CHAPTER 6: Harmless Little Doodles
John Rich desperately grasps for controlāover his career, his art, and his feelings for a certain hunky movie star. Maybe all at once?
read update here!
Yes, I'm writing a prose novel. Yes, it's gay. Yes, it's a messy fun draft. But you can follow one (1) emotionally stunted gay cartoonist fall PAINFULLY HARD for a sweet jock.
Iāve seen (and written) NHL!Bitty, but has anyone written NHL!Bitty/Social media manager!Jack?
This is not a Jack who enjoys social media, mind you - just one who is good at it, and so does it as his job, but probably doesnāt even have personal accounts except to post photos. He probably quit hockey entirely after the overdose and got a marketing degree. His least favorite part of his job is going through the personal accounts of the rookies the Falcs are looking at and making lists of things theyāll need to delete when they sign - if he doesnāt make them just delete their account and start fresh.
And now theyāre courting this openly gay captain of a team who made it to the frozen four, who is the first rookie heās had to deal with who actually comes with his own following both on Twitter and YT. Which means Jack only has so much control over any of it - he can tell Bittle to delete things but if he makes him delete too much itāll get noticed and maybe even set off some kind of Streisand effect, and he can tell Bittle there are things heās not allowed to post about but he canāt really control the content because again, Bittleās followers will notice if his style changes.
Jack does not like having so little control over a rookieās accounts.
So. I've been working on something a tiny bit differentāa m/m novel. (Yes, novel. Not a comic. I know.) It's a completely separate story from Check, Please!, but it's got the same humor, pining, and feel-good vibes that make #omgcp what it is.
Itās about John Rich, a 28-year-old cover artist for The New York Review, whoās tasked with drawing the gorgeous but seemingly vapid action star, Tyler Hughes. Problem is, John canāt seem to draw this dude. Then of course, shenanigans.
I've posted the first five chapters on AO3, and I've been updating monthlyish? (Remember how I never had an update schedule for Check, Please! ya...) If you're into funny, feel-good, lighthearted gay romance, do give it a read. Absolutely, no pressure. Just wanted to share what I'm working on that wasn't superheroes or semi-autobio YA.
link: John Rich & The Big Picture
word count: 38k
tags: enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, banter, snark, quipping, new york city, romantic comedy
So. I've been working on something a tiny bit differentāa m/m novel. (Yes, novel. Not a comic. I know.) It's a completely separate story from Check, Please!, but it's got the same humor, pining, and feel-good vibes that make #omgcp what it is.
Itās about John Rich, a 28-year-old cover artist for The New York Review, whoās tasked with drawing the gorgeous but seemingly vapid action star, Tyler Hughes. Problem is, John canāt seem to draw this dude. Then of course, shenanigans.
I've posted the first five chapters on AO3, and I've been updating monthlyish? (Remember how I never had an update schedule for Check, Please! ya...) If you're into funny, feel-good, lighthearted gay romance, do give it a read. Absolutely, no pressure. Just wanted to share what I'm working on that wasn't superheroes or semi-autobio YA.
the link: John Rich & The Big Picture
word count: 37k
tags: enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, banter, snark, quip, new york city, romantic comedy.
Madison is the short, sweet 18+ story about Jack visiting Bitty for the 4th of July, in Madison GA.Ā (Also, after SIX MONTHS of restructuring, the Check, Please! online store is up and running! šØš„§š You can purchase physical copies of Madison there.)
Eric turns into the baking supplies aisle, tapping his thumb against the cart in rhythm with the Christmas music playing overhead.
He hadnāt intended to stop at the grocery store on his way home; after slipping on a patch of ice in front of a school field trip on his way to work, dropping and shattering his favorite work mug in the break room between meetings, and being told for the umpteenth time that another client has gone with another publisher, Eric, if you donāt start showing improvement then weāre going to have to look at other alternatives, all Eric wanted to do was go home and take a long, warm bath. Start that food criticās memoir he picked up at a flea market a few weeks ago. Maybeāfinallyāclean out and reorganize his disaster of a spice cabinet, something to take his mind off things.
