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They've been sitting side by side on the bench for a few minutes before Dex can work up the nerve to speak. "Um. So."
Bitty just wraps his hands a little tighter around his cinnamon dolce latte. That's one of the reasons Dex wanted to talk to him— he knows when not to push. It's weird, considering how talkative Bitty is normally, but he just kind of has a sixth sense for it. Maybe he can feel the awkwardness, radiating off Dex in waves, that says this is hard for me.
Well. Dex can definitely feel it.
"So," he says again, just to make it clear that he does actually intend to speak, that he has something to say, that they're not going to just sit there for another ten minutes in silence and then go back to the Haus. "Um." Which is just the same thing he already said in reverse order.
He mentally goes through the bullet points he had made, trying to figure out how he wanted this to go, and when he gets to the crucial part, the part that's the reason that he's— that they're actually here, he feels like every single one of his inner organs has been tied in knots. Fuck. Dex is, and has always been, someone who cries if he gets overwhelmed enough, and he's not quite at that point yet but he can feel the roughness in his lungs and the tightness in his larynx that says that he doesn't have much further to go.
He can't do this.
Not out loud, anyway, can't actually say it.
So he forces a cough, just to try to get some of the lump out of his throat, and it doesn't really work but it works enough that he can choke out, "I'm going to text it to you," before the pressure on his lungs is enough to make him gasp in a breath and pull out his phone.
Bitty says, "Okay. Take your time." And he sips his coffee and takes out his own phone so he can see what Dex sends him.
Dex: So like. I wanted to say something earlier. A lot earlier. But I guess I didn't really know how?
Dex: I didn't really know who to tell
That's a bigger admission than he intended to make— well, not really, but it reveals more about him. More about his relationship with the team, that he can be here, a sophomore in college, nearly three semesters in, on an incredibly tight-knit hockey team, spending almost every waking moment with the same people for over a year, and still. Not want to tell any of them about this. Or not know who to tell, who he wants to trust with something like this.
He's about to start typing, he doesn't know what, some sort of apology probably, for not making more of an effort to open up, to get closer with the rest of the team emotionally if not physically, and then Bitty says, "That's completely understandable. You don't need to justify it."
Dex can't really help a tear slipping free then, just because he knows for sure he has chosen the right person to trust. To talk to.
Dex: But I feel like we've gotten closer and, I don't know, bonded and shit? And I would have said something eventually, because how could I not
Dex: Because I do love everyone on the team
Dex: I just feel like I needed some time to figure out how I wanted to do this
Bitty nods. He still looks completely at peace, calm and patient despite how long it is taking Dex to get to his actual point and the fact that he's definitely a big bundle of stress and anxiety right now. But fuck if he can't remember exactly how he wanted to phrase this. He worked so hard on it last night.
Um.
He briefly considers the ramifications of it, decides he's in pretty deep already, and opens his email to find the draft he'd saved with the bullet points of what to say, in what order, and how to phrase it.
He's in the middle of copy-pasting when Bitty says, "Did you write notes for yourself?" with just a hint of lightness in his voice that could be laughing, could be humor, and Dex looks up instantly but Bitty just says, "I'm more of an index card person myself. But having a script you wrote when you were, like, calm is helpful."
"Uh-huh," Dex grunts more than says, because the lump in his throat is still irritatingly persistent, and then he finishes copy-pasting and hits send. He sees Bitty pick his phone back up in his peripheral vision— Dex himself is determinedly facing forward, because otherwise he'll over-analyze every microexpression on Bitty's face and some days, Dex is just not ready for his own levels of hyperawareness about what he thinks everyone around him thinks about him all the time. Today is one of those days.
Dex: Because obviously it's something that's kind of delicate and I've spent a lot of time thinking about it and it never felt like the right time or place
Dex: There was always something else happening or like, do you want to distract everyone right before practice? or a game? And you want to be low-key but also don't want to just redirect a casual conversation like that?
