@gallusrostromegalus I found the worst bird hybrid. I don’t know what person allowed this to happen but I stand in awe and terror at the kind of person who looks at a goose, and looks at a swan, and says “Yes, I should combine these two things”.
It was difficult to take Kent’s -- and Jeff’s, and Jack’s -- advice. Not that they were wrong, because Bitty knew they weren’t. It was just… not his nature, he supposed, to step back like that.
It did seem to work, though. At least a little. Whiskey wasn’t overtly avoiding him any more in the dining hall, at least.
“So!” Bitty said, catching him at breakfast one day, “Your parents are coming up from Arizona!”
Whiskey gave him a blank stare.
“I know they couldn’t make it to the family weekend game last year,” Bitty continued. “So you gotta be excited!”
“Yeah,” Whiskey said. “It’ll be fun.”
Bitty laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah! And, um. You’re starting and all, so they must be so… excited!” He already said excited. Fuck.
“Yeah.” Whiskey glanced back down at the toaster.
“Whiskey,” Bitty said, “I just wanted to say, y’know, if you ever --”
The bread popped up and Whiskey coughed, snatching it out of the toaster before making his excuses and leaving Bitty to toast his bagel alone.
“I am giving him space,” Bitty said that night, as Kent stripped in his bedroom after repeating his previous advice.
“I dunno, babe,” Kent said as he set his clothes off to the side in a carefully folded pile. “Are you giving him, like. Your version of space or his version of space?”
“Lord, honey, I don’t know,” said Bitty, “how should I know?” How did you know what someone’s version of ‘space’ was? “But it’s not like I can completely avoid him. I’m his captain. We have to interact! So how do I tell him, like. ‘It’s cool, I didn’t see anything’?”
“You mean like how d’you lie to him?” Kent asked, climbing into bed. He’d come by, just for one night, in between games on an East Coast roadie. It was out of the way, and Bitty felt… a bit bad about it, to be honest, but any excuse to have Kent in his bed was worth taking. Kent wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, anyway.
“It’s not, like, lying,” Bitty said. “I mean, what if he wants to talk about it, and doesn’t think he can? Or --”
“If you say you didn’t see anything, then he’ll know you did see something,” Kent said, wiggling under the covers, “because if you didn’t see anything then you wouldn’t have any reason to say you didn’t see anything, so that means you totally saw something. Right?”
“Oh my god,” said Bitty. “Who are you, Joe Hardy?”
“Please, I’d obviously be Frank and you know it.” Kent stretched, bringing one arm up to rest behind his head.
“But Joe was the blond one,” Bitty said.
“Frank was the hot one,” Kent countered.
Was he? “But --”
“Okay, Carolyn Keene, thrilling as this is,” Kent interrupted.
“Carolyn Keene did not write the Hardy Boys,” Bitty said.
Ignoring him, Kent continued. “We kind of need to talk about your dad before we go to sleep, so --”
“What?” Bitty swallowed. “No, why -- we weren’t talking about him.” They had avoided talking about Coach the entire visit. Well, mostly. Bitty took a breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey, I --”
“He’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he?” Kent asked. He had to leave first thing in the morning to catch a flight, wouldn’t be there. “To your game. And you haven’t seen him since what... March, right?”
March. Before everything, before The Kiss. Not that anyone in his family said a word to him about it.
Ugh. “You’ll be long gone before then, so what’s there to talk about?” Bitty snapped, hunching his shoulders.
“Um,” Kent said.
“There would only be something to talk about if Coach was gonna see you,” said Bitty. “And he’s not. So.”
Kent nodded, looking down at the sheets. He picked at a loose thread, not speaking.
“I’m not being avoidant,” Bitty said, and Kent eyes flicked back up to him for just a moment. “I’m not. And it’s not that I don’t want you to see him, either. He’s just coming to watch us play. Who cares.”
Kent worried the skin of his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I just think, um. It would be normal to have some… feelings about it?” He glanced back up at Bitty.
Bitty sighed. “Okay, yes,” he said. “Fine. I haven’t seen him in a while, but. I’ll see him before the game, and we’ll get a tense and stoic dinner afterwards. It’s fine.”
Kent’s arm slid around him. Gently pressing a kiss into his hair, Kent pulled Bitty down and tugged him close. “Okay,” he murmured.
“Kent Parson, go to sleep and stop tormenting me with your sleuthing.” Bitty wound Kent’s chain around his finger, rubbing the Saint Michael pendant with his thumb. “You’re getting up so early.”
“Mmm.” Kent nuzzled the back of Bitty’s neck. “All right. G’night, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Bitty said.
The following day was a blur. Kent left before the crack of dawn, barely waking Bitty to say goodbye. Bitty couldn’t pay attention in any of his classes; between the half-sleep he’d gotten once Kent left and the anxiety of the upcoming game, he wasn’t particularly well-rested. As a group of them walked back to the Haus that afternoon, Bitty contemplated how much time he had to nap before the game as they chattered about the weekend.
“Hops, I can’t wait to try your mom’s baking!” Ford grinned.
“She watched all of Bitty’s vlog in preparation for the game,” Hops said. He turned to face them, walking backwards up the sidewalk. “Seriously, Bitty, she’s gonna freak when she meets you.”
So sweet. “Then I will surely freak out in return when I meet the beautiful woman who birthed John Hopper,” Bitty said, sliding his key into the Haus’s front door lock. She had to be an angel, raising such a gem of a son.
“I’m texting her you said that!” Hops said, heading into the Haus first.
Bitty followed him in, completely unprepared for the voice that called to them from the kitchen. “Hey! Y’all back?”
Bitty sucked in a quick breath. That sounded like -- but it wasn’t time yet. Surely not. He tugged his ball cap off, following the voice.
“There you are!” Coach pushed away from the counter, smiling. “Got in early,” he said. “That Asian boy let me in -- Chow.”
“Oh,” Bitty said, lowering his cap. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Texted you -- after checking into the hotel, no answer… And I thought it was silly to just sit around,” Coach said. “You know, your mom said this wasn’t like any of the frat houses I’ve seen, and boy, she ain’t wrong.”
Fuck, Bitty had missed a text. A very crucial, informative text. The one time he wasn’t obsessively checking his phone -- he took a deep breath.
Plucking at the curtain over the sink, Coach squinted at it. “Aren’t these your aunt’s curtains?”
“They are,” Bitty said, because what else could he say? “She was fixing to throw ’em out.”
Coach blinked at him for a moment, and Bitty’s shoulders tightened.
