bitty ransom and lardo, 2:00 am, faber roof (jubileesbian on ao3)
hi hi hope you enjoy this mostly canon compliant little slice of just before lardo/ransom/holster's graduation that we never got to see in the comic. feat. a smidge of pre-relationship poly bc i know what you like.
read the rest of the ficlets here
🏒🏒🏒🏒
2:00am, faber roof
Saying goodbye to Johnson had been bittersweet, the high of getting his Dibs had overshadowed the sting of losing a friend and teammate to life beyond college. The next year was harder: Shitty—and Jack once he’d gotten his head out of his impressive ass—had taken Bitty under their wings and helped him figure out who he wanted to be. Bitty had been on the verge of tears for most of the week before graduation—unwilling to process what SMH and Samwell would be like without the two of them on either side of him, protecting him and boosting him up in their own ways.
This year snuck up on him.
Between Jack and being named captain and Jack and refereeing the Frogs and Jack and working with Ollie and Wicky on plays and Jack, Bitty had managed to avoid thinking about the fact that this year, he’d be losing even more people.
Holster and Ransom had been unflinchingly loyal and fun to be around—always willing to step between Bitty and bigots (on or off the ice) and ready with a joke or empty stomachs. Holster had taken to sweeping Bitty off his feet for a bear hug, or up onto his shoulders to get the ball down from the duct work when pre-game soccer went awry. Ransom—his anxiety recognizing Bitty’s—was always around to help Bitty study or help him choose classes or drag him to Annie’s when they both needed a break.
Lardo basically adopted him when she got back from study abroad halfway through Bitty’s freshman year. What started out as the chillest mother-henning he’d ever been subject to had developed into a solid friendship based on respect, exasperation at hockey players, and a deep love of all things Shania Twain—although that last bit would go with them both to their graves. Together they wrangled their team and Lardo shoved abstract landscapes of Georgia at him and Bitty learned his way around Vietnamese recipes.
Losing the trio of seniors seemed unfathomable—they’d always been there, growing up, growing together, right next to Bitty. And sure, they’d only be in Boston, but hockey schedules are unrelenting and real life won’t be much more flexible. It’ll be months before he sees them again, so he goes quiet, gazing at them from across their very against the rules fire pit and keeps his wistful sigh to himself.
Holster fell asleep a couple hours ago, his snores punctuating Ransom and Lardo’s easy conversation every few sentences. Bitty lets himself grin as Ransom finally loses his patience and shoves Holster in the side. Miraculously—or through four years of trial and error—Holster quiets immediately, still fast asleep.
“He’s a fuckin’ log,” Lardo snorts, taking another swig of the whiskey they’d brought with them.
Ransom barks out a laugh. “An oversized ear of corn.”
“Mmm, the hair.”
“The hair,” Ransom agrees solemnly.
Lardo snorts again and rests her head on Ransom’s arm, too short to reach his shoulder. The two of them go quiet, sipping occasionally and letting the crickets and the crackle of the fire take center stage.
Bitty tries to memorize everything, wanting to fix this moment in his memory to look back on next year when his friends are miles away. He traces their silhouettes with his eyes, liking how the firelight seems to edge them in gold. He watches as a light breeze blows Lardo’s hair across her cheekbone, how Ransom’s fingers come up to brush the strands behind her ear again. He sees Holster roll over closer to Ransom, tracks Ransom’s other hand as it strokes down Holster’s back.
They’re all so easy with each other, the casual unthinking affection an unspoken hallmark of their friendship—a part of them and how they love that Bitty had gotten used to slowly over the last three years. Watching them now, the fondness he feels for them all is brighter and warmer than the flames that separate them.
“Bits.”
He meets Ransom’s eyes with a small smile, but his melancholy must be showing on his face because Ransom jerks his head in invitation and murmurs, “C’mere.”
Bitty goes, letting Ransom and Lardo squish him between them, feeling safe and warm and loved without qualification.
“Gotta keep our lil’ southern belle nice and toasty,” Ransom teases. “Wouldn’t want him to catch a chill.”
“Like you haven’t used Holster as your personal space heater,” Lardo retorts.
“Yeah but Jack-o would make us do bag skates if we gave Bits back in less than perfect condition.”
“Neither of you are on the same team anymore.”
“He’d find a way,” Ransom mutters darkly, but he’s smiling, too.
“I’m not helpless y’know,” Bitty yawns.
“Of course not,” says Lardo.
Ransom wraps his arm around them both and leans back onto the blankets. “Just go to sleep, big day tomorrow.”
Bitty lets his eyes fall closed, soaking up the feeling of being surrounded. “Y’all better visit all the time.”
a tale of love and how it finds you by nightswatch (1/1 | 10,587 | T)
Bitty sees Jack Zimmermann almost every morning, but he’s never said a single word to him. Honestly, Jack Zimmermann probably doesn’t even know that he exists.
well i wrote you this thing because you're great and the idea would NOT leave me alone. i hope you love it too 💜
---
“Oh Lord, is it safe to be up here?” Bitty asks, nervously looking around the chilly rooftop.
Holster doesn’t even look up from where he’s getting the fire pit set up. “Meh, not really. But it’s tradition!” Bitty puts down his tupperware full of pie and sits cross-legged against the wall, using the wall to block as much of the wind as possible.
“Oh man, Bitty you’d already left? But last year we all fell asleep up here with Johnson,” says Ransom.
Jack puts his box down on the newly laid out blanket and wanders over to the edge of the roof, pulling his camera out as he goes. Bitty can’t help but stare at the way his shoulder-to-waist ratio is highlighted by the lights from campus against the dark sky.
Lardo’s voice pulls his focus back to the group with a guilty lurch. “Goalies are weird. Dude was the weirdest of the weird.”
“Fun fact? The more shitfaced Johnson gets? The more existential crises,” Shitty says solemnly. Jack starts walking back to the group, his lips in a satisfied quirk. He must’ve gotten the shot he wanted, then.
A stronger gust of wind swirls around them and Bitty shivers, despite the fire. “Brr. I didn’t realize it’d be s-so—” The feeling of fabric being draped carefully over his shoulders makes his voice die in his throat.
live through this and you won't look back by nighimpossible (1/1 | 4,118 | T)
The worst part about falling in love with a straight boy is definitely not watching him date girls. No, the worst part about falling in love with a straight boy is that you never even had a shot.
