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Adam Birkholtz is in love and every single thing about it is wonderful.
Okay, maybe that’s an overstatement, but it doesn’t feel like it when Ransom catches his eye across the table at team breakfast, or when they’re on the ice and Holster can feel exactly where Ransom is and sends the puck over to him so sweetly, or when they’re walking across campus and their hands brush together and Ransom looks up at him with his big eyes and secret smile and Holster is just.
He’s done for. He’s so far gone that it stopped being funny for a while and then circled back around to being absolutely fucking hilarious because his best friend loves him back .
And look, he knows how Samwell is. He hadn’t taken the ‘one in four’ thing very seriously until he’d found himself face to face with his new d-man and he’d gone from a hypothetical bisexual to a raging, lovestruck, idiot in about ten seconds (granted, he’d just thought he was falling into an epic bromance, but he hadn’t quite anticipated how quickly the “B” would get the fuck out the way). Samwell is a tolerant place, but they’re still on a hockey team and the inherent homophobia of jock culture isn’t going away anytime soon. It had been Ransom’s idea to keep it a secret until they were ready, and Holster had agreed because he’d seen exactly how ruthless a locker room could be if you didn’t belong. Plus, there was always the added fear of ruining the team’s cohesion, and while he knows Jack’s not homophobic (he once threatened to get someone suspended for hate speech after someone used a slur and it was honestly one of the most terrifying things Holster’s ever witnessed) , he’s not sure the guy would tolerate a threat to team unity.
It’s just easier this way, and sometimes it’s fun. Holster feels like he’s in a sitcom whenever their teammates mistake their hugs and nicknames as bros who’ve gone too far. He imagines them in a steamy romcom whenever they steal kisses in the locker room after practice or before games. Hell, he’s basically in a porno whenever he teases Ransom under the table in the library and it’s ‘swasome because Holster might be in love but he’s not dead.
Sure, he wishes they could hold hands when they walk each other to classes, or stop pretending that wearing each other’s clothes is just an accident. He keeps having this reoccurring dream about kissing Ransom after he scores a goal because honestly, that would be the celly of cellys. He’d love to take Ransom out on a proper date at a nice restaurant and order them wine they’d pretend to understand and beam at his boyfriend across the white-linen covered table and watch the candles throw shadows over Ransom’s perfect face instead of fighting for a table in the dining hall with it’s mediocre food and shitty fluorescent lights. It’s probably for the best that they can’t dance at kegsters because Holster is 100% sure he wouldn’t survive it, but is it so crazy to want to kiss his best friend when they finally crush Lardo at pong? They’ll do it one day, and when that day comes it will be glorious.
When that day comes, he wants to celebrate as boyfriends, not just as bros.
Alright, so maybe everything’s not wonderful all of the time, but Ransom is absolutely worth it. Holster can wait until they’re both ready or maybe upperclassmen - he just needs to be careful.
Then, one morning, he’s not careful.
Holster generally considers himself to be a morning person, but he doesn’t think anyone can actually enjoy a morning after an all nighter. Finals are just around the corner, and he’d learned last year that his plan of doing homework on the bus never actually pans out and now that he and Ransom have a tried and true method of working through post-game adrenaline (Sex. They have sex.) he doesn’t even try to get any reading done in the hotel room. Besides, now that he’s the Official Keeper and Guardian of the Most Intelligent, Beautiful, and Funny Coral Reef in the entire world, he always tries to get some work done in the weeks before finals so he can spend enough time making sure the reef eats enough and remembers to sleep.
Morning skate had been rough. Holster had struggled to grasp the plays Coach Hall described and even when he felt like he was giving the drills his all he still made sloppy mistakes. Ransom had been forced to cover for him, taking on far more than his share of the responsibility in order to keep the coaches off their backs. Jack had noticed, however, studying Holster with narrowed eyes after receiving a sloppy pass.
“Get some sleep before the game tomorrow.” He’d ordered, surprising Holster with a hearty slap on the back before skating over to run stick handling drills with Bitty.