“Um,” Bitty said. “Coach -- Dad. This is John, he’s a freshman, and Denice, she’s our manager. Y’all, this is my dad.”
Coach stepped forward, holding out a hand. “You can call me Coach!”
“Hi, Coach Bittle!” said Ford, shaking his hand.
“Wow, hi!” said Hops. “You look just like Bitty.”
Did he? Bitty frowned.
“You’re a football coach? My brothers play football!” Ford grinned as Coach smiled at her.
“Oh, hey! Whereabouts?” he asked.
“They’re only juniors in high school… But we currently live in San Diego,” she said.
“Okay!” Coach said. He frowned a little. “Hm, now -- football and California. Then how in the world did someone like you get roped into hockey?”
Ford laughed. “I --”
“Dad,” Bitty said, interrupting them. “Some of the guys are gonna take naps before we head to Faber…”
“Oh, all right,” said Coach, waving a hand. “Just getting to know the team. It’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”
“Nice to meet you, Coach Bittle,” said Hops.
“Nice to meet you, Coach Bittle!” Ford smiled.
Coach cleared his throat and followed Bitty out of the kitchen to the entryway. “Well! I’m glad I could stop by before your warmups,” he said. “If any of your crew want to come with tonight -- there’s a little restaurant downtown where we can watch your friend Kent’s game.” Coach was smiling, but Bitty hadn’t missed what he said.
Your friend. As if that was all Kent was to him. Bitty narrowed his eyes.
“See you, Junior,” Coach said, a moment later.
“Bye, Daddy,” Bitty said.
Before anyone had an opportunity to ask any questions, Bitty went upstairs to his room, tugging the door shut behind him. Leaning against it, he shut his eyes for a moment.
Family day was going to be fine.
The afternoon game started off a little chippy and stayed that way, with both teams taking penalty minutes and Dartmouth scoring on their first powerplay. Everyone on the bench chattered about the members of their family in attendance -- Tango’s mom had quite a mouth on her, if Bitty did say so himself. He tried not to think about Coach in the stands.
It had been a long time since Bitty really felt paralyzed by a check. He shouldn’t have even fallen after the hit, it was barely anything, but -- but he did, legs shaky and everything, ending up with both hands planted on the ice. Bitty took a breath. Fuck, he had to get up.
“Bitty, man!” That was Dex.
Bitty took another breath.
“Hey.” That was Whiskey. “Can you get up?”
Bitty took a breath again.
They lost the game.
Coach asked Bitty, after catching up with him -- and his coaches, and his teammates -- in the dressing room, if he was ready to go watch “his friend Kent’s” game.
“Yeah,” Bitty said.
Coach drove them to the restaurant in a rented truck, going over points of Bitty’s game and occasionally talking about Kent’s upcoming game.
Or rather, Bitty’s friend Kent. Coach made sure to put friend in front of Kent’s name.
He just kept saying it like that, every time -- “your friend Kent.”
At the restaurant. During the game. In the car to go back. He never called Kent anything but Bitty’s friend, not once.
As they got into the car to head back to the Haus, Bitty couldn’t take it anymore.
“You know, your mama and I’ve been talking about this winter break… your friend Kent --”
“He’s not my friend,” Bitty said, trying to keep his voice even.
Coach sighed. “Come on,” he said. “You’re getting snippy because you’re --”
Getting snippy? Getting snippy? Really?
“If you don’t like us together, then just say it,” Bitty snapped, losing any semblance of control over his tone, “but he’s my boyfriend! If you don’t support it, then just say it!”
“W -- so I fly all the way up here to watch you play because I don’t support you?” Coach huffed. “Where’s the sense in that?”
Because flying up to watch your son’s game was totally the same as supporting his being gay. Absolutely the same. “Watching me play a sport and admitting I’m dating Kent are two different things,” Bitty said. He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling them in tight.
“I know you’re with him,” said Coach. “I’m trying not to make it a big deal.”
Not to make it a big deal? It was a huge deal. They were -- not the point, that wasn’t the point. “Then stop pretending that he’s not my boyfriend!”
“I never said he wasn’t --”
Oh, lord. As if just calling him Bitty’s friend constantly wasn’t basically the same thing? “You haven’t once acknowledged --”
“You want me to treat it like it’s normal, then?”
Bitty sucked in a sharp breath. The memory of Kent’s mother shoving a pamphlet for conversion therapy across the table sprang into his mind, unbidden, and something in his stomach dropped.
“Or what,” Coach went on, “you want me hollering and marching in a damn parade and getting all the rainbows --”
“Just treat it like it’s something that exists --” Bitty interrupted, but he didn’t get to finish, either.
“How? You didn’t tell us!” Coach snapped. “We had to find out from the TV --”
“Because -- I just want --” Bitty swallowed. This is why I didn’t tell you. “I want you to say there’s nothing wrong with it!”
Coach sighed, pressed a hand to his forehead. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Christ.
He’d known it would be like this. Bitty had always known that, even before those kids at school locked him into that closet. If Coach wanted to pretend he hadn’t known Bitty was gay for a long time, that was fine, but Bitty knew better. They’d known forever, his parents. They’d always known. Nobody ever talked about it, nobody said anything except the stuff Bitty heard in church, but he wasn’t stupid. Coach knew Bitty was different a long time ago, knew he wasn’t the kind of boy strong men wanted to have as a son.
“I want you to tell me I’m not messed up!” Bitty’s eyes burned. Weak. “Please,” he said, bringing a hand up to cover his face as the tears spilled over. “J-just tell me you don’t think I’m messed up. I know you’ve always thought I was.” Bitty sniffed a little, but it was fucking useless. He was turning into a sobbing mess in front of his daddy and there was nothing he could do about it. He sucked in a hitching breath, scrubbed at his face with one arm. “Because I didn’t wanna play football and all the baking and the girly stuff. Please, just tell me that you -- that it’s okay. You don’t think I’m messed up.”
“You’ve never been messed up,” said Coach, and his voice was maybe softer than Bitty could remember ever hearing it. “I never thought that.” His hand descended on Bitty’s shoulder. “And you and Kent being together… that don’t make you messed up.” He paused. “You know that.”
Bitty knew that? How could -- how could he sit there and say that? They never talked. Not ever, not Bitty’s whole life, and he just -- “Daddy… how am I supposed to know what you think?” Bitty asked, not looking at him.
After a moment, Coach pulled his hand away. “I’ll take you back to the Haus,” he said.
