I really hope you like it! It was so much fun to write ^^ Happy Valentine’s Day! <3
Rating: Teen and Up, for discussions of anxiety
________________________
None of them feel much like talking; beside him, even Holster’s staring out the front of the bus without saying anything. Ransom leans against him silently. Holster leans back.
Ransom watches Jack frown at something Hall and Murray tell him, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. Jack’s shoulders visibly tense, but he nods. Hall and Murray draw back and turn to each other and Jack slumps against the window. Ransom’s still watching when Jack shifts, and their sudden eye contact makes a prickle of nerves crawl up his arms. Jack jerks back around to the front.
“Shit,” Ransom says quietly. They have to room together later.
Holster must’ve been watching, because he says, “It wasn’t your fault, Rans. We all fucked up on this one.”
“You don’t have to sleep in the same room as him tonight.” Jack’s notorious for going over tape after a game, and he’s more persistent about it after a loss. Since the losing goal went in when Ransom was in front of Chowder, he’s not expecting to have a good night’s sleep. He’s happy they’re driving back in the afternoon tomorrow; maybe it’ll give him time to catch up on some Zs.
Holster bumps his shoulder and makes a face that’s halfway between apologetic and scheming. Ransom opens his mouth to call him out on it, but Holster calls loudly for Lardo, and the resulting makeout sesh just about pushes Ransom into the aisle.
Ransom slides in next to Bitty and catches Jack raising an eyebrow. Jack passes the fine jar to Shitty, who grins before practically running the length of the bus to squeeze in between Holster and Lardo.
____________
The hotel’s nicer than the one they got the last time they were in New York, but even so, when Lardo tells them all there’s a hot tub and pool on the first floor the resulting cheer is so lackluster that she and Ransom both cringe.
“Don’t be too enthusiastic,” she says dryly as they funnel off the bus. The line between her eyebrows tells Ransom she’s upset about the loss, too.
Shitty says, “We’ll show you enthusiastic,” and she laughs.
Holster slings his arm around her shoulder and Shitty kisses them both before cheerfully shouldering his bag and dragging them both up to their room. Lardo’s expression makes Ransom hope his room isn’t close to theirs. Last time this happened Ransom could hear them all the way from the second floor of the Haus, and they were in the basement.
“Fine, again,” Jack says as he comes off the bus. Holster, Shitty, and Lardo all pull faces, but pay up.
“I’ll make sure we tip the cleaning staff extra,” Bitty says, watching them go.
Ransom says, “Good plan bro.”
____________
Jack’s towelling his hair dry in the bathroom and Ransom’s looking for crap TV and their pizza’s on its way and Ransom’s thinking, just maybe, tonight will be an okay night. If he can stop glancing at the bathroom every few seconds, if he can stop thinking about Jack rubbing his thumb over his mouth, then Ransom thinks he can make it through tonight.
“How d’you feel about NCIS,” Ransom calls.
“Is that one of Holster’s reality shows?”
Ransom groans. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.”
“Sorry to disappoint” comes from the bathroom. Ransom rolls his eyes.
He flips through the channels idly, letting the game wash away from him. The channel stations are in the 500s before he realizes Jack still hasn’t come out of the bathroom.
“Jack?”
Jack doesn’t reply. Ransom’s pulse skyrockets immediately. He stumbles off the bed, nearly falling into the wall, and when he tries the doorknob it sticks and stays closed.
“Hey, open up,” he says. Somehow his panic doesn’t stain his voice. A small sliver of himself, the part that isn’t actively freaking out, is thankful for it.
“Not locked.” Jack’s voice is small through the door.
Ransom yanks the door open and Jack looks up at him so frantically that he bites down a curse. He reaches out a hand to pull him up, but Jack’s shaking so hard it’s impossible to lift him. Ransom sits next to him, leans against the counter, and takes his hand. Jack’s fingers squeeze so tight it hurts but he doesn’t let go.
Jack pulls himself upright enough to lean against the counter too, but it looks like it takes a tremendous effort. His mouth’s working in a way that suggests crying. Jack tightens his jaw.