Just forget this day ever happened.
But then his editorial assistant accidentally deleted one of their clientās manuscripts while performing a mass exodus of unused files, and just like that, Eric went and cried in the bathroom because the day officially got worse than he ever thought it could get.
By some miracle, Dex down in IT had been able to find an old save of the file on the systemās hard drive. It didnāt have most of the notes Eric added for corrections or changes, nor did it have any of his assistantās annotations. Really, it was the most bare-bones copy, but it was the entire manuscript in itās most recent glory.
For that, Eric wouldāve kissed Dex right then and there.
He loves Nursey too much to do that, though, so instead he did what he always does: he hugged Dex tightly, asked him what his favorite dessert was (snickerdoodle cookies), and at five oāclock he took the Green Line to West End and walked a few blocks to the best Whole Foods in Boston.
āNow youāve gotta be kidding me,ā Eric murmurs, standing in front of the rather unfortunate-looking flour selection. Usually, thereās a complete inventory of all typesābread, whole wheat, all-purpose, self-rising, pastryāand thatās half of the reason Eric goes twenty minutes out of his way to shop here. Yet all thatās before him now is a couple of bags of all-purpose and a full row of cake flour.
Great. As if this day couldnāt get any better.
He pulls the shopping cart close as a family enters the aisle and considers his options. Normally, he prefers using a half-and-half combination of whole wheat and all-purpose, but after last weekās batch of pancakes, heās out of whole wheat. He could get the cream of tartar and ground cinnamon now and stop at the Stop & Shop near his apartment for the flour, but that place is hit-or-miss at best, and with how his dayās going he doubts theyāll have any in stock either.Ā
Maybe he could forgo whole wheat flour this one time and just go with the all-purpose, but he really does love the taste it gives, not to mention it adds a bit more nutritional value. Nursey has been going on and on about how Dex is trying to eat healthier after losing his college-athlete physique, andādamn, maybe Eric shouldāve offered to make something other than a dessert. Is it too late to call and ask if Dex would rather have some homemade protein bars? But then Nursey messaged Eric right before he left work with a bunch of crying emojis, thanking him and saying he was definitely going to steal some of the cookies from Dex, even though Ericās pretty sure Dex would give Nursey most of them anyway, andā
āBittle?ā
Eric startles.
Looking up, he stares at the man before him for a moment before his heart skips a beat.
āJack?ā He asks dumbly, because it is Jack, standing there in an old, threadbare Samwell hoodie with a ball cap pulled low on his head.Ā
Heās a little soft around the edges and worn down in that way all professional athletes are after retirement, but heās still unmistakably Jack Zimmermann with that small little quirk of a smile and the way his eyes are piercingly blue in the fluorescent lighting of the store. His hair still curls around the ear like it did whenever he used to let it grow out but there are flecks of gray in his temple now. His jaw, even after all these years, is still so pronounced but itās not as sharp as it was back at Samwell, hidden under a layer of scruff. Heās still wearing god-awful yellow sneakers, except theyāre a newer pair from a different brand, bright and spotless.
āHey, Bittle,ā Jack says, warmer and surer.
Eric uncrosses his arms. āJack,ā he says again, feeling himself smile, āgosh, I canāt believe itāsāitās been so long! Jack! How are you?ā
On a reflex, Eric steps forward to hug Jack, and thereās this absolutely mortifying moment where he realizes heās going to hug Jack Zimmermann, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't spoken to in seven years, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't seen outside of the NHL Network in ten.
But then Jack meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug with both arms wrapped around Ericās shoulders, and itās like the last decade never happened, the weight rolling off his shoulders as easily as could be. Itās like Ericās back in Providence, back in Samwell. Itās Jackās apartment and the front porch of the Haus and the bed of Coachās truck in the thick Georgia humidity.
(Itās being in love with your best friend.)