Some of the windows in Kent’s house were loose. It wasn’t a huge deal, but it did mean a higher electric bill, which Jeff’s grandfather had always said was stupid to put up with. It was probably just age, that and Kent just not thinking to check them -- they were gone a lot, after all. Kent’s house was beautiful, but he wouldn’t live in it forever, and traveling during the season coupled with not spending summers there meant it sat empty more than it should. It was easy to fall short on maintenance for a house like that.
Still. After a second night of a chilly draft from the bedroom window, Jeff went back to his apartment to retrieve his toolbox. He could make quick work of a couple of windows, and if the ones in his room were loose, well. There were probably others. That’s what his grandfather would’ve told him, anyway, and so Jeff spent a few minutes wandering around the house, Kevin at his heels, testing window frames.
It turned out that he kind of needed to do a little something to almost all of them. That meant measurements and a trip to the hardware store. If he was quick, maybe he could get them all done that afternoon? He didn’t need long. And Kent wouldn’t mind him doing it rather than calling someone, he was pretty sure. It’s not like he would do a bad job.
Jeff picked up everything he needed from the hardware store and then stopped for beer, too, figuring he’d just spend his afternoon getting things in order. At the house, he flicked on his favorite Pandora station and cracked open a beer, setting it in his room. After tugging his hair up and securing it out of his face, Jeff rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and started on the windows.
Kent got home when Jeff was halfway done with the living room, where he was mostly just checking insulation and fit. His bedroom was done and so was the kitchen, all the windows clean and tight. “Hey, Parser,” Jeff said, after hearing the door shut.
Setting his keys down on the table, Kent cleared his throat. “Hey yourself,” he said, wandering over and picking Jeff’s beer up, reading the label before taking a drink. “Uh. What’re you doing to the house?”
“You got some loose windows,” Jeff said, not taking his eyes off his work. “Thought I’d fix a couple of them. There was a draft in my room.”
“Oh,” said Kent. “I didn’t know they needed to be fixed.”
“Nothing major.” Jeff wiped a windowpane down and prepared to replace the weather stripping. All Kent’s windows had foam, which like -- was fine, it cost less, but it also didn’t last as long and Jeff was pretty sure Kent had never looked at it in his life. Jeff’s grandfather always said vinyl was better, lasted longer. It hadn’t taken Jeff long to get what he needed at the store, anyway, and the expense wasn’t worth mentioning.
Kent leaned on the arm of the sofa, watching him. Jeff glanced back, grinned. “What? You gonna drink all my beer?”
“Maybe,” said Kent.
“Get me another one, then,” said Jeff, turning back to the window. After a minute, when he hadn’t heard Kent move, he looked back over his shoulder. Kent was just kind of… looking at him. Jeff laughed. “Dude. What?”
“Nothing!” Kent’s cheeks flushed pink. Maybe he was getting sick or something.
“You okay?” Jeff asked. A bit of hair slid into his face and he tossed his head a little, trying to flip it back out.
“I’m fine,” said Kent, but the flush crawled a little further down his neck.
“All right, buddy.” Jeff finished the window, humming a little as he slid it shut again.
He was about ready to wash the next one when he realized that Kent still hadn’t moved and his beer was potentially gone. Rude ass.
“Parse,” Jeff said.
“What?” Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not doing anything! I’m literally just sitting here!”
“But you’re like, watching me,” Jeff complained. “It’s just weather stripping.” He held out a hand. “Gimme the beer. Did you drink it all?”
“No.” Kent handed it over. “Weather stripping. Is that like insulation?”
“Oh my god, bud,” said Jeff. He took a drink. Thinking about it, though, it wasn’t like Kent had a dad growing up to teach him about that stuff. “Yeah. Kind of. It’s sealing around windows and doors and stuff.” He took another drink of the beer. “Saves you money on utilities.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m just bleeding dollars on my electric bill,” Kent said, and Jeff rolled his eyes.
“Whatever.”
It didn’t take long to finish the living room. Kent was vaguely helpful, handing Jeff tools when he requested them. Once the living room was done, Jeff headed up the stairs, Kent trailing behind him.
“Aren’t you gonna make dinner?” Jeff asked, pausing in Kent’s bedroom doorway.
“In a little bit I will.” Kent pushed past, sat down on his bed. When Jeff moved to set his beer down on the bedside table, Kent slid a hand up his arm. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said Jeff, looking down. He reached out, brushing his fingers through Kent’s hair. Fuck, he was beautiful. Every day.
“You are so hot,” Kent murmured, eyes lingering on Jeff’s forearms. His hand slid lower, curving around Jeff’s hip. He tilted his head back. “Are you done?”
“No,” Jeff said, because he had three more windows left, hadn’t even started, but Kent’s fingers were already undoing his jeans.
Normally, Jeff tried to give Kent some space when he was talking to Eric at home. They hung out a lot, so to speak, during the season -- because Kent watched TV with Jeff, so Eric watched, too, and they’d all kind of gotten into a rhythm with it. It was nice. But at home, Jeff knew how it went. Kent and Eric belonged upstairs, and Jeff stayed downstairs.
Usually.
Not when Kent’s phone was screaming some fucking Drake song. That was a work call, so Jeff grabbed the thing off the kitchen table and headed upstairs. Not bothering to knock, he pushed Kent’s door open. “Your phone’s ringing,” he said, holding out the offending item.
“Aw, fuck,” said Kent, “that’s the GM’s ringtone. I gotta take this, here --” he shoved his laptop into Jeff’s hands. “Talk amongst yourselves.”
“I --” Jeff didn’t usually spend time in Kent and Eric’s room, but Kent was gone before Jeff could say anything. On screen, Eric rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. He was in his room at school, hair damp from a shower.
It was weird, kind of, talking to him again after the summer. They’d spent more time together than ever before, and Jeff sort of… well, the summer was nice. They had dinner and Eric absent-mindedly called Jeff ‘honey’, which --
Jeff chewed his lower lip for a moment as he sat down on the bed. “So,” he said, finally. Eric and Kent had been talking about something that seemed kind of important.
“So,” Eric said, looking at him, his cheeks a bit pink. “You, uh. Y’all --”
Oh, no. Jeff did not feel like answering Kent-and-Jeff-relationship questions. “What did you say you wanted there, bro?” he asked, cutting Eric off.
“Nothing,” Eric said.
Jeff raised a brow.
After a minute, Eric sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “There’s just one guy on my team, y’know, I just. He’s not like, a part of the team?”
