bittysvalentines

[bittysvalentines]

Going for Gold

To @allmylittleflaws

From @effyeahzimbits

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dex/Nursey

“Will you fucking quit typing? I’m trying to sleep here.”

    Nursey glanced up from the white glare of his laptop screen. The plane was mostly in darkness, but he could see his teammate’s golden eyes glaring at him from across the aisle. They were surrounded by the soft snores of other members of the United States Men’s Hockey team, and none of them had been disturbed by the clacking of Nursey’s plastic keys. He was pretty sure Poindexter just had it in for him.

    Nursey couldn’t blame him. Ever since that match a few months ago where the Rangers played the Islanders, the budding rivalry between the two teams exploded to new heights, and Poindexter seemed to carry that grudge off the ice too. Nursey still wasn’t entirely sure what had kicked it off - something about the Rangers’ goalie and a wayward puck sent by an Islander’s D-man. Either way, a fight of epic proportions ensued, resulting in both teams nearly sacrificing their entire benches to the sin bin.

    Nursey had been on the other side of the rink at the time, but he soon pelted over to defend his goalie. He’d only gotten halfway when he was suddenly tackled by Poindexter and sent colliding with the ice. It was a defensive tactic used to keep the pair of them out of the scuffle, but it was enough to raise Nursey’s hackles. He only managed to throw a couple of haphazard punches to Poindexter’s face before he was being dragged away by an official and that was that.

    Or so Nursey had thought. Fans of both teams expressed their delight at the spectacle all over social media, and it wasn’t long before videos of the match went viral. ESPN highlighted his little brawl with Poindexter, and before Nursey knew it, his Twitter account blew up with notifications. False stories about some feud between the two of them spread like wildfire across the Internet, even though Nursey had never even said two words to the guy. Still, it felt harmless enough to Nursey, and he even joined in on the fun a little, pinging a few chirpy tweets Poindexter’s way. The other D-man didn’t seem to appreciate it though, even going so far as to tell one reporter brave enough to ask about it that Nursey needed to “grow the fuck up and start playing decent hockey.”

    Nursey took offence at that. He took pride in his game and loved playing for the Rangers. However, he was strongly urged by PR to refrain from retaliating and the spat was left as it was. The two teams weren’t due to meet for another month or two, but that was the least of Nursey’s concerns. Not long after the fight he’d received confirmation that he had been chosen to play for the United States in the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing. He’d been ecstatic, that was, until he saw the name of another defenceman on that list. William Poindexter.

    He’d tried not to worry about it too much. That was easier said than done though when practice sessions finally rolled around. It was a tight team, containing top players from all over the country and captained by none other than Kent fucking Parson, and Nursey was honoured to be a part of it. But working with Poindexter was tough. There was none of the smoothness Nursey had with his defence partner at the Rangers. Poindexter seemed to play by his own agenda, working against Nursey rather than with him. No words were spoken between them, but Nursey could see the contempt in his partner’s eyes every time they passed each other. If nothing else, it at least brought out Nursey’s competitive streak and made him play harder. And they must have been doing something right, because the Coach had placed them on the starting line together.

    And now came a couple of weeks of hardcore hockey with the possibility of medals resting on his broad shoulders. He was excited, genuinely over the moon crazy kind of excited. But he was also worried. He didn’t want this weird spat to affect his game, and he also didn’t want people to make out it was worse than it actually was. He never had anything against Poindexter before all of this kicked off, but if he wanted to cause trouble while they were out here representing their country, then Nursey wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen. But for now, he was going to keep his head down and play good hockey.

    “I can’t sleep,” he murmured in response to Poindexter’s snapped words. “I never can on planes.”

    “So do something else. I can’t sleep with that racket in my ear,” Poindexter argued, nodding towards the laptop.

    “Put earphones in then or something,” Nursey suggested. He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Poindexter’s tone was starting to get his back up.

    “What are you even writing?” Poindexter demanded, leaning in his plush seat to try and get a glimpse of Nursey’s screen.

    Nursey glowered and tilted it away from him, instantly on the defensive.

    “None of your fucking business.”

    “Are you writing poetry?” Poindexter asked in what definitely sounded like a sneer.

    “I said it’s none of your fucking business!” Nursey snapped, slamming the laptop lid down harder than he meant to.

    “Hey!” A voice thick with sleep called over from a few rows away. “Both of you cut it out or I’ll have you run burpees ‘til you puke.”

    Nursey bristled. The Coach was pissed now, and it was all because Poindexter was too precious to try and sleep with a bit of noise. Nursey clenched his jaw and physically turned away from the other defenceman. If he had to look at his stupid freckly face any longer, he’d punch it. He folded his arms in a huff and glared out of the window instead. There wasn’t much to see except expanses of thick, fluffy dark clouds but he concentrated hard on them, counting the rare glimmers of stars that glinted through. Thankfully, he managed to fall asleep.

    He didn’t know how, but he was signed up to share a room with Kent Parson. He’d met the guy once at a benefit before practices started, and other than a suave “hey how’re you doing?” (to which Nursey blushed and stammered over his words like a dork), they hadn’t spoken. At practice Nursey could say with confidence that Parson was a solid captain. He took initiative, looked out for his team members on the ice and got shit done. But off the ice and in a dorm room in the Olympic village? Nursey didn’t know what to expect.

    “Hey. You wanna see pictures of my cat?”

    Okay, so it wasn’t that. But hell fucking yes Nursey wanted to see pictures of Kent Parson’s cat. He huddled next to Parson on his squeaky, scratchy mattress and peered over his shoulder at his Instagram. The cat was a huge fluffball of a thing with massive green eyes and a sparkly collar. If it was pink it would probably look like candyfloss with ears. Nursey wasn’t usually a cat person, but he thought he’d make exceptions for that one.

    Parson didn’t stick around long. After ten minutes of cooing over the cat pictures, he announced he was meeting a friend and sauntered off, the epitome of cool carelessness. Even the way his hair flopped seemed effortlessly nonchalant. Nursey thought he had wandered off in the direction of the Canadian athletes’ dorm, but he couldn’t be sure. As long as Parson was back before the game tomorrow, it really wasn’t any of his business.

    The dorm room seemed depressingly empty after that. It wasn’t very inviting to begin with, and after half an hour the dull, beige walls and stark sheets were suffocating. He shoved his boots back on and stowed his laptop under his arm, hoping there would be somewhere with a decent Wi-Fi signal and a good cup of coffee he could hang out at until team dinner. Most of the guys on his team had announced plans to nap, and Nursey didn’t want to disturb them in the hopes of finding a companion. In the immortal words of his Rangers captain – never wake a sleeping hockey player.

    The Village was huge. He wandered past buildings that all looked the same, half following the multi-lingual signs and half following other athletes. It was an icy February, and he was grateful for the thick, padded duffel coats they’d been provided with. He hoped they could keep all the clothes they’d been given. It was pretty awesome wandering around with “Team USA” embroidered on everything. His mom was keeping a scrapbook too and he knew she’d love the Team USA dressing robe folded up on his bed.

    He turned a corner and halted in his tracks at the sight of the recreation centre domineering the horizon. Banners adorning its walls boasted a theatre and a cinema, plus sports halls and exercise facilities and even a spa. Making a mental note to check that out after dinner, he went on the hunt for coffee and Wi-Fi. It was like a maze inside. He bypassed the McDonalds and instead headed for the official athletes’ cafeteria.

    It was already bustling with people, all of them prattling loudly over the sound of scraping chairs and clattering dishes. Nursey had to take a minute to absorb it all and stop himself from getting overwhelmed. Breathing in check, he strode into the crowd. He emerged clutching the biggest takeaway mug of coffee he could find and a slice of cake the nutritionist definitely wouldn’t have agreed with. It was a bit harder to find a table, but eventually he located an empty one in a quieter corner of the room.

    He people watched and nibbled his cake while he waited for his laptop to load up. It was incredible really, seeing the sheer amount of people gathered to play a few sports. The atmosphere was electric though. Everyone was clearly super excited to be there and play for their countries. Inspired by their enthusiasm, Nursey’s hands were soon speeding over his keyboard.

    “More poetry?”

    Nursey’s fingers froze. Feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, he raised his eyes to see Poindexter standing in front of him, clutching his own bucket of coffee. No cake though. He was wearing the same Team USA tracksuit they’d all been issued, but Nursey couldn’t help noticing just how well it seemed to sit on Poindexter’s broad shoulders.

    “Blog post, actually,” Nursey replied, fighting to keep his voice cool. Poindexter’s tone hadn’t been snippy, but Nursey was still on the defensive.

    “Oh. Cool.”

    Nursey lifted a well-groomed eyebrow at him. Cool? Out of all the words that could have possibly tumbled out of Poindexter’s mouth, that certainly wasn’t what he expected. He wanted to document the entire Olympics process for his online blog to accompany his Instagram and Twitter reports, but he doubted it was anything Poindexter would be interested in.

    Poindexter shrugged, and if Nursey didn’t know better, he could have sworn he saw the faint tint of a blush underneath those freckles.

    “I saw your Twitter. You seem to write a lot.”

    Nursey blinked. Was Poindexter actually attempting to have a conversation with him? It was a bit awkward with the other defenceman hovering over the table like that, but seeing how nervous he looked was kind of cute.

    “Yeah. I majored in literature at college,” Nursey replied, taking a swallow of his coffee so he could do something with his hands. He couldn’t help bragging a bit. “Had a few poems and short stories published.”

    “Oh. That’s awesome,” Poindexter replied, his voice quiet but sincere. “I uh, I did computer science. A bit different.”

    Nursey nodded, managing a half smile. He was still a bit freaked out. Just this morning Poindexter had been snapping at him for typing and now he was striking up a conversation, albeit a slightly awkward one. Nursey didn’t quite know what to say to that though, and there was a minute or two of weird silence until Poindexter plucked up the courage to open his mouth again.

    “I wanted to apologise. For this morning. I was tired, and a bit nervous, and took it out on you. So uh, yeah. Sorry.”

    Well that was a turn up for the books. Poindexter was definitely blushing now, and Nursey wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that it was a good look on him. Still, Nursey wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and if Poindexter wanted to make peace then Nursey was going to take it.

    “It’s okay. It’s my fault too. I should have been a bit more considerate.” Nursey gave him another smile that was a bit more genuine this time. Poindexter seemed to grasp the mutual apology by both hands and nodded eagerly, his stiff shoulders relaxing with relief.

    “Okay. Cool. No problem. Well, I’ll uh, leave you to your writing then. And I’ll see you at dinner.”

    “Yeah. See you.”

    Nursey watched him retreat, still a little bit dazed about the whole thing. He wasn’t sure what had made the guy change his mind, but he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe all Poindexter needed was a cup of coffee and a couple of hours sleep. He hoped the wary truce would extend onto the ice too, but he’d have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Their first game was against the Chinese hosts in the early afternoon, and Nursey was keen to get his skates on and win some matches.

    Dinner was a quiet affair. The whole team was still exhausted from their long plane trip and exploring the Village. Nursey spent it sat next to a couple of vets who seemed to take him under their wing. He was grateful for their dogged insight and listened avidly to their stories playing for the USA over the years. He couldn’t help his eyes drifting over to Poindexter from time to time, but the man kept his head down and ate in the corner. Nursey was starting to think he was just a quiet kind of guy.

    After they’d eaten the team split up again. Parson was the first to suggest hanging out at the bar, proposing they met up with a few of the Canadian and Russian team members. Nursey found it a bit weird to think he’d be playing against a couple of guys from the Rangers who just happened to be Canadian. He could easily imagine all the chirps that were going to be shared back in their home locker room in a few weeks’ time.

    He declined the offer in favour of hunting for the spa he’d seen advertised. He was a sucker for a good steam room and a massage and hoped a little swim might help him sleep well. He returned to his room a couple of hours later feeling sleepy and content. Parson wasn’t back yet, but Nursey didn’t expect him to be. He stripped to his underwear and climbed into bed, flicking off the lights as he went. His hair was still damp, and he teased the curls with his fingers as he squashed a yawn and scrolled through his phone all at the same time.

    He’d published his first Olympic blog post earlier that day. It had already been liked and retweeted hundreds of times by his loyal fans and his mom. Since the whole Rangers v Islanders fiasco, he’d turned off his social media notifications, but he still liked peering through the comments and mentions. Occasionally he would come across a heartfelt message or something that would make him laugh and he liked letting fans know they’d touched him in some way.

    He trawled through the well wishes and memes, liking a few tweets and responding to a couple. A little banner appeared on the top of his phone to let him know WillDex96 has liked his most recent tweet. Nursey paused. Poindexter never liked his tweets. And his most recent tweet was the link to his blog post. Before his brain could even process it properly, his phone pinged with a direct message.

    WillDex96    I liked the coffee too

    Well, that wasn’t much of a conversation starter. Nursey had barely even mentioned the coffee in his blog, but it meant more that Poindexter had actually read it. Nursey smiled to himself and settled into his cushions a little more. He hesitated over the keys, then thought fuck it.

    DerekDoesDefence  Do you want to grab one together after the game tomorrow?

    It was a bold move, and Nursey wasn’t sure it was the right one, especially as it seemed to take Poindexter an age to reply. Nursey just knew that he liked Poindexter’s awkward yet endearing demeanour and wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little more off the ice. His attractiveness was just an added bonus. Just when he was about to give up hope, a reply popped into his inbox.

    WillDex96     Yeah okay. See you tomorrow.

    DerekDoesDefence   Goodnight

    He didn’t get a reply, but he didn’t really expect one after that. Poindexter seemed to be a man of few words. Nursey put his phone aside and settled down, curling up and pulling the sheets around him. He couldn’t help the big, cheesy grin. It wasn’t a date, but he felt like he always did when he’d arranged one. It was probably a bit silly to even consider these things with the Olympic games right on top of them, but the thought made him giddy nonetheless. He fell asleep thinking of freckles and auburn hair and big hands.

    The game was incredible. Nursey couldn’t remember the finer details, but he remembered the fanatic roar of the crowd, the bite of wind on his cheeks, the burning in his lungs and his calves as he raced across the ice. Every player in both teams seemed wired, like they had caffeine in their veins as they powered through each period. Playing with the Rangers was one thing but playing for his country set his blood on fire.

    They won. It was a tight match and China played incredibly well, but USA just seemed to dominate the punk that little bit more and it made all the difference. Nursey’s team left the arena elated, cheering with the fans and rough housing as they made their way back to the Village. Most of the team headed to the recreation centre to burn off energy. Nursey followed them, feeling giddy all over again. Poindexter walked beside him, though he only greeted him with a subtle nod.

    The team went their separate ways inside. A few of them headed towards the sports halls while others went to the spa for a post-game massage. Nursey watched Parson spearhead a small group into the bar where he could see a few of the Russian hockey players. Parson seemed to be friends with everyone, and Nursey didn’t know how he had the energy for it all. He and Poindexter headed towards the cafeteria, which was a lot quieter than yesterday.

    They were silent as they retrieved their coffee. Nursey was pulsing with pent up excitement, but he couldn’t bring himself to string a sentence together. Poindexter had looked damn good out on the ice. His flushed, freckled cheeks and determined brow had made Nursey’s knees weak. It felt a bit weird looking him in the face now. They managed to grab a table by one of the huge windows, and it was a while before either of them found the courage to say something.

    “That was a good game,” Poindexter eventually said, dragging his eyes away from the plastic tabletop and onto Nursey’s face. The half grin he managed made Nursey’s stomach churn.

    It had been an awesome game, and Nursey wasn’t sure how it had happened, but something had finally clicked between them. They had worked in tandem out on the ice, analysing each other’s movements and tactics to form an unpassable duo. Their breathless teammates had slapped them both on the shoulder with each successful blockade, and the coach had been singing their praises in the locker room. The budding partnership had left Nursey as ecstatic as the win had.

    “Yeah, it was. I think we finally played well together, Poindexter,” Nursey grinned at him over his cup.

    “Finally,” Poindexter agreed with a snort of amusement. “And call me Dex. Anything else just sounds a bit weird.”

    Nursey hid his grin behind his cup. He was probably making more of it than necessary, but the permission to call Dex by his hockey nickname just proved they’d made some progress. Fuck, Nursey wanted to kiss him. He took a big swallow of coffee instead and burned his tongue.

    “You think we have a decent shot?” He asked to mask his pained grimace.

    “Too early to tell,” Dex replied with half a shrug. “Especially with Canada’s line up. Zimmermann’s been on fire lately.”

    Nursey hummed his agreement and licked the foam off his latte, only just avoiding making a mess. He looked up to find Dex’s eyes on him, his face bearing an odd expression. He swallowed and looked away quickly, hoping he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d humiliated himself in front of a pretty boy. He scrambled for something to say.

    “You read my blog,” he said after a moment, figuring that was a safe enough topic.

    “Oh. Yeah. It was fun to read. I wanted to make sure you were telling the truth about everything,” Dex grinned.

    Nursey blinked. Was Dex…flirting with him? Or was it just a chirp? Though he’d once heard somewhere that flirting and chirping were just variants of the same thing.

    “Um. Yep. Total truth,” Nursey replied eloquently. “No lies here.”

    Fuck, he was such a dork. It made Dex snicker though, and he counted that as a win.

    “I uh, I ended up going through your stuff,” Dex admitted, his eyes flitting away to a poster announcing the daily specials. “I really liked it. Especially the articles you did for your college magazine.”

    Nursey lifted an eyebrow at him and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

    “Those are all about bi erasure and hetero bullshit in the locker room,” he said slowly. To his surprise, Dex blushed so hard even his ears went red.

    “Um, yep. They uh, really resonated with me. Especially the…especially the bits on internalised homophobia.”

    Oh.

    Nursey wasn’t quite sure how he managed to keep his mouth shut and his face straight. It wasn’t quite an admission, but it was as good as. Following Jack Zimmermann’s epic reveal of his sexuality after the Providence Falconers’ Stanley Cup win three years ago, only a few other NHL players had been forthcoming with their own. Parson had been one of them, and Nursey had been open regarding his as soon as he was signed with the Rangers last year. Things weren’t perfect, far from it, but the sport had been making progress and that was good enough for him. He could understand Dex’s reasons for being tight-lipped though, and he took a minute to think of something that would affirm everything without being too direct, for Dex’s sake.

    “Well I’m glad they helped some people. That’s what I wanted, you know? To help bring a little peace and support.”

    Dex nodded and a silence fell between them again. Oddly enough it wasn’t awkward, and Nursey allowed his tentative friend the time to process it. He wondered if he should ask if Dex wanted to talk about it. It sounded like he had a couple of issues that caused a little friction and Nursey hoped he could shed light on a few things. Before he could open his mouth though, Dex looked up and caught his eyes.

    The look Dex gave him made Nursey’s heart leap into his throat. There was a spark of something between them that wasn’t there before, a spark that made the hair on Nursey’s forearms stand on end. He swallowed slowly, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to do more than kiss him. For a long, agonising moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Nursey threw caution to the wind.

    “Do you…want to come back to my room?”

