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Jack’s never really been an extrovert and he’s fine with that. It’s a product of anxiety plus the expectations that come along with being Bad Bob’s son plus… well, a little bit more anxiety caused by that fact. Playing for a NHL team doesn’t just involve showing up to practice and strategy meetings and the actual games, so he’s had to learn over the years how to interact with reporters and fans and other hockey players. He doesn’t find it easy, but he manages. Today, though, is a first. He’s driving from Providence to Samwell University because apparently no one else on the Falconers team or from the management wanted to go down there to try and recruit a college hockey player for the game. When George told him about it, Jack was sure that the woman had an ulterior motive, since she couldn’t really give a solid explanation for why it had to be Jack that went. He’s also a little concerned about the guy in question, from George’s brief summary of him.
(“He’s certainly a character.” George remarks.
Jack makes a facial expression that he’s been told on multiple occasions looks exactly like when he says the word ‘eh?’. “A character?”
“You have to meet him to get it.” She tells him. “Just ignore his words and focus on the hockey.”)
The guy is called Johnson and Jack’s pretty sure that George said his first name is John which… okay, definitely sounds made up. But looking at the tapes the guy sent in, Jack can see that Johnson is incredible on the ice. Johnson’s also the captain of his team, so that must mean something too. The plan is for Jack to drop by the frat house that Johnson lives at - the Haus? Jack doesn’t really understand - and have a chat with him, before watching him practice with his team to try and get a feel for whether Johnson will fit with the Falconers. Of course, they’ve already got Chowder who Jack thinks is one of the best goalies in the league - and who blushes a deep shade of pink whenever Jack vocalises that thought - but there’s been talk of players moving around and there’s always room for fresh meat and new ideas.
He arrives at the Haus, still questioning the name. He approaches the door and knocks, his knock sounding a lot more confident than he feels. This is the first time he’s done this - been actively recruiting for the team - and he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. After all, he never did the college thing, being recruited as soon as he was old enough.
Less than a minute later, the door swings open to reveal a blonde guy about a head shorter than Jack. He’s got oven gloves slung over his shoulder and flour on his shirt and… his nose?
“Oh my goodness, you’re Jack Zimmermann.” the guy says.
He stands there for a moment, as if he’s taking in the fact that a hockey legend - or a hockey legend’s son, Jack thinks - is standing on his doorstep. Jack takes that time to stare right back, acknowledging the guy’s red cheeks and brown eyes. The guy speaks before Jack’s thoughts can go any further.
“Oh, what are my manners leaving you on the doorstep? Come on in, I’ll find Johnson for you.” he pauses. “I’m Eric Bittle, but everyone ‘round here calls me Bittle. Or Bitty.”
Jack forgets how to speak for a moment, but recovers when he notices Eric - Bittle? Bitty? Jack isn’t sure what name to use - staring at him. “Nice to meet you.” Jack says, stepping through the doorway and into the Haus. (He’s just decided to go with the name.)
Bittle makes his way down the corridor and Jack follows, taking in his surroundings as he goes. He definitely doesn’t take in Bittle’s ass, because that would be inappropriate. As they’re walking, two guys come thundering down the stairs, one blonde, with glasses perched on the end of his nose; one black, with a backwards baseball cap.
“Holy shit, dude, it’s Jack fuckin’ Zimmermann.” The blonde guy elbows his friend so hard the guy nearly falls down the stairs. The black guy pushes back, causing his friend to fall down hard on his ass.
Bittle turns around and chides them, hands on hips. He looks sternly at the blonde guy, who hasn’t yet bothered to get up. “Holster, don’t freak the guy out.”
The other guy opens his mouth and Bittle stops him with a raised finger. “You too, Ransom.” Ransom closes his mouth and nods.
“Can you two go find Johnson? If it wasn’t for me Jack fuckin’ Zimmermann” - Bittle mimics Holster’s tone - “would still be out on the doorstep.”
Holster and Ransom nod and scurry back up the stairs, Ransom gives Holster a hand to help him up and Jack is pretty sure he doesn’t let go after that. He can’t hold back a laugh.
“You sure keep them in check.” he remarks.
“Somebody’s got to with these boys.” Bittle smiles. “Hey, I’ll get you a slice of pie while you’re waiting.”
Jack has a million things to say to that, ranging from ‘I’m starving’ to ‘my nutritionist will skin me as I sleep’ but he just nods and follows Bittle down the hall to where he assumes the kitchen is located. Bittle bends down to pull a pie out of the oven and Jack doesn’t know how he didn’t notice the smell before because it is heavenly.
“You bake?” he asks.
Bittle’s eyes flash slightly, like he’s used to being on the defensive about his less sport-related hobbies, but Jack smiles. “Hey, I wish more hockey players knew how to cook.” Jack tells him. “The things you see them eating sometimes.”
“I don’t know how they lived before I got here to sort ‘em out.” Bittle says, shuddering slightly. He starts cutting into the pie. “Hey, can you grab me a couple of plates?” He points to a cupboard and Jack obediently reaches up and takes out two plates. He wonders whether Bittle is too short to reach. Then he wonders why that thought makes him smile.
Bittle dishes out a slice of pie onto both of the plates and passes a plate in Jack’s direction. He bites in and makes a noise of pleasure at the taste. “Maple syrup?” he asks, in awe.