“You don’t have to hide it,” Ransom says softly. Jack’s face relaxes for half a second and then tenses immediately. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
Ransom repeats this in as many different iterations he can think of. You’re not a disappointment. You’re the best captain we’ve had. One loss won’t kill our season. It was a group effort. Not your fault. It’s going to be okay.
Somehow he has his arms around Jack and Jack’s legs across his lap. Ransom runs his hand through Jack’s hair and Jack shudders, but he presses Ransom’s hand back to his hair to keep him from pulling back.
“Keep doing it. Please,” Jack gets out, so Ransom does.
____________
Jack’s buried in blankets and Ransom’s paying for their pizza and crap TV plays in the background and he’s thinking, maybe, they should talk about this. He snags a hand towel apiece and sets the pizza down on their shared nightstand. Jack whispers a hoarse thank you when Ransom tosses the towel to him.
“So,” Ransom says, as lightly as he can. He settles on his bed and pretends Jack isn’t watching him warily. “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to. I’m here though, if you want.”
There’s a long minute in which they eat pizza and pretend they’re watching the bachelor figure out who he wants to give roses to.
“It’s hockey,” Jack says. Ransom looks at him, but Jack’s staring at the screen like he doesn’t see it. “I don’t … it’s hard to explain.”
“Have I ever told you it’s my parents who want me to be a doctor?” Jack looks at him now; he knows full well he hadn’t told him any of this. He hasn’t even told Holster.
“I thought…”
Ransom waits in case he continues his thought, but Jack just frowns. He thinks, though, that it’s one of his thoughtful frowns.
He says, “Yeah. My older sister’s a pharmacist, my younger wants to be an engineer. And they’re both great at it, they are, it’s just. My parents never really asked what I wanted. Doctors pay the bills, eh?”
“They also write the bills. Is that why your handwriting’s so awful?”
Ransom says, “Asshole,” and throws his pillow. It smacks Jack’s face. Jack laughs and flings it back, but that frown line is still scrunching his eyebrows.
They both eat another slice. Ransom spares a second to hope Bitty’s tip will cover their room too, because he’s almost positive pizza grease has splattered the blankets. He sneaks a look at Jack, his face bathed in some rosy light from the TV, and he thinks even underneath the lighting some color has crept back into his cheeks.
“It’s not fair of them.” Jack seems to be waiting for Ransom to look at him, so he does. “To put that on you.”
Ransom shrugs. “It’s alright.” Jack raises his eyebrows. “It’s not, it isn’t. That’s part of the anxiety, but. I’ve been talking to someone at CAPS, psych counseling, you know? It’s helped.”
Jack looks at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Maybe I’ll schedule,” he says.
“It’s a good option,” Ransom says. “What works for me might not work for you, but trying won’t hurt.”
On the TV, one of the contestants tearfully details how unfair it is that the bachelor’s dating all the other women too. Despite himself, Ransom feels for her.
He promises immediately not to tell Holster, ever, and Jack laughs as if he knows what he’s thinking.
____________
Jack’s laptop dyes the dark room a cool blue.
Ransom thinks about saying something. They’d agreed to turn the lights off and head to bed, and the light’s a little distracting. He flips around to face the wall and then shoves his head under his pillow; the laptop light caught on the lamp, and the shadow’s just as annoying as the light itself.
There’s no sound other than the air conditioning kicking on and off. Jack has, thankfully, muted the tape. Ransom’s pretty positive he’s already memorized the commentary anyway.
He can’t breathe under his pillow. He flops around onto his back and stares at the ceiling.
All at once it’s much too quiet and Ransom has to force down the fact that Jack’s watching him screw up not ten feet away, watching the goal go in right between Ransom’s skates, and Ransom apologized to all of them in the locker room and Chowder told him immediately that it wasn’t his fault, it happens to everyone, but Jack — Jack hadn’t said anything—
He tries to bite down a gasp but he can’t breathe and it’s the loudest thing in the room.
“Rans?”
He curls in on himself, focuses on the feeling of his fingernails in his palm. Sharp and crisp in an attempt to draw himself back.
Dimly, Ransom registers the snap of a laptop closing and sheets being drawn back. Then there’s someone warm at his back and then Jack — it must be Jack, this makes sense — holds him against his chest. Jack’s breath is warm and tickles Ransom’s ear, and he grasps at this to anchor himself. It helps that Jack’s heartbeat is steady against his back.