Dex: Like I don't want to be a distraction or to surprise anyone so what am I supposed to do
Dex: I wish I was the type of person who was confident enough to just slip it into any conversation but I'm not and I thought about doing something crazy or over the top to just get it over with but then I didn't want to do that either because obviously that's just not me
"Dex," Bitty says slowly. "You don't owe me an explanation. And you don't need to, like, write an entire monologue that leads up to a logical conclusion." Out of the corner of Dex's eye, he sees when Bitty shifts on the bench so he's facing Dex more, instead of facing the path. "If there's something you want to get off of your chest, you can just throw it out there, and we'll figure it out together."
And of course he's right. Because Dex doesn't need this whole long rant, hasn't needed any of it really, he's just using it to kind of... ease into actually saying what he means to say? But if he keeps going like this he's never going to say it. And that defeats the whole purpose of this exercise.
But he can't just say it, because if he does, if he just forces the words out of his mouth, they'll tear through the fragile willpower holding his tears back in his throat and his breath in his lungs and incoherence will descend on him like it always does. And he can't let that happen. He can't be distracted by a tight feeling in his chest or the pain of clenching every muscle in his throat to keep from sobbing.
So he carefully, carefully inhales through his nose— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight— and holds it— one, two, three, four— and exhales. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Just long enough that he has to focus on making it to the end, without making it even harder to breathe.
And then he stares down at his phone and painstakingly types it out, one character at a time, slower than he's typed on any keyboard since eighth grade, and an eternity passes in the moment it takes him to hit send.
Dex: I'm gay.
Bitty sets down his coffee on the ground next to him, and says, "Oh, honey," and opens his arms up for a hug, and Dex holds on to him like a lifeline, because really, that's exactly who Bitty is for him, has been since Dex first saw him living in the Haus, being open about himself, being fully embraced by the entire team, and thought, huh. It works for him.
And a few more tears escape, and Dex can feel the tension working its way into his shoulders and his core from the effort it takes him to remain still and keep breathing normally, consistently, deep breaths that he counts in and out to avoid the feeling of gasping for air, and he can hear Bitty saying, "Thank you for telling me. I'm so proud of you."
They stay like that for a while, long enough that Dex's brain has managed to get past 'you finally fucking did it oh my fucking god' and on to 'Bitty's coffee is probably getting cold,' and that signals enough of a return to calm that he releases his arms and says, "Thank fuck that's over," and wipes at his eyes a bit— there's no use in pretending he was about three seconds away from being a sobbing mess, not when Bitty could definitely feel how much Dex was straining to keep some composure.
"I was serious about the index cards, you know." Bitty picks up his coffee again with a hint of a smile. "Shitty was the first person I came out to? And I waited until Ransom and Holster were literally trying to set me up with every girl they knew for Winter Screw. But I was so scared about saying something to someone, even though it was Shitty, that I made myself index cards and just paced in front of him the whole time. In front of this bench, actually."
Dex stares at him. "No. Here?"
"Yup. I guess people gravitate here for serious conversations. It's a good spot." He shrugs, and sips his coffee, and Dex thinks he detects a bit of a shine to Bitty's eyes before he says, "It means a lot to me that you felt comfortable enough to say this— or, type this, whatever. I'm glad you did." And then he laughs a little. "Lord, look at me, you just came out to me and I'm the one tearing up."
"I did that too," Dex offers. "I did it first, actually, so I think you're fine."
"Well, thank you for that."
They sit there a bit longer, Bitty drinking his coffee, Dex just breathing and noticing the feeling of being with someone who knows. It's different. It's good. He can feel the chilliness in the air that signals that it's finally winter, and he can feel it burn a little in his nose and going down his throat into his lungs, but he's warm enough that it doesn't bother him— the heat of anxiety, of nervous sweating, giving way to just... being comfortable. Genuinely comfortable.
Imagine that.
"Do you want to go back to the Haus?" he asks eventually.
Bitty makes a face. "No, but I probably should. I have an essay due tomorrow at midnight."
Dex would love to offer to help, just to do something to help Bitty, but also he's just not a great writer and there are way better people on the team Bitty could go to, so he says, "Let me know if you need ingredients for stress baking."
"You understand me so well."
As they're walking back to the Haus, Dex feels like he's almost about to enter a different world— not a completely different one, but one where he feels just a little more known, just a little more understood in turn. And he's glad.