“Maple sugar crusted apple pie. When I hear Jack Zimmermann is visiting, I gotta get out the maple.” Bittle says.
Jack eats the rest of the pie in a record amount of time. He’s trying not to think of the calories as a guy who can be no other than the elusive Johnson appears in the door of the kitchen, interrupting their conversation.
“Johnson, right?” Jack asks, holding out his hand for the other guy to shake.
Johnson shakes his hand. “That’s me. Who you’re here to see. Theoretically.”
Jack doesn’t know how to respond to that. He turns and looks at Bittle beside him, who looks as though this isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
“Johnson, I know I taught y’all better than to leave your guests on the doorstep when they’re expected.” Bittle says. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I practically live in this kitchen he’d still be out in the cold.”
“I’m from Canada.” Jack mutters under his breath. Bittle shoots him a look as if to say ‘not now, I’m teaching him manners’.
“Oh, bro, I wasn’t being rude, it’s all for the narrative progression. You gotta get that first meeting locked down before the story can progress any further, you know? I mean, dude, the fact that you’re theoretically here to recruit me to your team is just a narrative device to get you to Samwell, right? Like, the only reason I’m here is because I’m the most plausible person to be recruited. I mean, sure, I could graduate and you could try and recruit Shitty but he’s totally gunning for Harvard Law, and you don’t wanna mess with his characterisation. And I guess Holster is plausible but then Shitty would’ve graduated and you’ve got no new frogs, so who’ve you got to play with for the subplots?” Johnson takes a breath. “You met Bitty?”
Jack nods. He frantically steers the conversation towards hockey before it can get any weirder. He now understands George referring to Johnson as a ‘character’. “So, you’re interested in playing for the Falconers?”
“Only in so far as it gives you a legitimate excuse to frequently visit Samwell.” Johnson says. Off Jack’s look, he rephrases. “Yeah, I am.”
“That’s great, it’s a great team.” Jack says. “I think you’d like it in Providence.”
Johnson nods.
Jack tries to keep the conversation focused on hockey but Johnson keeps coming out with phrases like ‘alternate universe’ and ‘lack of characterisation’ that make Jack’s head hurt when he thinks too much about what Johnson is trying to say.
“Hey, what time are you guys practising today?”
“Two.” Johnson says. “We usually practice in the morning but that wouldn’t have given Bitty any time to bake pie before you arrived and for the two of you to bond, so for narrative we switched it around.”
Bittle shakes his head. “Johnson, go get ready for practice, I’ll keep Jack entertained.”
Johnson disappears. Like… literally disappears? Jack discounts it as a trick of the light but there’s something not quite there about the goalie.
“Sorry about Johnson.” Bittle says. “He’s a nice guy, just comes out with some weird stuff. He’s really into comics. He’s got into fanfiction recently and become weirdly obsessed with coffee shops.”
“As long as he can play, that’s all we really care about.” Jack says. “I’ve seen his tapes, he’s good.”
Bittle smiles. “We’re gonna miss him next year. You guys in Providence had best take care of him and his conceptual talk.”
The two of them end up just talking about what seems like nothing until the rest of the team assemble downstairs, ready for the walk to the rink. He sees Ransom and Holster again, who say hello after Bittle encourages them to act like ‘normal human beings, y’all’, and meets Shitty and Lardo, who are wrapped up in conversation about gender dynamics in surrealist art. Johnson appears downstairs last, as if he were waiting for Jack to meet the team properly before he reappeared.
They make the walk together and Jack tries not to look too pleased that he’s walking next to Bittle the whole way.
.
Jack takes a seat in the stands and watches the team start to warm up. He knows he’s there to watch Johnson, but his eyes can’t stop flitting away and landing on a particular blonde baker.
There’s something about this boy: he’s small, but he’s speedy. Thinking of George and the fact that she trusted him with this responsibility, Jack forces his eyes back onto Johnson. He’s good - blocking more shots than he lets in - and he seems almost as if he were made to stop goals being scored.
Later, at the side of the rink, he tells Johnson how impressed he is.
“Well, you know, I didn’t get here without a lot of hard work and some authorial intent.” Johnson replies.
Jack thinks he’s got used to the goalie now, as he just nods and carries on with the conversation like nothing happened. The team walk back to the house together and Jack finds himself drawn into a conversation with Shitty. From an outwards glance, Jack wouldn’t have assumed he’d get on with this guy, but the pornstache seems to be pretty misleading. Jack finds himself genuinely interested in Shitty’s points on hyper-aggressive masculinity in contact sports and even manages to make a few points of his own, Shitty nodding along as he gets what Jack is saying. He looks ahead and sees Eric stood in between Ransom and Holster, their arms both around the younger guy’s shoulders. Jack thinks he hears them referring to the blonde boy as ‘itty Bitty’. Johnson is chatting with some other members of the team. Jack knows he’s an outsider, but for the time it takes to walk back to the Haus he really starts to feel the camaraderie of the team, as if he belongs there.
“If you’ve not got plans, you should hang around.” Shitty says. Like he can read his mind, he quickly says, “You’re not intruding.”