“It’s okay,” Jack whispers. The pieces of Ransom that aren’t panicking focus on how close Jack’s lips are to his neck.
He leans back experimentally.
Jack presses a kiss to his neck just under his ear.
“It’s okay, Rans. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
____________
“Rans?”
“Jack.”
“Are your feet always this cold?”
“There’s another bed if you’re complaining.”
“Oh. Then I’m not complaining.”
“Good.”
____________
“Rans?” Jack whispers. Ransom puts the pillow over his head again and squints through the sunlight at him. Jack looks too soft to be allowed, his hair sticking up in all directions.
“If this is another crack about my feet I swear Zimmermann—”
Jack laughs and sits up. “No, it’s.”
Ransom yawns. “What.”
“Last night,” Jack says, and Ransom would believe he was blushing if it wasn’t Jack Zimmermann. “Was that … okay? Or, if it wasn’t, what can I do next time? If you have another anxiety attack, I mean.”
Now he’s pretty positive Jack’s cheeks are pink. “Good,” Ransom blurts. “It was good. Physical contact is grounding.”
Jack’s rubbing his thumb across his lip again and this time when they make eye contact Jack looks like he knows what it’s doing to Ransom. Fuck.
“So if I,” Jack says, before leaning down to press their lips together and suck gently on Ransom’s bottom lip. “If I do that, that’s okay?”
Jack breaks the kiss too soon. Ransom tries to follow, but Jack pulls away entirely, straightening their blanket in such a way that looks like an attempt to avoid Ransom’s eyes.
Ransom frowns and sits up too and says, “Ah.”
Jack’s face clouds. He starts analyzing the stitching of the hem.
“No I mean,” Ransom says, lacing their fingers together atop the blankets. Jack looks first at their hands, then at him. “That’s okay. But if you’re really wondering, if I’m having an anxiety attack, don’t kiss me. It’s fine after, probably, but. Not during.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack says. He rubs the back of his neck. “Trying to ease the tension.”
Ransom arches an eyebrow. “So did you want to kiss me or were you just lightening the mood?”
Now Jack’s face is bright red. It’s the prettiest thing Ransom’s ever seen. Jack’s accent is noticeably more Québécois when he says, “Both?”
“Then come back down here,” Ransom says, leaning back, “and ease the tension.”
____________
Lardo takes one look at the purpling bite mark poking out of Ransom’s shirt and says, “How’d the room assignment work, boys?”
Ransom says, “It worked,” at the same time Jack says, “I learned why Ransom’s handwriting sucks.” Ransom bumps his shoulder with his own.
“Glad to hear it,” Lardo says. She types something into her phone and then slings her duffel underneath the bus. “C’mon guys, we have to leave now if we want to miss rush hour.”
Holster affects the most wounded face Ransom’s ever seen when he sees Jack in his usual spot next to Ransom. “How could you,” he says, flinging his arms out dramatically before heading to the back of the bus.
Bitty elbows his way past too, tossing Ransom a wink.
He doesn’t have time to wonder about it when his phone buzzes. Lardo turns and grins at him from the front row.
Jack groans at his phone. “Lardo!”
“What’d she do,” Ransom says, leaning into Jack’s space to look at the screen. Jack puts his arm around him.
Congrats boys, it says, with a picture of Ransom’s bruise.
Holster’s sock slaps Ransom in the back of the head. “FOOOINE! A million times fine!”
“Sorry brah,” Shitty says, tapping Jack on the shoulder with the fine jar and not sounding at all sorry. “All’s fair in revenge-fining your bros.”
Ransom tilts his head to the side, considering. “Jack,” he says slowly, “wanna make it worthwhile?”
For @yoursummerfrost , who wanted a fic that took Ransom’s anxiety as seriously as Jack’s, have some pre-relationship Jack/Ransom that picks up where this comic ends.
Warnings for anxiety, mental illness, irregular eating because of anxiety, food, and panic attacks. On AO3 here.
It’s the week before finals, and Ransom knows he hasn’t done enough to prepare.