“Ah,” said Jeff. He sat, then, just quietly waiting. After a few minutes, Eric launched into this long explanation about how this kid was so talented and he really reminded him of Jack but he just wouldn’t connect with anyone. Jeff blinked a little, letting Eric ramble on a bit. When Eric finally paused to breathe, Jeff cleared his throat.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take about twenty percent off ’er there, bud,” he said, because it was a little nicer than just saying ‘calm the fuck down’ and Eric didn’t even seem halfway close to done. “Nobody’s perfect, fuck.”
Eric blinked, frowned. “But --”
“Some guys just don’t wanna do the whole, like, thing,” said Jeff. There was always one in a room. “It’s fine. If it’s not on the ice, it’s not important. I mean, like. You said he’s playing well. So stop trying to force everybody to be all Happy Days with you.”
Eric sighed. “I am not,” he said, “forcing anybody to --”
“Just let the guy live, damn,” said Jeff, cutting Eric off again.
The door pushed open again and Kent stepped in, tossed his phone on the bedside table.“Jeff, stop antagonizing Eric.”
“Oh my god,” said Jeff, leaning back on one arm to look at Kent, “I wasn’t even doing anythi--”
“Yeah,” Eric said, “stop antagonizing your boyfriend’s boyfriend.”
“Hey!” Turning back around, Jeff ran a hand through his hair, pulling it out of his face. “I’m just being honest, man!”
“Horizontal violence,” said Eric, and Jeff rolled his eyes.
Climbing back into bed, Kent had to crawl over him, bracing his weight on Jeff’s shoulders. He still smelled clean from his shower and Jeff couldn’t help but curl a hand around the back of one of Kent’s thighs. They paused for a moment, Kent half in Jeff’s lap. Grasping Kent’s other thigh, Jeff leaned in to kiss him, grinning when they parted. Flushed, Kent swatted at him before pushing away to settle on the bed again. He let out a soft little sigh as he got settled, fidgeting with the sheets.
“I miss you,” Eric said, eyes large and dark on screen when Jeff looked again.
Jeff knew that look. Eric’s voice was soft, lonely. How had they lasted so long, been able to handle long distance for years? Jeff turned to look at Kent.
“I miss you, too,” Kent said, eyes on Eric, that same darkness in his gaze. Jeff reached out to run his thumb over the swell of Kent’s cheekbone. “Wish you were here,” Kent murmured.
“Soon,” said Jeff. He glanced at Eric on the screen, smiled softly. University was almost over; Eric would graduate soon, and Jeff had no illusions about where he’d move. Eric was coming to Vegas, whether Kent believed it or not.
“Soon,” Eric agreed, and Jeff found that he looked forward to it.
Nothing really changed, with Jeff and Kent. At least, it didn’t seem like it. Had Bitty expected things to change? Sort of. How was a more nebulous concept, it was just -- Kent and Jeff were boyfriends, now.
He thought.
He was like, 99% sure, anyway. Kent hadn’t given him many more details, even though an entire month had passed, and Jeff -- well, Jeff wasn’t interested in talking to Bitty about Kent. Bitty knew, at least, that they hadn’t been… intimate, knew that Kent hadn’t slept with Jeff yet. To hear Kent tell it, they barely touched each other. On Skype calls where Bitty saw them together, Jeff and Kent seemed the same as ever. They weren’t even sitting closer on the sofa or anything.
It was weird.
And honestly, Bitty didn’t even know why he cared so much, it was not his business. Moo Maw always said people ought to mind their own business. Except, well… Kent was Bitty’s business, so by extension, his relationship with Jeff was, too. Kind of. Right? Which meant minding it was a little more acceptable. Reasonable, even.
“I guess I thought something would happen?” Bitty said to Jack, curled up in bed one night. Their nights together were becoming more rare, would be rarer still. Jack’s season was upon them.
“Something happened. You said they talked.” Jack turned on his side a little more, tucked closer to Bitty. He ran hot fingers down Bitty’s side, tucking them up under the hem of his shirt. “Maybe they’re just still figuring things out.”
“I don’t even know if they’re dating,” said Bitty. He shivered.
“You know you have to be patient with Kent.” Jack pressed a kiss to Bitty’s neck. “Why is this bothering you so much?”
“I don’t know, I --” Bitty sucked in a quick breath as Jack’s teeth closed on his earlobe. Jack was right, he should worry about something else. It was just so hard to stop thinking. He’d never been good at that, not really, because Bitty’s mind was always sort of going, worrying about something. It was -- “Honey,” he said, as a little shiver ran down his spine.
“Maybe you need a distraction.” Pushing Bitty’s shirt up further, Jack pressed his hand flat against the small of Bitty’s back and brought his lips down to Bitty’s collarbone.
Bitty’s breath caught. “Oh?” This was probably going… good places.
“Mhm.” Jack’s breath was hot against the hollow of Bitty’s throat.
Jack was a very good distraction.
Bitty spent the rest of his time in Providence trying not to worry too much about Kent and Jeff. He had enough on his plate, anyway. It helped to pick Jack’s brain about captaining a hockey team -- the NHL season would be starting soon enough that if he wanted to really get Jack’s full laser focus, Bitty had to do it then. And he really, really wanted Jack’s full attention. Jack and Kent were different in a lot of ways, including the way they played hockey, and the advantages that could come from being able to talk to not just one, but two NHL players in leadership roles weren’t something Bitty could pass up. Advice from different perspectives and leadership styles would come in handy, was worth spending some precious boyfriend time on.
And it was apparent, several games in, that Bitty’s extra attention and work was paying off. Samwell’s season was going well -- really well, actually. A brand new first line meant big changes in play, new hurdles to overcome. The new guys were fast, good skaters, but sometimes lines took chemistry, and sometimes chemistry took a few months to build. They didn’t really have months, though, and if running drills on passing was what Samwell needed to make it to the Frozen Four, well.
Bitty spent extra time going over tape with the coaches. He worked with the boys on passing and drills, organized a couple of game nights for team bonding, tried to ensure that he was available to any of the guys if they needed him. It was great. The guys were really getting it together, and Whiskey was honestly amazing. He was really focused, really talented, and really… intense. He was the best player they’d had since Jack, and so far, they’d even managed to avoid any real injuries. Bitty allowed himself to hope for the Frozen Four.
Stirring the custard ingredients together, Bitty balanced his phone on his shoulder with his chin. “I think it might not be completely out of reach?”
Kent laughed. “Why did you say that like a question?”
“I don’t want to jinx it,” Bitty said. “You know, it’s like -- if you say too much about it, it’ll definitely end up not happening?”