Jack thinks it over but realises that he doesn’t have practice the next day so there’s not any certain time he needs to be back for. The team seem hyped to have him there, anyway. He might’ve started the day feeling anxious about what was going to happen, but he’s realising that he’s with a bunch of people that are just like him. Jack’s pretty sure that if he’d gone to college, he would’ve gone to Samwell.
The team all tumble into the living room together and Jack is about to perch on a green couch when he feels a hand grab his elbow. Turning, he sees Bittle right next to him.
“You don’t want to sit on that couch.” he warns. “I’m pretty sure it’s diseased.”
Jack takes the hint and perches somewhere else, noticing Bittle sit down close enough to him that their thighs are touching. He has two opposing instincts: to jolt away or to lean into the touch. He does neither.
He watches as Shitty, Lardo, Ransom and Holster sink down onto the couch and feels Bittle wince.
“I don’t know what y’all are thinking sitting on that couch.” Bittle raises his voice so they can hear him.
The conversation quickly dissolves into hockey talk and chirping and god knows what else. Jack ends up being asked questions about his career by Ransom and Holster, who keep sneaking glances at Bittle, as if he’s told them not to ask too much. Shitty and Lardo seem wrapped up in their own conversation. Jack doesn’t miss the looks they send each other’s way and he wonders whether there’s something going on there.
After a while, Bittle excuses himself to get some pie and Jack rises to help him. As he leaves the room, he can’t help but hear the beginning of a conversation.
“I never thought I’d see Southern manners and Canadian politeness collide so fucking beautifully.” Holster murmurs.
“Jack makes me feel like a sub-par Canadian.” Ransom says. “Maybe I should help Bitty with pie more often.”
“Like he’d trust you with that responsibility.” Shitty remarks.
“Then why does he trust Jack?” Ransom says, in mock-outrage. “After all we’ve been through together…”
Jack tries not to overanalyse the conversation and instead concentrates on getting plates down for Bittle, remembering the cupboard from earlier.
“Oh, I didn’t even have to ask.” Bittle says in wonderment. “You’re too kind, Mr Zimmermann.”
Jack can feel his cheeks flushing.
“You should stay for dinner.” Bittle says. “I’m cooking for the team tonight. I need to remind them sometimes that snickerdoodles aren’t a good staple food in your diet.”
“I-I mean, if that’s okay?” Jack asks. He feels like this team are going way too far to welcome him. “You don’t need to bribe me to say good things about Johnson to my manager, you know. I was going to anyway.”
“You’re more than welcome here.” Bittle says, while dishing up pie. “Help me carry these plates through?”
.
When Jack leaves, he realises that he hasn’t seen Johnson since he got in from practice. He walks out the door and is about to get into the car when something makes him look behind him. He notices Johnson sitting on a deckchair out on the roof, which he’d think was weird, but Shitty already told him about the Samwell Men’s Hockey Reading Room. Johnson doesn’t seem to be reading though, or doing much of anything.
“Thanks for coming, man.” Johnson says.
Jack decides not to ask why the goalie disappeared - he doesn’t think he could handle the explanation. “How are you feeling about the Falconers?” he asks, tilting his neck to keep eye contact.
“Still interested.” Johnson says. “There’s lots theoretical decisions to made, though, you know? Gotta decide between a few fictional teams. Narratively speaking, that gives you a good reason to come back here.”
Jack nods. “I’ll see you again, Johnson.”
“I know.”
.
If people found out that Jack was bi, they’d probably assume that it was another facet of his identity that he had to constantly grapple with, but that’s pretty far from the truth. Sure, it’s something that makes his life a little more complicated, but being closeted doesn’t always equal self-hatred. Jack is perfectly okay with his sexuality - happy with it, even. The only reason he’s closeted is the NHL. Being bi doesn’t affect his anxiety anymore, but being the first openly bi player in the NHL feels like too much pressure at the moment.
In an ideal world, Jack would be out. It would make a lot of things easier - dating being one of them. He’s had to stick to random hookups with people he trusts, or people he’s pretty sure know nothing about the hockey world. There was Parse, too, but he doesn’t think about that much anymore - or, at least, he tries not to. Parse is history, at least most of the time. When the Falconers come up against the Aces, that’s a different problem, but Jack has got good at dodging the tricky questions reporters like to stick him with.
Sometimes Jack wishes he were out, so he wouldn’t have to individually come out to every person he might like, or every person that he wants a genuine friendship with. He’s out to most of his teammates in the Falconers because all good relationships have to be built on trust, at least in his experience. That’s where he went wrong with Parse. That’s where he initially went wrong with his parents before his therapist gave him the courage to fix it before things got a lot worse. Jack knows that his life could be a lot different now, if he hadn’t spoken out to his parents about his sexuality and addiction. A quiet stay in rehab that the media - thank God - never caught wind of was a lot better than any of the alternatives. Jack knows that he’s lucky to have what he has.
He’s thinking about this because of Bittle. He’s thinking about this because of a guy he just met. He wouldn’t say that he’d fallen for the guy immediately, because love at first sight is something Jack firmly does not believe in, but there’s interest there. It’s something that he’d definitely pursue if he was out. It’s something he tentatively wants to pursue despite being in the closet.
Like Johnson said, if you ignored the weird parts, Jack had plenty of reasons to go back to Samwell. To persuade Johnson to join the Falconers. If he saw Bittle while he was there… well, that would be okay too.