To some extent, he knows there’s nothing he can really do. He has hockey and a social life, which he wouldn’t sacrifice for anything. He should have started on applications to work in labs over the summer a month ago. He’s maxed out on credits this semester. There are only so many hours in a day, and picking apart every week of the semester to try to figure out what he should’ve could’ve would’ve done better won’t do him any good at this point.
It doesn’t stop him from doing it. But he knows, even as he’s internally chastising himself, that it doesn’t do anyone a bit of good. It just makes his jaw and his back and his chest permanently tight, his outline of Orgo topics he still has to study looking distant and unfocused in front of him.
His back has been sore for two weeks now. Holster keeps trying to talk to him about getting a massage, but Ransom doesn’t think it’ll help. Even if his posture were less terrible, even if he didn’t spend half his time curled up on the floor with his textbook, his anxiety is a constant hum, his body pulling inward on itself like it’s forgotten what it feels like to relax.
Ransom hates this time of year.
“Bro, we’re heading over to the caf to grab some food.” Holster’s voice cuts through the haze. “You want us to sneak you anything?”
Ransom pauses for a second, assessing. He doesn’t feel like he could eat if he tried, his stomach churning. It’s late, though; he can feel it in the way his muscles are sore, his body held still in one spot for too long, time passing at uneven intervals.
“Get him a couple PB&J sandwiches and some ginger ale,” Jack says firmly before Ransom can get his thoughts together. “I’ll catch up in a sec, save me a spot.”
Ransom only hears the team trudging out because the Samwell Hockey Team is incapable of doing anything quietly. Along with the footsteps and the chatting, and the ensuing loud shushes, Ransom hears something quieter, though. Something closer. There’s a muted thump of weight on the rug next to him, and Ransom lifts his head.
Jack is staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set.
“Um,” Ransom says, a little uncomfortable. He hasn’t seen this kind of intensity directed his way from Jack outside of a hockey rink or locker room since Ransom was a frog, when Ransom made every excuse he could to spend time with Jack, when he hadn’t yet gotten over his initial hero worship and settled into something less embarrassing but just as jumbly. “Hi?”
“I’m going to move your textbook,” Jack says calmly. “I’m not going to take it from you. I’ll give it back when we’re done talking. Is that okay?”
Ransom takes a very, very deep breath. “Yeah. That’s fine,” he says. He unfolds his body and shifts, slowly dragging himself up off the ground. He’s watching from a sitting position, wincing through the pins and needles in his right leg, as Jack moves Ransom’s textbook to the table with Ransom’s bag. Jack brings Ransom’s water bottle with him and hands it to Ransom.
The water is warm. Ransom takes a sip anyway. He didn’t realize how dry his mouth was. He downs almost half the bottle, his shoulder aching from too much time spent trapped under his body.
“Take your time,” Jack says, in that same steady tone. It would be maddening if it weren’t soothing, having someone talk in subdued tones. Too much noise and too much contact sets Ransom’s nerves on edge when he’s this tightly wound, everything inspiring annoyance in a way he never experiences when he’s better rested and less stressed out. “Do you need to do some stretches?”
“Probably,” Ransom says. He sets his water bottle down next to him. “I can handle that, though. You can head off to dinner with the rest of them. Make sure Holster gets the peanut butter ratio right.”
“I can,” Jack agrees. “But I’m not going to. Does this happen every semester?”
“Ch’yeah,” Ransom says, waving it off. “You don’t have to do the captain shit, dude, I’m fine. I just gotta get through my finals, and then it’ll pass. Sophomore year, y’know?”
Jack’s brows furrow even more deeply. Ransom’s pretty sure he could stick a nickle between them and have it stay. “I don’t think most…” Jack pauses, rethinks his words as he stares at Ransom, then goes quiet again. “Can I touch you? You can say no.”
Ransom feels Jack’s gaze heavy on him. He thinks if it were anyone but Jack or Holster, he’d say no. But he nods his head and tells Jack yes.
He’s rewarded by one of Jack’s broad hands gently rubbing his back. Ransom isn’t sure if the contact is to ground them both or whether Jack’s feeling for knots, but Ransom leans into the touch. It’s warm and oddly reassuring and not too intrusive, and Ransom’s grateful.