“You guys are having a good season so far, though.”
Even though Kent couldn’t see him, Bitty nodded. “We are!”
“And you’re, like, working on your thesis, right?”
Bitty sighed. “Baby, that’s not until Spring. School’s barely started!” And his thesis was kind of not his highest priority at the moment. Or like, ever, but definitely not now.
“Well yeah,” Kent said, “but you’ve, like, thought about it. Right?”
Right. How did he end up dating two insane overachievers, again? Bitty poured the vanilla buttermilk custard filling into the blind-baked pie crust. “I’ll get it done! Worry about your own dang GPA!”
“Mine’s really good,” Kent said, smug and satisfied in a way that was both irritating and adorable at the same time.
“Yes, your brain is very sexy, dear,” said Bitty. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”
Kent gasped. “Not for another, like, two hours!”
Bitty opened the oven. “You are absolutely ridiculous, and I --”
“Oh my god, Eric, don’t you want to talk to me?” Kent’s voice sounded farther away, and the sound of running water filtered through the line. “What kind of pie are you making?”
“Mr. Parson,” Bitty said. “Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yes,” said Kent, after a small silence. Bitty heard the sound of a door shutting in the background.
“It’s chess pie,” Bitty said. “Who’s there?”
“What the fuck is a chess pie?” Jeff asked, and Bitty sighed. Why didn’t anyone know this?
“Y’all really need to come visit.”
“It’s good,” Kent supplied.
“All right, super chief. We play Boston on our first roadie, I think.” Jeff’s voice was closer. “Make one then.”
“We do,” Kent said. The water in the background shut off and, after a minute, Kent picked the phone back up. “I was gonna get you seats, if you wanted. And maybe you could, um.”
“Stay?” Bitty finished for him, smiling a little.
“Yeah,” Kent said. “And you can tell me all about your boys in person, so I can see how cute you look when you’re all focused.”
“Gross,” said Jeff, and Bitty laughed.
Those fuzzy, warm feelings of confidence about their season couldn’t last. Bitty should’ve known that, but everything was just going so well. The new lines were starting to gel, plays were making sense -- they could do it. They could totally do it.
At least, that’s what Bitty thought until Derek Nurse gave himself the most idiotic hockey injury ever. The game was beautiful otherwise, honestly. Everyone was playing gorgeous hockey, and Bitty was really, really proud of their progress.
In the third, Nursey slapped the puck on a rebound, sending it careening into the net over the unprepared goalie’s shoulder. It was a filthy goal. Grinning, he returned to the bench, bumping gloves with the guys as he came within reach.
“Nice goal!”
“Top shelf, Nurse!”
“Fuckin’ s’wawes--”
“Hey, thanks for the assist, Poindexter!” Nursey grinned over his shoulder.
Dex rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck crashing across the boards like that, Nursey.”
“Jeez, Dex,” Nursey said, “I’ll interpret that as ‘you’re welcome, keep it u--’” the door clicked open just as Nurse was about to swing over, and somehow, despite literal years of playing hockey, he fell. As luck would have it, he broke a bone with that foolishness, which would not only screw up everything about their game but also serve as the catalyst for the Haus becoming ground zero in a not so cold war.
Honestly, this was the universe’s way of paying Bitty back for thinking that they were doing well that season when it came to injuries. He should’ve knocked on wood.
Dex and Nursey were absolutely ridiculous -- everything one of them did irritated the other, and they weren’t, apparently, able to be reasonable in any way whatsoever. Bitty probably should’ve anticipated it, as they’d always nitpicked each other, but after the injury their feuding was on a completely different level. Slytherin and Gryffindor level, even. Everyone had assumed there’d be some nonsense with them moving in to the Haus, of course they had, it was just -- it was so, so much worse than anyone imagined. Complaining about a lack of privacy, Dex attempted to turn his bunk bed into a private oasis. When that didn’t work, he vanished into the basement, accompanied by some power tools. Bitty wasn’t sure what was going on down there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, truth be told.
When Shitty invited Bitty and Jack to come up to Cambridge to see their new place, Bitty leapt at the chance to escape the Haus for a visit with old friends. It would be great to get away from the world’s most annoying d-pair, and it’d be good for Jack to take a quick trip before his season really got going. It was their last chance.
“Welcome,” said Lardo. “To Haus 2.0.”
“This is interesting,” Bitty said, looking around the house. It definitely had the same feel the Haus used to have. Messy, lived in, vaguely gross. Rent had to be insane.
“Right on,” Jack said, accepting a beer from Shitty as he looked around. “Samwell after Samwell. I’m jealous.”
“Ahem! Allow me to give you a tour of our buckwild best friend abode,” said Shitty. He waved an arm. “It’s several degrees of dece!”
“And pancakes every Saturday,” Ransom added.
“You guys have another roommate?” Jack asked, talking around a mouthful of pie.
“Yeah,” Holster said. “She hates us.”
“Like legitimately wants us to die,” Ransom added.
“Hey, not our fault!” Shitty shoved his shades up on the bridge of his nose. “The Craigslist ad said, and I quote: must be motherfucking down to motherfucking clown.”
“That’s kind of a big ask,” said Jack.
“Oh yeah, how’s my old room at the Haus, Bits?” Lardo asked.
Bitty sighed. “Well, Dex now lives in the basement. So.”
Lardo raised a single brow.
“It’s a long story,” Bitty said.
“To rooming situations from haus to shining haus!” Shitty raised his beer, and everyone else followed suit.
“Hear, hear!”
Hanging out in Cambridge felt like old times, complete with Lardo slaughtering them all in Mario Kart. She was gracious enough to let Bitty be Peach, but the niceties ended there. They were taking a break from the game, Shitty and Rans and Holster and Jack all occupied with a board game, when Lardo leaned over a bit, bumping shoulders with Bitty.
“How’s Kent?” Lardo asked. “Are you guys still…?”
“Yes, we are.” Bitty drained the last of his beer. “He’s doing really well. Season starts soon, so he’s just been busy.”
Lardo nodded. “How many years is it, now?”
“Oh my Lord,” said Bitty. “It’s -- I don’t know. Three? Isn’t that crazy?”
“Yes,” Lardo said, passing him another beer. “Being in an LDR that long is pretty intense, bro.”
“It’s almost over,” Bitty said.
Lardo glanced at Jack, laughing about something with Shitty. “Is it?”
Ah. “Well -- no. I guess it isn’t.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck. “But I’m going to Vegas after I graduate so it’ll just be… different.”