.
Practice before a game always has tensions running high. Dex and Nursey are yelling at each other about something completely insignificant, - Jack thinks it has something to do with Dex flirting with a cute barista but he isn’t sure whether Nursey is jealous of Dex or the barista - Chowder is skating away from a teammate who keeps trying to make him touch the puck and there’s someone yelling, “HE WANTS THE P”. Jack is skating up and down, up and down, trying to even out his breathing and get into a good place before they start.
He sees George at the side of the ice and she beckons him over. He skates across, stopping just short of the edge.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“How was Samwell?” she asks. “What did you think of Johnson? Did you like any of his teammates?”
“Johnson’s great.” Jack says honestly. “On the ice, anyway, I don’t really understand why he keeps talking about narrative flow.” He pauses. “Wait, what do I think of his teammates?”
George has a sly grin on her face. George also happens to know that he’s bi. She also may know his type.
“George.” he groans. “That’s why you sent me?”
“Are you complaining?” she asks him.
“...No.” Jack hopes he isn’t blushing.
“You’re blushing.” Shit. “Did you try his pie?”
“He baked maple sugar crusted apple pie.” Jack mutters. “Wait, you met him?”
“I went down the other week to talk to Johnson.” George tells him. “Check him out, see if he’s good for the team.”
“Then why….?” Jack trails off. “You already told me why.”
“This’ll be good for you, kiddo.” George says. “You need something else in your life apart from hockey and protein.”
“I jog too.”
“That is not a life, Jack.” George tells him.
Jack glares at her. “He could be straight for all I know.”
“Jack.” It’s like George won’t even dignify that with a real response.
Jack is starting to get George’s point. He does want to see Bittle again. The rest of the team, too. He’s been reading up on gender theory and sports and he has a few ideas he wants to run past Shitty.
“Hypothetically speaking, how soon can I go back without seeming weird?” Jack asks.
George has to hold onto the side of the rink she’s laughing so hard.
.
Jack goes back in two weeks. It’s not weird. This time Shitty answers the door and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers - which Lardo later tells him is a miracle in itself. He’s briefly disappointed before he smells a baking pie and realises Bittle won’t be far away. He’s debating whether it would be weird to head straight to the kitchen when Bittle emerges. He’s rubbing his face with his elbow but when it comes away there’s still flour there. Without thinking, Jack steps closer and removes it with his thumb. If he leaves his hand there for a moment too long, there’s no reason for that at all.
“Thanks, Jack.” Bittle says, sounding dazed.
“Hey, Bittle.”
“The team’s hanging out in the kitchen, come on through.”
Jack follows Bittle into the kitchen, aware of Shitty following behind him. Sat around the table are Lardo, Ransom and Holster. Shitty takes a seat next to Lardo and peers down at the sketch she’s working on. Ransom’s staring down at a textbook with a look of anguish in his eyes while Holster tries to comfort him with a back massage.
“Why do compulsory history credits exist?” he moans. Ransom looks up. “Oh, hey Jack.”
“What period of history?” Jack asks. The whole table looks up in surprise.
“Origins of World War Two.” Ransom says. “It’s depressing, that’s what it is.”
Jack walks around the table and leans over Ransom’s shoulder. “I’m a bit of a history geek.” he confesses. “I can help you with this.”
“Dude, if you help me keep my 4.0 I might wanna marry you.” Ransom says.
Jack chuckles. “Let’s get our heads around the Treaty of Versailles before we make any proposals, eh?”
They get down to work, Ransom and Jack talking about the Rheinland and reparations as Lardo sketches, Shitty stretches - leaving very little to the imagination - and Bittle carries on baking, Holster getting up to try and help him but ending up being swatted away.
“I know you’re trying to be helpful, but no one gets in the way of my baking.” Bittle says. “I’m not running out of filling again, I know that was you, Adam.” Holster freezes at the use of the first name.
Before Jack knows it, he’s helped Ransom plan an essay and is grabbing plates from the cupboard for Bittle. Again, Bittle seems surprised that Jack does it without being asked, thanking him while serving up honey peach pie, which is Ransom’s favourite. Jack loves that Bittle goes out of his way to make the other boys feel better in times of stress.
They all tuck into the pie and an astonishing amount of pornographic moans fill the room. Shitty declares Bitty “a fucking God among us mere mortals” and there’s a chorus of agreement through mouthfuls of pie.
“So, where’s Johnson?” Jack asks when he’s finished his pie.
As if on cue, Johnson walks into the kitchen.
“Where’ve you been, bro? Jack’s been here for ages.” Holster says.
“Oh, I don’t know if I could pinpoint any exact location, you know? I mean, my existence is… complicated. I’m not really anywhere when I’m not interacting with the central characters. Theoretically speaking, though, I was probably in Bitty’s bedroom. I mean, my bedroom, because it’s currently my bedroom despite the whole purpose of it being my bedroom is to give Bitty dibs at some point.”
“What are dibs?” Bittle asks, confused. No one responds, all of them staring at Johnson.
Jack feels a need to break the silence. “Anyone up for some ice time?”
Bittle, Johnson, Shitty and Lardo are up for it, but Ransom and Holster decline because they need to get work done. Jack waits for the others to grab their skates before they head to Faber.