    Dex nodded so fast his neck creaked. Nursey’s face split into a huge grin, the arousal already pooling in his gut. He shot to his feet in an instant, knocking his coffee cup flying. The lukewarm liquid splattered the table and both their clothes like watery paint.

    “Jesus fucking Christ, Nurse.”

    Dex’s laugh was quiet but carefree and obviously entertained. He threw a wad of paper napkins over the puddle and left it at that, leading the way towards the dorms. Nursey scrambled to catch up, nearly tripping up over his own feet. He ached to grab his hand as they powerwalked out of the centre, but he held himself back. They bumped shoulders along the way and the heat from that alone tented Nursey’s loose tracksuit pants.

    The sex was mind-blowing. It was messy and hot and frenzied and had Nursey howling like an animal. Dex was an attentive lover, his mouth and fingers desperate to explore every inch of him. Nursey learned more about Dex in those couple of hours than he had in the few days they’d known each other. It left him wanting to know more, wanting to know everything. They lay curled up in bed together afterwards, flushed, breathless and blinking away stars. Nursey was suddenly very grateful they both lived in New York. It made the possibility of finding out just what made William Poindexter tick all the more enticing.

    “I think I’ll write a poem about this,” he announced, his voice loud in the thick, sex-laden air.

    Dex smacked him with a pillow.

#bv2020 #bitty's valentines #dexnursey #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

The AO3 Collection is live!

#bv2020 #bitty's valentines

[bittysvalentines]

From: @motoroilfanta

To: @poindextears

#24, Pointdexter

I miss you from the top bunk,

You’re just close enough to hear

The faint bated breath

The breathless laugh

The hapless sobs

Let me lie with you a moment, dear

And hear from me my love

 E, no content warnings

Hiya! I've been an admirer of your work for some time now. Not going to lie, your fics can earn a tear or two. Here's my gift to you, a Nursey confession in poem form, with the poem here to boot.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

Gravity Can Forget

From: @the-lincyclopedia

To: @loveyoutoobits

Summary: Jack takes such good care of Eric after Eric's concussion that Eric can't help but develop feelings. Too bad Jack is straight . . . right? 

Rating: T

Tags: Concussions, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Out, Year 1 (Check Please!), Getting Together, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense

“Bittle. I’ve got your back.” 

The words echo around Eric’s head as his ears ring. The crowd seems to be making noise—a lot of noise, actually, enough to worsen his headache—but their roar is competing with the ringing in his ears and the ghost of Jack’s words. It’s a lot of sound to take in, and Eric shuts his eyes as if eliminating input to one sense will make it easier to handle the overwhelming input to another. He’s not sure how he wound up laying on the ice; the last thing he remembers is Jack talking to him on their way out of the huddle. 

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand on his shoulder. He can feel its weight through his pads, but it’s not shaking him; it’s just resting there. 

“Bitty,” he hears. It’s Jack’s voice. “Bits, are you conscious? Wake up for me, please.” 

“’M awake,” Eric mumbles.

“Merci à Dieu,” breathes Jack. “Can you open your eyes, bud?” 

Eric groans but opens his eyes. There are stars in his field of vision. He blinks several times, but they don’t go away. He’s dizzy. 

Two pairs of feet—wearing shoes, not skates—stomp-shuffle into view. The legs they’re attached to bend, and then Hall and Murray’s faces enter Eric’s field of vision. “Come on, Bittle,” says Hall. He slides his hands under Eric’s armpits and pulls Eric upright. “Can you skate?”

Eric considers the question. It feels like his brain is working more slowly than usual. “Maybe?”

Hall puts his arms around Eric in a sort of side-hug, and Murray adds a hand against Eric’s back, and the three of them make their slow, halting way off the ice. There seems to be . . . clapping? Eric isn’t sure what’s happening until he hears his name: Bitt-le, Bitt-le, Bitt-le. He’s surprised. He knows his name is on the back of his jersey, but he’s just a frog. Nobody really knows who is—right? 

Lardo gives him a shaky smile when he makes it to the bench. “You okay, dude?”

Eric starts to shake his head and immediately regrets it. So much nausea. “Not great,” he mumbles. 

She reaches out a hand as if to clap him on the shoulder and then seems to think better of it. “You did great. Proud of you.” 

“Thanks,” Eric mumbles.

“Larissa, can you take him to urgent care?” Hall asks. Murray’s hand is no longer on Eric’s back, and Murray himself isn’t in Eric’s field of vision. When did he leave? “I’ll come as soon as the game is over—you’ll probably still be in the waiting room. He’s conscious, so it’s probably fine for him not to go to the emergency room, but we should get him checked out tonight. Someone will need to stay with him all night if he has a concussion, but we can figure that out later.” 

“All right,” says Lardo. She stands and maneuvers Eric’s arm over her shoulder. “Let’s go, Bitty.” 

Lardo helps Eric to the locker room and oversees him taking off his skates and pads. She grabs his bag out of his cubby and makes sure his wallet is there, with his insurance card in it, before they leave the arena. Eric gets the most carsick he’s been in ages on the drive to the hospital, but he manages to avoid actually throwing up until they’re in the parking lot. Lardo, to her credit, just rubs Eric’s back as he hurls and then helps him walk around the puddle and into the building. 

After Lardo helps Eric check in, the two of them sit down and Lardo takes out her phone. “Well, we won,” she says. 

“Huh?” Eric asks. 

“Samwell won the game. It’s over already. Jack says he and Hall are going to head to the hospital soon.” 

“Oh. Good,” says Eric. He’s vaguely aware that ordinarily he’d be tweeting right now, but the prospect just seems overwhelming, so he stares at the wall instead. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been when Hall and Jack show up. Hall takes a seat on Lardo’s other side and begins asking her quiet questions, but Jack crouches down in front of Eric and says, “Bits, I’m so sorry.”

Eric isn’t sure what Jack’s apologizing for. The only word he manages to form is, “What?”

“The play was dangerous. All I was thinking about was winning, and I put you at risk for that.” 

“Jack, we play hockey.” 

“Yeah, but that guy boarded Holster. You were so brave, but I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Eric Bittle?” a nurse calls. 

Eric stands and then lurches forward. Jack catches him and throws one of Eric’s arms over his shoulder, which doesn’t work very well given the height difference, and then Eric, Jack, Lardo, and Hall make their way back to a doctor’s office, with Jack half-carrying Eric. 

The doctor asks Eric a number of questions, about both his symptoms and the world at large—he’s dizzy and nauseous, but at least he knows Obama’s the president—and then tests to see whether Eric has double vision (he does) and can walk on his own (kind of). In the end, Eric gets diagnosed with a mild concussion, which makes him wonder what sort of symptoms are required for a serious one. The doctor says he should ask for extensions on all his assignments and do less schoolwork for the next few weeks at least, as well as avoiding exercise and screen time. The doctor also says that someone needs to wake him up every hour that night to make sure he’s still conscious and lucid. 

Hall asks if Eric thinks his roommate would be willing to wake him up all night, but, before Eric can even wrap his head around the question, Jack says, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll do it.” 

“What?” Eric asks. 

“You can stay at the Haus tonight. You can take my bed and I’ll take the floor. I’ll wake you up every hour.” 

“But why?” Eric feels so confused. 

Jack looks pained. “Because it’s my fault you’re hurt. Let me take care of you, all right?”

Eric feels like he should argue, but he also feels like he might throw up, so he decides to just say, “Okay.” Hall and Lardo are looking between him and Jack, and Eric can’t read their expressions, but he’s too tired to care. 

Jack supports/carries Eric out of the hospital and back to Lardo’s car, and then the three of them drive back to the Haus. Eric winds up borrowing one of Jack’s T-shirts and some of Lardo’s sweatpants to sleep in (Lardo makes a “never thought you’d get in my pants” joke that Eric ignores), and he wipes his top half down with a washcloth rather than showering, since he’s still pretty unsteady on his feet. He brushes his teeth by putting some of Jack’s toothpaste on his finger, and he doesn’t bother washing his face or even looking for floss. He’s exhausted and he feels awful. All he wants is to faceplant on Jack’s bed. 

Still, he’s a Southern gentlemen. He has to ask. “You sure it’s all right if I take your bed? I feel bad about kicking you out.” 

“Bits. You literally have a traumatic brain injury because I made a bad decision. You have every right to take my bed. Just try not to hate me when I wake you up all the time, all right? I want to let you sleep, but your safety matters more.” 

“Of course, Jack,” says Eric, and then he crawls gingerly into the bed, because he has a feeling faceplanting would worsen his headache. 

(He kind of hates Jack when Jack wakes him up every hour all night, but he manages not to say anything about it, though that has more to do with talking being difficult than with Eric being tactful.)

Luckily, the next day is a Sunday, so Eric doesn’t have any obligations. He stays in Jack’s bed all day—he’s allowed real naps, without the hourly wakeup, after eight a.m.—and Jack brings him food periodically and keeps the blinds shut. When it’s dinner time, Jack orders them both takeout and they both sit cross-legged on Jack’s bed to eat it. 

“Do you want me to email your professors and tell them you won’t be in class for a few days?” Jack asks. 

Eric groans. “I’m already kind of behind in my classes.” 

There’s a pause when Eric suspects Jack might be restraining himself from saying something unkind. Then Jack says, “Do you think you can handle class tomorrow?”

Eric finishes chewing his bite and says, “Ugh. No.” 

“Okay then,” says Jack. “I’ll email your professors. I can get your schedule from Lardo.” 

“Thanks,” says Eric. 

They don’t talk much for the rest of the meal. After Jack cleans up their trash, he offers to walk Eric back to his dorm, and Eric agrees. Eric is steadier on his feet now, which is good, but Jack keeps an arm around him anyway. Eric tries to ignore the warmth that spreads through him from the points of contact. Jack is straight, and he’s just doing this out of a sense of duty and guilt. 

The next few weeks are hard. Eric spends three more days in bed before venturing to class, and then he finds his focus is worse than ever, which is saying something—his ability to pay attention has always been so bad that he hadn’t realized it was possible for it to get worse. Reading is also hard, and screens give him terrible headaches so quickly that he can’t deal with his email or typing up his papers at all. He spends his whole printing budget (and then Ransom and Holster’s printing budgets, once his runs out) printing out the scanned readings that his professors have put up on their class websites. He starts writing papers by hand and Shitty types them up, since Shitty turns out to be the only one on the team who can read Eric’s handwriting. His professors are being okay about giving him extensions, and the team is being wonderfully supportive, but he still feels like he’s limping to the finish line of this semester, and his grades are not going to be what he’d hoped. 

On top of all of Eric’s academic and concussion-related problems, the team loses their next game, knocking them out of the playoffs. After the loss—which Eric half-watches on the Haus TV, because there’s no way he’d be able to handle the noise level in the arena—Shitty texts the group chat comprising the team minus Jack (the group chat normally reserved for inappropriate jokes and planning kegsters) and tells everyone sternly that they are to leave Jack alone until Jack comes to them, and that he, Shitty, will be checking on Jack and there’s no need to double up because that’ll only make Jack annoyed. 

Which is why Eric is so surprised that Jack keeps checking on him daily after the loss. It was also a surprise right after Eric got concussed, because the team was training feverishly for the next round of the playoffs, but it’s even more of a surprise the day after the team gets knocked out of the playoffs, because Eric has seen how hard Jack takes regular-season losses, and this was the last game of the season. 

But, in spite of Eric’s expectations, Jack keeps sending How are you texts, keeps dropping by Eric’s dorm with food or medicine, keeps inviting Eric to the Haus. Eric’s stomach flips a little every time it happens, and eventually he can’t put it down to concussion-induced nausea anymore. It’s so inconvenient that he has a crush on Jack, his straight, hockey-robot captain, but that’s undoubtedly what’s happening. 

The poll for the hockey awards and for next year’s captain hits Eric’s email a couple weeks after the concussion, and Eric forces himself to deal with the screen time in order to vote. He reads the descriptions of the awards—the Carlisle Award mentions “enthusiasm,” which SMH is basically drowning in, but ultimately Eric votes for Shitty—and of course he votes for Jack for captain. The team comes first and last for Jack, and Eric is positive that, without Jack’s help with checking, he wouldn’t still be on the team—he probably wouldn’t even still be at Samwell. And that’s not even mentioning Jack taking care of him these past two weeks. 

The banquet is a week later. Eric is shocked when he receives the Carlisle Award but not at all surprised when Jack is unanimously voted captain. Jack seems surprised, though. After the banquet, he catches Eric on the way out and says, “Hey, Bits, can I talk to you about something?”

Eric keeps glancing at Jack while the rest of the team files out of the clubhouse, but Jack doesn’t say anything more to him while the other guys leave. At last, everyone else is gone, and Jack says, “Would you mind walking with me?”

“Sure,” says Eric. He’s got a baseball cap with him that doesn’t work at all with his suit, but direct sunlight still hurts enough that Eric’s willing to let his style drop a bit. He puts the cap on as the two of them step outside. 

“I, um, I wanted to thank you for voting for me,” says Jack. “I know I haven’t always treated you well—I haven’t treated you the way a captain should—and just when you started trusting me I let you down. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, for both of those things, and I feel like I don’t deserve your vote, but I’m, uh, really grateful that you voted for me anyway.” 

Eric puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “Of course I voted for you, Jack,” says Eric. “You’re a great player, but you’re also a great friend. I probably wouldn’t have been able to stay on the team without your help with checking, and you’ve been so good to me these past few weeks as I’ve been dealing with the concussion.” 

“You skipped some details,” says Jack, “but, if that’s how you want to remember it, that’s okay with me.” 

They haven’t walked very far yet, and Eric’s wondering if all the fanfare was for this. “Is that what you wanted to say to me? That you’re glad I voted for you?”

Jack runs a hand through his hair. “No. I mean, kind of, I guess? I definitely wanted to say it. But there’s another thing I wanted to say too. Well, two other things.” He clears his throat. “So, um, first of all, I’m bisexual.” 

Eric squeaks in surprise. “You—really? Oh wow, Jack! That’s great! I mean, not that you wouldn’t be great if you were straight. Just—thank you for telling me!” 

Jack chuckles a little. “You’re welcome. Um. Now the hard part. And I know there’s like a 99% chance that the answer’s going to be no, and I want you to feel free to say that. Like, this is me speaking as your friend, not your captain. Everything’s going to be fine if you say no, with the team and with me personally. Shitty knows I’m doing this, and he’s going to check in with me in like an hour, and he’s really good at cheering me up. So just say whatever you want to say.” 

Eric doesn’t know what this is about. He knows what he’d like it to be about, but that would be delusional, right? “Jack. What is it?” 

“I, um, I wanted to ask you out? And I know it’s rotten timing because the school year is almost over and we’re going to be in separate places over the summer, and, again, you can absolutely say no and everything will be fine, but Shitty gave me a pep talk and told me to go for it, and—”

Eric, who’s been feeling like a balloon has been expanding inside of him, suddenly deflates. “Shitty put you up to this?”

Jack stops walking. “What? No, Bits, no no no! I’m asking because I want to ask. I just wouldn’t have had the courage to do it if Shitty hadn’t talked to me about it.” 

“Oh,” says Eric. 

“You can say no, Bits—it really will be fine—”

“You silly boy,” says Eric gently. “Of course I’m saying yes.” 

“What—you—really?” Jack gabs. 

“Yeah,” says Eric. “Really.” 

“Do you want to go back to the Haus?” Jack asks. “My room locks—I mean, not that we have to do anything—but we could get a bit of privacy if you want it. Or just hang out with the guys. Whatever you want.” 

“Jack,” says Bitty. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks. A room that locks sounds great.” 

Eric has never seen a smile this big on Jack’s face.

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

From: @rub-a-dubb

To: @maramcgregor

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

of course (it’s us)

From: @willdexpoindexter​

To: @crocophant​

Giftee, I hope you love this! you said you loved bed sharing and mutual pining and boy did I chock this full of those.

Justin’s bed broke on a Tuesday morning.

He wasn’t even sure how it happened, but when he swung his legs over the side, the frame just split. Holster chirped him about breaking his bed in the most boring way possible but then offered to share his own. Justin made his excuses about using the couch and not putting him out, but Holster wouldn’t back down and he eventually caved to his best friend.

Holster had a queen mattress at Haus 2.0, and while it felt so much larger than the twin bunk Justin had sometimes shared with him at Samwell, it suddenly felt tiny when Justin joined him in it that night. Holster climbed in first, taking the spot by the wall and the air felt charged as Justin pulled back the covers and laid down. 

“Thanks again, bro,” Justin mumbled as he nestled into his pillow beside Holster. 

“Anytime, bro,” he whispered back. “I wasn’t gonna make you sleep on that couch. You don’t even fit on it.” 

Justin didn’t know why Holster was whispering but it suddenly felt important not to break the silence. 

“It’s different,” Justin answered in his own whisper, even as his body relaxed into the bed.

“‘S the same, Rans.” Holster reached out and pulled Justin into a loose cuddle. “Just two bros, cuddling. Let the cuddles happen.”

Justin smiled up at him and let himself be held, pushing down on the weirdness he was feeling for being in Holster’s bed. ‘It’s the same,’ he told himself. 

Because the thing was, ever since they’d graduated and moved to Haus 2.0, Justin had been missing Holster. He had no reason to! They had bedrooms next door to each other and desks on the same floor at work. They commuted together, ate nearly every meal together, talked constantly. But at the end of the day, Holster went into his own room and Justin missed him.

There was just something wrong about not sharing a room with Holster anymore, and the more it bugged him, the more he retreated into himself and then felt bad for doing so since Holster hadn’t done anything! He just had to get his head straight.

His subconscious clearly had no qualms about being close to Holster, because the next morning, Justin woke up spooned around him. He took a deep breath and reveled in the feeling of Holster in his arms. ‘It’s the same,’ he told himself again.

Holster stirred and woke up, rolling so he was flat on his back and looking up at Justin. 

“Morning, Holtzy.”

Holster smiled. “Hey, Rans. Sleep alright?”

“Yeah,” Justin answered with a soft smile. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping this well in this Haus, actually. And he’d slept in Holster’s bed before! After anxiety attacks or just stressful days, Justin often sought out a bro cuddle. But those nights, Justin was exhausted and never slept well. Last night though? Oh my God, he had slept so well it was kind of embarrassing. He swallowed it down. “You?”

“Yeah,” Holster answered with an easy smile. “We should get up.”

“You’re right but you shouldn��t say it.” Justin groaned as he hauled himself out of the cocoon of warmth. 

Holster laughed and followed him out of bed. They got ready for work together as always but it felt different. Like they had been living in a different universe briefly in that bed and now he had to step out of it. Justin wanted nothing more to go back. 

He pushed the thought from his head and pulled on his coat.

The day passed in a blur. A big pitch was coming up at work and Justin didn’t have any time to think about the latent feelings of the morning. By the time he collapsed into Holster’s bed that night after staying late and working until well past nine o’clock, Holster had just wrapped him up and held him close. He felt himself relax into the hold slowly and finally looked up at his best friend. 

“Thanks, Holtz.”

“Rough day?”