Lardo nodded. “Been planning that a while,” she said.
Bitty chewed his lower lip. He had been. He’d been thinking about it for a long time, actually, worried about logistics and appearances. Kent’s coming out had helped a little, but there was still no telling how the Bittles would handle their baby boy moving to Vegas to live with his boyfriend.
His boyfriend and his boyfriend, really.
Bitty spent his last night with Jack in Jack’s apartment, both of them snuggled up on the sofa with television and Jack’s favorite pie. Bitty ran fingers through Jack’s hair, smiled a little. “I’ll miss you, honey,” he said.
“I’ll miss you, too,” said Jack, curving gentle fingers around the back of Bitty’s neck.
“Yeah?” Pressing a hand to Jack’s chest, Bitty pushed up off the sofa a little. “Wanna give me something to remember you by?”
Jack laughed.
Kent put a new video up, and Bitty waited to watch it until he was home in his room, able to give it his full attention. Kent was in Jeff’s living room, sitting on the sofa wearing a faded Boston University hoodie that Bitty didn’t remember seeing before. Kent still didn’t put his face into the view of the camera, even though with Bitty out, it was truly only a matter of time before someone found the channel for real. There were a smattering of jumbled comments, a few coherently asking “IS THIS KENT PARSON?!?!?!!?!?!”, but nothing concrete. Yet.
In the video, golden sunlight streamed through the window behind Kent and Kevin curled up next to his side, her head resting on a little toy teddy bear. He scrubbed behind her ears with one hand before he began to play. The melody was sweet and familiar.
It was Rainbow Connection, the song from the Muppets.
Behind him, Jeff walked by, pausing for a moment. He laid a hand on Kent’s shoulder, for a moment, bent down, the ends of his dark hair falling into view, but the rest of him wasn’t visible on camera. His voice could be heard, just barely, murmuring something quiet — but Bitty couldn’t understand what he said. After pressing a kiss to the top of Kent’s head, Jeff wandered out of view of the camera. Kent played and sang without interruption, though Kevin had shifted, wagging her tail and staring up. Halfway through the song she laid her head back down, using the teddy bear as a pillow.
It was a serene little video, everything about it warm and soft. Domestic. Bitty’s stomach hurt a bit looking at it, and he took a deep breath. It was okay to be a little jealous, right? Surely Kent was a little jealous sometimes. Bitty was just used to having Kent all to himself, but it wasn’t bad for Kent to be with Jeff, too. He’d kind of been with Jeff the whole time they’d been together anyway, hadn’t he? And they’d had such a great summer.
It made him feel a tiny bit better to see a couple of comments asking where Sweetie’s boyfriend was, several of them decrying the lack of “cute baker” in the video.
When Bitty called on Skype that night, Kent answered from his own bedroom.
“Oh,” Bitty said. “You’re not at Jeff’s?”
Kent blinked. “No? Why would I be?”
“Well, I saw your video today and just thought --” Bitty squeezed Señor Bun. “It was really good, sweetie.”
Kent shrugged one shoulder. “You know I like to sleep in our bed.” Kit crawled into his lap and he buried one hand in soft fur. The purring was loud enough that Bitty could hear it through the computer. “Jeff’s downstairs, though.”
Of course he was. Jeff practically lived at Kent’s house. Bitty nodded.
Kent frowned. “Babe,” he said, after a moment. “Are you okay?”
“I just miss you,” Bitty said.
Kent softened all over, eyes warm and gold in the lamplight. “I miss you too, Eric,” he said. “I miss you all the time.”
“Even with Jeff there?” Bitty asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
“Yeah.” Kent slid his tongue along his lower lip before sucking it in under his teeth for a minute. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Eric,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay with this --” he waved a hand -- “whole thing?”
“Yes,” said Bitty.
Kent tilted his head, and the light flashed on the lenses of his glasses. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, after a bit of quiet. “Me and Jeff, I mean.”
“Yes, you do,” said Bitty. Even if Kent thought they could go back, they couldn’t. Shouldn’t. “You belong together. Just like you and me.”
“Eric.” Kent rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from the camera. “C’mon.”
“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “I mean, it’s different. I’m getting used to it. But it’s -- it isn’t bad, honey.”
“Really? ’Cause you don’t seem, like, thrilled about it,” Kent said. “You’re being weird.”
“It’s fine,” Bitty said, again. Because honestly, it was fine. And he’d be there when school was over, he’d already been looking at the job market in Vegas. “I’m not being weird. I want you to be together. Besides, it’s not like --” he cut himself off, shutting his mouth before he finished that sentence. What Jeff and Kent did was only marginally Bitty’s business, even if he could not stop thinking about it.
“It’s not like what?”
“It’s not like it’s a whole lot different from how you’ve been the entire time I’ve known you,” Bitty said, voice soft, “is what I was gonna say. Is it?”
Kent flushed. “It’s different,” he said.
Holy shit. Bitty sat up straighter, ignoring the twist in his stomach. “Kent Valeray Parson,” he said. “Did you sleep with him?”
Kent’s blush deepened. “I --”
“Oh my god,” said Bitty.
“Not yet,” Kent said.
“Oh my god,” said Bitty. But it had been so long! And Jeff was so, so hot. “Why not?”
Kent rubbed his face with both hands. “Just -- because, okay? We just haven’t.”
“If it’s because of me,” Bitty said, “I --”
“It’s not.” Kent stared down at his hands for a minute. “It’s not you.”
Bitty frowned. Did -- did Jeff not want to, or something? Oh, Lord. Maybe it was some kind of like, ‘I love you but I don’t want to sleep with you’ thing. Jeff was kind of known for fucking around. With women, granted, but still. Surely it wasn’t that Kent didn’t want to. “Honey,” he said. “Do you not want to?”
“Oh my god, Eric,” Kent said, “you have eyes, are you serious? It’s just not -- we’re not there yet, okay? Fuck.”
“Well --”
“Can we not do this?” Kent pushed Kit off his lap. “I don’t ask you about Jack, do I?”
Oh. “Okay,” said Bitty, squeezing Señor Bun. Kent was right, of course. He didn’t ask for details about Jack like that, never had. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s not really my business --”
Kent was quiet for a minute, picking at a thread on his comforter. “I just don’t know if he, like. Wants to?” he said.
“Sweetie,” Bitty said. “It’s Jeff.” Jeff Troy’s reputation was well-deserved, he was pretty sure. The way he looked at Kent? Bitty was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.
“I know,” said Kent.