.
Bittle has brought two pairs of skates with him: figure skates and hockey skates. Jack didn’t know that Bittle used to figure skate, but now he thinks about it he can picture it perfectly. It turns out that he doesn’t need to picture it, because Bittle launches into something so tight and perfected that it must be a past routine. He’s twirling and jumping and gliding and Jack cannot take his eyes off him.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Shitty says.
Jack nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“He’s a good guy, good player. He means a lot to all of us.” Shitty says. Jack isn’t sure why he’s being told this, until Shitty speaks again. “So don’t fuck with him, okay?”
Jack tears his eyes away from Bittle to look at Shitty face on. “Why would I fuck with him?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“He’s got a big heart, Jack.” Shitty says. Oh. Right.
“I wouldn’t hurt him.” Jack says. He looks out of the corner of his eye and sees Lardo and Johnson at the opposite end of the rink. There’s no one to overhear him. “You can’t tell anyone that I’m into guys.” he says in a low voice.
“You can trust me.” Shitty says.
“I do.”
“Thank you.” Shitty says. Jack looks at him, confused. “For trusting me. That’s big.”
Jack is silent for a while. “He’s really good.”
“You don’t have to rush into anything.” Shitty says. “Or do anything you don’t wanna do. But you can talk to me about it. If you want.”
Jack doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet, but he wants to talk to Shitty regardless. “Hey, so I was reading up on gender roles in sport.”
“Dude.” Shitty’s eyes are practically glowing. “I think I love you.”
“Oh my God.” Jack says. “Please don’t let this be the second proposal I have to reject today.”
Shitty laughs, getting down onto one knee. He’s opened his mouth to speak when Jack drags him into a standing position by the back of his t-shirt.
“I feel rejected, Jack Zimmermann.” Shitty places a hand over his heart dramatically. “How will I ever love again?”
The two of them skate around while Jack fills Shitty in on his reading and Shitty nods along.
.
After a while, Shitty skates off with Lardo and Johnson conveniently disappears, which is beginning to be a theme. Jack skates over to Bittle at the edge of the rink who is changing into his hockey skates.
“You really know how to move on the ice, Bittle.” Jack says, perching on the bench next to him, accidentally sitting a little too close. Accidentally, okay?
“Thanks.” Bittle says, looking down at the laces on his skates.
“Why’d you give it up?” Jack asks. “I mean, you’re brilliant at hockey, but you’re great at figure skating too.”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t know.” Bittle says. “We moved and it was hard to find a new place to do it. I wanted to get into something sporty, something more…” he trails off. He finishes lacing his second skate.
“Masculine?” Jack asks.
Bittle winces. “Well, when you put it like that… But, yeah. I lived in Georgia. Figure skating doesn’t exactly make you a bro.”
“Did you want to be a bro?” Jack asks.
Bittle laughs. “Lord, I don’t know. I wanted to not be locked in storage closets overnight.”
He says it in such a casual tone that he could be talking about the weather, but Jack doesn’t miss the leftover anger in Bittle’s eyes. “Shit.” he says. He doesn’t know what else he can say.
“I mean, it’s high school.” Bittle says. “That’s what happens.”
“It shouldn’t.” Jack says instantly. He stands up, waiting for Bittle to follow his lead. They skate out onto the ice.
“Everyone gets shit in high school.” Bittle says.
“I got more shit from reporters than from anyone my age.” Jack says honestly. “Growing up, all they wanted to know was, was I gonna be like my dad? They wouldn’t stop asking.”
“Those reporters don’t know that they’re talking about.” Bittle says. He sounds angry, like he wants to defend Jack. They’re skating laps of the rink now, their movements perfectly in sync with each other.
Jack laughs. “So what was growing up in Georgia like, then? Apart from that.”
Bittle entertains Jack with stories of his childhood and Jack returns the favour by talking about being the son of Bad Bob Zimmermann (and the slightly less renowned but still badass Alicia Zimmermann). He talks about Canadian winters and Canada Day, the embarrassing photos of him as a baby and the Stanley Cup - Bittle goes bright red and can’t stop laughing when Jack explains exactly what he’s doing in the pictures.
They’ve been skating for a while when Jack looks around and realises that everyone else has left the ice. He tells Bittle.
“Oh my goodness, I didn’t even realise!” he exclaims. “God, they couldn’t have mentioned to us that they were leaving, could they?”
“Johnson disappears a lot.” Jack remarks. “And I think Shitty and Lardo maybe wanted to be alone.”
“You think…?” Bittle says. “I hope so.”
They keep skating for a while, in silence this time. It’s a comfortable one, though. It feels natural.
“You done here?” Bittle asks after a while. “We can head back to the Haus. There should still be pie.”
If Bittle’s company hadn’t already sold the idea to him, the pie would have. The pair skate off the ice and then leisurely walk back to the Haus. They’re walking close together and their hands are closer. Jack entertains the notion of just moving his hand slightly; wonders how Bittle would react. He decides not to, because it’s only the second time he’s met the guy and they’re in public. But he wants to.
As they walk, he plays back his conversation with Shitty. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, the law student had told him. Jack knows that this is something he wants to do, but he doesn’t know if he wants to do it now. He doesn’t know if he wants to try something when he barely knows this boy beside him - because what if he rejects him? At least if he can be Bittle’s friend for a bit, at least he won’t have to say goodbye straight away.