He knew it had been, he was just giving Justin room to rant if he needed it. God, Holster knew him so well. “Yeah. I’m okay now, though.”

“I got your back,” Holster assured him with a smile. 

“I didn’t have a chance to call the bed place,” Justin mumbled into Holster’s chest. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Don’t even worry about it, bro. It’s not like it’s some great hardship to cuddle you,” Holster chirped. His chest rumbled with laughter beneath Justin’s forehead and he grinned. He loved Holster so much.

Oh shit, did he love Holster? Was that what this was? The missing him from right next door, the ease of falling into his arms, the misery of not being by his side all day? 

“Rans? You okay? You’re kinda weirding me out, bro.” 

Justin took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his muscles and looked up. 

“I’m okay,” he lied. Holster didn’t look like he believed him. He wasn’t yet, but he would be. “Just stressed, I guess.”

“What can I do?” Holster asked.

Justin shrugged. “I just wanna sleep I think.”

Holster nodded and nudged at his shoulder until Justin rolled over, then pulled him to his chest. “You’re little spoon tonight. That’s the rule for stressful days, Ransy.”

Justin chuckled as he let Holster hold him and hoped he would fall asleep quickly so Justin could worry in peace. 

As Holster’s breathing evened out behind him, Justin let his mind wander. He felt so secure in Holster’s arms. He felt at peace here. He loved being held by Holster. He loved being with Holster. He missed him when he wasn’t around. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this bed forever. 

He was in love with Holster. 

The morning dawned bright and Justin woke to find himself laying on Holster’s chest. He had slept just as well after his realization as he had the night before, and it only made him feel more secure in himself. As with everything related to Holster, even things that should cause anxiety did the opposite. A small part of him thought he should be worried that he had fallen for his best friend, but it was Holster. Holster made him calm. 

He looked up at Holster and found him looking down at him sleepily. The sunlight peeking through the curtain lit his hair in a fiery halo and Justin fought to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Even though he was secure in his realization, it wasn’t the time to share it. 

“Morning, Rans,” Holster yawned, and Justin’s heart beat faster. Yep, this was happening. 

Justin took a deep breath and decided to just let it happen. For too long, he’d been fighting this new (ish) urge to look at Holster, compliment him, touch him, hold him. He was gonna let himself do it. 

“Hey, Holtzy,” Justin murmured, staring up at his best friend. He squeezed him a little where he was holding on and Holster smiled at him. “You ready to kick Thursday’s ass?”

“With you? Always.” Holster grinned. 

They got up and seamlessly orbited around each other as they worked through their morning routines. Holster got dressed while Justin used the bathroom and then they switched. Justin started coffee while Holster threw bread in the toaster. Holster grabbed their jackets from the closet while Justin double checked both bags were zipped all the way and handed Holster’s to him in exchange for his jacket. 

As they walked out the door, Justin let himself bumped into Holster’s arm playfully. Holster smiled over at him. 

“You’re the best, Holtzy.”

“Pretty sure that’s you, Rans,” Holster nudged him back. 

Justin’s heart soared and a new thought introduced itself: he could press up just a couple of inches and kiss Holster. 

It wasn’t a scary thought. He almost expected it to be, such a big change from how he’d previously thought about his best friend. But that same calm settled over the new thought, too, and Justin just smiled. Soon. 

Justin spent the rest of the day, through the commute and lunch together at work, through making dinner together with Shitty and Lardo, and through getting ready for bed, absolutely failing to keep his newly acquired heart-eyes to himself. The more he thought about Holster, the more he wanted to never stop thinking about Holster. 

“The bed place is coming out Saturday morning,” he told Holster as they settled in for the night. He’d pushed aside thoughts of prolonging the forced bed-sharing and called the place he’d bought the bed from that afternoon. They assured him they would come out as soon as possible and replace the frame under his warranty. 

“That’s good. Sucks that it broke so fast but at least they’re taking care of it.”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. “This is nice, though. Getting to hang out with you more.”

Holster gave him an indulgent smile. “We hang out all the time, Rans.”

Justin just smiled back and shrugged. “Still nice.”

He’d come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t make a big deal about his feelings until after the bed was fixed. If it was weird, he needed to have somewhere to go. Not that he thought it would be weird! He had been basically flirting with Holster all day and he was pretty sure he was flirting right back. But his anxiety demanded a back-up plan. He’d know on Saturday.

Friday was absolutely lovely, as far as Justin was concerned. 

He’d woken up to Holster spooning him again and he had basically refused to get up. They’d gotten seats on the train and been pressed into each other the whole ride. Justin let himself rest his head on Holster’s shoulder and Holster had responded by wrapping an arm around him. 

“You can nap on me if you want, bro,” he’d said, tugging Justin flush to his side. Justin had grinned to himself and cuddled in. 

At lunch, they’d been eating in the kitchen and a couple of coworkers invited them to a happy hour after work. 

Holster had been loose with his affection at the happy hour, too, squeezing into a booth and dropping his arm over the back behind Justin. 

“Not enough room for all of us,” he’d murmured in Justin’s ear. Justin had squeezed his knee beneath the table in silent thanks and chatted easily to Paul on his other side. 

They’d gone home together and Justin had eagerly crawled into Holster’s bed. 

“Ransy, it’s like eight o’clock.” Holster regarded him with a chuckle.

“Shut up and cuddle me,” Justin demanded, reaching out for him. 

Holster laughed again, loud and free, before crawling into the bed. 

“You good?” Holster asked, his voice suddenly serious after the big laugh he’d let out the moment before.

“Gonna miss this,” Justin admitted. 

“You’re always welcome to come cuddle, Rans,” Holster promised, squeezing Justin tighter. 

“Gonna hold you to that, Holtzy.” He let the silence sit for a moment before looking up at Holster. “You wanna watch some 30 Rock?”

“Only always,” Holster grinned, reaching for his laptop. 

Justin let himself relax into the comfortable sound of Holster quoting half the episode to him as they lay in bed together. A small part of him was still wondering if Holster felt the same way, but curled around each other like this? It was them. It had always been them.

He woke up to his phone alarm. He didn’t remember falling asleep or setting the alarm, but of course Holster had his back. 

“Gotta get up,” Holster grumbled. “Bed people in an hour.”

Justin chuckled and sat up. “I’ll make coffee.”

The installers worked quickly and his bed was fully functional again less than a half an hour after they’d arrived. He sat on the mattress and stared at the wall. He could tell Holster now, but he was suddenly nervous. Not about them, never about them. But about it not being enough. Holster deserved the world! He deserved to be wooed! Justin would have to come up with a plan and ask him out properly, not just kiss him the minute he could. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lost in his thoughts when a knock sounded on the doorframe to his room. 

“All done?” Holster asked when Justin looked up.

He gestured to the bed lamely. “All done. Don’t gotta share your bed anymore.”

“You know you’re always welcome,” Holster said gently. 

“I know.” Justin stood. “Let’s go out for lunch?” 

“Okay,” Holster smiled, wrapping his arm around Justin’s shoulders as he came level with him and walking them out of the house. 

By the bedtime, Justin still had no plan to woo Holster properly. Everything he thought of was too small for the bigness of his feelings. So he hugged his best friend goodnight and went to his own bed. 

Where he laid awake and stared at their shared wall. 

His bed felt too big without Holster to wrap himself around and too cold without Holster’s body heat and too quiet without Holster’s small snores. He tried to put it from his mind, clear it of anything and just drift away. He tried to firm up a plan to woo Holster properly. 

Nothing worked.

Justin grabbed his phone and checked the time. Nearly two. He was never going to sleep without Holster. Maybe he could just slip into his bed and Holster would accept the cuddle. He decided to go for it. 

Justin swung his legs over the side of his newly fixed bedframe and froze as a soft knock sounded at his door. He crossed to the door and opened it. 

“Hi,” Holster said shyly. 

“I can’t sleep either,” Justin replied. “Get in here.”

Holster’s face split into a giant grin and he climbed into Justin’s bed with him, wrapping around Justin and humming happily. 

“Night, Ransom.”

“Night, Holster.”

Justin’s eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep almost immediately.

As had been the case for the last four days, Justin woke up first. As he looked at his sleeping best friend, he realized there didn’t need to be some grand gesture. Things between them were simple, they always had been. They understood each other like that. Besides, Justin had been wooed by this ridiculous man long ago, who’s to say it wasn’t the same for Holster?

“Hey Holtzy?”

Holster blinked awake and smiled shyly at Justin. 

“Can I say something? It’s kind of scary, but just… hear me out. I think you should know.”

Holster suddenly looked a lot more awake and grabbed for Justin’s hand. “You’re scaring me, Rans. You know you can tell me anything.” 

Justin gave a smile he hoped was reassuring and took a deep breath. “I can’t sleep without you. It was only four days, but I can’t do it. And I need to tell you why. Because I never want to sleep without you again. I’m in love with you, Adam.”

“Oh.” Adam blinked. 

Justin gave him a moment to process, squeezing his hand. 

“You are?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah,” Justin said. He was trying so hard not to be nervous but now that it was out in the open and Adam hadn’t said anything he was starting to worry. 

“Since when?” Adam asked at last, his voice cracking slightly.

“I, um, I don’t really know. But I realized it this week.”

“And, uh, what do you wanna do about it?”

Justin laughed, of course this was the one time Adam couldn’t read his mind. “I had hoped to kiss you at some point,” he chirped. “Maybe be your boyfriend if you wanted?”

Adam’s cheeks flushed pink and he nodded fervently. 

“Do you have anything you want to share before that happens?” Justin prompted, cupping his free hand to Adam’s cheek. 

“God, of course I want to be your boyfriend, Justin! I love you, too; I’ve loved you for so long.” He reached out his free hand to wrap around Justin and pulled him into a searing kiss. 

Fireworks burst behind Justin’s eyes. 

This was nothing like that time they’d made out at a kegster as frogs, all sloppy and drunk and inexperienced. This was the kiss of a couple in love, who had always been in love and would always be in love. 

He melted into the kiss as he slid his hand into Adam’s hair. 

They fit together like puzzle pieces because of course they did. They were Ransom and Holster. Justin and Adam. Insta-friends and forever partners. 

Boyfriends.

Of course they were. 

#holsterransom #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

From:  @b1ttle 

To: @transzimmermann

Playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/66a9Z7zgKya9erlBmSaRTX?si=RYsb_Y58SmupavoEyeUndQ

text:  

Moment of Clarity: An "Unexpected Soulmates" AU Playlist

Jack and Bitty know they're not soulmates, but after years of mutual pining and fear that the other will leave them for the name on their skin, they fall in love anyway and decide to fight against fate.

TRACK LIST

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK  (Joji)

Falling For U  (Peachy!, mxmtoon)

Best Friend  (Rex Orange County)

Luv Note  (chloe moriondo)

Let's Fall in Love for the Night  (FINNEAS)

Mr Loverman (Ricky Montgomery)

Would You Be So Kind (dodie)

Lucky Strike (Troye Sivan)

Please Never Fall in Love Again (Ollie MN)

Livewire (Oh Wonder)

The Story (Conan Gray)

In Love (khai dreams)

message for giftee:

I hope you enjoy listening to this playlist!! I had a lot of fun putting it together and hopefully I introduced you to some amazing lesser known artists in the process! Message me so we can talk about the songs/this AU if you want cause I would love to!!

️

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

Cafes and Triumvirates

From: @hargreeves-and-wine 

To: @omgtranspoindexter 

Summary: Love is a mosaic, if one takes the time to think about it. The way we feel for those who love is comprised of all the moments we share with them. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. Over the course of a day, Chowder, Dex, and Nursey find themselves dwelling on moments that make them fall in love with their partners all over again. 

Rating: T

Content warning: One mention of offscreen (but legal) drinking.

Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy this fic!

                                             Chowder - The Morning

Wiping down the windows was a chore normally despised by anyone who had ever worked in a restaurant. There were always the streaks that could never be properly cleaned away, no matter the angle at which you wiped them. Reaching up to get the top edges would often result in the cleaning liquid running down your arm. Hell, it only took a bug that was flying haphazardly for your hard work to be ruined.

Yet Chris regarded it as the second best part of doing the opening shift; the first, of course, being the pastries and cookies that were delivered first thing in the morning from Bittle’s Kitchen down the block. From their perch 15 inches off the ground, they were able to reach and clean the windows with ease. Each swipe of the squeegee helped reveal another slice of the daily lives of the other residents of Samwell Street. 

There was Lardo, putting the finishing touches on a large mural she had been commissioned to paint on the side of the Knight, O’Meara, and Wicks Law Office. Further down the way, they could see Ransom and Holster walking their troop of dogs and a cat (who, Chris had been told, was raised around dogs since birth before the men adopted her). Even from behind the glass and fairly heavy front door of the Samwell Stoop, they could hear Holster’s joyful voice bouncing off of the cobblestones of the street.

Only one sight, however, could bring a full on grin to Chris’ face at this hour of the morning. Just in front of the pane of glass, Dex was busy checking off the week’s supplies that had been brought in the delivery truck while Nursey was bringing down a large box of milkettes and creamers with one arm. The moment that Dex turned around to confirm something with the driver, Nursey snagged a butter tart from the platter the former was saving to give to said driver.

“Well, thanks again, Johnson,” Dex finished as he handed a paper back to the driver. “We actually saved you a little something for your- Nurse! What the hell?” 

Nursey shrugged as they offered out the other half of the tart. “Did you want one?” They, thankfully, had the good grace to swallow before speaking.

“You are simply unbelievable, stealing a gift of all things.” Despite his chiding, Dex indeed took the offered tart and popped into his mouth before giving Johnson the rest of the platter. “Now you better take this before my idiot partner gets their hands on more of them.”

As Johnson got into his truck and pulled away, Nursey hugged Dex from behind and pecked his cheek. “You know, you’re adorable when you blush,” they murmured, only causing Dex to turn an even darker shade of red.

With a friendly tap on the window pane with his squeegee, Chris got the attention of both of his partners. They honestly didn’t mean to be a voyeur; in fact, they weren’t sure if they could be one since they were dating the two of them. Still, Chris figured they would appreciate being informed that they weren’t alone.

“Oh shit, Chowder!” Dex abruptly pulled away from Nursey and hurried inside the cafe with one hand behind his back. It was only when they climbed down from the stepstool that Chris saw what Dex was hiding. “You didn’t think we’d actually forget to save one for you, did you?”

The moment they’d taken a bite out of the butter tart, Chris was crushed in a tight hug between the two of them. Nursey’s aftershave and Dex’s cologne enveloped them in a feeling that could only be described as home.

                                              Dex - The Afternoon

“What do you mean you’re out of maple pecan pie?”

Will, who was using his break in the back room to be out of his binder for a while, could just hear the complaint. As he peeked outside to see what was going on, he could see a guy who stood at a height of about 6’4 at the counter, staring down Chowder. Just behind them, Derek was handing a girl her cup while watching the situation at the same time.

“Look, sir.” Chowder may have been slightly dwarfed by this man, but one didn’t become a goalie by showing their fear. “We only get so many pies delivered at the start of the day, so if we run out, we run out. Of course, I could go over to Bitty’s Kitchen, use my own money to get another pie, and let my partner here take over this massive lineup all by himself. Would that satisfy you, sir?” The conversations in the cafe had given way to silence as the patrons turned to watch.

The tall customer only folded his arms and doubled down. “I paid for a slice of pie, and I demand that I get what I paid for,” he huffed, doing his best to give Chowder something that resembled the evil eye.

Nursey feigned wiping his hands on his aprons, but Will could see that he was actually cracking his knuckles. “You haven’t paid for anything yet. My partner here has tried being civil, but it’s clear you’re not listening.” Even though they weren’t quite at the customer’s height, Nursey had a way of commanding attention when it was needed.

“Is it so wrong to expect a slice of pie with my coffee?”

“If you want pie, then go and get it yourself.”

“I demand to speak to the manager!”

“You already are, asshole.”

Though it was a crisp fall afternoon outside, there was clearly a gathering storm within these four walls. Will had fully emerged from the break room and was about to approach the counter when Chowder silently motioned for him to stay back. It was almost scary to see the perpetually chill Nursey standing with such contempt behind their eyes.

The tension in the air was finally broken when the customer stalked off, muttering something about “ungrateful millennials” as he pushed the door open. Then, Nursey relaxed their stance and turned to the crowd. “I can help someone over here!”

Before too long, Will was due to get back behind the counter. As Chowder passed him on the way to their own break, the two of them stopped to briefly hold hands. A similar blush coloured both of their cheeks when their eyes met.

“You were brave.” Will murmured, longing to wrap his partner in a hug.

Chowder shook his head, though they squeezed Dex’s hand back. “You’d have done the same.”

Once he was behind the counter, Nursey gave him a look as if to say “I’m okay, I’m alright.” Still, Will decided to give their hip a little bump since anything beyond that would probably be seen as unprofessional. While they were technically their own bosses, Will insisted that the three of them treat one another as coworkers as long as they were on the clock. They just happened to be coworkers who snuck in kisses when they had the chance.

                                             Nursey - The Night

It’s been said that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach, but as far as Derek was concerned, the way to a person’s soul was through their taste in music. They had read a study once that said people’s moods and taste in music influence one another in a type of pseudo-dynamic equilibrium. Or something like that. Derek wasn’t a chemistry student for a reason. 

Chemistry journals didn’t, however, cover what to do when there was the slight catch of you and each of your partners having wildly different tastes in music.

In order to keep outright Armageddon from erupting, the three of them had hung up a calendar in their break room with a schedule for who gets to play music when. Chowder was assigned to Mondays and Thursdays, Dex had Tuesdays and Fridays, and Derek chose Wednesdays and Saturdays. “I guess God gets to pick the music on Sundays,” they joked since none of them would be there anyways.

This particular Saturday had been more stressful than usual with the confrontation earlier. On top of that, it was a deep clean day, so Derek, Dex, and Chowder had been up to their eyeballs in checklists of things that had to be refilled, wiped down, and rearranged. By the time they had finished, it was around eleven at night, a whole three hours after the Samwell Stoop normally closed. So the trio treated themselves to a cuddle pile on the couch in the breakroom.

“Nursey,” Dex whined softly, dragging out the Y. “Can you change your playlist to something less… intense? I’m getting flashbacks to that bootcamp I did back in college.” Although it probably wasn’t intentional, he let his head slump against Chowder’s shoulder, who leaned against him in turn.

With a quiet “Chyeah,” Derek pulled themselves away from his partners to grab his phone. It was probably a bad idea to have the aux cord right behind the counter, but they and Dex usually had the impulse control to not check it. Emphasis on usually. Chowder sometimes struggled a little bit more, but it was decided that it was better to be chewed out by a patron for checking their phone than to have the whole store subjected to an unexpected voice memo of Dex drunkenly singing along to “You’ve Got a Friend In Me.”

For the record, he had scored an 82 on their friend Whiskey’s karaoke machine that night.

So after much deliberation as to slow down the mood, the lively harmonies of the Jackson Five were switched out for the light crooning of Jason Mraz. Though they would take the secret to their grave, the playlist was actually the one that Derek had used for sleeping back in his college days. It was more lonesome than they had realized to truly be on their own in the world. So these songs were the ones they fell asleep to, hoping to have pleasant dreams instead of their usual fitful nights.

