Chapter Text
The first practice of the season is less terrifying than it could have been. Of course, Eric- or, Bitty, now, according to his new teammates - still can’t look at Tango or Louis for longer than a few seconds without remembering what they did to his poor pie. They’re laughing, but Bitty remembers.
“Okay, okay, bring it in.” Coach Hall isn’t smiling, but he looks happy to see everyone. “We’re gonna start with powerskates, move to stickwork, and finish with a scrimmage.” Hall looks over to Murray. “We’ll arrange teams after we see the work. Hopper, lead ‘em out.” Hops' grin is blinding compared to Hall’s muted excitement.
“Alright, boys, you heard him. Line up!” Hops organizes them into two rows at the blue line, Bitty in front. Ollie and Wicky are a little ways down from him. Chowder skates in behind them, setting up to stretch in his crease. Hops' voice is a better starter that a whistle or a gunshot. “Go!”
The next few seconds are a special kind of hell, not because Bitty is a slow skater, but because for one of the first times in his career, there’s not one, but two people faster than him. Not by much, but by enough that Bitty notices.
“Shit on a brick, new kid is fast.” Ford- the team manager and regulator of their chaos- is smiling when Bitty looks over at her. The second line takes off skating. Bitty notices the divide better now: forwards and defensemen. “Keep it up.”
There’s not a lot of spare conversation to be had between runs. Mostly, Ford and Chowder chirp the rest of the boys, sometimes going after the new freshmen. There’s a moment, eight sprints in, when Whiskey holds his fist out to Bitty. Bully had started flagging after the fifth go, so Bitty and Whiskey are entire seconds faster than the rest of the team. Hops skates down the line at every pause, tapping on shoulders to make them all stand up straight. Bitty gives his first fist bump on the Samwell Men’s Hockey team and feels something settle in his stomach.
Hockey conditioning is only slightly better than Russian calisthenics, mostly because he got to sleep until a regular time. Hops is nicer than Katya ever was as he moves them through the other drills. Bitty starts to slow down after the first thirty minutes, even as Whiskey keeps going at speed. None of the other guys seem to be surprised, or even all that impressed.
There’s a moment where Whiskey turns his head to chirp back at Ford at the same time he tugs the front of his jersey down and Bitty can see a clean silver-pink line curling from the side of his neck toward the front. It stands out against the flushed tan of his skin, sitting just below Whiskey’s neck guard. Bitty has seen ice skate injuries before- has one or two on his fingers from sharpening his blades. He also remembers his daddy - who never really cared about hockey either way - saying something a few Aprils past about safety regulations and a kid half dead on live television for the lack of them.
Bitty doesn’t have the time to dwell, though, because Hops leads them through one of the most complicated stick handling drills Bitty thinks he’s ever seen. It’s only marginally easier after watching the upperclassmen run through it first. Nursey is standing next to Wicky, pointing at some of the other guys with his stick.
“Got any questions before you get thrown to the wolves?” Tango’s smile hasn’t lessened during the conditioning, even as he soaked his jersey through with sweat. It’s nicer than Bitty thought it would be- having a teammate with boundless optimism.
“Does it get easier?” The question slips out without Bitty’s input. When Tango laughs, high and clear and turning heads, it doesn’t feel mean.
“It depends on who you ask! For right now, we’re gonna kind of sandwich youse new guys between us so you’ve got a guy in front and a guy in back to help you out.” Tango gestures at the rest of a team with one gloved hand. “You’re gonna follow Dex. I’ll be right behind you.” Bitty turns to look at Dex, who waves. “We’ve got your back!”
And, surprisingly enough, they do. Bitty hasn’t had a team like this in a long time, if he ever did. Greg from PeeWee certainly never took the time to explain drills to him, and - aside from the nickname - no one says anything about how he looks. Even then, the nickname feels more like a joke that Bitty is also in on, rather than something at his expense. Like how Bully is one of the more conscientious guys on the team, or how Tango has two left feet everywhere else but the ice. It’s really, really nice. Even when Hall calls out the lines for the scrimmage.
“Hopper, Whisk, Bittle. Hammond, Landmann. You boys grab the jerseys from Ford as team one. Tangredi, Bullard, Wicks. Nurse and Poindexter, you take Chow.” Bitty skates by Ford to grab a maroon practice jersey with his number on it, replacing his white one with it. All of their dirty equipment goes over the boards into the waiting hamper.
Bitty’s not quite shaking in his skates, but he is nervous. Full contact hockey is still something of a theory for him than something he does in practice. Dex doesn’t mean to drop him to the ice - barely touched him, if Bitty is going to be honest. It doesn’t much matter when he has to get up on unsteady legs and get himself to the bench. He can feel the other guys staring.
“I wouldn’t worry too much.” Bitty startles at Ford’s voice. She’s back from laundry and leaning against the boards. “A couple of the other guys on the team used to have moments like that, too.” Bitty stares, eyes wide. “Take your breather, and - if you can - get back out there.”
Bitty does not end up getting back out on the ice, instead watching the teams play each other until Hall and Murray call it. Weight room schedules are outlined for the next day and the coaches wave them off the ice. Everyone shuffles off, except for Whiskey, who puts a puck on his stick and starts running through more drills.
Bitty follows the rest of them back to the locker room, avoiding the ‘S’ in the middle. The team is in good spirits, even after skating themselves ragged. Hops is doing a lot of the work to keep the boys laughing; Tango and Chowder seem to be in a contest of who can be louder.
“Aw, shit.” Nursey’s looking at his phone, and most of the immediate noise dies down at his grimace. “Zimmermann is out of rehab.” The words mean nothing to Bitty, but Louis lets out a hiss two stalls over. “Yeah, bro, they are not being nice.”
“Well, yeah, dude. The Aces have their first friendly next week.” Louis pulls his own phone out, typing something up. “Fucking hell, two articles and I found one that mentions Whiskey. It’s not even the same thing!”
“Shit,” Dex says. Bitty is becoming quickly concerned over whoever this Zimmerman guy is, and what him coming out of rehab is doing to the team. “He doesn’t need to hear that.”
The rest of the team continues stripping down, tossing jerseys and under armour into hampers. It’s only when most of the others have gone to the showers that Bitty feels comfortable asking.
“Who’s the guy everyone is talking about?” Tango looks up from his locker and Bully’s jaw actually drops. “What? Why’re y’all lookin’ at me like that?”
“Jack Zimmermann has been the biggest news story in hockey since April.” Tango tilts his head. “And, actually, from before then, too. You don’t keep up with that kind of stuff, huh?” Bitty’s face heats.
“No. Not really.” Tango laughs.
“If you don’t want to look it all up - and I’d get it, it all got fucking messy at the end - it goes like this. Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson were both up for the draft in April and Jack OD’d on something - we don’t know what - so KP went first and Jack went to rehab.”
“Obvi, Bad Bob’s kid losing his chill like that made national hockey news,” Nursey interrupted, coming back in from the showers. “And seeing that all made Whiskey lose his chill, which, dude, I didn’t even know could happen. Bro’s colder than the fucking rink.”
“Fuckin’ hell, Nurse,” Bully said, “Forgive him for not liking that another kid almost died before his draft and then every sports caster that spent the last eight months saying he should go first turned around and said he wasn’t shit.” Nursey held up his hands, smile half-falling from his face.