Talking and skating might not be enough forever, but it is for now.
They end up back at the Haus and Bittle goes to grab pie, while insisting that Jack goes and sits down in the living room - “As long as you don’t sit on that green couch, y’hear me?”. Jack’s just sat down when he hears a shout so loud he can’t quite believe it comes from the small guy.
“RANSOM! HOLSTER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PIE?”
.
Jack tries to be subtle but making the forty minute drive to Samwell is a pretty big thing. He waits another two weeks before he caves and makes the trip. He feels like he’s holding a flashing sign over his head that says ‘I HAVE A BIG GAY CRUSH ON ERIC BITTLE’. The thing is, he just can’t stay away. He’s constantly thinking about Bittle. Bitty, he’s started calling him in his head, which feels oddly intimate. Bitty and his pies. Mainly Bitty, but he sometimes dreams about pies. A man has needs, okay?
He needs to stop thinking of him as Bitty.
Then again, does he need to stop?
There’s a conflict going back and forth in his head. He’s okay with being bi, right? No shame. That’s what he tells himself, at least, but maybe there’s always going to be a part of him that feels afraid, maybe there will always be that last bit of internalised homophobia that he can’t get rid of. Or maybe it’s not that, maybe he’s scared of losing what he has with Bitty. Bittle.
He knocks on the door of the Haus but no one answers, so he tries the handle and walks straight in. There’s no pretense - he walks straight to the kitchen. Bitty’s there and Jack clears his throat but the boy doesn’t make any movement to acknowledge his presence. Jack realises that Bitty has earphones in and stands at the door, deciding how to approach without making Bitty jump, when Bitty starts singing.
...Well, maybe singing isn’t the best word for it. He’s rapping. Bitty is rapping. Jack doesn’t know a lot about rap, but Bitty is kind of killing it. There’s nothing Jack can do except stand transfixed as Bitty raps while rolling out a pie crust.
“It's me, Jessie, and Ari, If they test me they sorry, ride us up like a Harley, then pull off in this ferrari, if he hanging we banging, phone ranging, he slanging, it ain't karaoke night but get the mic 'cause I'm sanging.” Jack is pretty sure ‘sanging’ isn’t a word, but that’s the way Bitty says - raps? - it.
Jack is starting to feel invasive, but then Bitty starts dancing. It’s not much more than swaying at first, but then he’s moving his butt, rolling his hips. Jack feels super creepy, but he’s not sure how to announce his presence at this point. Bitty finishes the rap and spins around, rolling pin still in his hands. A rolling pin that he promptly drops on the floor at the sight of Jack, a scream escaping his mouth.
Bitty rips his earphones out. “Jack.” he says, out of breath.
Jack doesn’t know what to say. “Is ‘sanging’ a word?” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.
Bitty keeps staring until he stops staring and laughs. “Oh my goodness, Jack, what am I going to do with you?”
Jack has a mental list of suggestions, but he’s not about to tell Bitty that. “Sorry.” he says.
“How much of that did you hear?” Bitty asks. “How much did you see?”
“It’s me, Jessie and Ari?” Jack says. It comes out like a question. “There was some dancing.” Jack doesn’t miss the pink rising on Bitty’s cheeks.
“I’m a better hockey player than a dancer.” Bitty says.
“I liked it.” Jack says, stepping closer.
“Y-you did?” Bitty stutters. He bends down, picks up the rolling pin from the floor and sets it on the side. He keeps his eyes on the counter for a moment, like he’s scared what will happen when he looks back at Jack.
“You looked like you were having fun.” Jack says, risking another step closer. Bitty’s head turns and their eyes lock.
“Yeah.” Bitty breathes. Jack doesn’t know if it’s a response to his last statement or an affirmative that what they’re doing is okay.
He wonders if this is a good idea, then he realises that he doesn’t care. Bitty steps closer. They’re standing in such a way that one of Bitty’s old teachers would probably tell them to “leave room for Jesus!” but they’re not doing anything. Just looking. Jack becomes aware of the sound of his rapid breathing. He can hear the same coming from Bitty. He wants to kiss this boy, he does, but he’s also content just to look. To feel the air coming from Bitty.
“BITTY!” There’s a shout and Jack and Bitty both jump back. Bitty ends up leaning back on the counter. Jack falls down onto a chair.
Shitty runs into the room. “Bitty, hey, there you are.” he says. “We need a chocolate pecan pie, stat.”
“What’s the matter with Lardo?” Bitty immediately asks. Jack finds it unbelievably cute that he’s memorised all his teammates favourite pies.
Shitty shakes his head. “I don’t know, man, she won’t talk to me. Every time I see her she looks… I don’t know, man. I hate seeing her upset.”
Jack hasn’t seen Shitty like this. It’s weird to see him unhappy. Behind him, he hears Bitty sigh.
“Shitty, you know what’s wrong.” he says.
Shitty looks at him like he’s insane. “If I knew, I’d do something about it.”
“I wish you would.” Bitty mutters. He pauses, as if he’s considering whether or not he needs to do something about it. “Are you going to man up and kiss her, or what?”