The rest of practice had dragged on and Holster had never been so relieved to take off his gear and get on with the rest of his day. After his shower he all but collapsed in his cubby, waving off Bitty’s concern with a tight expression. “I’m good, man. Just tired.”
“You’re in luck, Holster, because I bought a whole bunch of peaches yesterday. I’ll come by at three with your pie.” The certainty in Bitty’s voice left no room for argument, as if Holster ever could refuse an offer of one of Bitty’s pies.
“Thanks, Bitty. I really appreciate it.” Bitty just turned back to his cubby with a smile on his face, smoothing his hands over his wet hair to shape it back into position. Holster looked down into his bag, frowning down at the pile of clothes he’d left there as he tried to muster up the energy to actually get dressed. A gentle bump at his shoulder drew his attention. Ransom had just finished his shower, and Holster had to physically bite his tongue to keep from commenting on how good he looked. Beads of water still trailed down his defined muscles, his skin practically glowing in the usually unflattering light of the locker room.
A flurry of motion before his eyes forced him to jolt back. Ransom had just waved a hand just in front of his nose, a concerned expression marring his handsome features.
“Holtzy, you’re like, seriously out of it. Are you sure you have to go to class?” He asked, brows furrowing. Holster raised a thick eyebrow in response, leaning back against his hanging pads.
“You realize how ironic this is, right? I’ve asked you that like a thousand times and you never skip.” He knows he probably sounds more like an asshole than he’d intended, but Ransom just smiles and punches him in the arm. He always understands what Holster is trying to say.
“Fuck off, man. I get it, I’m just saying that you’ll probably fall asleep and drool all over your laptop and then I’ll have to - ” Holster doesn’t have the presence of mind to dodge the jock that’s been thrown at him, but Ransom bats it out of the way before it can hit him.
Some of the seniors laugh, and Smithy calls out,“What the fuck happened to you last night, man? Who’d you wheel?”
“No one.” Holster replies flatly, bending down to dig through his bag for his shirt. “Got fucked by Jean-Baptiste Say, though.” Bitty lets out a soft gasp beside him. Holster’s not surprised that the joke doesn’t land, but at least Ransom and Shitty are laughing and when he glances around the room it looks like Jack is chuckling into his pads. Weird. The seniors look confused, though, and one is looking at him with an expression of outright disgust. “Calm the fuck down, man. He’s a French economist I had to write a paper on. I was up all night finishing it.” The seniors laugh, the tension broken, and Holster pulls on his clothes quickly.
His plans for the future are interrupted by Ransom’s concerned voice. “Holtzy, you look like you’re about to smash someone’s face in.” Holster’s hands slow on the button of his jeans, and he sits back down next to his boyfriend with a heavy sigh.
“I’m just tired, Rans. I’ll be fine later.” As he speaks he slips his feet into his sneakers, then grabs his hoodie. “I’ll be in the room after class if you want to hang out this afternoon.” The words come out muffled before his head pops out the neck hole of his sweatshirt, and he takes a moment to run his fingers through his hair. “See you later.” It’s not a question - it never has to be. He’ll always be able to count on seeing Ransom later.
It’s that very thought that does him in. He’s too busy contemplating their inevitability to remember how to act when they’re not alone, and before he can stop himself he leans forward and presses his chapped lips against Ransom’s full ones in a dry kiss. He doesn’t think much of it until he realizes that the room has gone silent. He looks around, taking in the shocked expressions of his teammates until he’s back to Ransom, who’s also looking at him like he’s absolutely insane.
Fuck.
It’s his encyclopedic knowledge of sitcoms that saves him. He’s seen this exact scenario before and knows exactly what he has to do. In one smooth motion he rotates to face Bitty, who looks hopeful and terrified all at once, and plants one right on his lips with zero hesitation. The shorter man squeaks, going rigid under Holster’s touch, and he makes a mental note to apologize to him later.
