#bv2018

[bittysvalentines]

The Stranger the Better

From: @hockeydyke

To: @bitty-smol

Summary: Kent’s had a bad day and he figures date night with Bitty will improve his mood. But when Bitty watches a hot stranger get stood up, he decides to invite the man over to join him and Kent for the night. The only problem? Kent knows the guy.

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate universe- no one plays hockey, Established Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson, Eric “Bitty” Bittle/Kent “Parse” Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Misunderstandings

Kent hadn’t had the best day so far.

All things considered, though, he was doing a pretty good job of holding it together. In fact, he was actually proud that he hadn’t snapped at his boyfriend at all despite his bad mood, because he was still feeling rational enough to know that he didn’t actually want to push Bitty away or do anything to make things worse. Instead, he was trying to ignore it and go about his daily routine as usual.

And sure, maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world for Kent to push down all his feelings and frustrations, but Bitty had a tendency to pick up the moods of the people around him, and Kent didn’t want to make Bitty grumpy just because he had the misfortune of being both physically and emotionally close to a particularly pissy Kent Parson on what could otherwise be an entirely pleasant Friday night.

So Kent had texted Bitty during work and suggested a low-key dinner date, because enchiladas and a couple happy hour drinks from Cactus Cantina across the street from their apartment certainly couldn’t make things worse. All Kent knew was that the place was casual, the dessert menu was up to Bitty’s standards, and the drink selection rotated often enough to keep him happy, so it was a win for both of them, and they usually ended up there at least once a week.

And that’s what brought Kent to where he was currently, sipping a half-priced strawberry swirl margarita and pouting because his boyfriend wasn’t paying attention to him. This was particularly offensive to Kent since Bitty was busy looking over Kent’s shoulder at some hot guy who’d sat down on the other side of the room around when they’d arrived. The nerve of it all. Sure, Kent and Bitty had an open relationship, but that didn’t mean that Kent never got jealous-- especially when he was two margs in and in need of attention as he tried to tell an entertaining story about Jenna from Marketing.

Bitty rested his chin on his hands and made heart eyes in the hot guy’s direction again, and Kent finally gave up and sighed as loudly as he could get away with in public. “Come on,” he said, sounding only slightly whinier than he’d intended. “Is this guy really that hot? You’ve been staring at him for ten minutes.”

He began to turn, but Bitty darted his hands out and grabbed the collar of Kent’s shirt to keep him from doing it. “I swear to god, Kent. Do not look at him right now. It’d be so obvious that we’re staring.”

Kent threw his hands in the air. “Alright, alright! I’m not looking, okay? You can describe him to me.” He stared in front of himself instead, at the turquoise accent wall and exposed brick and generic cactus-themed decor. “See, not looking, so paint me a damn picture. But make it a sexy picture, at least.”

Bitty leveled Kent with a stare. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he did take another good look over Kent’s shoulder. “He’s got gorgeous blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass. Honestly, he looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“What kind of familiar?”

“Like, B-list reality TV star famous. Or maybe some kind of modeling? He has the bone structure for it. He’s easily the hottest person here, other than us, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kent repeated. “And he’s seriously been alone this whole time?”

“Yes! The waitress has checked up on him, like, five times. Poor thing,” Bitty said, frowning. “Someone definitely stood him up. We should go see if he wants to come sit with us to take his mind off of it.”

“Are you kidding me? I bet he got stood up because he’s an asshole.”

“Kent.”

“What if he’s a serial killer?” Kent said, then sat up straighter and poked at Bitty’s forearm. “Even worse-- what if he’s the kind of guy who golfs on weekends?”

“Oh, shush. You’ve been such a grump today,” Bitty said, which, ouch, but true. Maybe Kent wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he thought, which was possibly something that he should talk to his therapist about. “We’re going to do something nice and we’re going to feel good about it.”

Feel good. A Freudian slip, or maybe a complete coincidence, but it was enough for Kent to jump to a conclusion that he felt pretty good about. He grinned.

“You just want us to have a threesome with him, don’t you?”

They stared each other down for a few moments. Bitty had a decent poker face, but Kent had known him for long enough to recognize the faint pink blush on his cheeks as a dead giveaway that he was right.

Finally, Bitty gave in. “Okay, fine, I think we should invite him home with us. But once you see him, you’re gonna agree with me. He’s exactly your type.” And before Kent could speak, he added, “Your other type, sweetheart. Not like me at all.”

“Big guy?”

“Mm,” Bitty hummed, gazing over Kent’s shoulder and nodding, chin resting in his hands again. “Thighs for days. Dark hair, very mysterious. Could definitely play a vampire in a movie, but like, a vampire who works out.”