“I’m not your captain right now,” Jack says seriously. “I’m your… your friend. Your friend who has anxiety. I know a panic attack when I see one. They feel horrible, and they can have serious health effects. I’m not… I won’t push you to do something about it. It’s helped me, when I did it right. I just want you to take a little time to breathe and stretch and eat. I could use the break, too, and this always helps me.”
Ransom has a head full of arguments. Jack’s being so careful not to make him bristle while dropping conversations about panic attacks and mental health and seeking help into this, and Ransom’s gut impulse is to tell him that he doesn’t need it. He’s been dealing with this kind of pressure, the weight of his expectations and his parents’ expectations and his entire family’s expectations, really, all his life. He can handle this. He has a routine. And, sure, it may look kinda weird from the outside, but this is coping as well as he knows how.
He needs this time to study. He doesn’t have time to be wasting staring down Jack’s earnest blue eyes, to be leaning down into the way Jack’s arm feels around him.
He can already feel himself breathing easier, some of the tightness in his chest loosening, and it’s the only reason he finally folds.
“You could use the break, too?” Ransom asks. Jack smiles gently, and Ransom’s heart skips a beat.
“Yeah,” Jack says. “I could use a walk and some fresh air. Just walking to the dining hall, if you want to join. Get some protein in you. Brain food.”
Without Ransom’s organic chemistry outline staring him in the face, it seems a lot more reasonable. Ransom could use the break to recharge his brain. He knows it’ll make him more effective. And now that he’s actually focusing on it, he is a lot more hungry than he realized.
“Let me pack my stuff,” Ransom says. His legs are a bit unsteady when he stands up, the blood rushing into his limbs, but Jack is there, hovering to make sure he’s okay.
Ransom doubts that this is the last serious conversation they’re going to have about this. He would bet, knowing Jack, that they are going to have an awkward and stilted and very, very earnest conversation about it half the way to the dining hall. Ransom can already picture Jack giving him one of his subdued, understated pep talks that Ransom has always found more compelling than the chest-thumping kind.
Ransom can deal with that when they cross that bridge.
For now, though, Ransom packs his bag back up, carefully marking his place in his notes.
Some fresh air and some walking with Jack might do him some good.
Hello can you do Shoulder rubs Jack/ransom please?
it had been a hard game.
holster was out sick today, and the other team was scary good and his new defense partner just - wasn’t - and ransom felt holster’s absence like a thorn in his side and he played like shit for it. it just wasn’t the same without him. they’d lost 3 to 1 and, because he hadn’t been watching out, ransom had gotten slammed into the boards. he rubs absently at his shoulder now, sitting in the locker room. he feels despondent and sullen and useless. it always stings more when they lose one of their home games.
“hey,” jack says.
ransom squints up at him. “listen, dude, i know it’s your job as captain to comfort the team when they lose, but can you come back to me when i feel less like shit?”
jack huffs a laugh. “i’ve been told comfort isn’t my strong suit anyway. is your shoulder still hurting? have you gotten it looked at?”
“went to the doctor after the game,” ransom says morosely. “she said to ice it, don’t strain it, skip practice for a day or two until it gets better, yada yada yada. still hurts like a bi - ” he catches himself. shitty would chew him the fuck out for saying that. “like a fucker.”
jack chews his lip, raises an eyebrow. “do you want me to help?”
ransom looks at him. “can you?”
“i’ve been playing competitive hockey my whole life, man.” jack sits on the bench beside him, tugs at ransom’s shirt until he gets the hint and hitches it up over his shoulder. “i’ve dealt with bad checks before.”
“i guess,” ransom says, dubiously, and then jack puts his hands on his shoulder right above where it hurts and presses down. “holy shit, dude, ow.”
“just relax, would you?” jack says, but he eases up. jack’s hands are fucking huge, and he’s rubbing circles right over the bruise ransom can already see forming. jesus, that’s gonna be a pain in the ass to sleep on. he’s gonna have to avoid turning on his side for a couple days. he closes his eyes, tries to feel how the pain is slipping away under jack’s hands.