“Damn, River, I didn’t mean anything by it. But, it’s not like he knew Zimmermann personally or anything.” Nursey went back to dressing while Bully kept frowning.
“He almost died on camera, Derek, I think he’s allowed to be invested in wanting people to have fucking privacy.” Bully throws one hand in the direction of Louis’ stall. “There’s already sites digging up that fucking video.”
“That was years ago. No one with a brain cares anymore. But, chyeah, dude can have his feelings.” Bully shot to his feet at Nursey’s words and Bitty feared he was going to see a fist fight right after his first practice, but Hops put a hand on Bully’s shoulder and sat him back down.
“Hey.” Hops’ brow was severe, his eyes almost alight beneath his brows. “River, take a shower. Derek, you’re with me.” Hops quickly put on some clothes, letting Tango steer Bully to the showers. Hops frogmarched Nursey away shortly after.
“Lord, what a mess.” Bitty jumped at Ford’s voice just over his shoulder. “Go shower, Bits.” Bitty nodded and headed in, trying to ignore the too-fast pounding of his heart.
It wasn’t until he left Faber that he looked up Jack Zimmermann’s name.
It’s a few days after the first practice when Bitty gets an email on his phone with a calendar update. It’s from Jonathan Hopper, and Bitty almost doesn’t realize who that is until he sees the notification that comes with it: “Hockey Tour + Haus Rules”. After that it’s easy to place Jon as the especially nice team captain who checks in on every player before they leave practice. There’s an address listed; when Bitty looks it up it’s just on the edge of campus.
There’s hours yet until the tour is supposed to start, so Bitty grabs breakfast and decorates more of his dorm room. The concrete walls and drab carpet aren’t exactly homey. But he has the Beyonce posters and the will to change that. He puts on a playlist, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.
Four hours later, his dorm room is so much nicer. He’s got his flag pinned up on the wall next to his floor length mirror; Queen Bey is in her rightful place over his headboard.
There’s an accent rug covering most of the floor, and he’s partitioned off space in the built in shelving for the textbooks he’ll have to get. His corkboard is up, but his shoebox of pictures is sitting unopened underneath it. He’ll finish set up after the tour.
For now, he grabs his camera and tripod to set up for a video. It’ll be nice showing his channel the new set up, especially because he’ll have to set a few ground rules for video requests. A lot of people just ask him questions- pre-baking pie shells and graham cracker vs shortbread crusts and the like, but some people ask him to do recipes and desserts. Until he finds a usable kitchen (because the shared one on his dorm floor is not going to cut it) he’ll have to stick to theory.
“Hello, Internet Land!” His smile is bright in the view screen. Bitty throws his hands out in a little ‘ta-da’ motion. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I am not in my Georgia kitchen! I am in my new dorm in Samwell. Y’all, I will have to take you on a campus tour, it is just so gorgeous here it is unbelievable!” Bitty gushes for a few more minutes about how nice it is to be at Samwell. He also gives his followers the news: “And, I am sorry y’all but I do not have a kitchen right now, so I can’t show you anything practical for a while! But I am happy to answer any questions y’all send in.”
Bitty takes a moment to check his watch- he’s got a few more minutes before he has to leave, so he turns off his camera and grabs his coat. It wouldn’t hurt to get there a little early, surely. He’s met the other guys and Pacer seems like maybe he’s also a guy who likes to get places early. Or, maybe, Bitty’s just overthinking it and he’ll show up at a frat house and no one will notice he’s ten minutes early.
He shrugs to himself and makes sure he’s got his student ID before he leaves his dorm room. He’s already locked himself out once and he’s been on campus for a week. It’s not really something he wants to do again. The walk to the hockey house is nice, and Bitty crosses the bridge onto frat row when he hears the music all the way down the street. He gets to the address Jon gave him and discovers that the music is coming from the house caddy corner to the hockey house. He doesn’t know who lives there.
“Bits! Good to see you, bro.” Louis is leaning over the porch railing, a tall boy in his hand. “We’re waiting on the others, but come crack one open with me!”Bully sticks his head out the door.
“Louis! Let us show the new kids around before you get ‘em plastered, got it?”
“Yo!” A third voice calls from some unknown place. Bitty doesn’t know who it is. “Who’s starting this early!” Bully rolls his eyes and pulls his head back inside.
“It’s Louis! Who else, man?”
“Landy!” Tango springs out of the front door, almost running into Bitty, who’s finally climbed the porch stairs. “Bitty! You’re early! Do you have a time-thing, too?” Tango grabs the can Louis is holding out for him. He flips it over once before righting it and cracking the top. “Bits, get in here, dude! Foxtrot’s making nachos! Do you like nachos?”
“Uh, yeah, nachos are good.” Bitty follows Tango inside the house- the Haus- and waves at Nursey draped over the couch in the living room. It is, frankly, disgusting. Tango pushes him into the kitchen, where Ford is dancing between the stovetop and the cutting board at the table in the center of the floor. Whiskey is sitting at the other end of the table, laptop open in front of him and speaker just to the side, pointed at Ford. It’s not music Bitty recognizes, but Ford seems to be into it.
“Hey, boys!” Ford’s smile is as blinding as it usually is. “Nachos are going in the oven soon, so they should be ready in a bit.” Ford gestures at the other chairs on the far side of the table. “Feel free to have a seat, since you’re a bit early.” Tango all but crashes into the seat next to Whiskey, kicking the remaining chair out for Bitty.
“Hops!” Tango leans his head back, shouting toward the living room. Whiskey stops his typing and plugs his ears. “Where you at?” Bitty hears someone yell back, but he can’t make out the words. He rests his elbows on the table, almost immediately drawing back. There’s something disgustingly sticky on the table. Bitty inhales once, trying to keep his cool. He didn’t think about how gross frat boys were going to be.
“Do y’all have, uh-” Bitty starts, and is promptly cut off by Whiskey, who still has his fingers in his ears. Tango doesn’t seem to hear either of them over his own shouting.
“Wipes are under the sink. Enter the kitchen if you dare.” There’s a small smirk on his face, and Bitty barely has time to look over at Ford when she scoffs before there’s something flying past his head. Whiskey catches the stained dishtowel before it hits him in the face, smile stretching bigger.
“Connor, I am not the menace you seem to think I am. And stop telling the new kids bad things about me!” Bitty looks over at Ford to see her stomping her foot. There’s a bit of shredded cheese in her hair, but Bitty doesn’t know how to tell her about it without drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.
“I tried to get something from the kitchen one time-”
“You bumped into me! I was holding a hot tray of cookies! You made me drop them! Of course I was mad! All that hard work all over the floor!”
“You say that like we wouldn’t have eaten them anyway.”
“I was not about to let you eat something off the floor, no one here cleans anything enough for that.”
Whiskey opens his mouth to counter, but it’s at that point that Hops all but crashes down the stairs, catching himself on the post of the kitchen doorway.
“Tangs, the hell’re you shouting for? No one gets here for another thirty minutes.” Hops is rubbing at his shoulder where he slammed into the door frame. Tango just gestures one expansive hand toward Bitty, who waves awkwardly. “Oh, shit, hey Bitty. You’re early.” Bitty’s smile turns more grimace, and he shrugs. “Let me go scrounge up my index cards and we can chat.” Hops leaves the kitchen to go back upstairs, before coming back in the doorway. “You three, behave.” Hops holds his first two fingers up to his eyes before pointing them at the three upperclassmen in the kitchen with Bitty. After he gets an eye roll from each of them, he leaves back up the stairs.