“See ya, Bitty!” He says, forcing himself something close to normal. He stands and walks towards the next cubby, striking again before anyone can realize what’s going on. Ollie accepts the kiss calmly enough, but Wicks looks absolutely furious after they pull apart. Holster doesn’t have time to worry about his reaction before he ducks down to quickly kiss Wicks as well. “Bye, guys,” he mutters as he moves on.
The little cluster of seniors have scattered, each of them focused far more on their gear than on Holster, but he manages to land one on Smithy before moving on to Johnson, who mutters, “Looks like you really are Chandler,” but still tilts his face up for a quick brush of lips even after Holster shushes him.
Holster gives himself a moment to breathe before turning to see who’s next. He’s greeted by the sight of Shitty, who is surprisingly clothed, but the joyous expression on his face as he quickly combs his mustache makes it almost as weird as his customary nudity would have.
“Come here, you gentle goddamn giant! Let me see what those Nordic lips can do!” Shitty crows, holding his arms out. Holster goes to him, barely resisting the urge to scrub his hands over his face.
“I’m Jewish, bro. German. But whatever, I know what you mean.” He pulls Shitty in, knowing he has to lean into the moment, and tilts his head down to kiss his teammate. He’s never kissed someone with a mustache before, and he finds himself wondering how Ransom would look with one. Dignified, probably. Definitely sexy. But Holster knows he’s biased so he pulls back and slaps Shitty on the ass before extracting himself from the tight grip the shorter man has on him. He’s finished, he has to be, he’s kissed so many dudes in the last few minutes that he doesn’t think he can handle any more. He’s just going through the roster in his mind when he freezes, having finally realized who’s left:
He’s about to kiss Jack Fucking Zimmermann.
He’s made it so far, though, and if pulling this ridiculous scheme off means making on his captain for a few seconds, he’ll risk it. Jack stands absolutely still as Holster walks towards him, studying him with an inscrutable expression. He doesn’t speak, which isn’t surprising, but he doesn’t try to escape, which is. Holster takes a fortifying breath before closing the distance between them, carefully ducking down to seal their lips together. He lingers just long enough to make it believable, trying to match the amount of time he’d spent attached to Ransom’s face, when Jack’s lips move under his and wait, that can’t be intentional. Holster pulls back just a thread and Jack follows him and shit, Jack is kissing him back? He can’t be - he wouldn’t - there’s no way.
Holster does not have the wherewithal to process this turn of events, so he does the only thing he can to preserve his sanity: he pulls back, grabs his stuff, and gets the hell out of the locker room. He only pauses to throw a quick farewell over his shoulder, hoping he’s managed to take the focus off of Ransom with his desperate gamble.
Luckily, he doesn’t have to see the team for the rest of the day, but he spends hours that evening agonizing over seeing them all again. He’s worried that he’s actually compromised team unity, which was the entire purpose of hiding their relationship in the first place, but Ransom assures him that the guys will be fine. They’ll chirp him to hell and back, but as long as Ransom isn’t freaking out, Holster tries to keep from freaking out as well.
Still, he drags his feet on the way to the bus, feeling the weight of far more than his duffle bag on his shoulders. Ransom’s already on the bus - he always gets there early to claim their seats - and Holster can hear the general din of twenty-odd college males die down the second he steps onto the bus. He tries to be casual, keeping his expression neutral as he walks down the narrow aisle, but he’s getting more and more uncomfortable as the silence goes on and each of his teammates stares at him until he sinks down next to Ransom.
“Don’t tell us you only give goodbye kisses, Holster.” Jack says, and the bus explodes with laughter. It’s not even that good of a chirp, but Holster has never been more grateful for his un-fucking-canny ability to make the entire team laugh in these kinds of situations. The bus begins to move and Ransom presses against his side as the rest of the team piles on, and all Holster can do is laugh as they collectively blame his weird behavior on his exhaustion.
Adam Birkholtz is in love and most of it is wonderful most of the time and that’s enough for him.