who so rarely gave favorable smiles to his odd son. And his Mama, who also joined in the chorus of his favorite songs in the warmth of the kitchen. Mama, who encouraged and nurtured that baking seed in her precious Dicky. He found that, if the peculiar side-eyes he received from his Mama and Coach were too difficult to ignore, then the pies and cakes and muffins made up for their unspoken thoughts. His Mama and Coach always took joy in his treats. So their son, to show how grateful, how thankful, how scared he was, baked and baked and baked for them.

He was safe at home. Mama and Coach both loved him.

Eric realized that he was weeping only when he heard the tears dripping onto his laptop. He snapped out of his memories, recalling clearly the suffocating despair and the aching loneliness that continually followed him and his steps back in Georgia.

Back in the present, he mused, The fact is that I could’ve been one of those kids that Parson’s charity is helping. I would’ve called that hotline, right after I was locked up in that horrible closet, because I was so fucking terrified. I know, I know what it’s like to be closeted in a terribly unsafe environment, so I should’ve done something for the teens now.

He absentmindedly wiped his eyes as the tears wouldn’t stop. Nursey was so right. Both Jack and I had an obligation to help with gay rights. And we did nothing.

He emptily laughed at himself, despite his weeping. None of this is fair. All Jack and I wanted to do was kiss each other after the Cup. Why couldn’t we? But… but even though, right now, we couldn’t just do that without all these social responsibilities, we should have made it easier for the next person who comes out. But we didn’t. We didn’t.

Eric looked blindly around his room. He thought of his justifications that he gave to Derek. Saying I’m only a student, saying I didn’t know – they’re all just shallow excuses. I simply didn’t want to know. I was being selfish. And because of that selfishness, some other kid in Georgia might have come out because of Jack’s experience and been kicked out of his home or beaten up by the football team.

As he looked unseeingly at his hands, he made a vow. No matter what happens, no matter if I end up in Providence or New York, I’m going to work with the gay community and advocate. I owe it to that past Eric Bittle, back in Georgia, scared out of my fucking mind that I was going to die because I was gay. I don't have to stick my head in the sand anymore. I'm safe enough, now, so that I don't have to hide. 

He wiped the tears off his laptop with his sleeve, closed it, and placed it on his desk.

He curled his body around his compassionate Senor Bun on his bed.

He cried and cried and cried.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Eric’s breakdown. He looked over the kitchen once again. He cleaned everything from top to bottom, so the appliances, counters and cabinets sparkled shiny-bright. On the table were the remnants of the Waffles’ favorite pies – lemon meringue, blueberry-peach, and chocolate cream. The Haus occupants, as well as the freshmen hockey players, lingered in the kitchen, enjoying the desserts.

Eric had unashamedly begged the freshmen – Louis, Bully, and Hops – individually to attend. He promised they wouldn’t be fined; if they were, then Eric would pay instead of the Waffles.

Eric cleared his throat. Here we go, he thought, wryly. “Hey, can I get y’all’s attention, please?” he asked politely. As the others quieted, he continued.

“I found out that during Haze by Hazewest how much the Waffles had to pay. While some of your offences did constitute a fine, most of them were just made up. In addition, you shouldn’t have been all fined for one person’s transgressions. That was wrong.”

He breathed out. “The purpose of SMH hazing is to help y’all create bonds and teamwork amongst you young’uns, as well as build trust with the more senior members of Samwell Mens Hockey. However, this year, I failed in achieving the latter purpose. Because of that, I’ve decided to pay back the fines y’all freshmen had to pay during Haze by Hazewest.”

Amidst the surprised cries from his Frogs and peers, he looked at his Waffles, who looked shocked. “I need to apologize to y’all. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have created the rules to fine y’all so much during that week. I should have done other things that would have bonded y’all to Samwell Mens Hockey, not push y’all away. So –”

He breathed in, squaring his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He looked at the three Waffles’ eyes in turn. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I hope that the return of your fine money helps mend that rift you felt with yourselves and the rest of our fine hockey team.”

Louis finally responded after his initial shock. “Thanks, Captain,” he said softly. “My parents’ll appreciate this. Thanks for doing this.”

I did so much wrong with my hockey team this year. This is the least I can do to make up for it, at least a little, Eric thought. It’s worth the credit card debt that I’m in to replace their money. And I won’t touch the fine money left in the jar; that’s for next year’s team. Whatever I bake before graduation, I’ll pay for myself. When I get a job, I’ll make sure to send some money next year to make up for some of the amount I spent on baking.

Anyway, I hope this helped. I hope that next year, my Waffles will feel more welcome at the Haus and with the team.

Shortly after he paid back Louis, Bully, and Hops, Eric made time to make a difficult vlog entry. In it, he talked about his oppressive time in Georgia. He talked of his unnatural hypervigilance at school. He talked of the isolation that he placed himself, away from his classmates and peers.