“So, y’all are the troublemakers, huh? Never would have guessed.” Bitty looks at the three of them and Tango breaks first. He snorts so hard Bitty’s worried he’s going to choke.
“Oh, Bits, we’re the good ones, if you’d believe it.” Tango keeps laughing, a fist pounding on the table. “The sophomores this year are the real handful. Chowder has enough superstitions for the whole team, so don’t worry if you don’t have any of your own, yet.”
“Or, Lord,” Ford interjects, “Those damned D-men. I thought the guys two years above us were bad? Kenny and Ricky had nothing on Dex and Nursey.”
“Chyeah.” Whiskey leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head from where he’d been bent over his laptop. “Remember when they hated each other?” Tango takes advantage of the open stretch of Whiskey’s ribs to poke him, causing Whiskey to jerk forward and reach to smack him. “Asshole.” Tango just smiles back at him.
“Are y’all serious?” The two other men look at Bitty like they’d forgotten he was there for a moment. “Dex and Nursey used to hate each other? Like, for real?” Ford laughs from her spot by the sink.
“Hated each other enough that Hops had to get involved, even before he was captain. You better believe he set those two straight real fast.”
“Which two?” Hops has one are around the post of the doorway into the kitchen to swing around from the hallway. He swings around the last open chair to straddle it, his arms coming around the backrest to hold some brightly colored index cards in front of him.
“Nursey and Dex.” Whiskey and Tango answer at the same time, from either side of Bitty. Hops lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head.
“Oh, those two. They’re better now. Kinda.” Hops flips through the cards, rearranging them to his liking. “Anyway. Bitty, how are you, man?” Bitty looks away from where Whiskey and Tango are having some silent conversation full of hand gestures and focuses on Hops and his 1000-watt smile.
“Oh, you know, settling in. Hangin’ in there!” Bitty smiles back at Hops. Hops’ smile, somehow, gets brighter.
“Fair enough, man. I remember moving in freshman year. You have a laundry bag, right?” Bitty opens his mouth, but is cut off by a knock at the door.
“We got it!” Tango jumps to his feet and pulls Whiskey out of the kitchen by the shirt.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll wait for the other guys to show up. Better than going over it again and again, huh?” Hops taps his index cards against the tabletop. Ford’s timer goes off a moment later, and she grabs a pair of patchwork oven mitts from a hook on the side of the counter.
The oven door rattles when Ford pulls at it, and the glass is all dirty on the interior, and the light doesn’t come on when the door opens, but Bitty’s seen worse ovens. The nachos Ford pulls out look fine, after all, and Bitty will try some simpler things out before he does anything too fancy.
Tango and Whiskey come back in, frog marching Ollie and Wicky in front of them. The other two freshman look at Bitty when they come into the kitchen before looking at Hops. Wicky waves at the group of them, and Hops gestures at the chairs around the table. Whiskey pulls his laptop out of the way as Ford puts the nachos down on the table in front of the group. Tango does something with his hands that Hops and Ford seem to understand before he and Whiskey disappear again.
“Okay, you three. Let’s get some easy stuff out of the way first, then we’ll go from there. Feel free to dig in, by the way.” Hops reaches forward and pulls a chip from the pile, loaded high with toppings. The cheese pull is legendary.
“Seriously,” Ford says as she grabs her own chip. “Don’t wait. If the others come in you’ll never get any.” Ollie laughs and reaches forward, which is like opening the gates for Wicky and Bitty.
“First thing’s first: welcome to the Haus. You guys are always welcome here, and the couch is a free crash zone. First come, first served.” Hops shuffles through his index cards again, but doesn’t seem to actually be reading from them. “The door is usually open, but the spare key is under the loose board on the second step. Put it back when you’re done using it, please.
“We do kegsters after wins, and they get pretty crowded if it was a major game. You guys are gonna go on the clean up rotation, and on the Nursey patrol rotation.” Ollie raises a hand, and Hops gestures to the vague upstairs with the index cards. “Nursey is a hazard to himself when he’s wasted. Dex and Chowder are pretty good at keeping a handle on him, but sometimes they aren’t here. You’ll get some pointers, but mostly it’s just to keep him inside and on the ground.” Ollie lowers his hand.
“Don’t forget the kitchen rules, Jonny,” Ford says as she leans over for some more nachos.
“Ah,” Hops says, “Yeah.” He makes another face, but it smooths over quickly. “If there’s something in the kitchen and it’s not labeled, it’s fair game. But also check the cabinet you got it out of. Sometimes it’s just that the whole shelf belongs to someone. Cooking supplies are fair game, but touch Whiskey’s protein powder and risk death. If you use the kitchen, clean up after yourself. Basic courtesy stuff, you know?” Hops waits until the three of them nod before he continues.
“We’ll show you guys all the rooms, and I’ll have the guys go over their majors and if there’s anyone whose number you don’t have, we’ll make sure you get it.”
And, true to his word, that’s exactly what Hops does. The Haus is surprisingly big, for all that it doesn’t look that way from the outside. The couch is even more disgusting up close, and Bitty vows to never even sit on it, let alone sleep on it. And also to possibly find the fastest way to get rid of it as soon as he can. It’s nasty.
“Up there is the attic, where Whiskey and Tango room together. We don’t really go up there, and Whiskey’s a private dude so he’s asked me not to show you where he sleeps.” Hops laughs, and the other various guys who have tagged along the tour laugh, too.
“Shit, speaking of Whiskey- Hops, you gone over the whistles yet?” Bully asks from the back of the group. Bitty hadn’t even noticed him join the gaggle of hockey players. Hops snaps his fingers.
“Thank you, River. I knew I was forgetting something!” Hops turned back to the new team members. “You guys might have noticed already- Whiskey calls plays sometimes. Tango’s the best with it, but those two literally live together. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tango helps him come up with some of the damn things.” Hops shakes his head, smiling fondly. “But Whiskey doesn’t yell anymore, get it? So, he whistles. We’ve got recordings of all of them, but they boil down to the same thing: he’s trying to tell you something.”
There’s another smile on Hops’ face, a bit more smug this time. “Best part is? None of the other teams know what the hell is going on when he does it.”
“Harvard fuckin’ hates it!” Chowder calls from his room, eliciting another round of cackling from the guys. It’s one of the best things about this team, Bitty thinks: their propensity for happiness. It’s nice, having that attitude in an unfamiliar place so far from home. Bitty thinks he’s going to like it here.
Pre-season is a lot. It’s good, most days, once Bitty has round the clock access to a real kitchen. The microwave in his dorm kitchen just wasn’t cutting it. Betsy the oven isn’t all that much better, but she can cook through a pie in just under an hour. The upperclassmen - Dex in particular - are warning the freshmen to get used to a workout schedule before classes start. And to take advantage of the tutor hours offered to student athletes.
Bitty isn’t sure what he wants to major in yet, but his first semester is already packed with gen creds. The only thing he has to worry about is making sure the class times don’t cut too close to practice, but with a bit of finagling and some help from Hops, he figures it out.
