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As Whiskey’s first semester of college rolled out, he found himself spending a lot of time with the lacrosse team. It’s not that he didn’t like his own teammates; they’d obviously gotten past the biggest obstacle he’d imagined there being. Sure, they chirped him endlessly for dating a LAX bro, but he knew they didn’t really care. He liked most of the hockey team, even though they were often into different things than he was, and he enjoyed hanging out with them.
Foxtrot, however, didn’t always get along the greatest with his team. He wanted to, so badly as Whiskey knew well, so he tried his hardest to fit in with them. He went to all of their crazy stupid parties. And he hung out with them at the gym and the bars and the clubs they all went to. Foxtrot spent a good majority of his time hanging out with the other LAX bros, even if he never really had that much fun.
So Whiskey did too. He figured that if Jeremy was going to spend all of his time being miserable just to try and get along with his team better, than he’d better be there as well to lessen the blows of suckiness his boyfriend was constantly taking. So they hung out with the lacrosse team far more than they did the hockey team. It wasn’t all bad. Whiskey figured he got along with them about as well as he got along with the hockey team. Or at least, some of the time.
Almost all of the guys on the team made lewd comments at passing women no matter where they were or how loud they were being. It skeeved Whiskey out a bit, to be completely honest. Occasionally a few of the douchier guys on the team would make rude, but vague, jokes about guys they thought were gay. None of them were ever overtly homophobic, not really, but Whiskey knew exactly what they were doing when they’d talk about fairies or poofs or things like that. And it bothered him, of course it did, but he’d dealt with so much of the same crap, or even worse, back in high school. And it wasn’t his team. So he kept his mouth shut most of the time. Foxtrot would try and shut them down before they even started, but Whiskey realized that he wasn’t always around when the Chads and Brad started into it.
Like the time Foxtrot and Whiskey were walking with some of the LAX guys across campus on their way to grab dinner. Whiskey had somehow found himself stuck between Chad S. and Chad R. while Jeremy had dropped back to talk with Henry and Rick.
Whiskey was trying to mind his own business while the two Chads were trying to tell him about how they landed a hookup with twins the other night and how ‘bitchin’ it was. All of a sudden, Chad S. sighed dramatically and pointed across the quad. “Brah, look at the little poofs today.”
“'Chyeah. Hah. There’s your crew, Whisk,” said Chad R. He nodded to the Founder’s side of Lake Quad where the hockey team was approaching like a cartoon dust cloud.
“The fucking hockey team,” said Chad S. “No offense, but every single time I look over from the lax house, like, those guys are listening to shit music and eating a bajillion cakes and prancing around like–I used to hang with hockey guys back in high school! But here, brah? Fuckin’ Samwell…”
“Pies,” said Whiskey. Chad and also Chad looked at him. “It’s weird.”
Chad R. shook his head. “'Chyeah.”
Whiskey did think the pie thing was kind of weird. Maybe because he was never a big fan of pie to begin with. He figured Bitty would probably throttle him for ever saying such a thing, so he never has and usually accepts the pie he’s offered anyways.
Whiskey didn’t particularly like the way Chad S. was talking about his teammates, and he thought maybe he’d say something this time because, y’know, those were his people. It was more his place to say something than it usually was. But Foxtrot saved him from doing so.
“Hey Chad,” Jeremy called out, jogging a little to catch up to them. “What do you mean by ‘prancing around’?”
“Hah. Y’know dude. I mean, look at ‘em,” Chad S. answered, gesturing at the hockey players as if that explained everything. It did, in a way, what with Ransom jumping onto Holster’s back for a piggy-back ride and Nursey slinging an arm around Dex’s and Chowder’s shoulders. Bitty, Lardo, and Tango were all there too, but they were just trailing behind talking normally. Whiskey knew how it looked to Chad though. They were a very touchy-feely team, he’d noticed early on, and it always was hard to tell what kind of affection some of them were showing; platonic or romantic.
“Chyeah brah. Like, do they even realize how gay they look right now?” Chad R. supplied.
“What’s wrong with that?” Jeremy challenged. Their entire group had stopped walking by then, everyone’s eyes darting back and forth between the hockey team and Foxtrot. “Some of the hockey team is gay.”
“Brah really?” Chad S. asked. He laughed and said, “That explains so much.”
“Hey Whisk, is that why you hang out with us more than your own team?” Chad R. asked, turning his attention back to him. Whiskey eyes narrowed and he turned slowly to his boyfriend.
“Do they not know?”
Foxtrot’s eyes also narrowed in confusion. He cocked his head and asked, “Chad are stupid or stupid? Seriously.”
“What brah?”
Foxtrot slammed his head into his hand and sighed. He lifted his head and turned to Whiskey, slipping his hand under his chin as a warning before he leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey reflexively reached a hand out to cup Jeremy’s cheek and kissed back gently. Jeremy soon enough pulled away and dropped his hand to lace his with Whiskey’s fingers.
“Whiskey’s my boyfriend dumbass.”
“Shit man, this is why we don’t fuck with the hockey team. They turn everyone into pansies.”
Whiskey saw the blow land before he even felt Foxtrot’s hand leave his own. He punched Chad S. square in the nose. Hard. Chad stumbled backwards and put a hand over his nose and mouth, pulling it away a second later smeared in blood. He looked at Foxtrot with simultaneous rage and confusion.
“Brah, what the fuck was that for?” Chad R. asked, looking quickly between his friend and his teammate.