“better?” jack asks.
ransom rolls his shoulder tentatively and winces. it still hurts, but marginally less. “eh,” he says.
“damn,” jack says, and gets up. “kent - ah, parse used to say i had magic hands.” he shrugs. “guess i’ve lost my touch.” the irony in his voice says that he’s probably talking about a lot more than his massage skills.
“hey,” ransom says, and reaches up with his good arm. “good game.”
jack blinks. “we lost.”
“yeah, but we tried or whatever,” ransom says. “you’re still jack fucking zimmermann. give it here.”
jack ducks his head, grins. fist bumps ransom back. “you’re a good player even without holster,” he says. “you did well out there.”
ransom grins. “you know, you’re not that bad at comfort.”
jack blushes. he backs away, stumbles on a bench behind him and has to steady himself; he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns on his heel, just a little self-consciously. “good talk,” he calls over his shoulder.
Hi, are you still doing the mini fic lets? If so can you do Jack/Ransom. Where Jack has the biggest crush on ransom but tries to keep it from him but fails miserably and then holster is jealous because he thinks Jack wants steal ransom to be his best friend but really Jack just wants to date Ransom.
He wasn’t quite sure when it started or how he came to notice this, butHolster eventually came to the crashing and horrifying realization that thecaptain of the hockey team was trying to steal his best friend.
Jack was one of his best bros and one of the best captains he’d ever had theprivilege of knowing. Holster had nothing against Jack. When it first startedhappening, Holster tried to dismiss it as Jack needing a friend, and honestly, noone could find a better friend than Ransom. But then, it started happening moreand more, and when Holster put it all together on a spreadsheet, the evidencewas undeniable.
Jack Zimmermann was a friend thief.
This had happened to Holster before. He should have recognized the signssooner. In fourth grade, Casey Carter was his best friend. They had sleepoversat each other’s house, did their science fair project together, and sharedtheir hockey card collection. Casey didn’t care the Holster was awkwardlytaller than all the other kids or that he wore braces and glasses. It was all greatuntil Scott Wendall moved to town and suddenly Casey didn’t have time forHolster anymore.
Holster hated Scott Wendall’s guts and still hated him to this very day.
This time though, he wasn’t going to let happen.
On Thursday, Holster came home in the early afternoon. He thought he was theonly one home until he heard Ransom laughing in the kitchen. Holster poked hishead in, and there was Jack and Ransom, sitting at the kitchen table with theirbooks open, both giggling at something.
“Hey,” Holster said.
They both jumped and stopped laughing immediately. That stung.
“Oh, hey, Holster. You’re home early. I thought you had class,” Ransom said.
“Macroeconomics got let out early.” He looked from Holster and Jack who wereboth exchanging a silent look that he couldn’t decipher. “What’s so funny?”
“Just a joke Ransom was telling,” Jack replied. He flashed a small smileacross the table. “He’s been helping me with my Biology homework.”
“What joke?”
“What?” Jack looked surprised by the question.
“What joke?” Holster ground out between gritted teeth. “I want to hear it.”
“It’s not–” Ransom jumped in. “You’d have to be in the class to understandit.”
No one said anything for several awkward moments. “Right,” Holster finallysaid. “I’ll be our room.”
No one said anything to stop him, and as he headed up the stairs, he couldhear Jack and Ransom laughing again.
—
A couple days later, Holster was laying on his bed when Ransom came in witha dopey smile on his face. “What’s up?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Ransom said, looking guilty as hell.
“Where were you? I texted you half an hour ago and you never responded.”
“Oh, yeah, I was a little busy. Jack and I went for icecream after class.”
Holster sat up, more alert. “Jack doesn’t even like icecream,” he saidflatly.
“Well, maybe he changed his mind,” Ransom said dismissively. He slumped downin their beanbag chair and opened one of his textbooks, signalling that thisconversation was over.
The next day, Holster got up extra early, before Ransom was even awake yet.He went out and bought every kind of icecream he could find at the Stop ‘n Shop,even the blue licorice kind that no one seemed to want. He drove home, put themin the freezer, and when when Ransom eventually emerged from their room, heproudly showed his buddy what he brought home.