Mornings he spends with the guys, usually at the athlete dining hall or, if it’s a rare day off, at Annie’s, the campus diner. The coffee is to die for, and the pastry display is usually good enough for Bitty’s standards. Afternoons are spent in Faber, either lifting weights or on the ice or watching tape. Evenings find the team scattered around, but Bitty’s usually at the Haus. Once the semester really starts up, he figures, he’ll probably spend more time in his dorm or at Founders.
“Y’all, there are just so many interesting characters on this team!” Bitty says into his camera. He’s trying to figure out a vlog schedule in with all of his other commitments. It’s mostly been piecemeal stuff- writing a script out over breakfast or lunch, shooting some simpler segments just after dinner, lugging his camera equipment over to the Haus for a day full of different recipes. On those days, he brings a few different shirts so it seems like he shot them on different days, instead of in one great block.
The people who live at the Haus seem to be pretty cool with the whole set up. He messages Hops beforehand, just to make sure no one has any plans, but as long as Bitty surrenders whatever he makes to the black hole of hockey player stomachs, he’s allowed to keep using the kitchen.
“MeowdyParder asks: Bitty help! Which jam should I make for my friend’s birthday present? Apricot or blueberry?” Bitty looks up from the screen and back into camera.
“Meowdy, I don’t think you can go wrong either way, but I’d lean for blueberry if you can go pick your own. We’re getting into the season for ‘em, and jam is always better using fresh-picked.” He leans back over to scroll through other questions collected from his last video.
“Oh, here we go. DroptheBeet asks: Hiya Bitty! Long time watcher, first time asker.” Bitty looks up into camera and smiles from his lean. “Good to see you, Beet.” He looks back at his laptop. “Can you explain the rules to hockey?” Bitty settles back in his chair. “Oh, Beet, if I took the time to explain all the rules I would be here all day! The best advice I have for you, if you want to start getting into hockey, is to watch it on whatever service has the best commentators. A lot of the time- not all the time mind you, but a lot- they’ll explain what’s going on out on the ice. Have a Wikipedia page open for whatever else you don’t understand, and you’ll get the hang of it pretty quick.” Bitty chuckles. “Or have a friend who understands and is willing to explain it to you. I hear that works pretty well, too.”
Bitty answers a few more questions like that before he gets to one that gives him pause.
“StitchStation42 asks: What’s the biggest adjustment you’ve had to make? I’m from Texas and I couldn’t imagine going to school up north!”Bitty laughs delicately. “It sure is strange bein’ in the middle of August and it only going over 100 degrees every few days instead of everyday! I’m grateful for it now, but I think I’ll be payin’ for it come winter.” Bitty laughs again, like him and his viewers are in on the same joke. “But the biggest adjustment is all the noise outside at night! Y’all, I lived in an area where my nearest neighbor was barely in sight of my porch. There’s so much noise at Samwell- sirens, drunk students, cars goin’ too fast with the music too loud.”
As if on cue, an ambulance races past his dorm building, wailing its siren all the while. Bitty claps a hand over his mouth as he laughs a third time, a genuine one. And while he’s not lying- all the noise is a lot to get used to- it’s not actually the weirdest thing about coming to college. The biggest adjustment he’s had to make is the sheer amount of fratiness the hockey boys exude, and how he fits into it. But that’s what he came to school for, so it feels a little strange to complain about it.
And he’s not complaining! No sir, he enjoys it when Louis throws an arm around his shoulders and shoves a beer in his hand. He likes the weird secret handshake Ollie and Wicky do before going on the ice (they’ve tried including him but past step four it all blurs). He likes how Dex and Nursey get into the weirdest arguments and start passive aggressively calling each other ‘Bro’. He likes Hops’ approach to captaining; he likes River’s style. Lord help him, he likes Chowder’s unhealthy attachment to the nasty green couch. But, that all feels like a bit much to talk about when his followers don’t know any of these people.
Not that he hasn’t already tweeted about all of them, but it’s the attempt at privacy that counts. Maybe.
The first day of classes is enlightening. Ollie and Wicky are in two of Bitty’s classes, and Bitty - almost literally - ran into Chowder and his girlfriend at the lunch rush.
“Bitty!” Chowder’s grin is wide and metallic. “How’s your first day?” Farmer shuffled Bitty into the seat next to Chowder before sitting across from them.
“Well, it was certainly easier to navigate campus before it got so crowded, that’s for sure.” Bitty gestured to the packed dining hall. “I didn’t realize so many people went to Samwell.” Chowder and Farmer exchange a quick look. “But everyone’s been pretty nice so far.”
“That’s good,” Farmer said, lifting her sandwich. Bitty remembered to tuck into his own lunch. “Wait until your first game - random people will cheer you on from across the quad.” Bitty shook his head.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that. No one was ever so excited to see my peewee football jersey.”
The rest of the lunch hour passes painlessly, easy conversation flowing. Bitty walked off for his last class on the far side of River Quad, face turned toward the sun. Dex was coming from the other direction, returning from the academic buildings.
He was on the phone but spared a wave and a grimacing smile as he passed. Bitty waved back and continued on his way only to see Ford waiting outside his building. She was scrolling on her phone and only looked up the second time he called her name.
“Hey, Bitty! Fancy seeing you here!” The tails of her headscarf blew in the breeze.
“Well, last class of the day is here. It is so far from the rest of campus!” Bitty fans himself with one hand, conscious of the sweat dotting his hairline. He’s well used to eh Georgia heat, but there was no getting around some sweat.
“Yeah, you get used to the walk.” Ford’s laugh carried across the courtyard, turning heads. “Wait until it snows!” Bitty let his head fall forward as he groaned. Even with all his years as a figure skater and now as a hockey player, he did not like the cold.
Rink-cold was different, anyway, not as leeching. He’d seen snow a few times - contrary to popular belief it did snow in Georgia some years, and he’d traveled quite a bit with Katya. A true bona fide Northeast winter would be new, though.
“Do not remind me that it’s going to get worse. I have never had a chillier September in my life.” There was a small laugh from behind Bitty, and he whirled around to face the perpetrator.
“I remember my first winter at Samwell,” Connor said, a small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Prescott Valley doesn’t exactly set snow records.” There’s a pause as he looks out over the quad. “It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.” He looks back at Ford, smile slightly wider. “Have a good class, Bitty.” Bitty waved goodbye and darted up the stairs, making it to lecture with a moment to spare.
No surprise- they’re playing Boston University for the first scrum of the season. They’ve been spitting mean this whole game, and Bitty has been told more times than he can count that he “plays like a girl”. No one’s called him anything particularly bad, yet, but it’s only second period. There’s still time.
Or at least, there would have been, but in the pause just before a face-off, one of the other team’s defensemen says something that makes Whiskey whip his head around. Bitty’s watching his upperclassman closely, trying to learn everything he can, and it still takes him a moment to realize Whiskey’s dropped his gloves.
The refs don’t realize either for one long moment, but they leap into action quickly. Whiskey gets one more decent punch in - the other guy crumples under it - before he’s wrenched away by the neck of his jersey. He gives up once the ref pulls him away, collecting his stick and gloves to skate to the penalty box. The big screen has a close up of his face: the blood dripping from his lip and a smirk that screams danger in big, bright letters.
“Lord Almighty,” Ford says, just behind Bitty. “What the hell did that guy say?”