“Nobody turned me gay you fucking asshole! Whiskey and I have been together for 3 years. And that’s not how gayness works anyways you raging homophobic dick! You can’t just turn someone gay by being around them. If that was the case, this whole campus would be gay. Heard of the whole 1 in 4, maybe more thing? You’re a fucking dumbass. I don’t even know why you go here if you hate gay people so much.”
“I don’t hate gay people,” Chad S. tried defending himself, albeit very weakly.
“Well you’re a fucking homophobe either way, so I don’t wanna listen to a damn thing you say.”
Henry, for the first time in the conversation, spoke up. “He's right man. You're kinda homophobic. Like a lot of the time, actually.”
“And pretty sexist too,” Whiskey added.
“Yeah. And the hockey guys aren't that bad man,” Rick said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm in a lot of classes with Chow and Poindexter. They're pretty cool actually.”
“What is this, gang up on Chad day? C’mon brahs.”
Rick scoffed. “No, this is done with your shit day. This is the farthest you've taken it for a while.”
“Yeah man,” Henry continued. “We thought you two changed colors since freshman year.” Henry turned towards Whiskey and Foxtrot. “They were straight up dicks when they heard about the 1 in 4 thing. We thought we'd gotten through to them. Evidently that's not the case.”
“No wonder the hockey team fucking hates us,” Foxtrot scoffed. He turned back to Whiskey and his face almost immediately softened. “I’m real sorry I’ve been making you deal with these fuckwads over your own team Babe.”
“Hey, they’re not all bad. I don’t mesh too much with my team anyways. It’s fine.”
“Speaking of…” Rick said quietly, nodding behind Whiskey. “They’re coming this way bro.”
“Fuck that man,” Chad R. said quickly. He grabbed the other Chad by the arm and pulled him back the way they came from.
Foxtrot smiled and waved over Whiskey’s shoulder as his teammates got closer.
Holster, with Ransom still perched on his shoulders, was the first to get to them. “Bro!” he yelled out, coming to a stop right next to Whiskey. “Foxtrot, did you really just -”
“Punch Chad in the face? Yeah. Sure did,” he laughed. “Wish I would’a punched the other Chad too.”
Nursey, Dex, and Chowder ran up behind their older counterparts and looked around at Whiskey and the others. “What in the hell just happened over here?” Dex asked, seemingly completely flabbergasted. The other three strolled up to the group and gave everyone varying odd looks.
“Foxtrot punched Chad S. in the face for being a dick,” Whiskey offered up, a smirk on his face.
Lardo was the first to react, and all she did was cackle and offer up a fist for Jeremy to bump. “Sick man.”
Tango looked as confused as always. “He’s on your team, though, right? Why’d you punch him?”
“I hate the Chads as much as the next guy,” Nursey said. “But Tango’s got a point.”
“Yeah,” Bitty nodded slowly. He directed his next question more at Whiskey than at Foxtrot, however. “I thought you hung out with these guys because you liked them better than us. If you don’t actually like them, why d’you keep hanging with them? And what does that say about us, if you like them more?”
“No, that’s not-they’re...I mean…”
Whiskey couldn’t figure out what to say that would make things right again, but luckily, Jeremy had known him for so long that it was easy for him to step in and save his skin.
“Whiskey’s too good to me, that’s why. He hangs out with my team because I don’t get along with them all as much as I’d like. I mean, Rick and Henry here are great, but the rest of the guys aren’t that great sometimes. And I was trying real hard to like them and get along with them. I’m starting to realize that some of them aren’t worth getting along with, but Whiskey always hung out with us because he knew how bad I wanted to like them. I guess I thought the more we hung out, the more I’d end up liking them.”
“Dude, really?” Henry asked, stepping back into the conversation. “I don’t even like half the guys. You so don’t gotta try that hard to get along with them. They’re just our teammates. They don’t gotta be your friends too.”
“Well I get that now, for sure.” Foxtrot turned back to the hockey team. “I’m sure we’ll both be hanging out with you guys more now too. I’m sorry I kinda stole Whiskey from y’all.”
“Brah, you don’t need to be sorry for wanting to spend time with your beau,” Ransom said, for some reason still sitting on Holster’s shoulders, who shifted his weight and nodded along.
“Okay…” Tango started, his eyebrows still knitted together. “That explains that, but, like, why’d you punch him?”
Whiskey answered for Foxtrot this time. “He called us poofs and pansies and blamed me for turning Foxtrot into one too. Because apparently he doesn’t understand how being gay actually works, fucking shithead.”
“He also accused you guys of eating too many cakes,” Rick supplied, smirking.
Bitty gasped, only half-sarcastically. “They dare blaspheme my pies too? What awful people indeed.” Everyone laughed at that, and Bitty continued, more serious this time. He looked at Foxtrot with the look he usually reserved for comforting the sick or sad. “I’m so sorry you have’ta deal with those two darlin’. You know you’re always welcome in the Haus, or wherever else we are. And that goes for you two as well,” he added, pointing at the other lacrosse players. “Y’all seem like real nice guys, and if Whiskey and Foxtrot thinks you’re good people, then so do we. Right y’all?”
The rest of the hockey team present nodded or chimed in their agreement as well.
“You guys hungry?” Lardo asked, breaking the more solemn moment, which was perfectly fine with Whiskey. “We were on our way to go grab some food if you wanna join in.”
“Yeah, the more the merrier, right?” Chowder supplied cheerily.
“Hell yeah, count us in,” Foxtrot said, a smile lighting up his face in such a way that it made Whiskey’s face mirror his. He never would have guessed that his day would have consisted of Jeremy essentially punching someone in defense of his honor, let alone that it would be his own teammate or that it would end with half the hockey team and three LAX bros all going out for dinner together. What even was his life, really?