“Fuck, okay. Invite him over,” Kent said, just as their waitress passed by again. While Bitty stood and headed out of Kent’s view, Kent waved her over so she could get him another margarita. She brought the drink out immediately. Kent was just lifting it up to his mouth for a sip when Bitty returned, smiling and bouncing on his toes as he sat back down across the table from Kent.

And then next to him, because Kent Parson’s life was a nightmare or at least a mildly uncomfortable stress dream, Jack Zimmermann sat down, looking stunningly handsome but also sheepish and shy right up to the moment when he met Kent’s eyes. Immediately, Jack’s annoyingly perfect face collapsed into a frown, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost.

At least, that’s what Kent felt like, because here was the same Jack Zimmermann who Kent had been moping about all day, after seeing on Facebook that morning that he’d moved back to town after more than five years away. Kent hadn’t seen him in person for nearly as long, since the last time he’d made a pitiful attempt to win Jack back at the Zimmermann family holiday party was just a month before he’d met Bitty. This was that Jack Zimmermann, back in his life without any warning.

It was all Kent could do not to spit out his entire mouthful of tequila and sugar, and the only reason he didn’t was because his shirt was white and he didn’t feel like spending his evening trying to remove a pink stain from it, but God, he wanted the drama of it.

Bitty dove right into introductions, seemingly unaware of Kent’s hopefully well-disguised mental and emotional crisis. “Jack, hon, this is my boyfriend, Kent. Kent, this is Jack. He just moved in across the street from here.”

Kent swallowed. His drink felt like it had gone stale in his mouth. “We’ve met,” he said, dry.

“Oh, really?” Bitty asked, looking up at Jack again, narrowing his eyes.

Jack didn’t say anything at all. Instead, while he sat there slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Kent had to explain what was going on. “This is Jack Zimmermann,” Kent said, trying to use his eyes to convey his sheer panic to Bitty. “I played hockey with him in high school,” he said, because that was easier than saying that Jack was the one who broke his heart, and anyway, Bitty knew the entire story and would be able to infer.

Bitty continued to force a smile. “Goodness! Well, I really walked right into that one, huh? No wonder you looked so familiar,” he said, patting Jack’s arm in a way that Kent knew was meant to be both comforting, but actually made Jack look like he was about to implode.

“Eugh,” Jack started, helpful as ever, and something about his rich tenor made Kent’s blood feel warm. It was also possible that the tequila had just hit. “I can go. I don’t want to, um, upset anyone. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to! We’d still be glad to have you join us,” Bitty said. “I know that Kent has so much he’d love to talk to you about, and I’m sure it’s the same on your end of things!”

“Bits,” Kent hissed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been betrayed this badly. Bitty was definitely sleeping on the couch tonight, but he couldn’t say that right now, because that would probably look bad in front of Jack.

Kent didn’t want that, probably. In fact, he wasn’t at all sure what exactly he did want from Jack now, at this point in his life, at age 25 and happy with his boyfriend, job, cat, apartment, and basically every other aspect of life that showed that he had proudly moved on from Jack Zimmermann.

And yet Kent couldn’t help but let his mind drift to how happy he was that he hadn’t had time to change after work, because he looked pretty damn good in his slacks and button-down. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but he had spent a very long time in front of the restroom mirror touching up his hair after his lunch break, so he felt pretty confident that it looked good right now. Comparatively, this was a much better way of running into Jack than, say, running into him during a late-night grocery run when Kent was wearing ratty sweatpants and a shirt with a picture of his cat on it.

Kent thought he looked okay. And he did want Jack to know that he was okay.

Jack was still frowning, and the worry lines in his forehead and around his eyes were deeper than they used to be. His eyes were also, somehow, so much more blue than Kent remembered, as if time had somehow erased their intensity. After a moment, Jack cleared his throat, stilted and awkward, and said the one thing that could convince Kent to give this a shot: “I’ve missed you.”

It was too much.

“Yup,” Kent said, standing up fast enough to knock into the table and jostle it, loudly shifting the plates and glasses and fake cactus on top of it. “I gotta hit the bathroom. Bitty?”

Bitty stood, much more graceful, and slid out of the booth. “It seems like I also have to use the restroom. Stay here and we’ll be right back,” he said, and something in his tone was commanding enough that Jack obediently remained seated and didn’t argue.

Kent pushed through the main room of the restaurant and back to the hallway where the restrooms were located and closed the door once he and Bitty were both in the one-stall men’s bathroom. He took stock of the situation: shockingly he wasn’t having a panic attack, but he was still feeling thrown off and almost dazed.

“I think I’m in shock. Could I literally be in medical shock right now? Am I crying?” he said to his own reflection in the mirror, eyes wet and hair wild. His hair had cowlicks, it seemed, remained tamed. Over his shoulder, he could see mirror-Bitty facepalm, then move closer so he could pat Kent’s shoulder.