“For real, dude,” Nursey adds. “Whiskey never loses his cool like that. I can count on one hand the number of times that dude has dropped gloves.” Nursey holds up a fist to emphasize his point. The BU kid goes in the penalty box next to Whiskey for retaliating. Bitty thinks the idiot is going to keep antagonizing Whiskey, but Whiskey turns his dangerous smirk on the defensemen, who pales, visible even across the ice.
“Whatever it was,” Bitty starts, “I don’t think he’ll be sayin’ it again.” Dex whistles from further down the line.
“You can say that again.”
Play starts up again, both teams down a player. Bitty is watching the puck, and the players, and Whiskey in his penalty box. Chowder clacks his stick against the ice when the BU player skates back on, and Whiskey does, too, against the boards, letting out two short whistles, which causes Tango, still on the ice, to perform some tricky move to get around the extra player before ripping a shot on net.
The team jumps to their feet when the klaxon goes off, and Whiskey does, too, across the ice. Bitty can’t hear himself for the cheers, and Tango points at Whiskey, even as he comes closer to the home bench to receive fist bumps and high fives.
Bitty subs on for Tango shortly thereafter, and the nasty defenseman doesn’t even chirp him for his size. Bitty can already see the bruise forming along his jawline, and a pretty shiner to boot.
“Did the big, bad center pull your teeth, sugar?” Bitty lets the disdain drip from his words. “All bark and not a lick of bite in ya, huh?” The defenseman lunges for him, but Bitty’s already off to the races, calling Hops out for a pass before slapping it on net.
No one is expecting it less than Bitty for the puck to go sailing past the other defenseman and the goalie’s glove. For his first goal, it’s a pretty slick shot. He doesn’t have a moment to appreciate it, though, because the BU defense hits him for a late check, smashing him into the boards so hard it knocks the breath straight out of his lungs.
He falls to his knees on the ice, heaving, and doesn’t recognize the whistle, or the ejection, or his captain pulling him upright until Hops has both of his hands around Bitty’s face - where’d his helmet go? - telling him in no uncertain terms to breathe. Bitty hadn’t noticed before, but Hops’ eyes are a very peculiar shade of hazel, shot through with a brown light enough to be called gold. It’s all he can focus on, even as his diaphragm stops seizing long enough for Bitty to actually inhale and keep it in his chest.
When he looks around, most of the team is shielding him, and Dex is seated right next to Whiskey in the penalty box. They’re talking to each other, hands moving, but Whiskey stops when he sees Bitty looking at them. He points at Bitty and holds the fingers of one hand in a circle before holding his index and middle fingers up, his thumb just between them, jerking the hand towards Bitty as his fingers change position His brow is furrowed, like he’s asking a question. Bitty blinks, not understanding. He points at Bitty again and makes the ‘okay’ symbol with his hands. Bitty nods, and Whiskey nods back, turning back to Dex.
“Let’s get you off the ice, Bits, huh?” Hops hoists him to his feet, and Bitty is shaky but he manages. Hops is under one arm, which has to be awkward given the height difference, but he doesn’t move until Bitty gets to the boards and gets pulled in by Coach Hall.
“Damn good shot, son. Let’s have Rodriguez check you out, now.” Hall hands him off at the runway to Rodriguez, who helps him step by step to the trainer’s room.
“You took a nasty hit out there, huh, Bittle?” Rodriguez is a nice man- he was very clear at the beginning of the season that under no circumstances should anyone be embarrassed or ashamed of injury. It’s Bitty’s first time in the trainer’s room and he laughs a little to see one of the cots has a plaque with Nursey’s name on it hanging over the pillow. “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay, kid.”
Rodriguez does some stuff with a penlight that doesn’t hurt and some feeling around Bitty’s ribs, which does. He asks Bitty for a play by play, to make sure he remembers everything. There’s questions, and more palpating, and more questions. Rodriguez sets him up with some ice and a few pillows and disappears to go talk to someone. The coaches, maybe. While Bitty waits, there’s a knock against the training room wall.
“Bitty?” Dex is standing in the doorway, leaning against one of the posts. It must be the pause between periods, because Dex was on the other side of the ice just a few minutes ago. Or maybe Bitty is more disoriented than he thought, and he’s lost enough time that the game is over. No, he didn’t hear the buzzer. “You okay, bro?”
Bitty shrugs, because there’s such a jumble of things in his chest and his head that he can’t really tell. The check was scary, but then it was over and Bitty had a whole team around him, checking in on him. Shielding him from anyone else. It was a balm, exactly when he needed it. A comfort Bitty has never had before.
“I’ll be okay, I think.” Bitty pulls at one sleeve of his jersey. Rodriguez doesn’t want him moving around on his own yet, because even though he passed the concussion protocol test, they still want him checked out. And his ribs to be x-rayed. It’s a hassle, mostly, because Bitty doesn’t think anything is broken, but Rodriguez says its better to be safe.
“If you’re sure.” Dex has his arms folded across his chest, tucked up against the door frame. He glances back down the runway for a moment. “I’m gonna get back out there. Just wanted to make sure you were good.” Bitty smiles.
“Get back out there an’ give those boys hell from me, yeah?” Dex smiles at him, before it shifts into a smirk.
“Oh, you know it, Bits.” Dex pushes off the wall, giving Bitty a little salute before walking back out to the ice. Rodriguez comes in not long afterward.
“Okay, Bittle. Let’s go get you x-rayed.”
There’s a knocking on Bitty’s dorm room door. It’s loud enough that it’s woken him at whatever o’clock it is, but quiet enough that it’s not likely to wake his neighbors. There’s a part of him that wants to ignore it - the sun isn’t even up yet - but when the knock happens again he knows he needs to answer it. Whoever is on the other side of that door is about to get an earful.
“It is four in the morning what could you possibly- oh!” Bitty recognizes the person on the other side of the door. “Hops. Hello there. What brings you to my door this early in the mornin’?” Hops tilts his head for a moment and it is not Bitty’s fault his accent is thicker than molasses. It is four in the morning. Hops’ smile has not seemed to get the memo.
“Hey, Bitty! Take a walk with me? And bring your sweatshirt.” Hops only laughs when Bitty shuts the door in his face. He takes a moment to throw on sweatpants and grabs his SMH hoodie. Hops is still grinning when he opens the door back up. “Good morning, sunshine.”
“Why are you doin’ this to me?” Bitty follows Hops down the stairs and out the door. The sweatshirt was a good recommendation- there’s early morning fog clinging to campus and dew glittering in the grass. He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I just wanted to talk to you, without all the hustle and bustle. I know you only have afternoon classes today, so I figured you could go back to bed after this.” Hops isn’t looking at him, his head turned up toward the sky, so he doesn’t see the look Bitty fixes him with. Hops is a dedicated captain- he knows the whole team’s schedules, and majors, and - it seems - any problems they have.
“Okay, then. Go ahead.” Bitty turns to look out over campus as they walk- Hops is taking them over a bridge, now, and Bitty can see out across the river and through some of the alleyways between lecture halls. It’s a gorgeous view, and here in the blue hour the lone lights in the building stairwells shine gold.
“You’re a good asset to the team, you know.” There’s no waver to Hops’ voice, but Bitty laughs anyway.