“Thanks, but I really don’t need this much icecream. And won’t Bitty be madyou’re taking up all the freezer space?” Ransom patted his back before headingto the dining hall with Jack, leavingHolster fuming.
—
A carnival was in town for a couple of days and all of Samwell was abuzzabout it. It seemed to be the only thing on everyone’s minds, especially sincethis was the first time the carnival was back in over six years.
The team made plans to go together, but of course, when they got there, theyall drifted to their groups. Shitty and Lardo went to go check out the rideswhile Bitty and the other frogs went to go get cotton candy and candied apples.That left Holster with Ransom and Jack.
They wandered the booths for a little while, talking and having a bit offun. The evening air was crisp and the smell of popcorn and caramel was makingHolster’s mouth water. They were laughing about a story involving one of Ransom’ssisters and how she shoved his face into a barrel of water during abob-for-apples game. Holster almost forgot about his rivalry with Jack untilRansom suddenly stopped mid-conversation. Pointing an overlarge, stuffed tiger thatwas hanging from the roof of one of the game booths, he said, “I had a tigeralmost like that one when I was a kid.” He shook his head. “Man, that bringsback memories. I loved it so much.”
Holster stepped forward. “I’ll win it for you, Bro.”
Ransom shook his head, but Jack was already handing over his money. Holstershoved a handful of bills towards the guy across the counter, but the guygruffly said, “You’ll have to take turns.”
Holster watched as Jack knocked over the cans one by one. Begrudgingly, he admiredJack’s skill and aim. Jack got a few tickets at the end of his turn, not enoughto trade in for the tiger, so he would have to play again.
Holster took a deep breath and threw his baseballs. He managed to knock downone less than Jack in the end, and despite the impressed whistle from the boothguy, Holster felt disappointed. He and Jack each took turns playing, bothdetermined to outplay each other, until Ransom pointed out that they couldcombine their tickets together rather than trying to win the prize on theirown.
At the end of the night, Holster was trying very hard not to glare at Jack.They walked back to the Haus together, all three of them. Ransom noticed hisuncharacteristic quietness and he gently nudged him with his shoulder. “Youalright?”
Taking a deep breath and pasting on a fake smile, Holster said, “I’m doingjust fine.”
—
They had been dancing around this for weeks, and Holster was getting sick ofit.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be friends with Jack or that Ransom couldn’thave other friends, it was just that sickening feeling of being left outwhenever those two were with each other. It was all too familiar, reminding himof his childhood years when no one wanted to be his friend, and he could feelit starting to gnaw at him.
He made up his mind to talk to Jack.
He skipped his afternoon study group and went straight back to the Hausafter his class. Taking the stairs two at a time, he knocked sharply on Jack’sdoor, and before he lost his nerve, he opened the door and burst in.
Jack was on his bed, his hair a wild mess, but it was the other person inthere with him that made Holster freeze.
“Rans?”
“Shit,” Ransom swore as he and Jack struggled to untangle themselves fromeach other. Their clothing was rumpled and half off. “I can explain.”
This wasn’t what Holster had expected. He’d thought Jack was out to stealhis best friend, but everything seemed to make sense now that Jack was tryingto fuck his buddy. Realization finally crept into his brain and he needed toget out of there.
“I have made a terrible mistake.” Holster started his strategic retreat, butjust before he closed Jack’s door, he added, “Congratulations!”
He heard Jack groaning from the other side.
—
Holster was on the back porch, watching the sun set. The back door behindhim opened and he could tell it was Ransom’s footsteps across the old wood.
“I brought you something,” Ransom said as he passed a bowl of ice cream toHolster. Mint chocolate chip, his favourite.
“I am reeeally sorry about earlier,” Holster said first as Ransom sat besidehim.
Ransom gave a short laugh and bumped Holster’s shoulder. “It’s not the firsttime it’s happened.”
“Yeah, but I think I owe Jack an apology too.”
“We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t really know how.”
Holster leveled Ransom an unimpressed look. “‘Holster, Jack and I have beenfucking and we would like you to leave now.’ See? How hard is that?”
He laughed again, but shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Not really,” Holster snorted. Then, he added, much softer, “You’re my bestfriend.”