“Kent, honey,” Bitty started, then paused as Kent leaned over the sink and splashed water in his face, hoping to refresh himself. “I love you, but you really have zero common sense. You’re getting your shirt all wet.”

“Good!” Kent said. “Does it look like I’m crying? Because I’m totally not crying.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying because you’ve basically trained yourself not to cry properly, which is absolutely not healthy, but I’m not going to lecture you about it right now,” Bitty said. “But even if you were, it’d be fine! I’m sure he’s freaking out just as much as you are right now!”

“Is this a pep talk, or are you trying to make me feel guilty?” Kent asked. “Because I don’t feel guilty. He ignored me for years, Bits. It never meant anything to him.”

“Kenny.” Bitty grabbed Kent by the shoulders. Kent could feel them flex and press into his shirt as Bitty raised up slightly onto his toes. It was a habit he’d developed from years of trying to close their three-inch height difference, and the familiarity of it lulled Kent’s pulse to a more reasonable pace. “You’ve been wanting closure with him for as long as I’ve known you. I know he broke your heart. But you’re both adults now and I think you’re finally mature enough to talk about it, so why don’t we give it a try?”

Kent leaned forward until Bitty understood what he wanted and wrapped his arms around him in a proper hug. He sighed. “Yeah, okay. Even though I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Bitty said, giving Kent’s back one final pat and then gently pushing him back out of the restroom and into the main floor of the restaurant.

For the first time, Jack smiled. “Did you spill a glass of water on your shirt?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent said. “What really matters is that my boyfriend thinks you’re hot. Can you buy him a drink and also explain why the fuck you’re back in town?”

“Oh,” Jack started, then faltered. “I guess, I-- well. I got a new job.” He took a deep breath, then turned to Bitty. “Sorry, what would you like to drink?”

“Just a regular margarita, thank you,” Bitty said, sliding into the booth next to Jack. “So, Mr. Zimmermann. Please tell us all about this new job of yours.”

And so Jack did. Kent was quiet during their first round of drinks, listening and watching and learning about this new, older Jack Zimmermann. He was still reserved and still a little bit slow on the uptake when it came to the jokes and slang that Kent and Bitty easily tossed around, but he also cracked a few jokes of his own, which was something he never used to do when they were teenagers. He was more relaxed, too: although Kent spent several minutes watching Jack’s hands, he didn’t see them shake at all.

Their conversation flowed easily enough that two hours passed without Kent noticing. He only realized that it was close to ten-- closing time-- that their waitress had started to hover around the table, pacing at the edge of Kent’s line of vision. At ten, she shuffled up to the table, but didn’t say anything yet. The girl was young, probably in high school, and Kent felt bad for her. He’d hated waiting tables, too, back when he’d done it in college. He looked at Bitty, then at the waitress, trying to subtly let him know that it was time to go.

Bitty nodded, and then, under the table, kicked Kent. It was all Kent could do to keep from yelping, but he somehow managed it and shot a glare in Bitty’s direction, thankful that Jack was oblivious and rambling happily about his photography. Bitty kicked Kent again. Clearly, it was up to him to decide how they were going to end the night.

“Alright,” Kent said, before his leg had to sustain any more damage. He waved the waitress closer and motioned for the check. “How about we move this to our place? You can meet my cat, Zimms.”

Jack looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, accepting the check and sliding his card into the holder before either of them could stop him. It was a convenient way for him to avoid eye contact.  “I don’t know if you want anything like that, and if you want to just ignore me so we go back to pretending each other doesn’t exist, I could get over that too.”

“But,” Bitty prompted, kicking Kent again.

“But I’d like it if you’d come home with us,” Kent said, finally looking up from where he’d been fidgeting with his debit card.

It was dim in the restaurant this late at night, the colorful string lights and candles doing little against the dark outside, but Jack’s eyes were shining. He nodded, thoughtful. “This was nice. I’d like that too.”

“Thank God,” Bitty said. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I’m dying to get out of my work clothes,” he said, giving Jack a wink that made him choke on his last sip of the single pint of beer he’d been nursing all night.

As they left the restaurant, Jack and Kent walked on either side of Bitty, who looked as pleased as the cat who’d gotten the cream. “Told you we’d feel good about this,” he said, knocking his hips against Kent’s own and smiling, and that’s when Kent realized what should have occurred to him the moment that Bitty invited Jack over to their table.

That little shit knew who Jack was all along.