“You have got to be kiddin’ me. I can barely play in a real game. Y’all’re always makin’ sure no one’s hittin’ me.” Bitty shakes his head. The team has done an admirable job, really, but there are still times Bitty gets hit and can’t get up. And it seems all the teams in Hockey East know that. He’s a target, now, and the coaches limit his ice time because of it. The only reason they haven’t pulled him from the team entirely is because the other guys are looking out for him and because he’s somehow scoring goals. Even after watching tape back, Bitty is barely sure of how it happens himself.
“You’ve got so much potential. You play a hell of a game when you don’t get checked. So, here’s the deal: you spend a few extra hours with me at Faber every week for the rest of the year and you get my dibs.”
Bitty is gob-smacked. Dibs had been explained to all of them around the time of the Haus tour- Bitty just wasn’t expecting to be in the running for them. With the way Hall and Murray look at him after some practices, he didn’t even expect to be on the team much longer. Hops, it seems, has no such reservations.
“So, what, we run drills to help me avoid collisions on the ice?” Bitty doesn’t know how that could possibly work. There’s so many more bodies on the ice than just Hops, and the movement is so chaotic that there’s no real way to plan for it either. Not in the heat of a game. Hops shakes his head.
“Not quite.” Hops sucks on his teeth for a moment, the first bit of uncertainty Bitty’s seen in him this morning. “Nah, we’re gonna skate a bit and then I’m gonna try hitting you.” Hops doesn’t seem surprised or offended when Bitty takes several large steps back.
“Oh, you have gotta be insane.” Hops only smiles back at him, somewhat rueful. “No, you are crazier than a back alley tom cat, I am not doing that.”
“Just try it!” Hops said, reaching out for Bitty’s shoulder. “Maybe it’ll work! And if it doesn’t, we’ll try something else.” Bitty pursed his lips. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering this.
“And if I still can’t handle a check at the end of the season, I still get your dibs?” Bitty couldn’t help the suspicion in his voice. It seemed a bit too good to be true. Hops still smiled like he knew he had Bitty caught.
“Scouts honor, Bits. As long as you try, the room in the Haus is yours.” Hops held out his hand, and Bitty took a moment to dread taking his own hand out of his lovely coat pocket. They shook, and Hops smiled so bright it put the rising sun to shame. “I’ll let you get back to bed. Thanks for talking with me.” Bitty smiles back, and he doesn’t even think he’s faking the happiness.
When Bitty walks into the dining hall and sees Nursey, Chowder, and Dex sitting at the end of the table with their heads pressed together, he almost walks right back out. Dex and Nursey still barely get along off the ice on a good day, even with Hops doing his level best. If they’re willingly working together on something it is either a prank of epic proportions or a planning a scheme so thoroughly they’d be able to rob a bank. The fact that Chowder is with them is even more worrying. He’ll keep them from derailing into the first argument they can think of.
After getting his breakfast, Bitty find his seat with some of his other teammates- Ollie and Wicky are here, as are Bully, Louis, and Tango. There are a couple of other people around, as well, who seem to be friends with the upperclassmen. Bully and Louis seem to be laughing at Tango’s expense, and when Bitty walks around the table he can see why. It helps that Louis is pointing when he makes the joke.
“Like, shit, man, are you hooking up with a vampire?” The hickey on the edge of Tango’s jaw is a bit larger than a half dollar coin. Bitty lets out his own wolf-whistle as he takes his seat. “See, Bitty gets it!”
“Dudes, a guy can’t have fun?” Tango rolls his eyes as he takes a bit of his eggs. “It’ll be gone by next game and youse’ll have to find someone else to pick on.” Bully shakes his head.
“I dunno, man. Have you looked in a mirror?” Bully reaches over and tugs at the collar of Tango’s shirt, revealing the beginning of another bruise just underneath. “Jeez, dude, how many do you have?” Tango slapped at Bully’s hand.
“Leave it alone, dude. You’re just jealous you aren’t getting any.” Tango smirked at Bully as Louis let out an “Ooooooo” like they were all grade schoolers or something.
“Yo, what’s going on over here?” Nursey slung himself into the chair next to Bitty with the practiced carelessness Bitty had come to recognize from him. His arm came up to rest on the back of Bitty’s chair, his fist curling around the chair post.
“Tango’s got mad wheels and Bully doesn’t.” Louis is still laughing, which Bitty thinks is a mite unfair, because it isn’t like Louis has been crowing about any conquests himself lately, either. But Bitty isn’t going to get in the middle of this, because that would be throwing stones from inside his own glass house. For how big of a school Samwell is, it seems like the guys know basically everyone. If Bitty did hook up with anyone, it wouldn’t take long for the team to know he’s gay. And he likes not being stuffed into his equipment bag, so he’s planning for the team to continue not knowing.
“Tango’s got better wheels than all of the rest of us combined, dude.” Nursey rolls his eyes. “It’s legendary, and I still don’t know who any of them are.” He points at Tango with the hand he’s got on Bitty’s chair. “How are there even still people left on campus for you to score with?” Tango just smiles with his mouthful of potato. “Anyway,” Nursey says, rocking Bitty’s chair a little bit. “Winter Screw is coming up. What’s your type, Bits?”
“Someone who’s not about to be late for class.” Bitty stands up, taking his tray with him. For a moment, it almost seems like Nursey isn’t about to let him go, but then he pulls back, letting Bitty push the chair back. “See y’all at the gym later.” Hopefully, Nursey will have forgotten about his questions by the afternoon.
Bitty doesn’t mean to come out on purpose, really. He’s just sort of tired of the upperclassmen getting on him about winter screw.
He’s walking back to his dorm after practice- it’s getting colder and his peacoat just isn’t cutting it as the sun descends in the sky. He’s only planning on swinging by to pick up the puffer coat his mama sent him and then go back to meet the team at the dining hall. He is not planning on Derek Nurse swinging by with him. Nursey, however, has been moderately relentless about the whole thing, which Bitty would not have predicted given his ‘chill’ persona. But, apparently, Chowder and Farmer had hit it off at winter screw, and Nursey is - in his heart of hearts - a die hard romantic.
“Bro, throw me a bone here. What kinda girls are you into?” Nursey is taking advantage of the stark height difference between them to drape his arm over Bitty’s shoulders and all but corral him into whatever “bro-thing” Nursey thinks is happening right now. Bitty rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised Nursey didn’t feel the scorn from his three inches away. “We already got everyone else figured out, dude. You are our hold out.” Nursey stops leaning on Bitty long enough to get signed into his residence hall and then turns back into a koala once they hit the elevator.
“I’ve told y’all already, you are wastin’ your time.” Bitty walks fast enough to his dorm room that Nursey stumbles to keep up. Bless that man’s heart- he’s a demon of a defenseman but he’s a stumbling, gangly fawn off the ice. “I appreciate the effort, really, but I just don’t think it’ll work out.” Nursey laughs.
“I know I talk a big game about winter screw going well, but, Bits, it’s mostly just an excuse to party and get laid. Meet some new people and have a good time, you know?” Nursey peruses Bitty’s corkboard while he speaks, his New York accent softening some of the words. “And if your date sucks, then you bail and come crash at the Haus. The team’s always welcome at almost all hours.” Nursey turns to look at Bitty. “Tango is not a morning person.” He smiles and turns back to Bitty’s photos.