āIām good,ā Jack says, his chest rumbling. āGreat, actually.ā
He pats Ericās shoulder once and with that, they pull away from one another. āThatās good,ā Eric says, pulling his shopping cart closer so he can lean an elbow against the handle. āHowās retirement been? Itās been, gosh, almost a year now?ā
āJust about. It'll be a year this February."
āYou miss it?ā
Jack tilts his head. āEh,ā he drawls out, āhonestly yeah, I do. But, wellā¦ā
He gestures down toward his knee, and it takes Eric a few seconds to remember that Jack's retirement had more to do with an unfortunate check and less to do with the fact he was thirty-seven. Eric immediately backtracks. āOh, shitālord, excuse my language, I didnāt meanāā
āNo, no, itās fine,ā Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. āThe knee has its days, but besides that, it's good as new.ā He pauses. āSort of.ā
Ericās blushing ātill high noon, heās sure of it. "Well that's good, then," he says.
Itās Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas starts playing overheard and they stare at each other for another awkward beat. Finally, Jack clears his throat. āBut, uh, how have you been? I think Shitty said you were atā¦Morrisā¦ā
āMorris Press,ā Eric says, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, mentally slapping his cheeks. Heās usually never this bad with talking. āBut yeah! Iāve been there for six years or so now, itās a really great job. Helping others do what I always dreamed of is just, you know, a really fulfilling feeling.ā
āI bet,ā Jack says, and heās got the little smile on his face again.
Another, not-as-awkward beat.
āI mean, I never thought Iād go into publishing, butā¦,ā Eric starts, and he doesnāt mean to ramble, really; itās an accidental slip that he starts going on about his job and his coworkers, the projects heās helped publish, how publishing his own cookbook right out of Samwell led to now, just talking Jackās poor ear off in the middle of the store. Jack gives his little comments here and there, like he used to, and doesnāt once make Eric feel like heās holding him, and thatāthatās exactly why Eric finds he canāt stop himself. The easiness of it, how natural and comfortable it is. How the warmth of a dormant love flares somewhere in Ericās chest because itās different but itās not.Ā
He doesnāt stop until an older woman cuts in asking to get to the flour, and Eric takes a breath. āGoodness, I rambled there,ā he laughs. āI suppose things havenāt changed all that much.ā
Jack hums, looking at Eric with this unreadable, nearly intense expression that Eric would describe as soft, probably. If he looked into it too much. Heās nearly about to let Jack go so he can go home and panic-bake a pie and call Lardo about this entire day when Jack suddenly says: āWould you want to get coffee or lunch orāor something, sometime?ā
Eric falters.
Then he decides that, maybe, this day isnāt a total bust.
Since Hollywood is about to shut down, I will cease my fandom-envigorating* social media campaigns to get Check, Please! a TV show. #wgastrike #sagaftrastrike #solidarity
1. What Were You Gonna Say Before Deflecting Eric Richard Bittle
2. bitty assuming he won't see jack all summer and potentially for longer. jack assuming bitty knew he'd drive up before the season started. there's something here about bitty's abandonment issues and how he assumes jack won't wanna make time to see him but also how jack is so giving with his love (and also so bad at communicating his feelings) that upon hearing this he's just like what? of course i'll come see you. of course of course of course i will.
eric "who could love me" bittle versus jack "i love him on purpose" zimmermann and jack "i am unworthy" zimmermann versus eric "i love him on purpose" bittle
for the rest of their lives any person who has been a member of SMH has gotten the same confusion squinting thrown in their direction:
"Wait. Justin. You baked these cookies?"
"Who made this pieāAnthony?"
"Will, these are the most perfect pancakes I've everā"
"Larissa, you could enter these into a contest. Holy shit."
"Okay, Alexei, where did you buy these?"
And everyone is like:
"Oh, yeah, I had this friend in collegeā"
"Yeah, I got really good at baking in collegeā"
"A friend taught me how to make two dozen pancakes while hungoverā"
"Yeah. It's an award-winning recipe. I learned it from a friendā"
"Not store bought; I made them!!"
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origamiaround
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