Nowadays, they used it for times that they needed to destress. Music wasn’t really a good idea in the bedroom anyways since it was noisy enough with three of them in the bed. Another secret that their would never dare disclose was how their found Chowder’s chainsaw-like snoring actually quite adorable.

“This slow enough for you?” they joked as they tucked the wires back into their little storage cup (one of the mugs that could no longer be used due to the broken handle). Yet, when Derek looked up from behind the counter, they were greeted by the sight of Dex and Chowder slowly swaying to the melody in one another’s arms. Their eyes were closed as they nestled into the crooks of their necks, and Chowder’s hand fumbled around for Dex’s before their fingers were intertwined.

Poetic enlightenment often eluded Derek when they needed it most, but this moment must have been something extraordinary. 

Sun and Moon

Forever in a cyclar chase

Yet neither is ever alone

For stars and clouds are one and the same

Keeping them company

In the wide open sky

While they had never gotten any complaints for their writing volume, it was the closing of Derek’s leather-bound notebook that got their partners’ attention. They broke their hand clasp and reached out towards them at the same time. “Derek,” Chowder murmured, their voice serious, yet gentle as it always was when they used their legal names.

Although they were a quarter inch taller than Dex (they do know how to use a measuring tape, thank you very much), Derek allowed himself to be enveloped in a tight hug between their two partners. “I love you… Will, Chris, both of you… I love you so much.”

Outside, the stars were indeed shining alongside the moon. Most people had either turned in for the night or had dimmed their lights and shut their curtains. Yet in the relative darkness, the Samwell Stoop was a glowing beacon, its yellow brilliance spilling out of the windows. If Derek still had their notebook out, he might have written about how metaphorical it all must have been to an outsider. But they didn’t need words right now; they had everything they could have needed right beside them.

#chowderdexnursey #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

From: @happyzimm 

To: @whoacanada

Message for my giftee: hey valentine! i really enjoyed your fic "see you on the other side", featuring revolutionary war ghost!bitty - here he is in uniform with his man laurent. i don't claim that the uniforms are totally accurate but i had a great time researching and referencing paintings from this era. hope you have a great valentines day!

cw: gun

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please! #cw: gun

[bittysvalentines]

Snapshots of Domesticity

From: @mamashitty

To: @bajillionkittens-voltron

A series of snapshots of domestic bliss for Zimbits!

Rating: General. 

 I Hope you enjoy the fic! I couldn't decide on one fluffy and domestic Zimbits thing to write, so I went with four little snapshots.

Bitty was tired and his whole body ached. Muscles that he hardly ever used when playing hockey were screaming at him. He had not realized how many things he had accumulated over at the Haus in the time he had lived there, he had not realized how many things he had left behind at his Mama’s house that he had wanted to move in with Jack once it became official. He had thought that he had already moved in most things worth moving in throughout the past two years, but apparently not. 

He had not realized that some of the stuff he had been holding onto was so heavy either, at least, after hours of moving. 

There was still so much to be done. Boxes were scattered all over the condo, but Bitty was too tired to deal with them. After family and friends had helped him move, he had had to bake them a pie while they waited for the pizza they had ordered to be delivered. He had hummed and blushed when the realization hit him that the kitchen in Jack’s was officially his kitchen too. It did not matter that Jack had always called it Bits’ kitchen because then it was not quite as official. It had only been his kitchen on random weekends, over the summer, and on school holidays. But now it was always his kitchen, and well, if Bitty needed a moment to himself with that information, no one noticed.

Everyone had gone home a few hours ago, and Jack had tugged Bitty by the waist onto the couch. He had squirmed on Jack’s lap, twisting around so he could capture his mouth in a kiss. A sleepy kiss with no promise of much more even though there had been so many plans about Jack’s their bed earlier in the day, when they had both been so fresh-faced and naive about how exhausting moving could be. Bitty told Jack to put a documentary on, that he was only going to rest his eyes a little bit, and then they could move to the bed. He could feel Jack chuckle silently at that.

He fell asleep.

“Bits, Bits…” He felt Jack gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes opened slowly to look at his boyfriend, confusion as to where he was, and why his body was sore before he remembered.

“Jack,” Bitty replied, his voice thick with sleep.

 “We should get into bed,” Jack replied, and Bitty could just hear the faintest hint of laughter in those words. 

“No, too comfortable,” Bitty said, with a pout and then Jack was laughing.

“Bitty,” he said, and Bitty continued to pout. 

“Fine,” Jack huffed out in reply, but Bitty noticed a glint in his eyes.

“Jack…. What are you thinking?”

“That I will just have to carry you,” and even though Jack did not shrug, Bitty could hear the shrug in his voice. 

“Jack, no. We’ve spent the whole day moving, I can get u---...”

But of course his boyfriend did not let him finish that sentence. Of course his boyfriend scooped him up, and flung him over his shoulder. Bitty tried to protest but his own laughter swallowed it up. 

“At least I get a nice view of your beautiful ass from up here,” Bitty said, after his laughter died down. Jack dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. Bitty rolled onto his back, looking up at his boyfriend, and oh, that face was just as nice as that ass. He reached up to tug Jack towards him and kiss him. Maybe they could act out some of their bed plans after all.

Bits had still been sleeping when Jack had returned from his morning run. He had tried to entice his boyfriend to come with him, kisses along the neck, but all he had received was an elbow in the gut and a muffled ‘go away!’ and so Jack had listened, climbing out of bed and grabbing his running gear to change in the bathroom so as not to disturb his sleeping beauty any further. 

Now that he was home again, and Bits was still asleep, Jack took his clean clothes and opted to take a shower in the guest room instead. Bits was somewhere in the pile of blankets on their bed, and it made Jack’s heart swell just thinking about it. He also decided, then and there, that Eric deserved breakfast in bed, and he hoped, by showering in the other bathroom that Bits would not hear and therefore, continue to sleep.

Jack loved to cook for Eric. His boyfriend might have better skills in the kitchen but Jack was no slouch in that department, and maybe it helped, having Eric to watch and learn from in the kitchen. He grabbed one of the aprons, and slid it on, before he set to work on breakfast. Soon, the kitchen was smelling pretty good, not Eric’s level, but still good. Coffee was going and he poured a glass for himself and one for Eric (sweetened just how he liked it even if it made Jack cringe to put that much creamer and sugar into the mug). Once the food was done, he found the breakfast trays, and plated the food, before carefully arranging the plates and mugs on the tray. 

He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, grateful for the foresight not to shut it all the way earlier. On the bed, he saw that Eric was now sitting up. The comforter was wrapped around him like a burrito, and he was scrolling through his phone, a frown on his face. Eric was just looking up as Jack entered, and his expression changed, a pleased smile replacing that frown.

“Jack, you didn’t have to make me breakfast,” Bitty said, his voice still sounding more sleepy than not.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and carefully set the breakfast tray down on the bed. He leaned in for a kiss and Eric huffed, mumbling something about his morning breath, but he still gave a kiss. 

“I wanted to do this, bud. What’s going on?” Jack asked, slipping into bed beside his boyfriend, being careful not to upend their breakfast in the process. He grabbed his fork, watching Eric as he began to eat. 

Jack would never get tired of watching Eric. It did not matter what his boyfriend was doing or not doing. He could see the change in emotions on his face, as he glanced quickly down at his phone and then back up at Jack. Jack thought he saw some hope in his expression, but it was quickly drowned out by worry. And then, Eric was taking his own bite of food, and satisfaction danced across his face. Jack really liked that look the most. He waited a beat or two, before pressing again.

“Bits…” Jack reminded him, gently. 

There was a huff of breath before Bitty set down his fork and looked over at Jack. “I received a message about an interview. It is not for the job I really want, but it is in my top four.” 

“That is great!” Jack said, truly excited for his boyfriend, (Jack would never grow tired of thinking of Bits as his boyfriend and it really did not matter how long they had been together or the fact they lived together now. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend!) but Bitty looked uncertain like he was trying not to get excited. 

Bitty had graduated some months ago, and he had immediately started looking for a job. Even with moving in with Jack and the whirlwind of another playoff run for the Falconers. Jack could see that the longer Bits went without finding a job, without getting bites on his resume, the more anxious he got. He came home to a kitchen filled with baked goods quite frequently. He had tried to tell Eric not to worry--but he knew that Eric wanted to work. That Eric did not want to depend on Jack and Jack’s money. Eric wanted to make his own way in the world, and Jack, he more than respected that. He understood it.  He could also understand the hesitancy too for excitement on Bits’ part. 

“I just… what if they end up not liking me after they meet me? I’m different on paper than I am in person,” Eric said, pushing at his food with his fork, before spearing it and plopping it into his mouth. 

“They will love you, Bud. You are more vibrant in person,” Jack offered, and Bitty rolled his eyes, leaning towards Jack to press a kiss to his nose. Jack grinned at that. 

“You have to say stuff like that because you are my boyfriend,” Bitty said, with a roll of his yes. 

“I don’t have to, Bits. I’m saying it because it is true,” Jack said, and then he nudged Eric gently with his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me about this job, and I’ll tell you all the reasons you are qualified for it.”

He could see Bitty blushing faintly at that, and then Bitty ate some more food, and began to talk in animated detail about the job. Jack listened, he really did, even if he sometimes got lost in the way Bits’ eyes lit up his whole face as he talked. He kept a running list in his head of what made Eric qualified for the job, eager to show his boyfriend just how lucky the place would be to have him. 

Hockey season was a few short weeks away. It meant that Jack’s routine had kicked into high gear once more with practices, conditioning, and preseason games. Eric sometimes felt like they were two ships passing in the night, but at least they lived together now. Jack was not the only busy one. Eric had gotten a job! It was far from his dream job, but there was the potential for growth, and it was padding out his resume. He liked the challenge of his work, he liked his coworkers too. It was nice having somewhere to be and feeling a little like he was actually contributing financially to the household. It was nice being busy when Jack was so busy too. 

Eric had gotten home earlier than usual today and he decided to use that additional time to make Jack dinner. Homemade chicken tenders with healthy sides. He was also going to bake a pie even though he knew Jack would only allow himself one piece of it. 

He was dancing and swaying his hips to the music he had playing over the bluetooth speakers in the kitchen when Jack came home. Dinner was finished and Bitty had been in the process of setting the table, sashaying his hips as he moved along. He looked up from the plate he had just finished piling with food when he noticed his boyfriend just staring at him.

“Jack!” Bitty said, grateful he had not jumped or dropped the plate. His heart thudding hard in his chest after that scare. His boyfriend at least managed to look sufficiently sheepish.

“Sorry, Bits. I like watching you dance,” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders and Bitty hated that his cheeks turned red at that. It did not matter how long he and Jack were together, he doubted he would ever stop blushing around that boy.

“Why don’t you clean up and I’ll finish setting the table,” Bits said, moving towards the table. If he exaggerated the movement of his hips some, well, that was just fair play. He could feel Jack’s eyes tracking him as he moved and he could not help the grin that flitted across his face. 

“It smells and looks delicious,” Jack said as he headed towards their bedroom to clean up. 

Bitty just hummed, pleased with himself. 

Jack took a quick shower and was back, his hair damp still, and in lounge pants that really did not leave much to the imagination. Eric found himself swallowing, Jack could be so horribly unfair sometimes! 

And if the two of them played with each other’s feet underneath the table, if they had hardly finished eating the meal before retiring to their bedroom in a stumbling fashion owing to the kissing, well that was okay. 

It was better than okay. 

Jack could hear the music playing faintly from inside the condo as he got closer. A smile played across his lips as he thought about what Bits might be doing. Jack could picture him baking in the kitchen, hips moving just slightly to the music as he baked. Or maybe Bits would be having a private dance party, Jack had walked in on a few of those and he had been equal parts guilty for startling Bitty so much that he stopped and amused by how red his boyfriend’s face had gotten. 

He entered the condo and shrugged off his bag. He crept into the kitchen because even if he always felt a little bad about startling Eric, that would never stop him from sneaking up on him. There was no Eric in the kitchen, the music he realized, was coming from the bedroom. 

Jack crept, doing his best to be as quiet as a mouse, towards their room. The door was open and so he stood in the doorway, watching Eric as he put away laundry. He was just in a pair of boxers, his hips moving in time to the music, and occasionally, he would dance away from the pile of folded clothes to put something away before dancing back to grab another pile to put away.

Jack watched for a few seconds before the guilt of just standing there and not helping overcame his desire to just watch his boyfriend dance and move. 

“Need help, Bits?” Jack asked, and Bitty jumped, dropping the pile of shorts he had in his hand. He spun on the spot, glaring over at Jack but there was no real heat in the look. Jack flashed what he hoped was an innocent smile.

“I am almost done but if you want to help, I won’t stop you.” Bits said, and Jack stepped further into the room. He tugged off his shirt along the way, and did his best to do a shimmy out of his pants. Eric was watching him with a raised brow, and amusement. 

“What?” Jack asked, innocently. Then he exaggeratedly moved his hips to the music, failing to match the beat at all, but getting a laugh from from Bitty which had been his only real goal. He would never tire of the sound of Bits’ laugh. Especially if he was the cause of it.

“You are such a dork,” Bitty said, his voice and eyes so full of love. 

Jack wrapped his arms around Eric, pulling him close and then kissing him. Eric seemed to metl into him and the kiss. Jack let his hands wander south and then Eric was pulling away, placing his own hands on Jack’s chest and looking up at him.

“You are supposed to be helping me, Mr. Zimmermann, not distracting me!” 

It was Jack’s turn to laugh and he let go of his boyfriend, noting the briefest of pouts on Bits’ place.

“Okay, okay. Laundry first,” Jack said, and he behaved himself until the very last sock was put away. 

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

I Promise You, Everything Will Be Just Fine

From: @iboughtaplant

To: @sophiegaladheon Rating: It's rated G or T so nothing to worry about rating wise. 

I hope you enjoy this fic!! It was a lot of fun to write and a challenge for me to write something under 3k (and this fic is like 2999 words so I succeeded, but not by much, lol)!  

Kent arrived home after working at the rink. He had a smile on his face as he unlocked the door, excited to just sit and watch a movie with Eric. Their schedules hadn’t lined up the last few days and they kept only seeing each other as they got ready for bed. 

Today was also the first day in a long time that Kent’s knee wasn’t acting up. It hurt from time to time, sometimes more than others. Some private ice time when his knee was feeling good last week was fun, but in hindsight, he realized it probably wasn’t worth it if his knee gave out on him a few days later. 

For Kent, thinking about his knee and how he injured it was annoying at best and traumatic at worst. But it was also good in a twisted way. If he hadn't injured his knee, he wouldn’t be coaching. And he wouldn’t have met Eric.  

An injury at the end of his rookie year (at least he got a Cup out of his short-lived career, if he could call it that) took him out of the NHL for good. Retirement the way no one wanted to retire. He didn’t even reach his prime. From number one draft pick to the rookie who busted his knee so bad he couldn’t play in the big league anymore. 

Which was how Kent ended up in a different city assistant coaching a women’s hockey team. It was also how he met Eric. 

Eric was a men’s singles figure skater who trained at the same ice rink complex as the women’s hockey team. They met by pure chance almost colliding in the doorway of the men’s locker room one day when Kent was running early and Eric was running late, which somehow made their schedules overlap. 

It was by no means love at first sight, but there was some lust. Kent couldn’t help but stare at the attractive skater in his tight fitting workout gear, a slight flush already on his face from changing so quickly. 

“I’m sorry, hun. I wasn’t watchin’ where I was going. I’m just running late and Katya’s gonna kill me.” He patted Kent’s shoulder as he walked past. “Sorry again, I gotta get to practice.” He said as he turned to walk down the corridor, skate guards clomping on the floor as he went. 

Kent shook himself out of his silence, “It’s okay…” only to trail off since the guy was already halfway down the corridor. 

Kent would spend the rest of the day—and subsequent week—thinking about the blond figure skater with the sweet Southern accent. Until, as fate would have it, they ran into each other again. And this time neither of them were running late and there were no near collisions. And most importantly Kent now knew the blond skater’s name. Eric.  

-------------------

After running into each other the second time, it became a thing. Kent’s schedule hadn’t changed, so he figured maybe Eric’s had. This time they saw each other in the locker room when they were both heading out. Kent had just finished changing his clothes as Eric walked by, skate bag in hand. 

Before Kent realized he made a decision, he called out before Eric left the locker room. “Hey, Eric! Wait up?” 

Eric stopped in his tracks. He looked hesitant, but curious as he turned to face Kent. Kent who was shoving his feet into his shoes and nearly tripped over the bench as he made his way over to Eric, who was trying to stifle a laugh behind his hand. Kent didn’t remember being this clumsy, but at least someone found it amusing.

“Ha ha, laugh at the guy who almost brained himself on his locker.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bitty said with a giggle. 

Kent just scoffed before putting on his charming smile. “I guess I can put up with my newfound clumsiness if it means I get to see you laugh.” 

“Well, Mr. Parson, that was not smooth, but I appreciate the confidence.” 

“In that case, I’m going to confidently ask you to get coffee with me?” 

“Really?” 

“Yup. So what do you say? You, me, coffee? You can laugh at me if I walk into a door.” 

“Sounds like a plan.”

-------------------

Years of training away from home made Eric appreciate the people in his life, his found family. And while his parents supported him, they never fully understood him. Sure he and his mama were close as was possible with him training in a different state halfway across the country, but that didn’t mean his parents really knew about his life. They knew he was gay and still supported him and wanted him to succeed, but they didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay in Georgia to do it.

But moving away from Georgia to continue skating was one of the best things Eric did. He had his coach Katya, Larissa and the girls who Katya also coached, Ransom and Holster who lived nearby and befriended him when they all met while skating at a public rink, Jack and Tater who played NHL hockey, and Kent. He had Kent. 

Kent who Eric met two years ago at the rink. Kent who became Eric’s best friend—don’t let Larissa hear him say that—and then something more. 

------------------

Kent was having a good day. Practice was going great, the team really had a shot at winning their next game in a couple days, and he was having a great lunch with some of the women on the team he was friends with (he was technically one of their coaches, but he was also in the same age range as a majority of them). 

Which of course was when he felt his phone buzz with a text, followed by what seemed like a couple more. He smiled as he slipped his phone out of his pocket, figuring Eric was sneaking texts during practice. He was affectionately chirped to oblivion for the sappy smile on his face as he unlocked his phone.    

The laughing and chirping stopped on a dime as the smile fell off of his face, a furrowed brow and concerned frown taking its place. 

“Dude, what’s going on?” March asked.  

“Um, it’s Eric, I mean not actually him, Larissa sent me a text from his phone, and Katya texted me too. I have to go.” He stood up so quickly that his chair tipped over. 

“Kent, go, we’ve got it,” said Caitlin as she stood up to pick up Kent’s chair, “I hope Eric’s okay. Let us know what’s going on and give us an update when you can.” 

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Yeah, thanks. I’m gonna…” he pointed to the door. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and grabbed his bag. 