“I’m not going to shack up with any of the girls you pick out, Nursey, so I think it’s better if you don’t try at all.” Bitty is digging through his closet- he could have sworn he hung up the jacket last week, but for the life of him, he can’t find it.
“Whoa, man, it’s chill. We’re just tryna have fun. Also, my top picks are all classy ladies. You’d be happy for a night with any of them.”
“Oh, my, Lord Almighty-” Bitty cuts himself off, turning away from his closet, all thoughts of the puffer jacket gone from his mind. “Derek Malik Nurse. I am sure you have wonderful taste, just as I am sure that my preferences are nowhere in your line up for winter screw. So, if you could just-”
“Bitty.” Nursey puts his hands up in front of him, like Bitty is some horse in need of calming, instead of a very annoyed young man. “It’s chill, man, that’s why I’m trying to talk to you. Whatever your flavor is, man, there’s a girl out there-”
“Nursey, for the love of God, I’m gay.” Nursey’s eyes widen the slightest bit, and Bitty feels his stomach drop out through his feet. “Oh, my.” For a moment, neither of them moved, locked in a strange stalemate.
Bitty sees his jacket- finally- draped over his desk chair right behind Nursey. He takes one deep breath. If it comes down to it, he’s faster than Nursey, especially in a space Nursey isn’t familiar with. But Nursey doesn’t move any closer. Doesn’t even drop his hands from where he’s holding them up in front of himself. That’s when Bitty realizes he’s brought his own hands up, like he’s expecting Nursey to charge him.
“Sorry, Bits. Uh, it’s chill. I mean, like, I’m bi.” Nursey screws his eyes shut and smacks himself in the face. He pulls his hand away and looks Bitty in the eye. “But, I mean, sorry I forced it out of you, bro. I didn’t mean to.” There’s a pause, like Nursey is waiting for something, but Bitty just can’t make his vocal chords work.
It’s broken, thankfully, by the ringing of Nursey’s phone. The ringtone is some folk song Bitty doesn’t know, and it cuts off as Nursey scrambles to bring it to his ear.
“Dex, what’s up?” He’s still staring at Bitty, like he knows Bitty wants to run as far away as he can. He’s still between Bitty and his jacket. Bitty and the door. “No-yeah, I’m with him right now. We’ll be right there.” Dex is still speaking- Bitty can hear his voice all tinny through Nursey’s phone, but Nursey just hangs up on him. “Breathe, Bits.”
It’s only at Nursey’s command that Bitty realizes half the choked up feeling is the sob waiting in the back of his throat. He all but chokes on it as he starts gasping for air, throwing up a hand to keep Nursey away when the upperclassman takes a step forward.
“Don’t!” Bitty doesn’t sound like himself. He sounds frantic, all animal panic and fear. Nursey relents, his eyes so big in his face that Bitty has to look away not to drown in the pity. He squeezes his eyes shut instead, then opens them again so he can see Nursey from the corner of his eye.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Bits, but I think you should sit down. Can I help you?” Nursey puts a hand on Bitty’s desk chair, over that goddamn puffer jacket, and begins to pull it around. Bitty backs up, instead, sinking onto his mattress. Nursey’s shoulders drop. “Yeah, I get it. But, really, bro. You’re safe here.” Bitty nods.
He does know, intellectually, that Samwell is safe. It’s part of why he chose it- that “one in four, maybe more” was high on his list of pros. It’s just a big rush of emotions, and once he gets a handle on it, he’ll be fine. He laughs, somewhat hysterically. Of all people to come out to, Nursey was not in his top five. English major though he is, that boy does not know how to talk to people. Or how to keep a secret. Bitty takes another shaky inhale.
“Sorry.” Bitty wipes at his eyes with his sleeves. There are tissues on the desk behind Nursey, but he doesn’t feel like walking over to get them. Mostly, he’s just tired. He’s not even scared, really. “I’ve never actually said that out loud before.” Bitty lets another small sob out into his sleeves. He’s on the adrenaline crash now, but knowing that doesn’t make it suck any less. He’d get like this after big recitals, sometimes, and Katya had always left him to it. Nursey doesn’t seem inclined to do that.
“Oh, that’s huge, bro.” Nursey sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Really happy for you, man. Uh. Are you sure you don’t want a hug?” Bitty shakes his head, then actually takes a moment to consider it. A hug would actually be really nice right now. Bitty nods once, then keeps nodding rapidly, still shaking.
Nursey runs into no less than four objects in the three feet between them, including Bitty’s desk chair, which was behind him. No chirps come up, though, and when Nursey makes it safely next to Bitty, the hug he delivers from the side is really nice. It’s warm, and smells like cedar cologne, and Bitty doesn’t want Nursey to let go. Not that Nursey seems inclined to- he’s not even expecting Bitty to hug him back, just running one hand up and down Bitty’s far arm. Positioned with his head tucked under Nursey’s chin, Bitty can hear his heartbeat.
“Thanks.” Now that the big event is over, Bitty kind of just wants to go to bed. He can have a big breakfast tomorrow, or have a protein bar if he wakes up hungry later. “You can go, if you want. I’m good.” Bitty feels more than sees Nursey nod. His chin is particularly pointy, he learns. After another firm squeeze, Nursey lets him go. Bitty feels fractionally colder, but the loss is replaced by how excited he is to crawl under his covers.
“Text me if you need anything, dude. SMH is all about having each others’ backs, no matter what. Any of the guys give you a problem I will sort that shit out myself if I have to.” Nursey is staring Bitty directly in the eyes when he says it. It makes Bitty feel better, to have someone so solidly in his corner after that disaster of a coming out. “Hops runs a tight ship, too, so you’ll be good.” Nursey waits to leave until Bitty nods.
On his way out the door, he drops a cheeky, “And now that I know what I’m looking for I know just who I’m setting you up with for winter screw.” He only narrowly dodges the sock Bitty throws at him, by virtue of the closing door in the way.
Bitty isn’t sure what to expect with the spring production of Chicago. Ford’s been talking about it non-stop since she got picked as ASM, but as the weeks have gone on she’s been ranting more and more during their kitchen time. Apparently, these last few dress rehearsals have not been the best. Regardless, the boys had all suited up on opening night and met at the entrance to the theater to seat as a team in the middle of the rows.
“You ready to see some stage magic, boys?” Louis leans over the backs of Bitty and Pacer’s seats. “Ford really whips these guys into shape. Best show you’ll see outside of Broadway.” Louis shakes their seats one more time before sitting back down. Dex and Nursey hand out programs- a crisp booklet lands in Bitty’s lap from somewhere. He takes a look at the cast, but doesn’t recognize a single name. Crew in the back is only slightly better: he sees Ford’s name and a small picture of the managing crew with their arms around each other.
The lights dim soon enough, and Bitty falls into the performances. He’s never seen or heard Chicago before, but he thinks this is a very good introduction. The Roxie and Velma duo drop some stunning solos, and the group numbers are well choreographed. He barely notices the time passing until final curtain falls and the rest of SMH around him leaps to their feet, clapping and whistling.
The team is, noticeably, the loudest of the attendees. Bitty feels only slightly awkward in joining the raucous applause.
They continue their noise through the bows, and only when the curtain draws again do they shuffle out of the doors, all but running around to the side of the building. Tango pounds his fist on one of the big metal double doors in a specific pattern- not quite “Shave and a Haircut”, but Bitty imagines it’s of a similar root.