“You’re my best friend too. No matter what.” Ransom smiled. “So, we’re good?”
“Yeah, we’re good,” Holster replied before digging into his ice cream.
Can you write ransom and Jack being really Canadian? And maybe having like "the Canada games" on Canada day to see which of their teammates knows the most about their neighbours to the north?
“I pick Holster,” Jack said.
Ransom bristled. “No way.”
Jack didn’t move.
“You said I could have firstpick,” he said, crossing his arms.
Ransom crossed his right back.
“I was being a good competitor andgiving you the decency of an advantage before me and my team kick yourass,” he said. “But Holster and I are a Team. Capital T.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “If you’re soconfident in the rest of your team, you shouldn’t have a problem with who Ipick.”
“You just want him because he’s fromBuffalo!”
And probably because he spent so much timewith Ransom that he must have absorbed an abundance of Canadian knowledgethrough osmosis, Bitty mentally added.
“It’s called being strategic,” Jack said.
The rest of the team watched them fightfrom the sidelines.
“I’ve always wanted to be foughtover,” Holster muttered to Bitty. “But not like this.”
Bitty shook his head. “I know Jackcould get competitive, but I always figured it was just hockey that didit.”
Holster scoffed.
“No way, man,” he said.“You should have seen the Gold Tournament Extravaganza of me and Ransy’ssophomore year. It was something else.”
The argument of who got Holster went onfor another ten minutes until Shitty finally yelled, “Just get on with italready!”
Jack and Ransom glared at each otherwithout saying anything. Holster reluctantly went over to Jack’s side, staringat Ransom forlornly.
The choosing ceremony went back and forthuneventfully until Bitty was the only one left. Then they were back to squareone.
After the first comment, everyone else loweredthemselves down on the grass. Bitty sat on the front steps and tucked in forthe long haul. He was glad they’d at least left the beer cooler on the porchwith him.
Shitty stared at the cooler longingly. Hehad been taken in by Ransom as payback.
“Bitty is from Georgia. There’s no way he—”
“Rules are rules, Ransom, and youagreed—”
“You already took Holster from me!How could you—”
“Y'all,” Bitty interrupted.“I could just—”
“No,” Jack and Ransom said simultaneously.Bitty closed his mouth.
At some point, Ransom pulled a Canadianflag out of nowhere and started waving it around. Holster joined the argumentwith his own booming voice.
“He is a delicate ecosystem, Jack! Lethim have this.”
“This isn’t one of his exams, thisis—”
“About winning!” Ransomfinished, pointing the flag in Jack’s face. “And I plan on being KingMoose Almighty of this Haus-hold indefinitely, so—”
Lardo snorted loudly at the title. Ransomshot her a look.
“Y'all,” Bitty tried again.“How about I—”
“No,” they said again.
Bitty sighed. It was going to be a long day.
BONUS:
Jack and Ransom got closer and closer withevery comment and comeback they made until they were nearly on top of eachother, almost no space between their chests. Neither of them seemed ready toback down.
“You should just give up rightnow,” Ransom said, his fingers curled into fists. Jack squared him with alook.
“Feeling nervous, eh?” He said.“I can see why you should be intimidated. I wouldn’t blame you for givingup now.”
“Hey,” Holster said loudly.“Are you guys—”
Ransom said something too quiet for Bittyto hear, and then suddenly he and Jack really were on top of each other. Kissing. Furiously.
“Oh my,” Bitty said, blinkingrapidly. The image didn’t change.
Jack’s hand came up to bury itself inRansom’s hair as he fell back half a step. He regained his footing soon enough.It didn’t seem like they planned on stopping anytime soon.
“THINK OF THE CHILDREN!” Shittyscreeched, diving into Chowder and Dex’s laps. He slapped a palm over both oftheir eyes, ignoring Chowder’s surprised “Whoa!” and Dex’s indignant,“Hey!” He then added, “Also, congrats! This is way moreproductive!”
Ransom broke away from the kiss just longenough to announce, “The Games aren’t off! We’re still doing this!”
Then he went right back to kissing Jack.
Bitty grabbed another beer from thecooler. It really was going to be a long day. He wondered if he would have thetime to bake a congratulatory pie before it was over.