Shitty looks disgruntled. “First off all, ‘man up’ is a misogynistic phrase and I expected better from you, Bittle. Second of all, I’m pretty sure you said that just to mess with me - stop laughing! Third of all, I’m going to kiss her, I was just waiting for the right moment.”
“I barely know the two of you and I know you’re both smitten.” Jack speaks up. “It’ll always be the right moment.”
Shitty smiles. “Thanks, Jack.”
“Don’t I get a thank you?” Bittle asks, a laugh in his smile.
“You, Eric Bittle,” Shitty says, “get a hug.” He buries his younger teammate in his arms. Jack watches as Bitty hugs Shitty back enthusiastically. He definitely isn’t jealous.
“I’ll still bake y’all that pie, Shitty.” Bitty says after he’s released. “But you don’t get a slice until I know you’ve made a move.”
Shitty nods and leaves the room. Jack stands back up.
“Lord.” Bitty says. “Those two.”
“I’m glad they’ve got their shit together.” he says.
“Imagine being on a team with them.” Bitty says. “We’ve been waiting for this for months.”
They talk about Shitty and Lardo. Jack wishes they were talking about Bitty and Jack.
.
Shitty seems to have Jack’s back. That night, he suggests that Jack and he switch phone numbers, which leads to Bitty inputting his digits into Jack’s phone. Over Bitty’s shoulder, Shitty winks.
Now Jack has to figure out how not to be awkward over text.
It’s not until after he leaves that he didn't even see Johnson while he was there. He texts to apologise and the goalie responds almost instantly.
don't sweat it, bro, there wasn't space for me in the narrative today
.
He gets a text from Bitty that night that says ‘hey’. There's also a box with a question mark, followed by a box with a question mark, followed by another box with a question mark.
He asks Dex what it means and he is chirped mercilessly before Chowder takes pity on him and installs emojis on Jack’s phone.
Jack doesn't pick up using emojis straight away, but he quickly becomes familiar with Bitty’s favourite emojis. He smiles every time he sees the dancing lady.
.
Looking back, attempting to get romantic advice from his teammates was not a good idea. They’ve just finished a long practice and he’s been dragged back to the apartment that Chowder, Dex and Nursey share. He’s not sure how Chowder manages to live with Dex and Nursey, since they spend half their time arguing about everything and half their time pretending that they don’t care about the other person when they really do. Then again, Chowder’s an easy going guy who isn’t afraid to lock himself in his room with headphones on, so he’s clearly got some pretty stellar coping strategies.
Chowder’s talking about a girl he’s started seeing - the guys have already started referring to her by her last name, Farmer - and the others seem genuinely interested when they’re not chirping the hell out of him for having feelings. Jack starts wishing that he could have this - that he could bring up a guy and they’d all listen, whilst taking every opportunity to laugh at him about it. The thing is, he knows that it’s a very real possibility. He’s out to the three of them and he’s convinced that Dex and Nursey are bi, although they haven’t explicitly told him yet. They’d all be supportive and any chirps thrown his way would be the same they’d throw at a straight teammate. Before he can second guess himself, he brings up Bittle. It’s been a week since he saw him and he’s going crazy not telling anyone.
“So, I might like a guy.” Jack says.
He was wrong to think that they’d treat him the same as any other teammate. No more than a second has passed since he spoke the words and his three teammates throw themselves on top of Jack, wrapping their arms around whatever parts of his body they can reach.
“I’m so glad you’re talking about your feelings.” sniffs Chowder.
Nursey nods along. “Let us know if you start writing poetry.” It could be a chirp, but coming from Nursey, Jack isn’t quite sure.
“I immediately regret telling you guys this.” Jack says. He realises that they’re not treating him differently because he likes a guy, but because he’s Jack: who hasn’t caught feelings since he was drafted.
“Who is he?” Dex asks.
“That, I am not telling you.”
“Eric Bittle, right?” Chowder says.
What? Jack glares at him. “How do you know who that is?” he asks.
“You’re not the only one that gets on well with George.” Chowder says. “He seems nice. I followed him on twitter.”
Jack is silent for a moment. He feels overwhelmed. He forces himself to close his eyes, focus on his breathing for a second. It’s fine. They’re his teammates. They’re not going to force him into anything. When he opens his eyes, the guys look concerned.
“Sorry Jack.” Chowder says. “We just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” Jack says, and he does.
“So, how are you gonna woo him?” Nursey asks.
Once Chowder and Dex have chirped the hell out of him for using the word ‘woo’ - and Nursey has defended Jane Austen vehemently - they turn back to the subject at hand.
“You give him flowers.” Dex says.
“No.” Jack says. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He tells them what he’s thinking and his teammates reassure him. When they leave, he texts Bitty. Jack wakes up in the morning with a phone on 4% charge and no memory of falling asleep.
.
Jack is pretty sure that he’s the most pathetic person in the world, and he’s 90% sure that's not his anxiety talking. He wanted to do something romantic and personal but he thinks that it’s just coming off as weird. Not knowing what to do, he picks up his phone and calls Shitty.
“Jack? Sup.”
“I did something stupid, Shitty.” Jack says.
“You might have to narrow it down, bro.” Shitty says.
Jack wishes he could glare at Shitty over the phone.
“I sent Bitty a package full of bags of flour.” Jack says. Saying it to Shitty makes it seem a lot more insane than saying it to his teammates.