“Oh, man,” he said, throwing his arm around Bitty’s shoulder. He nuzzled his nose against Bitty’s ear before blowing in it and laughing when Bitty squealed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

[sissalage]

Equipa maravilha! 😍😘❤ Saudades destas noitadas!!! #friends #firefighters #firegirls #bvalcochete #bv2018 https://www.instagram.com/p/BmXGKuNjJRo_NpYftKzYZk4y72YKnbJfeFC-tg0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=9v5j3bssmqxp

[entlizm]

Favorite tweets

#bv2018 事実上の人気投票⁉︎ pic.twitter.com/346oax1gZ3

— tks_310 (@tks_310) September 10, 2018

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[16ra]

"材料が揃う前に非合理的な判断をしないといけないのが経営判断" #bv2018

"材料が揃う前に非合理的な判断をしないといけないのが経営判断"#bv2018

— 1chan (@monasan2002) September 10, 2018

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[sheclovercom]

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陳嘉樺 Ella 來了！<大平台>

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娛樂蘋果派さんの投稿 2018年1月4日(木)

新年第一砲！酷酷辣媽Ella（陳嘉樺）今天（4日）晚上20：00蒞臨「亞洲造型王」陳孫華時尚直播節目《蘋果×孫華LIVE名人大平台》，本集主題「時間妙管家Ella，寶貝時光規劃術」，Ella的馭夫馴娃術大公開，直擊本尊有多狂？請鎖定《娛樂蘋果派》粉絲團及《蘋果live》高清直播。

Ella開場拿著的書是《帶自己，去更好的地方》，她表示剛無意間翻到其中一頁寫著「只有那個在風雨中牽著你的人，才能帶你走向幸福」，讓她讀著讀著差點落淚，陳孫華虧說：「所以那個人是消防隊吧？」談及S.H.E的默契，Ella表示和Selina、Hebe很合、有默契，陳孫華則說她是團體中的橋樑，她認同表示「我其實也是團隊裡對外的橋樑」，且活潑的她碰上「奇葩臉」庾澄慶、「暴龍」言承旭，都能迸出歡樂火花，讓陳孫華讚不絕口。

她提及懷孕期間，最感謝老公賴斯翔（賴解孵），「我們決定要一起工作，他會幫我安排時間，讓我們有一家三口團聚時間」，讓Ella立刻又拿出書說「要找到欣賞你的人」，讓她直說很巧，「就是在形容我老公啊，幸福的人看了這本書，會更幸福，還沒找到幸福的人，總有一天一定會找到」，而賴解孵果然非常關注老婆，也加入看直播。陳孫華則提到Ella老公很有時尚感，常幫Ella決定穿搭。而直播一開張，瞬間湧入1200位粉絲，顯見Ella人氣之高。

Ella搞笑撂英文翻譯《蘋果x孫華Live名人大平台》，說完一臉驕傲表示很有國際觀，還用客家話和粉絲打招呼，更用客家話錄製《蘋果x孫華Live名人大平台》怎麼說，瞬間「Ella老師」上身，要現場所有人跟著念。而在搜包單元，她帶著BV2018春夏包到場，包中有陳孫華送的太陽眼鏡、皮夾等，愛家的她在皮夾中放有和勁寶的合照，以及老公和勁寶在峇里島的合照，她笑說「老公還露點呢」，另外還有器官捐贈同意卡，她表示「如果發生意外，變成植物人，但其他器官都還能用的話，就可以捐贈出去，我五專就辦好了，我如果能留下什麼，我希望能讓更多人活下去，後面我還寫『爸媽我愛你』，希望我爸媽能成全我」。

而在「身體檢查」單元，Ella聽到笑喊「我體溫37度」，也提到當媽後有掉髮現象，「某天綁馬尾發現(前額)有點光亮」，她也自招雙眼皮是貼的，相當率性。陳孫華則說Ella出道時化妝像人妖，現在則是非常美麗，以前她穿高跟鞋會生氣，「現在我氣都會吞下去」。

在「新年開運戳戳樂」單元，Ella第一個戳到的是3號「現場打歌30秒」，讓她激動歡呼，開心唱起《我的寶》，從感性風格越唱越性感，又急轉變搞怪，讓她苦笑說「幹嘛毀了自己的歌」，陳孫華聽了也說是2018最溫暖的歌。第二個她抽到7號是寶貝獎臘腸狗圖案童裝一套，讓她直呼好可愛，恰巧是勁寶可以穿的尺寸。

第3個她抽到是真心話「最近一次『快樂』是什麼時候？1-100請給分」，讓她大喊「我這個人的人生都是處於很快樂的狀態，你們以為我不敢講嗎？但我真的不敢」，笑壞眾人。Ella也再提婚後搭機碰到彭佳慧，是彭佳慧分享的求子方式，稱房事進行時若女方先「快樂」會生男孩，男生先「快樂」會生女孩，最後總結「不管生男生女都沒關係，在一起一定要快樂，不快樂在一起要幹嘛」？她被追問到底何時「快樂」，她小聲回「前天」，陳孫華反問：「為什麼不是昨天？」Ella笑回「因為怕腿軟，每次都是100分」。

