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Sneaking around was something Whiskey was used to from high school. Especially when it came to Jeremy - or, well, Foxtrot was how he was known around the Samwell campus ever since orientation. He didn’t think they’d have to continue sneaking around once they got to college. Especially once they both accepted their athletic scholarships to Samwell. One in four and all that, right? They wouldn’t have to hide themselves or each other from their classmates anymore, right?
Wrong.
As soon as Whiskey saw the, “Fuck the LAX team” scribbled on the wall of the Haus basement, he knew it was going to be like high school all over again.
The second he was free from his teammates, Whiskey called Foxtrot. He had evidently just finished up with his own team and was back in their dorm room already. They had requested each other as roommates when they had been accepted to the school, which was supposed to make things easier. Now Whiskey was starting to worry about how his team would react.
Jeremy had told him he’d leave the door unlocked for him, so Whiskey barreled into the room, beyond eager to see his best friend - his boyfriend, he had to remind himself, as they had only decided on claiming the title once they realized they’d be able to be out about it in college. Foxtrot was waiting for him and shot out of his seat as Whiskey slammed the door shut. They met in the middle of the room in a tight hug and Whiskey felt like he could finally breathe normally again.
“Hey,” Jeremy said quietly, soothingly, as he rubbed a hand over Whiskey’s back. “You’re fine hon. Whatever happened, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. It’ll be alright.”
Whiskey nuzzled his head into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, breathing in deeply. Jeremy must have showered as soon as he got back, because all Whiskey could smell was his rosemary and mint shampoo. It was a very calming scent for Whiskey for its familiarity alone.
When he spoke, the words were muffled against Jeremy’s neck. “Our teams hate each other.”
“I don’t know if they hate each other so much as they annoy each other.”
“We toured the hockey house today. There are bylaws apparently - unclear as to how strictly they’re followed though - and number 13 is literally just ‘fuck the lacrosse team’. And there are so many stories we got told about, like, legendary fights with your team and shit. My team hates your team.” Without even realizing it, Whiskey reverted back to his first language. The combination of the comfort of Jeremy’s arms around him and the stress of the situation made it much easier for his mind to seek the familiarity of the Spanish language. ”Oh god, this is the worst. We’re going to have to hide each other again and it’ll be just like high school. I hate this so much. This is the worst.”
Foxtrot let him mumble into his neck until it felt like he was done, before cupping Whiskey’s cheek and pulling his head back up. He smiled softly down at him and Whiskey felt his heart melting all over again. “Y’know, you’re a great teacher and all, but I’m still learning over here and I barely caught a thing you just said.”
Whiskey sighed and leaned into the hand on his face. “I thought coming here would make it easier to be open about...everything, I guess. But we can’t even tell our teammates about each other without them freaking out about it.”
“Babe, I really don’t think they would freak out if we told them we’re together.”
He groaned, shaking his head a little. “I don’t think your team hates mine as much as mine hates yours. Because mine would definitely freak out. I can hear the ‘fraternizing with the enemy’ speech already. They wouldn’t get it. They have the worst vendetta against the lacrosse team and I seriously have no idea why. It’s like generations old or some shit. They probably don’t even know why they hate you, but by God they do.”
“Then fuck them,” Foxtrot said simply. “If they don’t understand that people aren’t all the same, or can’t change, or whatever it is they think is the deal with my team, then fuck them. If they don’t want you to be happy with whoever you want to be happy with, them fuck them.”
“They’re my team, Jeremy. They probably already think I don’t like them. It’s not like I’m the friendliest person when I first meet others. The only one I’ve really talked to was another newbie called Tango, and that’s only ‘cause he asks a million freaking questions. I just don’t want them to hate me.”
Jeremy waited to speak until Whiskey looked him in the eyes again. “If they hate you, then f-”
Whiskey chuckled. “Yeah yeah, then fuck them.” He smiled sadly and sighed again. “I mean, I guess they aren’t really going to know unless they ask anyways. It’s not like they’re gonna keep tabs on who we hang out with and who we might be seeing.”
Jeremy frowned. “So you want to keep it a secret from them? I thought the whole point of coming here - of coming here together - was so we didn’t have to do that anymore.”
“No, God, that’s the last thing I want to do. If they ask about you, I’ll tell them. But I’m not just going to walk into the Haus and announce that I’m dating a lacrosse player.”
* * *
Whiskey, despite the alcoholic nature of his nickname, was hesitant to attend the famed kegsters his team threw nearly every weekend. A few weeks into the season, however, he felt almost like he needed to prove himself to his teammates. He had the growing suspicion, only fueled by Tango’s constant questioning, that the rest of the hockey team either saw him as antisocial or thought he didn’t like the rest of them. He needed to set the record straight.