“He’s, um.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of the word. He was not going to call Jeff a fuckboy. Even though he was, according to internet message boards. “He, like, you know.” Liked to fuck. Oh, Lord. That meant -- surely Kent would ask Jeff to get tested. Bitty didn’t need to worry about that, too, did he?
“But I don’t think he’s picked up in a while?” Kent said. He chewed on his lower lip. “So, like. Maybe he’s not?”
“Or maybe he’s just saving himself for you?” Bitty countered.
That sentence was too ridiculous to bear, and after a moment, both of them laughed.
“So,” said Kent, “how ’bout them Dodgers?”
“Smooth,” Bitty said. “Real smooth.”
He missed Kent more than ever over the following few days. It wasn’t that he didn’t have enough to do. Bitty had more than enough to do, and he worried, going to bed at night, about not having enough energy to do it all. Kent sounded relaxed on the phone. Happy. Their calls were the same as ever, sweet and warm and faithful. Bitty could almost forget, sometimes, that Jeff was there -- except that Jeff was always there, always had been, and it was… hard, maybe, to think about him watching Bitty and Kent together all that time.
There was so much Bitty wanted to ask him, so much he knew Jeff wouldn’t say.
Bitty couldn’t really devote his time to cross-examining Jeff, anyway. At the Haus, Dex living in the basement was turning out not to be so bad. He was handy enough to fix the place up himself, and Bitty was certainly not going to complain about someone doing work. It needed it, and having Dex fix things kind of took some financial pressure off of everyone else -- as well as giving him something to do. It kept a little peace.
The Haus wasn’t entirely harmonious, though. Whiskey still hadn’t come around, Bitty noticed, preferring to spend most of his time elsewhere with other friends. He wasn’t being team. And as Captain, it felt like Bitty’s job to make sure all the boys were team.
All of his efforts to do so, however, fell flat. Repeatedly. On Skype with Kent, Bitty sighed a little, flopping down on his bed.
“What is wrong?”
“It’s nothing, Kent. It’s just been on my mind,” Bitty said. It was probably stupid to be so uptight about it, anyway. Kent wasn’t the most popular guy in his dressing room, either, and he did fine. Right?
“So it’s something, then,” Kent said, voice about as placid as Kent’s voice ever got.
“At the end of the day,” Bitty said, “I don’t care. I just can’t stop thinking about it and it bothers me.” Kent would know what he meant. They’d talked about it before.
“That’s, like, the definition of caring, Eric,” said Kent, voice warm.
“His high school girlfriend came into town and he didn’t even show her the Haus --”
“You mean he didn’t introduce her to you.” Kent’s voice was a little softer. “Eric --”
Bitty sighed. “That is what I meant,” he admitted. “It hurts. What am I doing wrong?”
“Not everybody is going to like you, babe,” Kent said. “Doesn’t matter what you do. I mean, I know you hate that, but Brian says that’s life or whatever.”
“I know that.” Bitty sighed again. It didn’t make him feel better, though, knowing. It didn’t help at all.
What was he going to do? He’d tried basically everything he could think of, and Whiskey still spent more time with the lacrosse team than he did at the Haus.
“It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, like, experience college the way you do,” said Kent, slowly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with one finger. “You know that.”
“But I’m his Captain,” Bitty said. “And I can’t seem to get him involved in the team, you know? Team spirit?”
“Some dudes just, like, aren’t into that,” said Kent. He shrugged. “There’s always one or two in a room. It’s no big deal, guy’s good at hockey. You’ll be fine.”
“I just want --” Bitty chewed his lower lip. What did he want? A perfect senior year? Harmony across the Haus and the best team Samwell ever had?
Jeff pushed Kent’s door open. “Your phone’s ringing,” he said.
“Aw, fuck,” said Kent, “that’s the GM’s ringtone. I gotta take this, here --” he traded the laptop for his phone, leaving Jeff on screen. “Talk amongst yourselves.”
“I --”
Kent was gone before Bitty or Jeff could protest, and Bitty rubbed the back of his neck as Jeff chewed his lower lip.
“So,” said Jeff.
“So,” Bitty said. “You, uh. Y’all --”
“What did you say you wanted there, bro?” Jeff asked, interrupting Bitty’s question.
“Nothing,” Bitty said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Jeff raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t know. There’s just one guy on my team, y’know, I just. He’s not like, a part of the team?”
“Ah,” said Jeff. He sat, then, just quietly waiting. After a few minutes, Bitty somehow ended up ranting to him, too. When he paused to breathe, Jeff cleared his throat.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take about twenty percent off ’er there, bud,” Jeff said. “Nobody’s perfect, fuck.”
“But --”
“Some guys just don’t wanna do the whole, like, thing,” said Jeff. “It’s fine. If it’s not on the ice, it’s not important. I mean, like. You said he’s playing well. So stop trying to force everybody to be all Happy Days with you.”
Bitty sighed. “I am not,” he said, “forcing anybody to --”
“Just let the guy live, damn,” said Jeff.
What sucked was that Jeff was right, and Bitty knew it. He was trying to think of a decent comeback when Kent returned, the sound of the door interrupting Bitty’s train of thought.
“Jeff, stop antagonizing Eric,” Kent said.
“Oh my god,” said Jeff, “I wasn’t even doing anythi--”
“Yeah,” Bitty said, “stop antagonizing your boyfriend’s boyfriend.”
“Hey!” Jeff ran a hand through his hair, pulling it out of his face. “I’m just being honest, man!”
“Horizontal violence,” said Bitty, and Jeff rolled his eyes.
Climbing back into bed, Kent had to crawl over Jeff. They paused for a moment, Kent half in Jeff’s lap, and Jeff leaned in to press a kiss to Kent’s mouth. When they parted he was grinning, and Kent swatted at him before pushing away to settle on the bed again.
“I miss you,” Bitty said, and he felt it with his whole heart, wasn’t sure if he meant just Kent or both of them. Watching them, Bitty realized that together they felt like home.
His chest felt tight. He missed the warmth of their Canadian summer, laughing in a rental house and sharing ice cream. Leaning his cheek in one hand, Bitty smiled softly, just looking at them on camera.
Looking back, something in Jeff’s face softened a little, and he turned to look at Kent.
“I miss you, too,” Kent said, and when Jeff reached out to run his thumb over Kent’s cheekbone, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Wish you were here.”
“Soon,” said Jeff. He glanced at Bitty on the screen, smiled softly.
“Soon,” Bitty agreed. Soon they wouldn’t have to rely on Skype at all.