He talked as he described his parents, his loving and ignorant Mama and Coach, and of how he ignored all their homophobic comments. He sobbed when he described how he had to tolerate their snide remarks because his parents were his only support people growing up, even though they weren’t as helpful as he needed them to be. He talked of how he kept doing that, ignoring all the bad, only focusing on what benefited him, as he went through his college years.

“A friend, a very good friend, gave me a good bit of advice. He said to focus on everything on what a person said, not just the parts I wanted to hear. While I’m trying that now, I’m afraid I did a lot of damage with my hockey team, with my friends, with my… my boyfriend…” as tears sprouted anew, “Because I wouldn’t hear everything they said, see everything they do.”

After he wiped his eyes, he continued. “I’m glad, I’m so glad I have such a good friend who told me this. He didn’t give up on me. I know how lucky I am to have him, and my other good friends to force me to face a lot of truths.”

He sighed. “I didn’t do much advocating after I kissed Jack at the Stanley Cup win last year. I was wrong. So I’m going to start trying to help y’all right now.”

He stared at the camera. “I know that there are probably other kids out there, watching this, in the same position that I was back in high school. Here’s the message I’m sending to y’all: It will get better. I promise. If you can get out and go to a safe college, or a safe town, or a safe household, do so. I promise, I swear from the bottom of my heart, that it’ll get better and you won’t have to be so scared anymore.”

He took another deep breath. “If you’re not safe in any way right now, call the Kent Parson Foundation hotline. They’ll give you the resources to make you safe. Please. That phone number was created for you. So please, please, give them a chance to help you.”

I still despise Kent Parson. But… but despite what I feel about him personally, he can and will help them.

Eric went into Chris’ room that night. After talking with Lardo, reading articles and blogs, and watching vlogs and other videos, he began to understand Chowder’s perspective. As they again sat in his room, Eric started the conversation.

“Chris… Chris, I did what you told me to do. I looked stuff up online and read articles and other things and talked with Lardo. I realize you didn’t tell me about how racist I’ve been to make me feel bad, but I owe you a lot of apologies. I’m sorry. I contributed a lot to making you feel like an ‘other’, didn’t I?” he ended sadly.

Chowder responded loudly, “Oh Bitty! I know you didn’t mean any harm! It’s just… It’s just that I’m glad you know, now.”

Eric said quietly, “I know I’ll still make mistakes. I’ll try real hard not to. But if I say something that offends you, will you please tell me? I promise I’ll listen, even if I don't want to.”

“Even though you are not my son,” he continued, smiling wryly at his comment, “You are my friend. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been a really good friend to me for these past three years, and I want to continue that friendship, even though I’m graduating.”

He timidly added, “Can we… can we text and Skype on a regular basis after I graduate? And… and you can tell me about KPF and Kent Parson. I don’t personally like him, but I know that’s on me and not anyone else. You shouldn’t edit what you say around me. I promise I won’t give you a hard time, and I won’t be snide. I know… I know that he’s doing a lot with his charity. Anyway, as a gay man, I want to know what his group’s up to. And… and Parson and KPF are becoming a big part of your life. I want to know everything about what’s important to you, because I want to be your friend,” he murmured.

Again, it struck him how old Chris looked, listening to him hard. He’s never been my smol son. He’s just as much a student, and now an adult, like me. How much have I missed because I refused to see him as an equal?

Chris beamed at him. “Bitty, you’ve always been my friend. I’m glad, super glad that now, we can be even closer. Thank you. Thank you for trying to understand me better.” He smiled broadly, as open and welcoming as he had been when Eric first met him at that orientation a lifetime ago.

I am really lucky to have such a good friend. I won’t let him drift away. I promise I won’t, he pledged himself.

Chapter Text

The time right before Graduation was a whirlwind. Amidst the last-minute cramming for finals, as well as the almost daily vlogs Eric now posted – after that first one, I’ feel like I have even more to say to the world and I make sure to mention KPF in all of them, at least so someone who needs them can give them a call – he spent more time listening to his Frogs.

He listened to them with his whole body. He listened to all the things he had blown off before, having deemed it unimportant. He regretted that, now; regretted that wholly and thoroughly and ashamedly. At the same time, he kept thinking of how lucky he was to have such good friends. Even though they knew how he ignored aspects of them, they still cared for them.

It was while listening deeply to Dex that he learned why he refused to go back to Maine. He also learned why he and Nursey stopped arguing such poisonous barbs this past year.

“I didn’t realize how much of an asshole I was,” Dex answered bluntly, after Eric asked why he didn’t want to move back after graduation. “I repeated shit that my family always said. They mocked the people who tried to correct them. ‘We aren’t any part of the pussy PC movement!’, they’d brag. Bitty,” as Dex looked mortified, “They’d boast about how they just ‘told it like it is’ and if the easily offended couldn’t handle it, then too fucking bad for them.”