That, evidently, involved a raging party and lots of alcohol.
He and Tango were relieved of their duty as bouncers for this particular kegster, since one Jack Zimmermann was not going to be in attendance and no rowdy crowds were expected. Except, of course, those actually invited to the kegster. Instead of guarding the door like they’d done once or twice before, they were free to truly experience the insanity of a successful Haus party.
Tango, much to everyone’s surprise, mellowed out after he finished the first drink pressed into his hand by Ransom. He’d been pulled into a conversation with Chowder and his girlfriend, which left Whiskey wide open and vulnerable to being roped into a game of pong with Lardo, against two people he’d never seen in his life.
After a few hours, the ecstasy of a win under his belt, and a good few cups of...something, Whiskey was wondering why he was ever nervous about the kegsters to begin with. He was nursing his first cup of tub juice, which he knew better than to drink too quickly, and found himself in a wide circle of people listening to Ransom and Holster tell the story of Jack fighting off the football team, yet again. He was pretty sure he’d heard this story at least twice already, but he was on the verge of being fairly drunk, so he thought it was just as funny as the first time he’d heard it.
The narrative changed a bit towards the end, when the two started musing what it would have been like if it were other teams around campus instead of the football team.
“Would he even have it in him to fight off the volleyball team man? I mean, like, his Canadian morals and all that. Like, brah, he totally wouldn’t have, would he?” Holster asked, likely rhetorically, laughing at the thought.
Ransom answered him anyways. “Bro, I don’t even think he would have won if he had’ta fight off the volleyball team. Have you even seen them? They’re fucking Amazonian warriors man! I wouldn’t want to mess with those girls.”
“Damn straight!” Farmer yelled from partway across the room.
“You know who he woulda beat though?”
“The LAX bros,” Holster answered immediately.
“YES! Fuck the LAX bros!” Ransom cheered, sloshing some of his own drink onto the floor.
The words were out of Whiskey’s mouth before he had a chance to think about the repercussions. “I already am.”
In that circle of people, the silence that followed was deafening. Outside of it, the bass of the music pounded as quickly as Whiskey’s racing heart.
His captains stared at him for a moment, both of their eyes wide. All of a sudden, Ransom started laughing.
“Shit! Little Whiskey’s got a sense of humor afterall!”
He told Jeremy he wouldn’t lie if he were asked about it. And technically he wasn’t asked about it, but his inebriated brain didn’t make that distinction as easily. “I’m serious though. I’m fucking a lacrosse bro. I mean, we’re dating. Have been for a while, but, well. Y’know.”
The staring returned and some people in the circle decided they didn’t want any part in the drama. The others likely stayed because they wanted just that.
“Bro…” Holster started slowly. “That’s so…”
“Not cool, bro,” Ransom finished.
Whiskey’s anger flared. “What the fuck is wrong with you guys? What do you really have against them, huh? They’re not all dicks, you know? Why’s it such a bad thing if I’m dating one? And don’t you dare try to tell me anything about fraternizing with the enemy or some shit. I’m not having it.”
Both of their faces changed instantly, softening but still surprised.
“Shit bro, that’s not…”
“We didn’t mean it like that man. It’s just, well…”
“It’s not cool that you felt you had to hide that or something.”
It was Whiskey’s turn to stare. “What?”
Ransom walked across what used to be the circle of people and wrapped an arm around Whiskey’s shoulder. “Bro, we’re teammates. We’re always gonna be there for ya.”
“Yeah man,” Holster supplied, stepping closer and putting a hand on his shoulder by Ransom’s own hand. “We’re gonna support you no matter what. We just want you to be happy. I’m sorry we made it seem like we wouldn’t.”
“We never meant to make you think you had to hide your boyfriend from us.”
“Yeah, even if he is a lacrosse douche,” Holster chirped. “Though I’m sure he’s not actually a douche. Not if you can put up with his ass.”
Whiskey’s bad mood had lifted immensely, and with the reassurance from his captains and the alcohol raging through his system, he even had it in him to chirp them back.
“It’s not his ass I have to put up with, let me just tell you,” he said suggestively. The other two laughed and he felt himself joining in as they clapped him on the back and walked him towards the kegs set up on the other wall.
Ransom yelled out into the crowd, trying to grab as much attention that late into the party as he could. “Hey everyone! Our new frog Whiskey gets to do his first kegstand for giving a whole new meaning to our ‘fuck the LAX team’ bylaw!”