在挑錶心法上，Ella選到玫瑰金的CK表，她表示「雙色拼接且低調美，細細的錶帶會讓手變白變長」，陳孫華笑說「妳手不算白」，讓她苦笑直回「我偏黃」，她也表示自己走浮誇路線，手腕上除有手腕，另有金、銀手環搭配，增添時尚感。老公賴斯翔也在線上看，讓Ella笑虧是變態，賴斯翔留言「誰說我變態」，Ella表示「當然是我啊，只有最變態的人才會說你變態」，賴斯翔也留言說「勁寶大完便洗完澡要睡覺了」，要她放心工作，隔空交談閃瞎粉絲。

直播接近尾聲，介紹下集來賓時，Ella還掛保證《大平台》「不是大牌不來」，口吻宛如電視購物推銷員上身，聽到蕭敬騰（老蕭）將二度上《大平台》，立刻模仿老蕭唱起他的招牌歌曲《王妃》，再度逗得現場哈哈大笑，最後非常有元氣祝福大家「新年快樂」！

收工之後Ella還不忘在臉書感謝《蘋果》邀約，「今天很開心跟上老朋友小孫哥的『淑上』（時尚）節目聊五四三」，再次Ella老師上身詢問大家有沒有記起來《大平台》的英文是Apple and SUN HUA live famous people 的big stable table ，強調是「巨大平穩的桌子」，讓沒看直播的人也莞爾一笑，最後叮嚀錯過直播的朋友記得看重播，才能參加抽獎。

本次《大平台》抽獎禮物，要送出「LittleFeet 小肉腳兒童時尚選品購物網」提供的品牌童裝及小物，價格4580元的瑞典 「mini rodini」 點點雙面外套、價格2380元的法國「Eva&Oli」 桃紅銀蔥推車置物袋、價格1980元的西班牙「yporqué」 迷彩小棉毯套組、價格1880元的澳洲 「Rock Your Baby」大衛喵伊遊戲服，還有Ella親筆簽名拍立得5張，活動即日起至1月6日(六)下午4點截止，詳情請上《娛樂蘋果派》粉絲團洽詢。（娛樂中心／綜合報導）

[bittysvalentines]

To @loveyoutoobits :)

From @jckzimmermanns

[bittysvalentines]

The Butter Bandit

To: @peeps-the-writer

From: @airplanesandcookies  

Happy Valentine’s Day!  I hope you enjoy this little zimbits meet-cute fic!  I really had a blast writing it for you.  

_/\_

Any other time, Jack would appreciate the privacy and serenity that came from a thick falling curtain of rain. But at this moment, he’s exhausted and merely resigned to getting soaked on the run from his car to the grocery store entrance.

He took a moment to savor the warmth of his car’s heated seats as the rain, muted, battered at the roof. The day had been brutally long - a PT session at 9am, then practice, team lunch, a few brief moments at home to nap, before heading back to the rink for a tough home game against the Schooners. Even after all that, he still had to field invasive interviews post game, cycling to get the acid out his muscles and cool down, another massage, only to get home and realize that he had no eggs or even milk for a bowl or three of cereal. He could have ordered a grocery or dinner delivery, but that would have taken so much longer than him just doing it himself.

Jack rolled his neck, pulled his snapback down over his brow, unlocked his door and promised himself that a plate of scrambled eggs was worth all of this when his passenger door swung open and a very wet man hopped into the passenger seat.

“Shitty, you are a lifesaver! I would never have made it all the way home in this. I can’t swim that far!”

The thing about being a professional hockey player, it is Jack’s job to recover faster than the other guy, which is what probably saves Jack from an early heart attack and gives him space to recognize that the drenched intruder is 1) unfairly attractive even with his blond hair plastered over his face and a thin linen button down shirt translucent over his skin and 2) most likely harmless given that he’s clearly not hiding anything.

Jack even had a slow-motion moment to wonder, if this guy, as completely random and utterly unlikely as it was, was a puck bunny with a proposition.

His teammates all had wild stories of puck bunnies trying to sneak into their hotel rooms or private cars. But he hadn’t heard of an unreasonably hot guy in a see-through shirt just hopping into a parked car.

“I’m a shitty lifesaver?” Jack asked, still computing the scenarios in which he would say ‘yes’.

The wet stranger snapped his gaze up from a pile of cloth grocery bags at his feet, blinking owlishly large brown eyes at Jack.

With nothing better to say, Jack chose, “It is a rough night for a swim.”