He ordered a Lyft and leaned against the window of the cafe while he waited. It said it should be there in three minutes, but by the time it arrived it felt like it had been thirty. 

Once the car arrived he opened the door, maybe a little more aggressively than was necessary, “Sorry,” he apologized to the driver, “just in a bit of a hurry.” 

“No worries,” the driver assured him. 

“Thanks,” Kent replied slightly short of breath. Once they were on the road, Kent finally read through all the texts more carefully. Eric got injured in practice. It was serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. He hit his head on the ice when he fell on the landing of his triple loop. That’s what the text from Larissa said. She wasn’t sure what caused Eric to flub the jump. 

The text from Katya, who usually hated texting, was more informative. Apparently Eric’s ankle had been bothering him a bit, but it was just sore not sprained or anything. So he was only supposed to work on his jumps a few times so he could take it easy for the rest of the day. But he must have put too much strain on it. 

Kent could feel his breathing getting more and more labored. He was pretty sure he was on the verge of a panic attack. He didn’t get them often, and he was more used to being on the other side of them—when someone else was having one—but he could feel his mind spiraling a bit. 

He didn’t want Eric to go through what he did, to have a major injury that cut his career short. Rationally, Kent knew that Eric probably didn’t experience a career-ending injury, but his brain kept showing him worst case scenarios. 

Kent anxiously tapped his fingers on his knee as he tried to slow his breathing. He was mostly worried because Eric got hurt, but also freaking out because the situation kept making him cycle back to thinking about his own injury and how he didn’t get to live out his dream. He didn’t want that for Eric.

Kent pulled himself out of his anxiety spiral enough to fumble his phone in his hands and send a quick text to Jack. It was a moment where Kent was immensely grateful that he and Jack were friends despite a bit of a falling out after Jack’s overdose several years ago that meant being anything more than close friends again was out of the question. Kent was okay with that though, he and Jack worked much better as friends than boyfriends anyway. 

He expected a text back, but his phone rang only a few seconds later. He heard Jack’s voice coming through the phone. “Hey, Kenny. How are you doing?” 

“Uh, I’m okay,” he paused, “No, that’s a lie. I’m not, not okay. My figure skater boyfriend is in the hospital and I’m having a panic attack in the back of a Lyft,” He laughed, self-deprecatingly. 

“Take a deep breath, Kenny. You’re on the way to the hospital, you’ll see him soon. Just listen to my voice, I’ll stay on the phone until you get there.”

Kent tried to get his breathing under control as he listened to Jack’s soft voice. He sighed as his mind stopped racing and he was on the verge of breathing normally again.

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Anytime, Kenny. I hope Eric feels better soon.” 

--------------

Eric couldn’t believe he fell, and on his triple loop. It should have been fine. His ankle had only been a little sore, the trainer at the rink said it would be fine for him to do a few practice runs of his jumps and take it easy. Katya agreed. Now he was sitting in a hospital bed with a fractured ankle and a pretty bad concussion. 

Katya went out into the hall to call Eric’s parents so they would know what was going on. Eric was glad he didn’t have to do that himself, but he would make sure to call his Mama later so she wouldn’t worry too much.  

Aside from that, all Eric could think was ‘Where’s Kent?’ He knew Katya and Larissa texted him, not that he was allowed to look at his phone anyway to know for sure. And even unsupervised he couldn’t check since his phone was currently in the pocket of Katya’s coat because she knew him too well. 

Just as Eric sagged back against the pillows, eyes closing as he sighed, the door was pushed open and Kent walked in. He looked a little frazzled and his hair was an absolute riot, but he smiled when Eric caught his eye. 

“Hey,” Kent said, voice rough, waving as he walked closer to Eric, throwing his bag vaguely in the direction of the chair near the bed. He stepped closer and grabbed Eric’s hand. 

“Hi, sweetheart, I was hoping someone called you.” 

“Of course they did. I’m here now. How are you? I mean I’m sure you’re feeling pretty shitty. But… you’re okay?” 

Eric managed to smile up at him even though his head was feeling a little fuzzy, “I’m okay, ‘specially now that you’re here.” 

Kent huffed out a half-laugh and then sat on the edge of Eric’s bed, putting an arm around his shoulders. Eric leaned into the embrace and instantly burst into tears. His emotions finally catching up to him now that he felt safe in Kent’s arms.  

He thought about how hard he had been training and how excited he was for this year’s short-program after tweaking it a bit, only to be disappointed he wouldn’t get to perform it in competition again. He had such a shot at placing at Nationals and then Worlds, and now thanks to one bad landing he was out. 

He was out for the year. His ankle wasn’t the worry, but the concussion was. There was no way he would be healed in time to skate at Nationals, dang head injury. And no Nationals meant no Worlds, he’d have to wait until next year. At least he would have another chance next year. It was a sobering thought, and while he wasn’t done being sad about the missed opportunity, he was lucky that he would get another shot. 

His full-fledged crying lasted a few minutes more until it devolved to sniffling into Kent’s neck and Eric was able to catch his breath. “I’m sorry for crying on you, honey.” 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. Cry as much as you need. I know how much it helps.” 

“Guess there’s always next year,” Eric responded with a half-smile, his eyes still watery as he gripped Kent tighter. Kent lightly kissed him on the forehead and hugged him back just as tightly. 

It wasn’t much, but it had Eric finally feeling a little better after his disaster of a day. 

--------------

When they got to their apartment, Kent opened the door so that he could help Eric inside since crutches weren’t the best idea while he also had a concussion throwing off his balance. 

Half of the hockey team (March, Caitlin, April and co.) stopped by in the following days. Most of them were friends, not only with Kent, but Eric too. 

It had been a week since Eric got injured, and Kent was taking care of him while he recovered. He made them dinner and even assisted Eric in the kitchen so he could make a pie. Kent tried to do all of the chores so he didn’t have to worry about Eric getting dizzy or needing to hobble around with his still healing ankle. But Eric insisted that he could still do things and he really didn’t want to sit on the couch 24/7 until he healed. 

Eric made sure to wrestle the laundry basket out of Kent’s arms so that he wouldn’t just start folding the clothes after he washed them. Their deal was one washes and the other folds. 

Eric also kept up with some yoga. “Honey, I still need to stay in shape. And yoga means I can do the poses that don’t involve putting weight on my left leg. Plus I’m already close to the ground, so quit worrying about me falling.”  

“Sorry, sorry. I should have known I was smothering you.” 

“Mothering maybe, but not smothering. I love how much you care ‘bout me.” 

“Yeah?” Kent asked with hope in his eyes. 

“Mmhmm, of course. Thank you for taking care of me. But shouldn’t you be at the rink? The team needs you. I know that they have a game coming up.” 

“I’m just an assistant coach, they can make do without me.” 

“Kent Parson, stop undervaluing yourself. You are an asset to that team, and we all know it.” 

Kent blushed in response to Eric’s forceful reassurance of his worth. 

“I guess. But yeah, I probably should be at the rink. I got enough angry texts that I’m choosing to ignore.” 

“Kenny, please go to the rink. We can make dinner and listen to some podcasts when you get back later.” 

“Well you didn’t suggest watching something, so at least you remember you’re still on limited screen time.” 

“As if you’d let me forget,” Eric grumbled, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

-------------------

One Year Later 

As the music faded out, Eric glided across the ice towards the edge of the rink, stopping with a flourish before leaning his arms atop the boards. “How was that!?” He excitedly asked Kent who was standing on the other side.

“Amazing! You hardly wobbled on your quad and the landing on your triple axel was perfect.”  

“Thanks for staying late to watch me run through this, honey,” Eric said and leaned further over the boards to wrap his arms around Kent.  

Kent laughed, bracing himself as he wrapped his arms around Eric as well. “Of course, I love watching you skate. And with just the two of us here, it feels like you’re skating just for me,” Kent said, his breath tickling Eric’s ear. 

“Mr. Parson, you really know how to charm a boy.” 

“It’s a gift,” Kent smirked. 

“Sure,” Eric said with a smirk of his own. “I’m just so excited for Nationals next week. I can’t wait to skate this routine.” 

“You’re gonna be great, babe.” 

“Thanks, honey. Now what do you say we stop and pick up take-out on our way home?” 

“I think it’s the least you can do since you kept us at the rink for hours,” Kent replied jokingly, shaking Eric who was still in his arms, despite the awkwardness of the boards between them. 

“Ha ha,” Eric said deadpan. 

“Whatever, I’ll grab our stuff, you change out of your skates,” Kent said as he let go of Eric and they met at the rink door.  

“Meet at the door near the side parking lot?” Eric questioned. 

“Yup, five minutes.” 

“I bet I’ll beat you there.” 

“Oh, it’s a race now?” Kent asked, eyebrows raised. 

“When isn’t it a race?” Eric asked, smile on his face, a hand on his cocked hip.   

#bittyparse #bittykent #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

Everyday

From: @ackermom

To: @doggernaut

Summary: Five times Jack and Bitty woke up next to each other, and one time they didn't sleep at all. 

Rating: T, tags: 5+1 things, fluff, domestic fluff

Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy your gift.

i

Bitty wakes to the hum of the bus. He cracks his eyes slowly, and at first, he's met with just darkness, the black streets of New England melting into each other as the bus speeds down the highway. He blinks and stretches. He pushes his arms over his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and lets out a big yawn, then shifts upright in his seat and rubs the sore spot where his forehead was pressed up against the window. It's late, and the passenger lights have been dimmed. The bus slumbers in a faint blue glow.

He glances around, stifling another yawn. The seat next to him is empty. He shuffles into it and sees that Lardo's gone back to her seat in the front. She's asleep, legs curled up in front of her, one arm hanging into the aisle. It looks like everyone else is asleep as well, exhausted from the game, the loss, or both.

He looks across the aisle. Sitting with his back to the window, Jack's face is lit up by his phone screen. At first, Bitty can't tell if he's awake or not. He's motionless, his gaze turned down, and his head seems to bob with the running hum of the bus down the highway. Then after a moment, his eyes turn up and meet Bitty's from across the aisle. He blinks, maybe waking up, before he retracts his legs from the seat next to him and lets Bitty come over.

"I thought you were going to finish your homework on the ride back," Bitty says as he settles into the seat.

Jack shuffles around until he's front-facing, and he pulls one earbud out, smiling gently at Bitty. "You're not one to talk about procrastination."

"Oh, hush," Bitty says. He's nearly whispering, but his voice seems to echo in the quiet. "What are you listening to?"

"History podcast," Jack says.

Bitty wrinkles his nose. "So even when you're not studying, you're still studying."

"Haha," Jack says. He holds out an earbud. "Want to listen. I just started an episode about Joan D'Arc."

Bitty takes it, smirking. "Of course you did."

"Hold on, let me restart it."

The bus hums on, carrying into the night, and Bitty slips down into the seat, his shoulder brushing against Jack's as he closes his eyes and dozes off again. 

  ii

He really tries not to take a nap. It's a bad habit he has to break if he ever wants to beat himself at his own procrastination game. But Jack's asleep on the couch within minutes of coming home from practice, and the cookies are cooling on the countertop. There's bags to be packed, dinner to be cooked, things to be done. Something about this lazy August day draws Bitty onto the couch instead, into Jack's arms and down into a deep sleep. 

He blinks into Jack's chest when he wakes up. "Honey?"

Jack's arm are loosely laid over him, and his answer vibrates in his chest. "Mmhmm?"

"What time is it?"

Clearly, it's a great effort for Jack to untangle himself from Bitty and check his phone, because it takes several minutes and involves the both of them stretching and yawning in the unlit apartment as the sun sets over the neighborhoods of Providence. The curtains aren't drawn, and Bitty dawdles on the couch, staring into the orange summer sky as Jack stumbles around the kitchen, ordering take-out over the phone.

He rolls over, flat onto his back, and he throws an arm over his forehead, letting the over fall to the floor and scrape against the rug. He tries not to be sad for the hours they just lost. Their last night together before Bitty has to be back at Samwell tomorrow, and his elaborate farewell dinner plans have been dashed by a nap on the couch. 

"Jack," Bitty says when Jack returns from the kitchen, covering a yawn his hand. He curls up on the couch, tugging a fuzzy blanket over himself, and peers up at Jack with sleep in his eyes. "I'm going to miss this."

Jack stops for a second before he continues to the couch. He drops down next to Bitty, stretching his legs out under the coffee table. Then he leans over and kisses Bitty's forehead. "I will too, Bits."

"You're a better cuddler than Señor Bun," Bitty murmurs as Jack strokes his hair. He furrows his brow when Jack smirks. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Never." 

  iii

"Morning, Bits," Jack murmurs sleepily when Bitty pushes a hand through his hair.

He smiles down at Jack, his back against the wall. There's something special and sad about this moment and the unknowns of the future. "Hi, honey."

He doesn't remember falling asleep again, not after he clutched a soaking wet Jack and dragged him upstairs to cry in the darkness of his bedroom. But he must've slept a little, even if his night was mostly spent staring at the ceiling and trying to catch his own thoughts. He woke ten minutes before his usual alarm, blinking at the pink silhouette of his window, the sun rising somewhere over the horizon. Jack slept heavily in his arms, his suit draped across the back of Bitty's desk. Bitty, though tired, though listless, though scared, couldn't bear to stir him.

Jack's eyes flutter before he glances up at Bitty, pursing his lips to hold back a yawn. "Mm. Did you sleep at all?"

Of course he knows, Bitty thinks. This boy.

"Not much," he murmurs. He'd turned his alarm off before it rang and tried to go back to sleep, but it just wouldn't come to him. "Do you want any coffee or something?"

"Bittle," Jack says, reaching up with his arm. He winds it around Bitty's waist and pulls on him, asking him to lie down again, to snuggle back into the warmth and forget about everything for a little while longer. "Come back to sleep."

It's morning, but early. He'll fidget if he just sits here, waiting for the day to begin, for the acceptable hour to text their friends and request a brunch meeting. Quietly, Bitty slips back under the covers and lies down to face Jack, their noses just an inch apart. He hums when Jack draws a thumb across his cheek, smiling at him

"I'll be okay," Jack whispers. His whisper echoes in the small bedroom. "Let's just sleep in a little." 

Bitty curls up, tucking his head under Jack's chin. It'll only be for an hour or so, but he thinks he can manage to sleep like this, safe and warm and comforted, despite anything else that will happen today or tomorrow. 

  iv

The sun is barely up before Bitty can feel someone watching him. He cracks one eye open. As expected, Jack is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him. His face remains blank until he sees Bitty waking, and then he grins, leaning back on his palm. Bitty stretches under the covers, pointing his toes straight as he yawns into his hand. He straightens out, pulls the blanket up to his shoulders, and squints up at Jack.

"Good morning, sir," he mutters. "Can I help you?"

He's on his way out for a run, his shoes in one hand. He says, "I'm thinking about steps."

Bitty furrows his brow. "Okay. Stop bothering me and go get some."

"Next steps," Jack clarifies. "Far away steps."

Bitty glares at him. "They're called far away steps for a reason. I have to graduate first! Or at least wake up at a normal hour."

Jack makes a mmhmm noise, then adds, "I know. I just wanted to let you know, I'm thinking about those steps."

With a huff, Bitty pulls the covers up to his chin. He purses his lips, trying not to smile. "I don't know why you're acting like you're cute. Get out of here."

"I'll be thinking about them each step of the way."

Bitty pulls the covers over his face. "Jack. Oh my god, that was bad."

He hears a laugh, feels the mattress dip as Jack moves towards him, and he squawks a little when Jack presses a kiss to his ruffled bedhead, still laughing as he touches Bitty. It reverberates through him, and Bitty's heart does a few little spins.

"Go back to sleep," Jack murmurs when he pulls away. Bitty peeks out from under the covers. He blinks softly into the dawn as Jack slips into his shoes and stands, still smiling down at him. "I'll be back when you wake up."

  v

Morning comes too soon. As he wakes, Bitty can still taste the red wine on his lips from the rehearsal dinner. He tries to ignore it, but the room grows light too fast, the world around them coming to life as they are still finding their ways back from the deepest parts of dreams. Something in him begs to go back to sleep, but this day has been far too long in the making. When Bitty opens his eyes, he can't believe it's finally here.

From the other side of the bed, Jack is gazing back at him. 

"Morning," he says softly, his head pressed deeply into the pillow. He glows in the sunlight that's streaming into the hotel room, casting warm squares of light across his bare skin. He's like a dream, and so will waking up with him be from this day forward.

"G'morning," Bitty mutters. He pushes hand back through his mussed hair and shuffles against his pillow so he can see Jack better. He can't help but smile a little. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Jack smiles back.

"Bits," he murmurs, his eyes softening, "I've been ready to marry you since the first time we kissed."

"Stop it," Bitty exclaims. He grins, flushing. "You can't chirp me like that on our wedding day."

"I'm not chirping you," Jack says. He stretches an arm out, his fingers brushing across Bitty's wrist where he's holding onto the covers; Bitty lets go, and Jack twines their fingers together. He smirks. "Unless you want me to."

Bitty laughs. "Only for the rest of my life." 

  +

At some point, Jack gets up. 

Bitty's head jerks up when he feels the mattress dip. He blinks into the low light, and it's just his husband, stepping gingerly onto the floor and moving around the front of the bed with his hands covering a yawn. He sees Bitty watching him from the corner of his eye, and he mouths coffee before tiptoeing in the hallway.

"It's almost five," Jack murmurs when he returns. The bedroom is still and quiet, the off-white walls nearly purple in the darkness. He hands one mug to Bitty; he's taken the liberty of adding a sweet creamer, which Bitty gladly accepts. "That's a good two hours."

Bitty holds the steaming mug close to his lips. "It's a miracle, is what it is."

The bassinet lies quietly at the foot of the bed. Jack moves around it carefully, his socks soft on the floor, and when he slips back into the bed next to Bitty, they both let out a deep breath, coffee mugs clutched in their hands.

"Well," Bitty murmurs as Jack sips his coffee. "This is it, I guess. This is the rest of our lives."

He feels Jack smile at him. "What? Loving and caring for our family?"

"Not sleeping is what I meant," Bitty says. He glances sideways at Jack, smirking. "But yeah, I guess that counts too."

The baby stirs. He holds his breath, but the for the first time all night, she remains quiet; instead, she peers up at them with her hand in her mouth, blinking slowly.

"Hmm," he hears Jack murmur. "Well, we've had enough sleep."

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

la dolce far niente

To: @insertatitlehere​

From: @wrathofthestag​ 

 For @insertatitlehere​ who wanted some family drama, pets, some introspective Jack, or social media.  How about all of them? :) I hope you like it. From @wrathofthestag​

 Fic Summary:  With Bitty out of town for a few days, can Jack learn to unwind and enjoy the sweetness of doing nothing?

 Rating:  General Audience.

It had come as a surprise.  Just as Jack and Bitty had settled in for an evening of Netflix and Chinese takeout to enjoy the last sleepy summer days before Jack’s preseason the call came in.

“He did what?” Bitty sat upright on the couch, practically knocking over the bowl of pepper steak on his lap.  “Oh no!”