Shitty splutters. “You what?”
“I thought it’d be more useful than flowers. More personal, maybe.” Jack says. There's silence and he wonders whether Shitty is covering the mouthpiece while he laughs.
“That’s actually kind of sweet, Jack.” Shitty says. “I don't know if he’ll understand it, though.”
Jack doesn't want to admit to this. “I put a note in the package.”
“Jack.” Shitty says. “What did it say?”
Jack doesn't respond.
“Jack.’
“Some flour for a Southern flower.” he mumbles.
“...Did you sign your name?” Shitty says.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Shitty clears his throat. “So, Bitty is probably as much of a pathetic romantic as you are. Jack… I think he’ll call. Listen, I gotta go.”
“Shitty!” Jack exclaims. “Don't hang up on me!”
“Mr Jack Zimmermann, I have a super hot and intelligent girlfriend, which is partly thanks to you. I’m gonna go make the most of that while you stress out about Bitty.”
With that, Shitty hangs up and Jack is left with his own thoughts.
.
Three days later, he gets an express delivery to his apartment. When he opens it, he's faced with a pie. There's a note on top.
A pie for a sweetie pie. -Bitty
Jack rings Shitty immediately and freaks out for half an hour before Shitty says, “you know, I’m sure Bits would love to have this conversation with you.”
Jack considers that. “I think I’d rather have that conversation in person.”
He means it. He doesn't want to know that Bitty wants to kiss him and not be able to grab his face immediately after.
He tells Shitty this who cheers down the phone. Jack has to hold the phone away from his ear.
‘Jack, I just got some really weird looks from Rans and Holster, so you’d better fucking appreciate my support.”
“I appreciate your support, Shitty.” Jack says. “But do me a favour: make sure Bitty is at the Haus by ten tomorrow morning.”
.
The door to the Haus is unlocked, just like Shitty said it would be. Jack walks in quietly, wanting to catch Bitty off guard this time. He gets close to the kitchen and can hear people talking through the door.
“Johnson, y’all don't need to tell me stuff that isn't true.” Bitty says. “Flirting doesn't always mean something, I’m sure it's just…”
“Bittle, has no one ever taught you anything about narrative devices?” Johnson asks.
“...No.” is Bitty’s response.
“Narratively speaking, the only reason that Jack has to come to Samwell is to recruit me to the Falconers. But he’s spent the majority of his time here talking to you. You don’t have to be a metaphysical goalie to see where this story arc is going.” Johnson says.
Jack opens the door. “He’s right, you know.”
“That's my cue to leave.” Johnson says. “Make it a good ending.”
“Thanks?” Jack and Bitty say in unison, laughing when they realise how in sync they are.
Johnson shuts the door behind him and Jack is left alone in the kitchen with Bitty.
“Thanks for the flour.” the blonde boy says.
“Thanks for the pie.” Jack replies.
This time, he doesn't move closer one step at a time. He sweeps across the room and presses his mouth to Bitty’s. He isn't waiting around, he isn't just flirting. He kisses the living hell out of Bitty and it feels amazing.
“Oh.” Bitty says.
“I know.” Jack says.
“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, tell me why on earth you didn't do that weeks ago.” Bitty says.
“Hear, hear.” says Johnson from behind the door, where he must have been the entire time.
Jack just smiles and pulls Bitty in for another kiss. He doesn’t stop until Shitty and Lardo come into the kitchen in search of pie. At that, Bitty points at the oven and drags Jack out of the room and up the stairs.
“Johnson gave me his dibs this morning.” Bitty says. “He said I could use the room today, that I might need it.”
Jack doesn’t know what dibs mean but he doesn’t particularly care because he’s in a room with a bed with a very cute boy and he knows exactly where he wants this to go.
.
Johnson doesn’t sign with the Falconers.
“It’s nothing personal, dude, it’s just not necessary to progress the plot anymore, you know? I’m thinking at this point, I wanna find myself, if there really is a me, dude. Like, I’m not entirely sure whether I’m a person or the concept of a person and that’s weird, you know? Hanging around with established main characters isn’t gonna help with my self-actualisation. I need to progress my own plot, you know?”
“Sure, Johnson.” Jack says. “Well, you’re always welcome.”
“Thanks, dude. Maybe next time I could be a central character.”
Jack figures there’s no harm in agreeing. “Sure.”
He breaks the news to George after practice one day. She makes a noncommittal grunt. “Chowder’s staying for the season.” she says. “We’re sorted.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Jack says. “He’s the best goalie we could have.” He hears a squeal behind him and turns around to see Chowder, red in the face. “Anyway, it’s not like I didn’t get anything out of the whole experience.”
Jack looks across to where Bitty is sitting on the front row of the stands. Making his excuses, he skates across as fast as he can and kisses his boyfriend where all his teammates can see. He pulls away and takes Bitty’s hands in his.
“I love you.” he says for the first time, with two feet on the ice.
“I love you too.” Bitty says. Before he can second guess himself, Jack leans over the barrier, picks Bitty up bridal-style and skates across the rink, Bitty screaming in shock.
“Jack Zimmermann, what am I gonna do with you?” Bitty says.
He couldn’t say it before, so he says it now. “I can make you a list.”
Bitty goes bright red. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”