His stranger exploded out of his seat with a flood of apologies, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir! I thought that you were my friend Shitty and I just jumped into your car, I swear to god I’m not a creep, this was just a mistake.” And he was off, just as quick as he came, back into the pouring rain.

The heavy fall of rain immediately obscured his path. Curious, Jack jumped out of his car and looked around, but he couldn’t see any sign of the guy. Merely ready to shrug it off as one of the weirdest encounters this year at least, Jack turned to lock the door when he noticed that the guy had accidentally left one of his cloth grocery bags.

With equal measures of curiosity and paranoia (because Jack didn’t think that he would be blindsided by a pretty face, but it HAD been a really long day), Jack reached over to the passenger side seat, the rain sluicing down his back, and picked up the bag and found what had to be ten pounds of butter.

Jack completed his shopping, returned home, and finally (FINALLY) made the best damn plate of eggs he’s ever made all while completely encompassed in a cloud of questions.

_/\_ “So, a fan hopped into your car and gave you butter?” Marty asked, frowning down at a very simple butter cookie that Jack brought in to practice. . “No. Some guy hopped in my car. I think he thought I was someone else. The butter was an accident.”

“As far as pick-up lines go…” Thirdy began, in-between bites of his cookie.

Jack shook his head, “I don’t think he was a fan. I think he was just some guy taking advantage of the buy-one-get-one free sale at the grocery store.”

“But what I don’t understand,” Tater said, mouth full, “is why did you keep the butter?”

Fair question. Jack walked his teammates through the boring rationale that the store wouldn’t take the butter back without a receipt and they wouldn’t store it in case somebody came back for it. And being practical, Jack wasn’t going to just throw the butter away, so he left a note with the manager, ‘I took your butter. If you want it back or a refund, leave your number with the store. I’ll check back in a week.”

Thirdy laughed so suddenly, he snorted his water. “Man, that note sounds ominous as hell.” He mumbled over the lip of his cup, “If you want the butter back, meet me in a dark alley around midnight.”

Tater licked his fingers, “So, you are a butter bandit. You dress like one.” “No.” Jack stated as he packed up the rest of his cookies. He did not look down at his yellow shoes. This wasn’t complicated. “I’m trying to compensate him for the butter. It was a simple mistake, the guy shouldn’t lose out because of it.”

And if he got to see the guy again, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But he wasn’t going to say that part out loud to these guys.

But Tater had already zeroed in on the chink in Jack’s armor. “For shame, Jack. Holding butter hostage so that you can see that poor man again. He may have been baking for his grandmother or a classroom of children. You think of that? No, because you are a Butter Bandit. You steal his dreams.”

Jack threw up his hands while his teammates laughed at him. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

A chorus of “NO” followed him out the door.

And true to their word, they didn’t let up during practice, the team lunch, and the chirping even showed up in a ‘Meet the Falconers’ segment that PR kept insisting that Jack participate in.

Tater held up his camera with his long arm and aimed it at Jack who was cutting his stick. “Jack needs a nickname, something that will stick. Maybe…”

He trailed off, and Thirdy picked it back up again, face completely innocent as he continued to tape his stick. “He’s so slick on the ice. Smooth even. Smooth like butter.”

Marty poked his head into the camera’s frame. “It’s true, and the way that he steals the puck on the ice, he’s like a bandit, he’s so fast.

The video cut off to the sounds of three grown men cracking up while Jack looked at the camera stone-faced and finished checking his equipment.

_/\_ Evenings off were so rare, that Jack appropriately hoarded and cherished them with a mild glee. After he begged off of a team dinner, he hit the grocery store to purchase a few snacks, some more eggs, and some flour for crepes. And, perhaps, maybe the butter guy had stopped in and left a message and Jack could at least satisfy his curiosity and cross off that lingering to-do item on his mental list.

With his hat pulled down low, he pushed his cart around the perimeter of the grocery store, finally ducking into the baking aisle to replenish his stash of flour, when he saw a shock of familiar blond hair crouched down looking at the two different brands of finishing sugar. He was squatting down flat on his flip-flop covered feet in a pair of joggers and a grey tank top with Samwell writes in red across his shoulders. He hadn’t looked up yet, and so Jack took a moment to confirm his initial assessment of the guy. He WAS unfairly attractive and Jack was staring. When the butter guy stood up, Jack shook himself from his stupor and in a fit of action he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself, fled the aisle. Without his cart.

Jack rubbed his hands over his face and gave himself a stern talking to. The bottles of artificial pancake syrup even appeared to be judging him. When he finally had enough of being a coward, he walked back into the baking aisle with renewed determination to wrap up this entire awkward exchange.

But of course, the butter guy and his cart were gone.