“Honestly, when I first came here, I agreed with them,” he continued, looking down at his half-eaten pizza slice. “I thought Nursey was an over-sensitized, ultra-liberal asshole and I wasn’t going to stop saying what I thought, just because it offended his poor, innocent ears.”

He shook his head. “I’m thankful now that Derek challenged everything I spouted. No matter how much I fought him, he began to make me think, really think, of my family and Samwell and the hateful shit I parroted. And I began to realize that huh, maybe I don’t agree with the shit they believed.”

Eric asked gently, “How’d you begin to realize that you disagreed with your family?”

Dex shrugged. “People constantly calling me on it helped. Plus, hanging out with Chowder and Nursey, seeing some of the shit they have to deal with on a daily basis just because they’re not white, realizing how fucking offensive it is, and how much it pisses me off because they’re my good friends – then I realized that I was one of those dumbasses, and I saw, really saw, how much they get hurt by me. And then I realized that I didn’t actually believe in the shit my family said.”

He looked up. “Fuck, Bitty, my parents didn’t see that their shitty comments are about real people; they only saw these exaggerated caricatures and not tangible lives.  And I realized that I’m fucking better than that. I’m not going to continue to hurt my best friends, nor any other people, just because I’m an asshole.”

He laughed. “Don’t get me wrong,” as Eric nodded, wide-eyed. “I still fight with Nursey a lot. But now I think about what he says. I may not agree with him, but I respect what he’s telling me and how he’s feeling. It doesn’t matter if I’m not trying to be offensive; no matter what I intended, it’s wrong for me to say it if it hurts him. That’s all.”

He lifted his pizza. “That’s why I can’t go back to Maine. I don’t agree with the shit they say anymore. I’m also afraid of turning back like them if I end up stuck there. And I deserve better than that. I already got outta there, and I won’t be sucked back. No way, no how.”

Graduation was bittersweet. Eric listened to his mama during a late lunch after the ceremony. Coach had a football-related event that he needed to attend (as usual) so it was just Mama to see this major milestone in his life.

Mama. He quickly saw that, in coming out, he lost his best friend, his sparkling confidant, his enthusiastic cheerleader. As Mama chatted away, fork in her hand, he used his new listening skills. However, he grasped how little was said. As she ranted about Aunt Judy’s subpar jam, he thought of how, after that initial phone call right after the Stanley Cup win, she avoided discussing his sexuality.

I think I learned from her how to ignore things I don’t want to think about, he sadly pondered. Because she doesn’t want to hear about me being gay, nor about the details of my relationship with Jack, she doesn’t want to know about the major parts of my life. We can’t be close anymore. Did she ever genuinely want to know me?

But, he considered, she does love me. She’s done so, so much for me in the past. And if I ever needed anyone or anything, I know she would be there for me in a flash. I just wish… I really, truly wish that she can accept me being gay.

Maybe she will one day. Maybe, someday in the future, she will. He hoped.

After their lunch, Mama drove Eric to the front of the Haus. He would meet up with Jack there, load his truck with Eric’s stuff, and make the trek back to Rhode Island.

Mama grabbed Eric’s hand, sitting in the rental, as he opened the car door to leave. “Dicky… Dicky. I’m so proud of you. I don’t understand your choices, but I love you. I love you,” she repeated fiercely. “I saw how withdrawn you became when we moved to Madison. So to see you like this – all happy and strong and optimistic. I am just so, so proud of you, my Dicky.”

As he gave his Mama a hug, he whispered in her ear, “Thanks, Mama. I love you so much.”

As he exited the car, she called out, “And Dicky, if you want to visit me and Coach in Madison, let me know? You’re always welcome home.” She sat still in the large car, hopeful and lonely. Mama looks so tiny. Was she always that small? He smiled reassuringly at her. “Of course, Mama. I promise I’ll try to visit for Christmas,” he decided. Mama doesn’t understand me being gay. But she still loves me. She loves me.

At the Haus were just his Frogs; everyone else had already left and he said his goodbyes right after the ceremony. Jack had texted during his meal, telling him that he was running late so Eric would be the last one to leave the Haus.

Chowder was going to continue to work at KPF San Jose for the summer. He also came through for Dex, who landed a tech internship at Google through a friend of a friend who worked there. Both Dex and Chowder were to stay with Chris’ parents, and play some hockey with Kent Parson’s team in San Francisco. They were looking forward to their summer.

Wicks was moving to Las Vegas for KPF. Ollie found a job through Holster’s place of employment in Boston, interestingly enough. (“Yeah, I texted him and asked if he knew of any openings available in the Boston area, and Holster came through for me! Samwell Men’s Hockey for life, bro.”)