The door opens with a shrieking of the hinges, revealing a man Bitty doesn’t know on the other side. He looks behind him once then gestures with his chin for the team to follow. They all file in, one after the other, and follow him to a cordoned off area past the racks of costumes and makeup chairs. Ford is there, talking to a small group of other people, hands waving around.
“I think we can have tighter changes tomorrow- it’ll give Becca a few seconds before she has to go back on. And, remind me to double check the sound in the light booth. Tommy was late on a few cues.” Someone in the group is taking notes, and the woman across from Ford nods.
“I think we should give Marshall’s run path another two feet. He almost crashed into Aisha during Act II. But, I’ll go give them the 'atta boy'. It was a good night. We should enjoy it.” She looks over Ford’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got company.” Ford tilts her head at her companion, who just smiles and walks away. She turns and jumps about a foot in the air.
“Oh, you guys!” She grabbed the arm of the boy closest to her- Chowder, it looked like - and shook it vigorously as Whiskey presented her with a bouquet of two dozen sunflowers. “You shouldn’t have!” She took the flowers, pressing her face into them. The smile on her face was dazzling, and Bitty felt his own smile get wider. He loved this crazy, wild team, and he loved their orderly, fierce manager. The group hug he got pulled into was warm, and mildly tearful, and full of laughter.
The Frozen Four is brutal. Bitty’s never played hockey this rough, and he spends more time off the ice than on it. Hops has been helping him for most of the season, but it’s different to face off against a friendly than it is someone who wouldn’t care if they knocked his lights out. Each game ends with the boys getting ice and tape and instructions not to do things that would exacerbate minor injuries.
Whiskey breaks two fingers in the first period of the semi finals and doesn’t tell Rodriguez until after the match is over, which leads to a pretty stern talking-to that the rest of the team pretends not to hear. He’s not out for the playoffs, which was part of the discussion Bitty can still feel ringing around the locker room when any of them press on bruises not healed enough, but the team was instructed to make sure he was following the same rest procedures as the rest of them. Hall even made him hand over the spare keys to Faber.
All that considered, it’s almost a relief when Boston College knocks them out of the running. Bitty keeps that opinion to himself, but he knows he’s not the only one thinking it. It’s clear in the way that Chowder slumps against Dex but isn’t crying, in the way Ford is running her fingers through Tango’s sweaty hair and he doesn’t push her away.
Hops gives a speech that Bitty doesn’t really process, but he nods along with everyone else. When the team hugs, with most of their sweat cooled and feet sore, Bitty crushes in alongside everyone else. It’s not as tight as it could be, in deference to everyone’s injuries, but it’s still nice. Someone ruffles his hair, and someone pinches Wicky’s side next to him, and Bitty tugs on someone’s jersey at the end of his hand. They breathe together for another second before releasing each other.
“Good work this season, boys. I know you’ll kill it next year.” Hops is still all smiles, but they’re dimmer than usual. It was his last chance for a trophy, and Bitty is sure he wanted to finish off his college years with a bang. Bitty can’t fault him for being upset, or for not being up to his usual happy antics.
After showering and changing, Bitty walks out with the rest of them to the bus to take them back to Samwell and slumps into his seat. A couple of the other guys pull out work or books or their phones, so Bitty doesn’t feel so bad putting his headphones in. He lets his music lull him into a daze, not quite asleep but not quite awake either. He’s aware of the bus slowing down, and opens his eyes enough to recognize they’re almost at Samwell, and he pulls himself more upright and stretches his arms over his head. He pulls his headphones out and wraps them around his phone before sticking the whole mess in his pocket.
“Hey, C.” Tango’s voice is just loud enough to carry across the seats between them. Bitty rubs his eyes and looks around, mostly to see how the other boys are doing. “C, wake up, man.” Tango’s voice draws Bitty’s attention, and he almost laughs at what he sees. Whiskey is tucked into Tango’s shoulder, face all but buried in the collar of Tango’s jacket. Tango sticks his nose into Whiskey’s hair and exhales loudly, ruffling his hair. Whiskey just frowns and burrows further into Tango.
“Not a good napper, huh?” Bitty makes sure to stay on the quiet side, so as not to draw extra attention. Tango meets his eye and shakes his head, smile on his face.
“Never has been. Connor, wake up.” Tango is a little more firm now, shaking at Whiskey’s shoulder, and Whiskey jerks awake.
“I’m up.” Whiskey’s voice is particularly hoarse, breaking over those two words. Tango doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe to mind, but Bitty can’t help the wince. It always sounds so painful, when Whiskey’s voice isn’t ready for him to speak. “Sorry for falling asleep on you.” Whiskey slumps onto Tango’s shoulder again, and Bitty has the sharp feeling that he’s intruding, somehow. Tango is still smiling, but it’s gentled into something else. Bitty ducks back into his seat, leaving them to their little moment.
“Hey, I’m just happy to see you sleeping. And, my girlfriend tells me I’m an excellent pillow.”
“Does she now?” Tango makes a little humming noise. “Well, she’s definitely right.”
“She is about most things. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Oh, I think she already knows.” Whiskey’s smile is clear in his voice, rough as it sounds, and Bitty is weighing the decision of putting his headphones back in when the bus pulls to its final stop. Tango and Whiskey stop talking long enough to get their things back into Faber, and Bitty takes the moment to unload his own things and head back to his dorm. There’s something he’s missing, but he doesn’t know what.
The Haus is near empty when Bitty swings by for Hops’ keys. Ford is there, as is Tango. They’re both carrying some boxes inside, labeled as Ford’s. Bitty had heard that she was going to move into the attic with Whiskey and Tango. Good for them. Bitty’s barely known any friends closer than those three.
Hops comes out just as Bitty is making to climb the stairs, screen door banging behind him. He freezes for a moment before a smile takes over his face, scrunching his eyes.
Hops always looks so happy to see anyone on the team that Bitty almost can’t believe he’s real. But he is, and he’s here, and he’s got a key ring on his index finger, hanging in the space between them.
“Didn’t expect you for another little bit. How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know. Getting ready to go back home, deciding what I’m gonna miss most.” There’s a whole list of things, really, that Bitty’s going to miss. Not least of all is the hockey team. But there’s also the pond, and Annie’s, and the way Faber lights up in the mornings.
“Well, that’s the nice thing about having a room in the Haus. It’s always here for you when you want to come back.” Hops looks up at the structure, even though the roof of the porch gets in the way of actually seeing anything. He takes a deep breath in, and lets it out in one long gust. “It’s a great place, really. Had some of the best times of my life in here. Lived with my best friends. It was really nice.” Hops looks back down at Bitty.
“That sounds really nice.”
“It was. I hope that happens for you, too.” Hops splays out the keys in Bitty’s hand. “So this is the key for the front door.” Hops goes through the keys one by one, and hands Bitty a little index card that has color coordination notes, which is when Bitty notices the little dot of nail polish near where the teeth branch out from the body of the key.
“Okay, Bitty,” Hops says when he’s finally done. “These are all yours. Have a good summer and take care of yourself, alright?” Bitty smiles and nods.
“Only if you do that same, okay?” Hops’ answering smile is wide and blinding.
“That’s a promise.”