Jack shuffled over to his shopping cart and grabbed a sack of flour before realizing that he had the wrong cart. It looked similar, yogurt, a package from the butcher’s counter, whole milk, and eggs, but he hadn’t picked up blueberries, pickles or any wine. Momentarily confused, Jack startled when he heard a very quiet clearing of a throat behind him.

“Um, excuse me. But I think I stole your cart?”

Jack turned around and locked eyes with the brown eyes he had last seen in his car a week prior.

“I think I have your nine pounds of your butter.”

He was delighted in seeing the pink rush into the guy’s face from his neck and ears before he responded. “Hey, wait, I thought I had 10 pounds.”

“I used a pound - finders fee.” Jack said easily despite his sweaty palms.

They stood frozen, looking at each other, before Jack held out his hand, “I’m Jack. I apparently have a car similar to one of your friends?”

His hand was met with a warm firm handshake and a self-deprecating smile. “I’m Eric, and I need to look before I just hop into a stranger’s vehicle.”

“Probably for the best, eh? Not everyone is as nice as I am.”

Jack earned a full smile in return and it felt like a goal.

“Umm, I can return your butter. And your shopping sack - I mean, I don’t have it all right now. It’s in my refrigerator at home.”

Eric nodded. “Well, let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a burger as a thank you? You could have just tossed it or donated it. It was kind of you to try and get it back to me. Most people don’t usually need that much butter.”

The question must have flitted across his face because Eric merely laughed. “I work over at the University in the anthropology department, and I bake cupcakes, cookies, and pies on the side. I had a party order for that Sunday.”

“And I stole your butter?”

Eric waved his hand, “No! I broke into your car, dropped my butter and then it served me right that I had to go across town to buy 10 more pounds.”

Feeling bolder than he had all week, Jack removed his hat and pushed his hair back. “You know, if you don’t mind, I had all this extra butter I didn’t know what to do with, so I tried to make some cookies but they were kinda dry. It sounds like you might be able to help me perfect my recipe, yeah?”

Jack watched as Eric preened for a second, his eyes darting up at Jack’s face, trying to read something that Jack really hoped was he clearly projecting back at him. Eric, straightening his shirt, “I think I can do that.”

Jack beamed, “Okay, let’s wrap up here and grab that burger? Do you need a ride?”

Eric, ears still pink, “Yeah, I typically walk to the store. I don’t have a car right now.”

“That’s fine. Plus you are already familiar with mine.”

Eric groaned. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Just like you did to my car last week.” Jack chirped with a huge smile as Eric slapped his arm playfully.

“Ugh, you think you are so funny don’t you.”

And Jack didn’t know about that, but he did think he was pretty lucky.

[bittysvalentines]

@justinoluransiinthehaus’s Valentine’s gift for @more-protien ♥

“Like Lardo just throws one back and like winks at me and Holtzy and just like murders our last cup with some MJ fade-away bullshit. Then goes and burps in Holster’s face for like 8 seconds.”

“I was disgusted at first? But then I realised it was a show of respect.”

Color palette by @palette-time

[bittysvalentines]

hey @were-all-a-team-together! i love your blog! i had so much fun making your gift and i’m excited for you to finally see it. happy valentines day - hope you get to treat yourself or do something fun :)

-@happyzimm

[bittysvalentines]

To @captbuccaneer

From @human-with-human-powers

Have a 'swawesome valentine's day!

[bittysvalentines]

To: @alocalband​

From: @winchysteria​

_______________

hahahahahahahahahaha please rip my entire heart out

"You okay?" Dex asked, pointing vaguely to the latest line in Nursey's notebook.

Nursey's heart dropped to the floor of his ribcage, and his pulse revved like a motorcycle engine, but his voice stayed steady. "Come on, man, you're not supposed to look over my shoulder at what I'm writing."

Not that that had ever been a rule Dex had been particularly good at following. He was an analyzer, an absorber, a take-apart-and-rebuild-er. He couldn't just look or not look at things. He had to understand what they meant.

Nursey, on the other hand, was a gazer. He was the kind of absolute fucking idiot that could get so caught up in staring at something-- the glittery surface of a lake, the exactness of the folds on a finger knuckle, the tiny purple capillaries in the vulnerable skin of an eyelid-- that his brain traveled on without him and wrote something deeply, unaccountably poetic, like hahahahahahahahahaha please rip my entire heart out. It was a useless kind of artistic transcendence.

The boat swayed beneath them, and the rush and overlap of water under it sounded like a giant swallowing. Glug. Nursey turned to his left, only to be directly confronted with Dex's maple-colored eyes. Glug.

"Whatever you say, Nurse," he said, holding eye contact for half a second longer, then turning his head back to the sky. Somehow, he did not fear sunburn. Summer Dex was a whole different animal, he'd discovered almost immediately, a creature that could take a long time smiling, that could drink four beers and want to go on a stargazing walk. Summer Dex was the antsy younger brother of Samwell Dex.