Nursey had an unpaid internship at a New York indie publishing company. Eric had thanked him a week ago, for his wise words and refusal to give up on him. “I didn’t like what you were telling me at the time, but I’m so glad you did. You and Chris and Duncan and Louis helped me realize how much I’ve been hurting y’all.”

Derek gently replied, “I don’t think you hurt us, as much as you hurt yourself. And anyway, no one’s perfect, right? And Bitty –” Derek grinned toothily. “You’re my friend.  You always have been. You’re important to me, all right? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said anything to you.” He finally added, “And anyway, we’re all cool now, right? It all worked out.”

Now, as Nursey said his goodbye to Eric, he offered Bitty a room in his parent’s house for the summer. “My mom and dad’ll be out of the country, so it’ll just be me. They won’t care if you’re there. And anyway, you’ll need to be in New York for your final interview; they want to do it in person, yeah?” he winked.

Eric did extremely well with the first two interviews via Skype with Food Network. After the end of the second interview, Sally, one of the higher-ups, gave him a wink as she said, “If you don’t get this position, Eric, I’ll create another for you. I want you here at the Network. You’d be a great asset for us, so we’re not going to let you get away.”

When he moved from Derek to Chowder, he hugged Chris goodbye and felt tears come in his eyes. This is my friend. A very good friend. He stayed friends with me, even though I was being an ignorant racist jerk. He cared about me enough to tell me how he really felt. “Good luck with your interview, Bitty, you smol summer child!” Chowder chirped, ruffing Eric’s hair. It had become a joke between them, calling each other that.

“Seriously,” Chris added, “Good luck. Let me know what you decide, no matter what happens. Even if I don’t respond immediately – time difference with California and internship – I’ll make time to answer back, okay?” he said, concernedly.

Then Dex gave Eric a bro hug; “Hey, take care of yourself and visit us next year, all right?” Dex smiled as they let go.

Nursey embraced him gently and said, “Seriously let me know if you need a place to stay in New York for your final interview. Good luck with everything,” he winked.

As for Haus dibs, Eric gave his to Louis. It would be cheaper than living in the dorms, and Eric wanted to help as much as he could. (Louis was ecstatic; “Thanks so much, Bitty! My parents will be so happy!”) The attic was given to a couple of other players who avoided the Haus before they received the dibs. It looked like Samwell Mens Hockey was going to be in better hands, and that made Eric content.

Lordy lord… There were so many memories at the Haus. Am I ready for this next step? I didn’t even know what I’m going to do; for goodness sake, I didn’t even talk with Jack yet about the Food Network job.

But as Eric walked around the Haus, looking at all the boxes, ready to be shipped off or unpacked, he could almost see the ghosts of Ransom and Holster sitting and hollering on that diseased couch playing Mario Kart in the living room; or he could gaze at an imprint of Jack smiling a crooked smile, watching a boring history documentary on his laptop at the desk in the room that was now an homage to the San Jose Sharks; or he could almost hear Shitty drawling out, “Cool, bro” in the Reading Room, before hearing the water in the bong bubbling up; or he could smell the faint hint of plasticky acrylic paint that Lardo used; or he could watch the blurs of past and present Haus boarders, sitting in the kitchen, eating pie and cookies and muffins and pancakes; and he could feel the tears in his eyes when he saw Jack again, with flour dusting his hair, as he laughed and mangled the lattice top on top of his pie; and he knew… he knew.

Lardo was right; she was so right in everything she said. And he knew that he couldn’t give up this new dream that fell in his lap. If he was going to get the job, he was going to move to New York and work at the Food Network.

And if he didn’t get the position, he was going to move to New York regardless, and find another job that related with food. That’s my dream. I know what I want, now; and it’s not Jack.

He wanted to continue to remember the devoted gazes, the little quirks of smiles, the shy coffee dates, the deadpan chirps, the ecstatic kiss when it felt like it was just Jack and him in the stadium after the Stanley Cup win, and so much affection, the deep and wonderful and overwhelming adoration, that he received from Jack – he wanted to remember all of those things, all of his time in the Haus and Samwell and hockey and Providence, with love and fondness and nostalgia.

Not with bitterness. Not with resentfulness. Even now, those sweet, fond memories were becoming tainted as Eric’s rose-colored glasses slowly lost their shine with Jack’s vicious comments, oppressive silence, and belligerent arguments of the past year.

Chowder said to listen to what’s actually being said, and not what I want to hear; and Jack – Jack isn’t in our honeymoon phase anymore. He hasn’t been for the past year. And he’s not in love with me anymore. I just didn’t want to face that, so I ignored it.

And he wanted to remember Jack with joy.

That would be a crime if I let those happy early memories turn bitter. I can’t do that.

Lardo was right. Lord, she was right.