Jack looked at Bitty, who in turn, stroked Jack’s arm and shook his head, as their husky, Netty, nervously paced around the room.  

“Coach broke his leg, he’s okay,” Bitty quickly whispered then returned to the call at hand.  “What did the doctor say?”

Bitty spoke to Suzanne, throwing out an occasional, “uh-huh,” and finally hung up with a big whooshing exhale.

“What happened, Bits? Is Coach okay?”  

“That darn man!  He insisted on cleaning the gutters himself—even after mama warned him not to—and he slipped as he was coming down the ladder. Bam! Broken fibula!” 

And just like that, Bitty was off to Madison the next day to help Suzanne out and act as referee between her and his Aunt Marlene.

The night of Bitty’s departure, Jack sat in bed catching up on long-ignored emails.  He waited for Bitty to text him, letting him know he arrived safely.

He saw an email from Ruben, the Falcs head of social media, and groaned. The subject was read Social Media Update.  He’d been on Jack for a while to get his Instagram going and much to Jack’s chagrin, George agreed.

Ruben had called Jack into his office, a while back, and Jack already knew what was coming.

"George said photography’s your hobby,” Ruben said matter-of-factly.  “So let's set you up with an Instagram." 

"Bitty already did, I just haven't done anything with it,"  Jack said as he fidgeted with the Falcs paperweight on Ruben’s desk.

"Jack, the only thing worse than no social media is bad social media," Ruben sighed.

"You sound just like Bitty, " Jack said as he shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, well, there’s a reason I like that boy."  Ruben smiled.  "Now let's get some content in there.”  

Since that meeting, Jack uploaded exactly zero images. That was three weeks ago.  He now took to ducking into empty rooms whenever he’d see Ruben walking his direction.

+++

Jack's alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago but he remembered the conversation he had with Bitty before he left...  

“Why don’t you finally do all those little things you’ve been wanting to do, but never have time?”

“Little things?”

“Yeah, you know.  Treat yourself."

Bitty leaned in and kissed Jack.  A big lush kiss. 

"You know how you’re always saying you want to sleep in more, try some new recipes, read a book on the balcony—those things. Do it. Do a little nothing."

Jack smiled thinking of the possibilities, and so he opted to stay in bed.  He stretched lazily and watched the sunlight waft in. The light made curious shapes on the bedroom ceiling. 

He turned to look at Bitty's side of the bed. Even though Jack had the entire bed to himself, he stayed on his side the entire night.  He reached over and took Bitty's pillow and pressed it to his face.  It no longer smelled of him, but Jack hugged it to his chest.

Just then Netty walked in, the look on her face clearly demanded breakfast.  She gingerly strolled over and placed her chin on the empty side and looked up at Jack through lowered lashes.

"I know, girl.  I miss him too."

Netty’s tail wagged.  

Bitty was never really a pet person, and it had taken a whole month for him to really warm up to Netty, but when Jack went a long roadie, Netty stuck to Bitty’s side.  By the time Jack returned, Bitty now called her Punkin, Cookie, Biscuit, and about a million other baking-related nicknames.   

“Jack, she’s just so sweet—and has your eyes.  Don’t you, my little praline?”  Bitty had said as he scratched Netty’s chin.

Jack put the pillow down and sat up. Netty perked up.

"All right, let's get you some food and we'll go out for a run.  Let me just see if I got any messages from Bits."

Jack reached for his phone and checked it. He already had a message waiting for him.

Bitty: Morning, handsome! Text me when you're up. Say hi to my little cupcake.

Jack: Netty said your pillow is VERY soft. We might have to make room for her every night.

Bitty: Jack Laurent, please tell me you did not let her sleep in our bed.

Jack: Maybe? 

 Bitty: Jack!

Jack: Haha. Just kidding. I might, though. The bed's too big without you.  

Bitty: <3333

Jack smiled.  He got out of bed and turned back to look at it. He was struck with the urge to take a photo of it, and then on a whim opened up Instagram.  Scrolling through the filters, Jack felt overwhelmed by all the choices so he skipped that part and typed his caption.

The bed feels too big this morning.

He smiled and pressed "share."

"Shit.  Was I supposed to do hash things?"

Netty looked up at him and Jack frowned. He edited the post and tagged Bitty. 

"There."

Jack walked into the bathroom and saw his toothbrush sitting solitary.  He felt an instant pang of longing as he missed having Bitty's toothbrush next to his.  A toothbrush.  Jack felt so silly.  The chirping would have been endless if the guys—Samwell and Falcs alike—could see him now.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and blushed.  Jack decided in that instance that rather than feeling sorry for himself (Bitty had only been gone one day and Jack needed to pull himself together, tabarnak) he would document his day to show Bitty what he was doing.  Also, he could finally get his Instagram going and get Ruben off his back, but mainly it was for Bitty… and a little teeny bit for Jack.

The caption read: Good oral hygiene is the cornerstone to any healthy smile. Which comes in handy when you have someone who makes you smile. @omgcheckplease 

After he brushed his teeth, Jack walked to the kitchen and poured some kibble into Netty's bowl and she eagerly dug.  Jack took out the coffee grounds from the cupboard and was about to get the pot going when he stopped and remembered the Chemex Nursey had gotten him for his birthday.  

He had used it a few times, but mainly he’d stick to the coffee machine because Bitty would be so antsy for his morning cup.  This time, however, Jack knew he could be a bit slower.  He'd drink that “hipster bullshit”—Shitty's words, not Jack's—and really savor his morning cup.

He ground the beans and set the kettle to boil. He folded a coffee filter into a conical shape and wet it.  After he had placed it on top of the Chemex, he put the grounds into the filter.  Once the water was ready, Jack slowly poured it over the grounds and watched it drip, drip, drip away. 

Jack's thoughts suddenly took him to his childhood. Every morning when maman was home, he'd make her coffee.  He hadn't thought about it in years, but he would get up early (anxious insomnia kept slept at bay often for young Jack) and make her some coffee in the old silver Italian percolator that always sat on the stove.  

"Jacky, you made me coffee!" Alicia would say every single time, sounding just as surprised and genuine as the time before. 

He remembered how he watched her carefully a few times and then memorized all the steps so that one day, he would be able to do it on his own. And he did! Jack felt less alone somehow, brewing coffee for his mother as the rest of the world slept.

A great cup of coffee this morning, thanks to @derekmaliknurse’s birthday gift. @omgcheckplease should I pour you a cup? #chemex 

Netty pressed her nose to Jack's calf. 

"Hey, girl.  As soon as I'm done with my coffee, I promise we’ll go."

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Do my eyes fucking deceive me?"

"Hey, Shits."

"Don't 'Hey, Shits,' me."

"What do you mean?" 

Jack could already hear the teasing mirth in Shitty's voice.

"Well, I'm sitting here in Haus 2.0, chowing on some cereal, having my morning caw-fee, scrolling through my ‘Gram when lo and behold, not one but two—two motherfucking super soft JLZ posts appear on my feed."

Jack grinned.  "Oh?"

"I just about spat out my Oops Berries, brah."

"The front office asked me to step up my online presence,  that's all."

"That's all? Lemme talk to Bitty."

"He's in Madison."

"Madison? Why?"

"Coach broke his leg and he's out there helping Suzanne."

Shitty was quiet, almost too quiet.

"Shits?"  Jack asked, eyebrow quirked. 

Shitty guffawed.  "Jack, I love you but let's call a spade a spade."

"What do you mean?" He asked feeling transparent. 

"Brah, you're not doing that for the front office.  You're sending Bitty a visual love letter through Instagram.  You’re wooing him with images, and I gotta tell you, I fucking dig it."

Jack grinned.  "I don't know what you mean."

Shitty snorted.  "Right. Yeah. Okay.  Listen, who am I to stand in the way of your courtly lovin' ways? Personally,  I dig it. You go with your sweet displays of man-on-man affection--"

"I'm hanging up now, " Jack laughed.

"All I'm saying is prepare to be either chirped within an inch of your life or fawned all over online."

"Bye, Shitty."

"Bye, you Ansel Adams mofo.  You better dedicate a post to meeeee!"

Jack laughed.  He shook his head as he picked up his mug and walked out to the balcony.  

Taking a small sip, Jack relished the robust aroma of the coffee which had hints of chocolate and pepper.  He hummed happily.  The silky lush coffee slipped down this throat deliciously while he sat and watched the morning sky finish making her appearance. 

+++

During Netty's walk (Jack chose to opt out of a run that morning), they stopped at the corner bakery he and Bitty like so much. The morning rush hour crowd had long died down.  He got in line and watched as an employee brought out a tray of chocolate croissants, fragrant and fresh. 

"Hey, Jack," Kamal, the owner, said as Jack reached the register.

"Hey."

"No Eric today?"

"No. He's visiting his parents for a few days. It’s just me and Netty."

They both turned toward the window and saw her patiently sitting by the lamppost. 

"Cool. So, one low-fat bran muffin?" Kamal asked as he began to ring up the order. 

Jack looked at the croissants.

"No, I'll have two chocolate croissants and a peanut butter dog biscuit."

"All right, all right.” Kamal smiled. “Treat yourself, man."

Jack smiled.  "Yeah, something like that."

Jack untied Netty and they made their way to the dog park down the street.  He sat on a bench as he watched her run to and fro, while he ate his pain au chocolat.

+++

“It is little wonder that for Jack the Ripper, the ‘Liston Knife’ was the weapon of choice during his killing spree in 1888.”

Jack closed his copy of The Butchering Art, as he finished reading the chapter to Netty, who seemed quite enthralled while she rested at the foot of the couch where he lounged.  She then gave out a loud yawn.

“I was going to order some food, but how about I make us something instead?” Jack said to Netty.

Jack put down his book and polished off the last dregs of his tea as Netty lazily wagged her tail a few times.  Jack quickly took Netty’s picture and posted it.  The caption read:  She’s practically a baked good now and has no clue.  Right, @omgcheckplease? #husky

He sat up and stretched as he made his way to the kitchen.  Jack scratched at his belly and opened the fridge.  There was some deli meat, a couple tamales Bitty got from the local carniceria, half a cheesecake, packages of fresh meat, and various odds and ends. Jack knew there were some chicken tenders in the freezer, but he wanted something else… something different.

Jack:  Debating what I should have for dinner.

Bitty:  I’m surprised you’re not ordering from Star of Siam.

Jack:  I was going to but changed my mind.

Bitty:  What are you in the mood for?

Jack:  Not sure.  Something good.

Bitty:  Aw! I wish I was there so I could feed you.

Jack:  What would you do? 

Bitty:  Hmm… after giving you a bunch of kisses, maybe some spaghetti and meatballs?  Put some meat on your bones. You’re wasting away, Mr. Zimmermann.

Jack:  Haha.  That does sound good, actually.

Bitty:  You know MooMaw’s recipe box? The one on top of the fridge?

Jack:  The yellow box?

Bitty:  Yep!  Pull her spaghetti and meatball recipe and make that.

Jack walked over to the fridge and opened the small metal box. He found recipe after recipe handwritten on index cards, some yellowed with age, some written in Bitty’s neat script.

Spaghetti and Meatballs - Made with Love by Irene

Jack read the recipe: ground beef, onion, eggs, milk, garlic, crushed tomatoes, parmesan cheese. Reading it alone made his stomach growl. He opened the fridge again and saw he had most of the ingredients on hand.  He opened the cupboard and found the rest.

Jack:  I’m making MooMaw’s spaghetti and meatballs.  And I love you for having all the ingredients in the house. 

Bitty:  Be sure to send me a picture of how it turned out.

Jack:  Have you been online at all today?

Bitty:  No, I haven’t.  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I’ve been running errands for Mama all over town.  I’m getting ready to make a chicken casserole and then finally sit for a bit.  Why?

Jack:  No reason.

Bitty:  Skype tonight?

Jack:  9?

Bitty:  See you then, handsome. xoxo

Jack smiled as he gathered all the ingredients on the counter. 

“Alexio, play Wilco by Wilco on Spotify.”

The smart speaker began to play as the music floated through the kitchen.  Jack rarely listened to music in the house.  He preferred to let Bitty play whatever he wanted and instead saved his tunes for the car.

“You and your old man music,” Bitty would sweetly chirp whenever they were in Jack’s car.  

Bitty would lean over and raise the volume for Jack and begin singing to whatever song was playing—even if he didn’t know the words.  Bitty would make them up as he went along.  Each one smiling as the wind would blow through their hair.  Bitty’s smile like sunshine while Jack would gently stroke his leg as they drove down the Providence streets.

“Alexio, call Papa.”

Jack began cutting onions for the sauce, referring back to MooMaw’s recipe, as his phone rang through the speaker.

“Allô?”

“Hey, Papa.”

“Jack, what a surprise.  I wasn’t expecting your call until Sunday.”

“I know, but I wanted to call you now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m just making some dinner.  Bitty is visiting his parents for a few days, and I just wanted to see how you and Maman were.”

«Missing your boy, are you?»

Jack smiled, even as his eyes stung from the onion.  «Yeah, but I’m also missing you and Maman.»

«What are you making?»

«Spaghetti and meatballs. I’m using Bitty’s grandmother’s recipe.»

«Do you remember that summer, you must have been about four or so, and the only thing you wanted to eat was spaghetti.»

Jack paused.  He placed the tip of the knife down onto the butcher block.  «I don’t remember that.»

Bob laughed.  «Really?  I’m surprised. You were very adamant about it.  Your poor mother was so upset that you wouldn’t eat anything else.»

Jack laughed. «Crisse, I think I do remember!  Did she make it for breakfast?»

Jack recalled sitting at their kitchen table in Pittsburgh (He always liked that house because the backyard was enormous, they got a dog. Wayne, the golden retriever) and swinging his legs back and forth as Maman placed a bowl of pasta in front of him.  The tang of the sauce, the gooey cheese being pulled from his lips.  It all came back to him.

«How is Maman?» Jack asked warmly.

«She’s out with Louisa and Marie—they’re at a wine tasting or something.  Who can keep track?» Bob said.  Jack could hear the mirth in his voice.

«Well, I just wanted to say a quick hi, and I better get back to this otherwise I’ll never finish.»

«Sounds good, son.  Send me a photo.»

«Will do. Talk to you on Sunday.»

«Love you, Jack.»

«Love you, too, Papa.»

Jack began to sing along to Wilco once again and he tossed the onion into the ground beef...

+

Jack sprinkled some parsley on the top of his dish and smiled.  

“Not bad, eh, Netty?”

She looked up at him expectantly, hoping for a bite. He scratched the back of Netty’s ears, then scooped a little pasta and a couple of meatballs into her dog bowl.  

He took out his phone and opened up Instagram again.

Homemade spaghetti and meatballs based on @omgcheckplease’s grandmother’s recipe.  I hope I made y’all proud.

Jack shared the photo and instantly closed the app.

“Come on girl, let’s eat.”

Netty followed Jack to the dining room where he put both dishes on the table. Netty jumped up onto one of the chairs.  Jack smiled contently as Netty began to dig in, and he soon followed.

+++

It was almost nine and Jack began to get ready for Bitty’s phone call.  He had cleared the dishes and placed them all in the dishwasher.  The leftovers were in the fridge and he remembered there was half a key lime cheesecake in the fridge.  Jack took it out, cut a big slice and poured himself a glass of milk.  

Jack took a photo of cheesecake and shared it on Instagram.  The caption read:  A day of doing sweet nothing ends with a sweet something.  Wishing @omgcheckplease was here.

   He stood at the kitchen counter and dug in; each bite delicious and sweet, reminding him of Bitty in every possible way.

He took another forkful of cheesecake and finally looked at his Instagram notifications.  Jack did a triple take—he had so many likes and comments, he didn’t even know where to begin.  So many were from strangers, too. It was a little overwhelming, so he decided to just look at comments from people he knew.

rubenalmanzoSM:  Well done @jlzimmermann1

bsknightESQ:  Brah!  When you cooking for me? Did you ever know that you’re my hero??

derekmailknurse:  I’ll get you some Stumptown beans. #chemexforlife

AliciaZimmermannProd:  Look at you!  On Instagram.

thelarissaduan:  I told Shits I would not chirp.  (Even though I really want to.  Esp. with that bed pic, dude.) #softbro

omgcheckplease:  I love this... and you.

Jack closed Instagram and yawned as he made his way to the bedroom.  He pulled his laptop into bed and at nine opened up Skype and called Bitty.

Bitty’s face appeared, looking sleepy and tired, but smiling brightly the instant he saw Jack.

“Hey, there, handsome.”

Bitty was in his bedroom, in bed, with his back against the headboard.

“Bits,” Jack said.  

He turned onto his side and rested his head on the crook of his arm.  The laptop sat on the mattress next to him.

“You are the sweetest, most beautiful boy in the entire world.”

“Am I?”

“You are! I saw all of your Insta posts.”

Jack could feel himself blush.

“They weren’t too… boring?”

“No!  I love them! They were lovely.”

“They were all for you,” Jack said softly.

“I know.”

Bitty reached out to touch the screen and Jack immediately did the same.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“I swear Jack, I thought I was going to have to break up some fisticuffs between Mama and Aunt Marlene.”

Jack chuckled. “That bad, eh?”

“The worst.  I’m so glad I’m coming home the day after tomorrow.  Poor Coach was basically like, ‘Save yourself, son!’”

“I miss your face,” Jack said simply and unguarded.

“Lord, I miss yours too.  So much…”

The two looked at each other as if they had nowhere else in the world they’d rather be.

“So, how was your day?  It looked pretty nice from what I saw,”  Bitty said as he finally spoke.

“It was. I did a little nothing, all day.”

“And my little strudel?”

“She helped.  Turns out she’s a pro at it.”

Bitty chuckled.  “I love it.  And how was it?”

Several years ago, Jack was in his therapist’s waiting room and was idly leafing through a copy of Psychology Today when he came across an article that made him pause.  He began to read it, and at the time found it to be completely absurd.  The article was about la dolce far niente, or the sweetness of doing nothing. 

“Maybe you sit and read a book. Maybe you stare out the window or balcony and listen to your favorite musician,” the article read. “What can you do today to begin doing nothing?”

Jack frowned as he read, not understanding what was so great about remaining idle.  It wasn’t until he began a relationship with Bitty that he truly understood what doing nothing could mean.  They could do nothing while they snuggled in bed, they could do nothing while they sat on the couch as the rain poured outside as Bitty slowly ran his fingers through Jack’s hair.  

Nothing with Bitty came to mean everything to Jack, and soon Jack began to appreciate doing nothing by himself. He understood that he didn’t have to be “on,” all the time. 95% was okay. La dolce far niente.

“Well?” Bitty asked again.

“It was sweet, Bits,”  Jack replied with a smile.  “Very sweet.”

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

5 times Jack failed at flirting

From: @leahlisabeth

To: @b1ttle

Summary: Jack is new to Providence which wouldn't be so bad if he didn't put his foot in his mouth/run away every time he runs into the Falconer's gorgeous, blond, PR person.  

