It's super cheesy but far away by Nickelback for Jack and Bitty
I love you
I loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be with me
Thereâs a postcard on the counter, and Jack freezes, staring. Itâs Love from Paris in looping cursive over a photo of the Eiffel Tower and he should put down his grocery bags and he should ask Shitty if heâs seen this, if he brought it inside after class, if reading it will break Jackâs heart.Â
Thatâs the funny thing about being in love too late. All these little things â Bittyâs name in the group chat, a Samwell hockey highlight reel, a postcard from a friend studying abroad â all these things are prickling reminders that he didnât run fast enough, that he didnât get to explain because he didnât really know until it was too late, that for some people, life just goes on, and Jackâs stuck in the in-between. Heâs been in love for a while now. It hasnât gotten easier.
Jack sets his grocery bags down gently, gently. For a brief, impossible second he tells himself itâs a postcard from someone else. For a brief, heart-stuttering breath, he believes it.Â
Heâs gotten good at living in denial these last couple of months, thatâs all. Oh, Bittyâs gonna come to a home game, and theyâll find each other in the tunnel afterward. Oh, heâll go to a kegster at the Haus, and theyâll find a way upstairs. Oh, heâll open the door one day, and Bittyâll be waiting in the hallway, and theyâll kiss Paris off his lips. Jackâs still got a shot in his head. Thereâs still a chance in his head.Â
Jack picks up the card and he is â heart in his hands again, out of breath again, sprinting across the Quad again. He turns it over, and he is in love, searching an empty Haus, reading a goodbye note heâs memorized between house hunting and preseason drills and Shittyâs law school rants.
Same handwriting. Same stomach-dropping ache. Same oh, I missed it. We couldâve had a moment and I missed it.
And then heâs inhaling sharp, flipping the card over and back again. Bittyâs postcard says, Iâm in Paris and Iâm in love with you. I donât wanna pretend anymore, and Jackâs so in love it hurts.Â
Itâs midnight in Paris, but Bitty picks up at the second ring.Â
âJack?â he says, sleep-raw and surprised, and Jack holds the card so hard it starts to bend.Â
âYour postcard,â Jack says. âDo you still mean that?â
Time is a honey-slow thing; he sits on the floor, listening to Bitty breathe. He closes his eyes and leans against one of his lower cabinets and waits, imagines a postcard sailing across the ocean. Itâs dated three weeks ago. Surely he still â in three weeks, surely thatâs still true, surely thereâs still hopeâ
And Bitty says, soft enough to be a whisper, âYes.â
And Jackâs laugh is halfway to a sob and it makes no sense why he should be crying right now when heâs in love and beloved but he is and he is and he says, âI love you too,â and itâs relief but itâs also heartbreak at the same time, and it doesnât make sense how both of those things can be true.Â
âI love you, I â graduation, I ran after you,â Jack says, wiping his face, âbut I missed the moment, and Iâve been wanting to â Iâm sorry for missing the moment, Bits. Iâm sorry for making you feel like you had to pretend.â
âYou love me,â Bitty whispers. âJack. Iâm sorry for taking a semester away instead of telling you sooner.â
The pain in his voice ⊠Jack wishes he could hold him, wishes he knew exactly what to say to soothe it away. Relief and heartbreak at the same time. They couldâve been doing this for ages if heâd only been quick enough.Â
âHow many weeks until youâre home?â Jack asks, opening a new tab on his phone.Â
âSix,â Bitty says. It sounds like heâs trying not to cry. âWhy?â
He says, âI wanna be with you,â and pauses over a direct flight. âDo you â would it be okay, if I came to be with you?â
âWhat? But your seasonââÂ
âTheyâll be okay without me for a week,â Jack says, then frowns. âI know thatâs not a lot of timeââ
âI want you to.â Bittyâs words rush together like heâs racing to get them out. âPlease.â
Jack says, âIâll be there in ten hours.â He says, âIâll be there, I wonât miss this again.â He says, heartbreak melting away to a burning kind of joy, âI love you, Bits.â
And itâs Iâve been loving you, sweetheart and itâs Iâve missed you, and heâs packing a carry-on and his entire heart, chasing down a dream and a taxi at the same time, in love and loving and running towards it with everything he has. Itâs been a long, long time.Â
He watches the lights of the tarmac fade away as the plane rises higher, postcard tucked neat between the pages of his passport, love growing quietly and steadily as the distance disappears between them.
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