Wasn’t sure if you were asking for prompts or just saving for later with the list, but if you were how about “You’re cold, come here.” Or [puts feet in others lap] :)
prompts | send one
They lost.
They lost and it’s fucking freezing in Buffalo, and Kent… misses Jack, if he’s honest. It’s fucking stupid, he knows it’s fucking stupid, because Jack hasn’t picked up his phone in months, not since the draft. They haven’t talked. He doesn’t care. It’s really, really, really obvious that he doesn’t care, but Kent can’t help calling him sometimes, still, just to hear the sound of his voice on the message. He called him tonight, left some rambling voice message about the loss and how the NHL is harder than he’d thought.
It’s so stupid.
He’s rooming with Jeff Troy, though, and Jeff doesn’t care if Kent sits on his bed next to him or has loud nightmares. He’s not Jack, though, doesn’t reach for Kent the way Jack did or lay his head on Kent’s chest to hear his heartbeat. Jeff is tall and funny and thoughtful and kind of mind-numbingly gorgeous, but he doesn’t have soft blue eyes, doesn’t really need Kent, certainly wouldn’t want him, not like that. And Kent can’t stand the thought of someone else touching him the way Jack did, not yet, because it hurts deep in his chest. It’s cold in Buffalo in more ways than one, and it’s nobody’s fault but Kent’s.
They’re on Jeff’s bed in the hotel room, plane delayed because of the ice, TV set on Nick at Nite even though Jeff is reading. Kent works his feet under the edge of Jeff’s thigh, wedging his toes in until they’re trapped, and Jeff doesn’t even look up from his magazine. Kent wiggles his toes.
A few minutes later, Jeff’s hand curls around Kent’s ankle, thumb brushing over the bone. “You’re cold,” he says, eyes still on his reading. “C’mere.”
It’s probably a bad idea, because hockey guys are physically affectionate and what normal people call cuddling is just another day on the bus to them, and Jeff has no way of knowing that Kent’s thought about what he looks like naked. It’s cold in Buffalo, though, and something in the pit of Kent’s stomach needs this, needs to feel warm, even if it’s only for a moment.
Jeff puts his magazine down when Kent brushes up against his side. “You wanna watch something else?” he asks.
07. you’re my hot ski instructor and i’m failing the bunny hill
On further introspection, Jeff was forced to conclude that pretending that he couldn’t ski just because he happened to see that the instructor on the bunny slopes for the afternoon class was objectively as hot as hell was maybe not, like, the smartest thing he had ever done. It was actually, like. Kind of hard? To pretend not to know what he was doing? Because he’d been skiing a million times, really enjoyed it.
He had also not factored being afraid of falling into his plan. Jeff had fallen down a ton, obviously – both skiing and otherwise, because life as a professional hockey player was just like that, never mind being six foot five. But still, for some reason it was kind of scary?
But the guy was just. He was so, so hot. Sandy blond hair, cute freckles, dark eyes. And he had the kind of thighs that Jeff wanted to get between, sink his teeth into. So it was not, in Jeff’s opinion, entirely his fault that he was now failing the bunny hill and looking like a dumbass. The guy – Kent, his name was Kent, he’d said – didn’t have to, like. Exist like that.
He had pretty teeth, too.
Jeff fell down completely halfway through, ended up on his back in the snow, wind knocked out of him just a little bit. He let out a heavy sigh. This was murder on his joints, he needed to get a grip and go back to the lodge.
“So,” Kent said, appearing over him, face bland against the backdrop of falling snow and sky.
“Yup.” Jeff blinked, staring up at Kent’s face.
One blond brow quirked upwards. “When are you gonna quit pretending to suck at this?”
Well, damn. “I’m not –”
“Oh my god, do not even try to deny this,” Kent said, cutting him off. “You’re literally a professional athlete. Of a winter sport.” He paused. “From Canada. What’s your deal, Jeffrey Troy?”
Aw, fuck. Kent followed hockey. Jeff tried the grin that usually worked on girls in bars. “Would you believe me if I said it was for a good cause?”
“So,” Eric said, and Jeff winced a little. Kent was gone to the bathroom, leaving just Jeff and the animals on the Skype call with Eric. Jeff wasn’t sure what kind of look Eric was giving him, not exactly, he just knew he didn’t like it.
“So?”
“Well --” Eric laughed. “Jeff, c’mon. How are things? I mean, you guys… talked, right?”
“Yes,” said Jeff, because they did. Kent told him he loved him in Stoney and Jeff was, honestly, still not over it, might never be over it. Nothing else had happened, but -- he swallowed, looked down at his hands. “Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, honey,” said Eric.
Jeff glanced back up. Surely Kent talked to Eric about it, right? Eric chewed his lower lip, fidgeting a little.
“Are you happy?”
Jeff blinked. “Yeah,” he said. “I -- of course I am. Are you?” Was it his imagination, or was the smile on Eric’s face just a little bit… off? He scrubbed his fingers over his scalp, flipped his hair out of his face a little. Eric still hadn’t said anything, and Jeff’s stomach sank. “If you’re not, you should tell him.”
If Eric told Kent he wasn’t happy with Kent and Jeff doing… whatever the hell they were doing, he still didn’t know, then Kent would end it. Jeff knew that. He’d never come before Eric in Kent’s life, not ever.
“It’s not that,” said Eric.
“You don’t really seem, like. Stoked,” Jeff said. He realized, suddenly, that he was dragging his fingers through his hair again, a nervous habit. Jeff put his hand on his ankle, stared down at it. “If it, uh. If it makes you feel better,” he offered, “nothing has happened. Like, besides the talking.”
Eric nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “I mean, no. It doesn’t make me feel better, I mean. I -- you don’t have to hold back on my account. You know that, right?”
“I’m not really leading the charge on this one,” said Jeff. He glanced up at the camera again.
Eric’s face, a bit pink in the cheeks, was very serious. He had big eyes, Jeff realized. “Maybe you should,” Eric said.
Maybe he should? What, come on to Kent first?
That didn’t sit right with Jeff, somehow. “No,” he said, after a minute. “I wanna do it in his time.”
Eric smiled, softening. “Of course you do,” he said.
“He does what?” Kent leaned over into view.
“Nothing,” said Jeff, cheeks heating.
Kent looked at him, and it was weird, being able to see Kent looking at him on camera -- really looking at him, all soft and warm the way he looked at Eric. Jeff turned his head, smiled a little. “What?”
“Nothing,” Kent said, and on the other side of the country, Eric laughed.
