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“Hey, um, Bitty?”
Bitty heard coming from the hallway next to the kitchen. The voice belonged to Whiskey, who stepped in a second later. The tadpoles were over for the first team dinner of the year, which meant that Ransom and Holster had the majority of the team wrapped up in a Mario Kart tourney while Bitty was in the kitchen cooking.
Chowder, noticing the timid look on Whiskey’s face, dropped the potato peeler he was holding and moved to make himself scarce. He placed his hand on Whiskey’s shoulder and nodded as he left the room.
“Hey hon, what’s up?” Bitty asked his new teammate through a smile, who leaned against the counter picking at the hemline of his t-shirt.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you guys,” Whiskey said, not yet daring to look into Bitty’s eyes, “and, uh, I think that you are someone that I can, um… well…”
Bitty saved his teammate from stuttering, grabbing his arm and gently directing him to sit at the table. From there, he poured Whiskey a glass of ice water, before handing it over and nodding at him with a smile.
“I’m…” Whiskey started, meeting Bitty’s eyes but breaking off his speech again. Bitty gave him an encouraging smile, attempting to transmit every ounce of love and support he has in his being across the table to his friend.
“You’re…?” Bitty urged him to continue.
“I’m trans,” Whiskey said, nervously.
“Oh?” Bitty questioned, waiting for him to continue.
Fuck , Whiskey thought. Now he knows. He knows not only am I one of the few non-white people on the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team, but I’m not even like one of them. Fuck.
“Well, uh,” Whiskey gestured with his hand in the air, “that’s it.”
Bitty reached across the table, taking Whiskey’s hands into his own. “Thank you for telling me, Whisk —” Bitty’s eyes lit up, suddenly.
Fuck. Here it comes.
“OH MY GOD,” Bitty shouted repeatedly, while Whiskey shrunk in on himself.
The team quickly filed into the kitchen, before separating and allowing Ransom and Holster to make their way to the front.
“What’s wrong?” Ransom asked in his captain voice.
“Are you guys alright?” Holster asked in his, at the same time.
“I-HAVE-THE-PERFECT-NICKNAME-FOR-WHISKEY,” Bitty talked faster than lightning when he was excited. Whiskey looked up from the floor at him in confusion.
“Jesus Christ, Bits, you can’t scream like that,” Ransom chided Bitty, hand over his heart, clearly concerned.
“First off, I would like to apologize,” Bitty began, before turning to face Whiskey, “but I have the BEST nickname for you. Or really, it’s like a nickname for your nickname, I guess… So maybe it’s more of a nickname-nickname? Or a nick-nickname? I mean, when you think about it...”
“And the nickname is…?” Holster cut Bitty off, sparing the team from Bitty’s proclivity for blabbering on and on when he was overly happy.
“WHISK,” Bitty shouted, picking up the whisk he had on the counter. “Get it?” Bitty asked to the group, who returned his happy smile with unimpressed glares. “Because I cook and bake and use whisks a lot?”
“Leave the nicknames to us, Bits,” Ransom said, before leading the team back out of the room.
“I thought it was funny, Bitty,” Chowder said on his way out, flashing his braces in Bitty and Whisk’s general directions.
Bitty got back to work with Betsy Jr. and silence fell over them, until Whiskey broke it after a moment.
“So, like, that’s it?” Whiskey asked, “you’re not… weirded out?”
“Weirded out?” Bitty laughed it off. “Whisk, this is Samwell. Speaking purely statistically, so as not to out anybody who does not want to be out, you’re probably not even the only trans member of this team!”
“Oh,” Whiskey said. He had picked Samwell specifically for its unofficial one-in-four slogan, but it felt a lot different on paper than it did on campus. Hell, he had counted no less than three Latino people in the campus’ admissions brochure, but he had yet to meet anybody else with whom he shared that quality.
“I thought it would be different than that, I guess,” Whiskey said plainly. “Dunno why I waited so long to do that. Why did I think that you of all people wouldn’t accept me? You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
“Well,” Bitty smiled, “everyone has to go at their own pace, you know? There's no need to rush. It's scary. But again, thanks for trusting me with this moment.”
“Of course, Bitty” Whiskey smiled and leaned in for a hug. Bitty, of course, welcomed him with open arms.