Rating: none

Tags: Bitty does PR for the Falconers, Bad Flirting, Awkward Situations

Content warnings: Very brief mention of intended non-con

Message: Thank you so much for your prompts! I had a lot of fun writing this fic and I really hope you like it.

1.

Providence is a nice place.  It’s a decent sized city; it would have to be to have their own NHL team, but it has a small town feel.  He can go jogging around his neighbourhood instead of in a cold, sterile gym or even worse, on a treadmill going nowhere.  But it’s not so small that he’s going to stand out and he’s going to get mobbed wherever he goes. Jack thinks he likes it.

He hasn’t really had too many chances to explore, even though he’s marked a few places on the map that he’d like to check out. He’s always been the kind of guy to be a regular, to show up at the same time and get the same thing, predictable and reliable.  It’s already past time for him to establish his Providence routine.

He passes by a sweet little coffee shop as he’s jogging.  It’s getting close to the end of his five- mile run and it is in the perfect location for a post-run snack.  Making a split-second decision, he diverts his path and heads inside.

He isn’t paying attention, already looking to see what’s on their menu, when he feels scalding hot liquid soak his running shirt.

“Oh my lord, I’m so sorry.” A much shorter man is standing in front of him and waving a handful of napkins in his face.  On reflex, Jack grabs for them, stilling both the waving napkins and the hands of the man standing red-faced in front of him.  “I hope I didn’t burn ya.”

“Euh, just a little steamed,” Jack says, finally succeeding in liberating one of the napkins from the man’s grasp and soaking up some of the rapidly cooling liquid on his chest. The man stops waving his arms and tries to help with the napkin he’s still holding.

With that handled, he takes a closer look at the person in front of him and he nearly swallows his tongue.  The guy is gorgeous, with blond hair and brown eyes so large they wouldn’t look out of place on a cartoon.  He’s small but holds himself like someone who is used to complete physical control over his limbs.  His chest is also splashed with coffee even though Jack had taken the brunt of it.  

“At least coffee is your colour,” Jack says.

The man stops mopping at Jack’s chest and looks up at him with a quizzical expression and Jack suddenly has the urge to run.  “Uh, goodbye?” he says before turning around and practically sprinting from the coffee shop.  Guess he can’t ever come back here again.

2. 

Jack’s been busy since moving to Providence.  He’s had near-constant practices and other team meetings as he’s getting to know his new teammates and they’re getting ready to start their season.  He’s heading out early in the morning and coming home late at night with barely a chance to inhabit his new home beyond the bedroom and the bathroom.

Finally, he gets a day off.   He starts it off the same way he has been so far, going for a run and only stopping in to buy coffee once he’s sure he’s not going to run into that blond man again.  

But once he gets home, he’s at a loss.  He bought a couch for the living room but he doesn’t have a TV and his books are all in storage until he has the time to go get them and unpack them.  It’s a little depressing.

Another hiccup occurs at lunchtime.  He decides to splurge and make his favourite chicken tenders. But since he’s mostly been eating out since he moved, he doesn’t even have a baking sheet.

He decides to go and buy at least a few things: a TV, a bookshelf that he can start filling, and the bare minimum for the kitchen.

He’s wandering a department store in the area and comparing two baking sheets, trying to decide if it matters that it’s nonstick, when he hears a familiar voice.

“I wondered if I might run into you again.”

Jack turns and sees the small blond who’s coffee he had spilled. He’s just as cute now and Jack isn’t finding it any easier to look him in the eye. “I was hoping I wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” the blond says, a strangely disappointed look on his face.  “Sorry, I’ll leave you to your shopping.”

“No...that isn’t…” Jack protests but he’s not entirely certain what to say and he can feel the red rising in his cheeks.

“I’d recommend the stainless steel pan.  It’s higher quality and I know they say that nonstick is safe but I’ve also read it leaves bits of Teflon in your food.  If you really want easy cleanup, just use parchment paper or a silicone baking mat,” the blond says, pointing to one of the baking sheets that Jack is still holding.

“Euh, thank you?” Jack says, but the blond man is already gone.

3. 

“Jack, can I meet with you for a moment in my office?” Georgia asks him after practice.  “It’s nothing bad,” she reassures him when she sees the look of apprehension on his face.

“Sure,” Jack says.  “Should I shower first or do you want me right away?”

“By all means, shower first,” Georgia smiles at him and leaves him there.  Even with her reassurance, Jack feels a pit open up in his stomach, just like the one he’d had every time in childhood when he had to talk to any sort of authority figure.  He knows they’re not going to fire him.  They have a contract.  But he’s a little afraid anyway.

A familiar blond man turns to face him when Jack enters the room.

“Jack, I want you to meet Eric Bittle,” Georgia says.  “He’s in charge of PR for the Falconers.  He’s here to talk about your Twitter account.”

Jack frowns.  “I need a Twitter account?”

Bittle turns and smiles at him.  It looks a little forced and Jack really wants to run away from the conversation he knows he needs to have.

“Eric will explain all about it.  You have a choice how involved you want to be but you will have to have at least one public social media account,” Georgia says.

“Oh,” Jack says.  “Um…”

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Bittle says.  “We don’t need to do it right now but we should set up a meeting.”

“Coffee,” Jack blurts out.

Bittle turns red.  “Do you think that’s safe?” he asks.

“No,” Jack says.  “I know it’s not.”

Georgia looks between them, a slight puzzled look on her face.  “Are you going to need my office or are you going to meet elsewhere?”

Bittle takes a card out of his wallet and hands it to Jack.  “Here, you think about it and when you’re ready, you can send me an email and we’ll set a time to meet.”

Jack nods.  Georgia and Eric are both staring at him.  He doesn’t know what they expect from him so he awkwardly turns and leaves.

4.

Jack hasn’t emailed Bittle yet.  He feels bad because he knows he is making Bittle’s job harder but every time he picks up his phone or his laptop, a cold sweat covers his body and he has to get out.  He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so out of sorts in someone’s presence.  He thinks maybe it’s because Bittle is so completely his type and he hasn’t even entertained the thought of dating another man since Kent.  It shouldn’t be a big deal but it is.

It’s getting late and his stomach is growling. He hadn’t eaten anything after practice and he is paying for it now. He doesn’t feel like cooking or ordering takeout.  Maybe it’s a little weird, going out to eat alone, but the alternative would be to ask one of his new teammates and the anxiety at the thought of reaching out makes him more than a little nauseated.  Eating alone, it is.

He sits down and looks through the menu.  There are a lot of choices and most of them sound awful.  He regrets choosing this restaurant and he’s thinking about walking out.  He’s only ordered a water so far.

He can hear someone talking loudly from the next booth over.  “Oh yeah, sounds totally like a serious job and not an excuse to ogle hockey players in the buff.  I know your type.”

“Excuse me?” Jack recognizes Bittle’s Southern accent and suddenly, he is hyper-focused on the conversation happening behind him.

“Seriously, whoever hooked you up for that sweet gig, tell him I want to run PR for some of the local figure skaters.  That’s what gets my motor running.” The guy’s voice is loud and slurring and Jack can see looks of disgust from the other tables in the restaurant.

Bittle’s voice is frosty and nearly unrecognizable.  “I don’t think I like what you’re insinuatin’.”

“Aw, come on, it’s a compliment.  I way prefer that tight ass to some big muscle-bound goon,” the man laughs loudly.  Jack’s fist clenches.

“I think this date is over,” Bittle says.

“Don’t be like that.  Let’s cut the bullshit.  I know you’re gagging to go back to my place so I can pound that tight ass.”  

Jack can see Bittle standing to leave and he is about to relax when the man grabs Bittle’s wrist and pulls him in close to his side.  Jack hardly knows he is moving before he is looming over the man and prying his hand off Bittle’s wrist.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man blinks up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Hi, I’m a big muscle-bound goon.  I think your date said no,” Jack growls.

“This is none of your fucking business.  Leave us alone,” the man slurs.  He tries to stand up but thinks twice about it when Jack stares him down.

“Excuse me, can I get this man’s check?” Jack hails the nearest waitress.  She scurries away to get it.

The man tosses down some cash to cover the check.

“Tip too,” Jack says, counting the bills at a glance.  The man curses but throws down another $20.

“Did he drive?” Jack asks Bittle.

Bittle nods.  “He’s my ride.” He winces.

Jack holds out his hand.  “Keys.”

The man’s face grows apoplectic with rage.  He staggers out of the chair and tries to take a swing at Jack.  Jack easily dodges it and dumps him back in his chair. This time the man meekly holds out his car keys.

Jack hands them to the waitress.  “Call a cab for this man.  I’ll cover it.  He can pick his keys up here tomorrow when he’s sobered up.”

The waitress nods and stuffs the man’s keys into the pocket of her apron.

Jack drops another couple of bills on his table and guides a now trembling Bittle out of the restaurant.

“Lord, that was dramatic,” Bittle says.  

Now that the adrenaline has faded, Jack is suddenly tongue-tied again.  “Euh, Bittle...Do you like food?” he asks.

“Um...yes?” Bittle says, looking up at him in confusion.

“I mean I can just drop you at home if you want to go but I didn’t get a chance to eat and I noticed you hardly touched your dinner and then I don’t have to eat alone and the evening isn’t wasted,” Jack says in a rush.

Bittle’s face goes from confusion to a sunny smile.  “Jack, honey, that sounds absolutely perfect.  But if we’re gonna be friends now, you’re gonna have to start calling me Bitty.”

5.

Things are easier now.  He and Bitty meet up once or twice a week, sometimes to discuss new posts for his rapidly growing Instagram account, but mostly just to have coffee or dinner.  Jack’s never been much of a texter, but now, his phone is blowing up all day, every day.  He can’t help smiling every time he sees Bitty’s name pop up in his notifications.

Something is happening to him.  He thinks he’s been in love before.  Kent was all fire and passion and danger.  Camilla was all safety and comfort and security and routine and, if he’s honest, a tiny bit of boredom.  

But this is something else.  

There is passion, but he doesn’t want the side of secrecy that comes along with it.  He feels like he and Bitty have known each other all their lives, but he can’t think of anything he wants more than a lifetime to discover more about him.

The team teases him mercilessly.  Jack denies it but a little pit of sadness grows inside him as he tells them that he’s texting Bitty and of course he’s just a friend.

They go out for dinner and something feels different.  Bitty smiles up at him.  He touches his arm when no one is looking.  He touches his foot to Jack’s under the table and Jack lets him, maybe even presses right back.

Bitty blushes and Jack asks the waiter for a glass of wed rine.  Bitty laughs and Jack wants to make him laugh forever.

“Do you want to come up?” Bitty asks when Jack drops him off.

Jack nods.  Bitty’s apartment is as warm and cheery as the man himself.  Jack likes it.  He immediately feels more at home here than he has almost anywhere since he first moved to Providence, excluding only the feeling he gets in full gear at centre ice.

Bitty brings him a cup of tea and a slice of pie, maple apple and the best thing Jack has ever had in his mouth.

Bitty sits next to him on the couch and for once he’s quiet, content to sit next to Jack and enjoy his company.  

“Bits,” Jack says.  “I…”

Bitty leans in a little closer and Jack wants; it’s terrifying just how much he wants. 

“I…have to go,” Jack says.  “Thanks for the pie. It was delicious.”

He’s outside the door by the time logic kicks back in and it’s too late to go back inside.

+1

Bitty looks sad.  For the first time in several weeks, Bitty wasn’t the one to text first.  Jack knows he did something wrong and he wants to fix it.  But a small part of him also wonders if maybe this isn’t for the best.  Bitty makes things complicated.  He can’t come out anytime soon and Bitty deserves better than that.  Plus, there is the whole ethical dilemma of him dating a member of the team.  What if Georgia fired Bitty for this?  He couldn’t have that on his conscience.

It might be too late anyway.  Bitty doesn’t look at him when he enters the locker room.  He’s there talking to Tater and he keeps his focus steadily on the big Russian’s face.  He leaves without a look at Jack.

“Your boy mad at you?” Tater asks.

Jack’s heart skips a beat.  “What are you talking about?”

“Little B.  He not flirt with you or make googly eyes.  No maple apple pie in nook this week,” Tater says, clapping Jack’s shoulder with one big hand.  “Is lover’s quarrel, right? You say sorry.  We get pie.”

“You think Bittle and I are…” Jack’s voice trails off.

“Boyfriends, right?” Tater asked.

Jack is practically ready to pass out.  Tater talks so loudly and surely the rest of the team can hear this.  He looks around but no one seems to care.

“I thought we weren’t getting involved,” Marty said with a raised eyebrow.

“That was when they happy and flirting.  Not when Little B look like he might cry,” Tater says.

“Jack, we haven’t said anything because it’s not our business.  But we’re glad you and Bitty found each other,” Marty says.  “If you need to straighten something out, better to do it now than to take it on the ice.”

Jack nods and runs out of the locker room to find Bitty.  He catches Bitty in the entrance way, heading to his car in the parking lot.  He’s breathing hard and he realizes, staring at Bitty, that he has no idea what to say.

“Jack, are you alright?  Did you need something?” Bitty asks, holding his clipboard like a shield in front of him.

“My team just informed me we’ve been dating for weeks?” It comes out like a question and a shutter falls over Bitty’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.  It’s my fault.  You were so nice and we spent so much time together.  I really thought...but it’s okay.  Message received, loud and clear.  I won’t get you in trouble with your team.  I should have known better than to fall in love with a straight boy,” Bitty says, misery on his face and in his voice.

“I’m not,” Jack says.

“Not what?” Bitty asks.

“I’m not straight.  And I’m not in trouble.  And I really wasn’t sending you a message, at least not that message,” Jack says.  He takes a step closer to Bitty and Bitty drops his arms.

“What message were you sending?” Bitty whispers as Jack takes another step.

“I…” Jack still can’t get the words out.  Bitty is waiting, hope in his eyes, but that hope is fading with every second that Jack can’t find the words.  He forgets about words entirely, leans down and kisses Bitty.

When he pulls back, there are tears standing in Bitty’s eyes.  “Oh,” he says.  “Good.”

Jack just has to kiss him again.

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

WTF

From: @insertatitlehere AO3: emimix3

To: @dyinginjapanese

Tags: Social Media, Friendship, Pets, Cats

Message: Hi! I hope you'll enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed working on it :) It was a pleasure to write this for you!

Tango

> Guys I made a mistake

Whiskey > What now

Ford >> I mean, if you noticed you made a mistake, you must have made a BIG mistake

Tango > mmh just come to my dorm room

Ford >> Is that a ghost. Did you find a ghost in your room

Whiskey > just stop with ghost hunting, it doesn’t work tango, you need to accept that

Tango > bring meat if you’ve got some in your fridge

Whiskey > What > Tony Tango Tangredi what

Ford shot a message to Whiskey when she was about to reach Tango’s dorm, and he replied to her that he would be there in two minutes – so, she waited for him at the building. Whiskey arrived, with a Tupperware in hand.

“It’s chicken tenders,” he explained. “I hope Tango won’t eat them all, because I wanted to have some for dinner.”

“If Tango don’t eat them all, I will. I had a class over lunch so I didn’t eat.”

“I’m not your personal chef, Denise,” Whiskey said, as he opened the dorm’s front door.

“I’m the one picking everyone’s room on roadies, Connor. If I were you, I’d play nice.”

“Okay, you can take two, and I don’t want to be with Tango and Hops again. My ears still haven’t recovered from last time.”

When they reached Tango’s room on the third floor, they didn’t even have the time to knock that he had slightly opened the door to usher them in.

“Tony, what the hell?” Whiskey asked.

Tango didn’t reply immediately. He just looked at his desk, and mumbled something that neither of his friends managed to understand – and that’s when Ford noticed, on the desk chair:

There was a tiny, scrappy, brownie kitty.

“Oh my God,” Ford said, a hand on her heart because she honestly needed as much to not die of cuteness overload.

“Oh my God,” Whiskey said, a hand in front of his mouth because there was no way that Tango did something that stupid, and that he was about to involve them into this.

Tango scratched his cheek, a bit uneasy.

“Okay so, I found a kitty, his name is Doubt Legs Alarm and I’d die for him.”

“Oh my God you’re so cute,” Ford gushed, going to the little squeaking kitten. “Look at him Whiskey! He’s so cute!”

The kitten didn’t seem to want to be pet, but he instead began to try to bite Ford’s fingers and scratch them. Yeah, he was kinda cute, even if he had matted, uneven fur, that he was almost certainly too thin, plus the small issue that he had, you know, no eyes.

“I’m sorry Tango,” Whiskey managed to utter, “but what the fuck did you say his name is?”

Doubt Legs Alarm was nicknamed “Doug” while the three friends were sitting in the nearest vet’s waiting room – the kitty in a big cardboard box, because that was the only thing they found to transport him.

“You know you can’t keep him, right?” Ford told Tango.

“Shhh,” he replied, putting his index in her lips. “Shh.”

“Tango. Ignoring the issue won’t solve the issue,” Whiskey sighed.

“Shh,” Tango said, now putting his index on Whiskey’s mouth.

It was soon enough their turn. They entered the vet’s consulting room and Ford carried Doug out of the box to put him on the table – the poor kitty seemed to be terrorised by the whole ordeal, and he was meowing uncontrollably. In the meantime, Tango was telling the vet what he knew about the cat.

“I saw him while taking a shortcut from a class to another,” he explained. “Behind the Murder Stop&Shop, you know?”

“The Murder Stop&Shop?”

“Yeah, not the racist one, the one where there was a murder a few years back. Anyway. He was meowing between two trashcans and he was alone and eyeless, so…”

“Well it’s good you took him. He wouldn’t have lasted long out there – his eyes injuries are fresh, they could get infected quickly…”

“Also he’s not eating. We tried to give him a chicken tender but he didn’t want to try.”

“A chicken tender.”

The vet was really helpful – gave an age to Doug, probably between two and three months (but it was hard to know because of how thin he was), something to try to soothe his eyes, a thousand of recommendations that Ford dutifully noted on her journal, and prescriptions for worm killers and vaccines.

“You plan to keep him, right?” the vet had asked. “Or do you have someone lined up to take him, a shelter?”

“No, no, I’m keeping him,” Tango replied straight away.

“Okay, then we’d need to schedule his neutering…”

He also gave them a lot of advice on what to buy to take care of him, and books to read – he walked them to the front of the clinic, and while Whiskey and Ford were thanking him, the secretary gave Tango the bill for the consultation.

Ford didn’t manage to see it, but Tango blanched and asked in a quiet tone if payment plans were an option.

She took it on herself to not yell at her friend the second they were out. She waited that they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for their ride back to the campus.

“Tango. You can’t keep this cat.”

“I can. He needs me.”

“Tango. You live in a dorm room. You can’t have pets. Plus, it’s way too expensive. He’s sick and blind – he’s going to have medical bills way higher than this one. You need to pay for his food, his toys, his litter, for someone to take care of him when we’re on roadies.”

“But he’s so cute! He’s gonna die out there!”

“There’s shelters-”

“He’s blind! Who will want him?” Tango pleaded, holding the cardboard box close to his chest.

“I know. It’s breaking my heart, too, Tango. But we need to find a solution, quick.”

They needed to, and quick, indeed. The bus to campus stopped right in front of them. Neither moved, and the bus left. Another one would come in twenty minutes anyway. Tango was sombre and Ford looked really upset too.

“He can be our cat, the three of us. We can share the expenses; that would help a lot already. And we can leave him at the Haus,” Whiskey proposed.

Tango and Ford turned towards him, hoping he’d elaborate.

“It’s… Okay I don’t like cats much, but he’s hella cute. And Tango, you obviously care a lot about him, and Ford, I know you want the best for him. So it’s the easiest solution. I know that Bitty had refused a Haus cat when Chowder asked, but if we go in there with a sob story and a cute kitty already on our laps he won’t be able to say no. We’re spending half of our time in the Haus anyway, so we’ll be able to take care of him there. Plus, if he’s at the Haus and even if he’s our cat, we maybe can get the others to chip in with food and all – I know the team would be happy to shower him with toys and stuff. Plus, it’s in the middle of the frat row, so there must be someone in the Haus that knows someone who’d be around when we’re away for roadies.”

“And for the summer and other breaks, at least one of us three can take him,” Ford reasoned. “That, or as a few guys in the team stay on campus year-long, they’d be happy to Haus-sit him.”

“And,” Tango concluded, “if we’re the rightful owners of the Haus cat, that he can potentially come and go at our will – surely, that would give us a lot of leverage regarding getting dibs to live there next year.”  

The three Tadpoles looked at each other, and nodded – before they shook hands to seal their perfect plan.

“What about after college?” Tango asked. “If he’s our cat. Who will get him when we graduate?”

“Well Tango, either one of us gets custody, or I guess that means we’ll have to be roommates in whatever city Whiskey will get an NHL contract in,” Ford joked.

“Sounds good, haha. Whiskey, please sign with the Jersey Devils.”

“Wait, what now? I just signed for a third of a blind cat, not for two eternal roommates!”

They rehearsed the sob story on the way to the Haus. Ford let her inner theatre kid take over and she was intransigent on their acting, reminding Tango that they’d have to surrender Doug to a shelter if they couldn’t convince Bitty to keep him. It worked, because Tango was nearly in tears when he was sitting in the living-room of the Haus, the kitty on his lap and telling all the Hausmates the story of this poor eyeless kitty who just needed a roof and a lot of love, and isn’t it the best place for him to have all that (and yes, of course, we’d be the ones cleaning the litter)?

Chowder was bawling his eyes out at the story, Nursey was enamoured with Doug, and Ollie and Wicks were already budging Bitty to please say yes, Cap, you’re not that heartless are you?

After a while, Bitty sighed and reluctantly accepted. Dex was already talking about plans for a cat tree to build.

Doug grew quickly accustomed at the life in the Haus. He was still running into some walls and misplaced furniture on the regular, but he was quiky to map out the entire place, and always knew at which room’s door to meow to get pets and food (he was especially good at tricking different people into giving him two or three dinners a day). During kegsters, he was staying in Chowder’s room, but the rest of the time he liked to hang out in the living-room where there were always people – or in the kitchen, where there was always food.

Bitty loudly hated the fact and kept complaining about it, but more than once Ford caught him petting or feeding scraps the cat when he was sitting on the counter while Bitty baked. Of course, Tango and Ford did all they can to stay number one in Doug’s heart – but the cat seemed to especially enjoy the company of Whiskey. Probably because Whiskey favourite way to hang out with people and animals was to sit in the same room, without saying a word?

Doug had become the lucky charm of the team, (everyone needed to pet him before a game or a roadie, or else…) so after Ford just off-handily mentioned that maybe her, Whiskey and Tango would look for an off-campus apartment that would accept cats for the following year, an emergency Haus Meeting was summoned. Neither of them was certain of what was said in it, but the following day, the three of them got dibs, so all went according to the plan.

[Instagram video: the cat has been brought to Faber and is wearing little cat shoes to walk on the ice. He’s meowing in despair because of how slippery it is.

@samwellmenshockey Our mascot is actually playing too – hopefully, he’ll be on the starting line by next semester!

Instagram picture: Doug is wearing a tiny knitted “ZIMME 1” jersey. It’s obvious there wasn’t enough room for the rest of the name. He’s lying on Tango’s stomach who is napping on the couch.

@samwellmenshockey Doug is supporting the @FalconersPVD tonight! Obviously that means that the @FalconersPVD will send him some 12 lbs dry food bags, right @FalconersPVD?]

“I’m happy we kept this cat,” Tango said one evening, while he was watching a movie, curled under the blankets on the couch next to Ford and Whiskey – petting Doug, who was on Ford’s lap.

“He’s not half-bad, in the end,” Whiskey agreed, scratching the kitty behind his ears.

“I saw him do his business on the Lax bro’s porch this afternoon,” Tango said.

“A cat of good taste and perfect manners. We taught him well,” Ford acquiesced.

“Are you kidding?” Whiskey asked. “He’s the worst cat! I saw him watching a mouse run in the basement, and he wouldn’t even get up to run after it!”

“Yeah? And did you get up to run after the mouse Whisk?”

“Wow, you’re so lazy, Connor.”

“Will you both stop making fun of me?”

Yep, Ford thought, as Whiskey was throwing at her and Tango popcorn in the face, and Doug jumped to try to catch them. She was happy they kept this cat.

#fordtangowhiskey #wtf #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

The Stranger the Better

From: @hockeydyke

To: @bitty-smol

Summary: Kent’s had a bad day and he figures date night with Bitty will improve his mood. But when Bitty watches a hot stranger get stood up, he decides to invite the man over to join him and Kent for the night. The only problem? Kent knows the guy.

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate universe- no one plays hockey, Established Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson, Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Misunderstandings

Kent hadn’t had the best day so far.

All things considered, though, he was doing a pretty good job of holding it together. In fact, he was actually proud that he hadn’t snapped at his boyfriend at all despite his bad mood, because he was still feeling rational enough to know that he didn’t actually want to push Bitty away or do anything to make things worse. Instead, he was trying to ignore it and go about his daily routine as usual.

And sure, maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world for Kent to push down all his feelings and frustrations, but Bitty had a tendency to pick up the moods of the people around him, and Kent didn’t want to make Bitty grumpy just because he had the misfortune of being both physically and emotionally close to a particularly pissy Kent Parson on what could otherwise be an entirely pleasant Friday night.

So Kent had texted Bitty during work and suggested a low-key dinner date, because enchiladas and a couple happy hour drinks from Cactus Cantina across the street from their apartment certainly couldn’t make things worse. All Kent knew was that the place was casual, the dessert menu was up to Bitty’s standards, and the drink selection rotated often enough to keep him happy, so it was a win for both of them, and they usually ended up there at least once a week.

And that’s what brought Kent to where he was currently, sipping a half-priced strawberry swirl margarita and pouting because his boyfriend wasn’t paying attention to him. This was particularly offensive to Kent since Bitty was busy looking over Kent’s shoulder at some hot guy who’d sat down on the other side of the room around when they’d arrived. The nerve of it all. Sure, Kent and Bitty had an open relationship, but that didn’t mean that Kent never got jealous-- especially when he was two margs in and in need of attention as he tried to tell an entertaining story about Jenna from Marketing.

Bitty rested his chin on his hands and made heart eyes in the hot guy’s direction again, and Kent finally gave up and sighed as loudly as he could get away with in public. “Come on,” he said, sounding only slightly whinier than he’d intended. “Is this guy really that hot? You’ve been staring at him for ten minutes.”

He began to turn, but Bitty darted his hands out and grabbed the collar of Kent’s shirt to keep him from doing it. “I swear to god, Kent. Do not look at him right now. It’d be so obvious that we’re staring.”

Kent threw his hands in the air. “Alright, alright! I’m not looking, okay? You can describe him to me.” He stared in front of himself instead, at the turquoise accent wall and exposed brick and generic cactus-themed decor. “See, not looking, so paint me a damn picture. But make it a sexy picture, at least.”

Bitty leveled Kent with a stare. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he did take another good look over Kent’s shoulder. “He’s got gorgeous blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Honestly, he looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“What kind of familiar?”

“Like, B-list reality TV star famous. Or maybe some kind of modeling? He has the bone structure for it. He’s easily the hottest person here, other than us, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kent repeated. “And he’s seriously been alone this whole time?”

“Yes! The waitress has checked up on him, like, five times. Poor thing,” Bitty said, frowning. “Someone definitely stood him up. We should go see if he wants to come sit with us to take his mind off of it.”

“Are you kidding me? I bet he got stood up because he’s an asshole.”

“Kent.”

“What if he’s a serial killer?” Kent said, then sat up straighter and poked at Bitty’s forearm. “Even worse-- what if he’s the kind of guy who golfs on weekends?”

“Oh, shush. You’ve been such a grump today,” Bitty said, which, ouch, but true. Maybe Kent wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he thought, which was possibly something that he should talk to his therapist about. “We’re going to do something nice and we’re going to feel good about it.”

Feel good. A Freudian slip, or maybe a complete coincidence, but it was enough for Kent to jump to a conclusion that he felt pretty good about. He grinned.

“You just want us to have a threesome with him, don’t you?”

They stared each other down for a few moments. Bitty had a decent poker face, but Kent had known him for long enough to recognize the faint pink blush on his cheeks as a dead giveaway that he was right.

Finally, Bitty gave in. “Okay, fine, I think we should invite him home with us. But once you see him, you’re gonna agree with me. He’s exactly your type.” And before Kent could speak, he added, “Your other type, sweetheart. Not like me at all.”

“Big guy?”

“Mm,” Bitty hummed, gazing over Kent’s shoulder and nodding, chin resting in his hands again. “Thighs for days. Dark hair, very mysterious. Could definitely play a vampire in a movie, but like, a vampire who works out.”

“Fuck, okay. Invite him over,” Kent said, just as their waitress passed by again. While Bitty stood and headed out of Kent’s view, Kent waved her over so she could get him another margarita. She brought the drink out immediately. Kent was just lifting it up to his mouth for a sip when Bitty returned, smiling and bouncing on his toes as he sat back down across the table from Kent.

And then next to him, because Kent Parson’s life was a nightmare or at least a mildly uncomfortable stress dream, Jack Zimmermann sat down, looking stunningly handsome but also sheepish and shy right up to the moment when he met Kent’s eyes. Immediately, Jack’s annoyingly perfect face collapsed into a frown, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost.

At least, that’s what Kent felt like, because here was the same Jack Zimmermann who Kent had been moping about all day, after seeing on Facebook that morning that he’d moved back to town after more than five years away. Kent hadn’t seen him in person for nearly as long, since the last time he’d made a pitiful attempt to win Jack back at the Zimmermann family holiday party was just a month before he’d met Bitty. This was that Jack Zimmermann, back in his life without any warning.

It was all Kent could do not to spit out his entire mouthful of tequila and sugar, and the only reason he didn’t was because his shirt was white and he didn’t feel like spending his evening trying to remove a pink stain from it, but God, he wanted the drama of it.

Bitty dove right into introductions, seemingly unaware of Kent’s hopefully well-disguised mental and emotional crisis. “Jack, hon, this is my boyfriend, Kent. Kent, this is Jack. He just moved in across the street from here.”

Kent swallowed. His drink felt like it had gone stale in his mouth. “We’ve met,” he said, dry.

“Oh, really?” Bitty asked, looking up at Jack again, narrowing his eyes.

Jack didn’t say anything at all. Instead, while he sat there slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Kent had to explain what was going on. “This is Jack Zimmermann,” Kent said, trying to use his eyes to convey his sheer panic to Bitty. “I played hockey with him in high school,” he said, because that was easier than saying that Jack was the one who broke his heart, and anyway, Bitty knew the entire story and would be able to infer.

Bitty continued to force a smile. “Goodness! Well, I really walked right into that one, huh? No wonder you looked so familiar,” he said, patting Jack’s arm in a way that Kent knew was meant to be both comforting, but actually made Jack look like he was about to implode.

“Eugh,” Jack started, helpful as ever, and something about his rich tenor made Kent’s blood feel warm. It was also possible that the tequila had just hit. “I can go. I don’t want to, um, upset anyone. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to! We’d still be glad to have you join us,” Bitty said. “I know that Kent has so much he’d love to talk to you about, and I’m sure it’s the same on your end of things!”

“Bits,” Kent hissed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been betrayed this badly. Bitty was definitely sleeping on the couch tonight, but he couldn’t say that right now, because that would probably look bad in front of Jack.

Kent didn’t want that, probably. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure what exactly he did want from Jack now, at this point in his life, at age 25 and happy with his boyfriend, job, cat, apartment, and basically every other aspect of life that showed that he had proudly moved on from Jack Zimmermann.

And yet Kent couldn’t help but let his mind drift to how happy he was that he hadn’t had time to change after work, because he looked pretty damn good in his slacks and button-down. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but he had spent a very long time in front of the restroom mirror touching up his hair after his lunch break, so he felt pretty confident that it looked good right now. Comparatively, this was a much better way of running into Jack than, say, running into him during a late-night grocery run when Kent was wearing ratty sweatpants and a shirt with a picture of his cat on it.

Kent thought he looked okay. And he did want Jack to know that he was okay.

Jack was still frowning, and the worry lines in his forehead and around his eyes were deeper than they used to be. His eyes were also, somehow, so much more blue than Kent remembered, as if time had somehow erased their intensity. After a moment, Jack cleared his throat, stilted and awkward, and said the one thing that could convince Kent to give this a shot: “I’ve missed you.”

It was too much.

“Yup,” Kent said, standing up fast enough to knock into the table and jostle it, loudly shifting the plates and glasses and fake cactus on top of it. “I gotta hit the bathroom. Bitty?”

Bitty stood, much more graceful, and slid out of the booth. “It seems like I also have to use the restroom. Stay here and we’ll be right back,” he said, and something in his tone was commanding enough that Jack obediently remained seated and didn’t argue.

Kent pushed through the main room of the restaurant and back to the hallway where the restrooms were located and closed the door once he and Bitty were both in the one-stall men’s bathroom. He took stock of the situation: shockingly he wasn’t having a panic attack, but he was still feeling thrown off and almost dazed.

“I think I’m in shock. Could I literally be in medical shock right now? Am I crying?” he said to his own reflection in the mirror, eyes wet and hair wild. His hair had cowlicks, it seemed, remained tamed. Over his shoulder, he could see mirror-Bitty facepalm, then move closer so he could pat Kent’s shoulder.

“Kent, honey,” Bitty started, then paused as Kent leaned over the sink and splashed water in his face, hoping to refresh himself. “I love you, but you really have zero common sense. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”

“Good!” Kent said. “Does it look like I’m crying? Because I’m totally not crying.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying because you’ve basically trained yourself not to cry properly, which is absolutely not healthy, but I’m not going to lecture you about it right now,” Bitty said. “But even if you were, it’d be fine! I’m sure he’s freaking out just as much as you are right now!”

“Is this a pep talk, or are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Kent asked. “Because I don’t feel guilty. He ignored me for years, Bits. It never meant anything to him.”

“Kenny.” Bitty grabbed Kent by the shoulders. Kent could feel them flex and press into his shirt as Bitty raised up slightly onto his toes. It was a habit he’d developed from years of trying to close their three-inch height difference, and the familiarity of it lulled Kent’s pulse to a more reasonable pace. “You’ve been wanting closure with him for as long as I’ve known you. I know he broke your heart. But you’re both adults now and I think you’re finally mature enough to talk about it, so why don’t we give it a try?”

Kent leaned forward until Bitty understood what he wanted and wrapped his arms around him in a proper hug. He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Even though I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Bitty said, giving Kent’s back one final pat and then gently pushing him back out of the restroom and into the main floor of the restaurant.

For the first time, Jack smiled. “Did you spill a glass of water on your shirt?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent said. “What really matters is that my boyfriend thinks you’re hot. Can you buy him a drink and also explain why the fuck you’re back in town?”

“Oh,” Jack started, then faltered. “I guess, I-- well. I got a new job.” He took a deep breath, then turned to Bitty. “Sorry, what would you like to drink?”

“Just a regular margarita, thank you,” Bitty said, sliding into the booth next to Jack. “So, Mr. Zimmermann. Please tell us all about this new job of yours.”

And so Jack did. Kent was quiet during their first round of drinks, listening and watching and learning about this new, older Jack Zimmermann. He was still reserved and still a little bit slow on the uptake when it came to the jokes and slang that Kent and Bitty easily tossed around, but he also cracked a few jokes of his own, which was something he never used to do when they were teenagers. He was more relaxed, too: although Kent spent several minutes watching Jack’s hands, he didn’t see them shake at all.

Their conversation flowed easily enough that two hours passed without Kent noticing. He only realized that it was close to ten-- closing time-- that their waitress had started to hover around the table, pacing at the edge of Kent’s line of vision. At ten, she shuffled up to the table, but didn’t say anything yet. The girl was young, probably in high school, and Kent felt bad for her. He’d hated waiting tables, too, back when he’d done it in college. He looked at Bitty, then at the waitress, trying to subtly let him know that it was time to go.

Bitty nodded, and then, under the table, kicked Kent. It was all Kent could do to keep from yelping, but he somehow managed it and shot a glare in Bitty’s direction, thankful that Jack was oblivious and rambling happily about his photography. Bitty kicked Kent again. Clearly, it was up to him to decide how they were going to end the night.

“Alright,” Kent said, before his leg had to sustain any more damage. He waved the waitress closer and motioned for the check. “How about we move this to our place? You can meet my cat, Zimms.”

Jack looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, accepting the check and sliding his card into the holder before either of them could stop him. It was a convenient way for him to avoid eye contact.  “I don’t know if you want anything like that, and if you want to just ignore me so we go back to pretending each other doesn’t exist, I could get over that too.”

“But,” Bitty prompted, kicking Kent again.

“But I’d like it if you’d come home with us,” Kent said, finally looking up from where he’d been fidgeting with his debit card.

It was dim in the restaurant this late at night, the colorful string lights and candles doing little against the dark outside, but Jack’s eyes were shining. He nodded, thoughtful. “This was nice. I’d like that too.”

“Thank God,” Bitty said. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I’m dying to get out of my work clothes,” he said, giving Jack a wink that made him choke on his last sip of the single pint of beer he’d been nursing all night.

As they left the restaurant, Jack and Kent walked on either side of Bitty, who looked as pleased as the cat who’d gotten the cream. “Told you we’d feel good about this,” he said, knocking his hips against Kent’s own and smiling, and that’s when Kent realized what should have occurred to him the moment that Bitty invited Jack over to their table.

That little shit knew who Jack was all along.

“Oh, man,” he said, throwing his arm around Bitty’s shoulder. He nuzzled his nose against Bitty’s ear before blowing in it and laughing when Bitty squealed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

#bittyjackkent #pb&j #bv2018 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[bittysvalentines]

From: @transzimmermann To: @wrathofthestag AU where Jack’s new to PVD and his teammate Snowy recommends a certain farmers market for natural sweets and he meets beekeeper Bitty and they fall in love Rating: G Happy Valentines day!! Enjoy!!

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!