"You're gonna turn into a lobster," Nursey said.

"The sun's setting in like an hour," Dex shot back. "My precious, pale asscheeks are safe. Besides, that might be an advantage for a lobster fisherman."

There was a Summer Nursey, too. He had both known and not known this. Summer Nursey was productive, in the best and most unpredictable way; he was at the mercy of his impulses, but he was a better poet than Samwell Nursey, or even New York Nursey. There were a whole host of possible reasons for this. One was that the scenery here was new, rainwashed greens and silvered crumpling blues. Another was that nobody was watching, particularly, the way there always seemed to be someone watching elsewhere. He supposed Dex was watching. He suspected Dex was watching. But nobody else, nobody on the subway next to him or in the elevator getting off at the seventh floor with him, and certainly nobody waiting for him to get up from his table at the diner.

The third reason made something squirm in his chest to think about. The third reason bumped Nursey's boney elbow with his, then complained about losing feeling in his arms. The third reason had gotten tipsy last night and planted his forehead directly onto Nursey's shoulder and smelled like linen and fire.

He tried to conjure his first-year self, tried to describe to him the sensation of lying next to Dex on Dex's uncle's boat-- but the speedboat, the fun one, not the lobster boat-- and feeling content but also desperate to cross his ankle over Dex's and hold him there. A younger Nursey-- a Samwell Nursey or an Andover Nursey-- would have screamed at the prospect. He felt like a disoriented compass. Drawn, and strongly, but certainly not in the right direction.

i wonder what it would be like and the wonder pulls itself out of my skin when i try to contain it and it curls around you.

"That's kind of nice," Dex murmurs, cheek only a few centimeters away from contacting the skin on Nursey's shoulder.

Jesus Goddammit Christ Fuck, Nursey thinks.

Dex relaxes in Nursey's direction, and his foot rests against Nursey's ankle. Nursey considers throwing his notebook and pen into the water next to the boat. He lays them, instead, on his bare stomach.

"Done writing for the day, Walt Whitman?" Dex teases. His eyes are still closed, and his face is now so near to Nursey that he can't focus on the small and delicate veins in Dex's eyelid. He knows, because he is Dex's only window into the literary world, that Dex is aware of the implications of Walt Whitman.

When Nursey closes his eyes, lets himself melt into the top of the boat and Dex next to him and the water below all of it, he feels like he hasn't been born. The sway of the waves is unnerving, in a way; it's more like a roller coaster when Nursey can't orient himself by seeing the tilt of the horizon. On his shoulder, he can feel Dex's breathing. The exhales travel all the way to Nursey's elbow.

He opens his eyes and picks the notebook back up.

Will. Please.

Nursey waits for Dex to look up. He waits with his eyes open, following the parabolic path of a seagull through the sky over them. Then he waits with his eyes closed, and can hear the distant roar of a birthday party further down the marina. He considers falling asleep, but his heart thrumming in his stomach keeps him from it.

And then he can feel it-- Dex shifting next to him, Dex's hair brushing the canvas boat cover as he sits up a little. For a hundred and thirty years, there is nothing, and then he can feel Dex's hand on his wrist.

He turns his head slowly, opens his eyes, takes his time looking at everywhere on Dex's face but his eyes.

"Derek."

Nursey scrambles to prop himself on his elbows and kiss Dex on his beautiful, frustrating mouth.

For a few seconds, he is unsure whether he'll have to sit up, to follow Dex away from the beating heart of the boat and the water, but then Dex leans over him and he lays back. He can feel his spine against the white plexiglas hull, and he wraps both his arms-- lazy-- around Dex's neck. There is one hand, a fist, next to Nursey's ribs, and another open but no less insistent on the back of his neck. There is the sound of the seagull, the water, and both of their breathing. Nursey draws Dex's lower lip into his mouth, then releases it.

Nursey holds one of Dex's feet between both of his own, and a firework goes off somewhere three miles deep inside of him.

[bittysvalentines]

when you remember what you forgot

To: @maramcgregor

From: @thewesternredcedar

Happy Bitty’s Valentines, maramcgregor!! Your prompts were all super inspiring, but I was feeling seasonal so I went with a timely classic: Olympics AU! Please take AU seriously, though, as all sorts of stuff is shifted around, like when Jack OD’d and that Bitty is a figure skater still, and more- even the Olympic city is AU for my own storytelling purposes. Thanks to dear wrathofthestag for her beta work as well!

I hope you enjoy this!! *hugs* ___________________

TV Commentator 1: The torch has almost reached the stadium now, and we’ll finally learn who will actually bring it through the tunnel.

 TV Commentator 2: I’m on pins and needles, honestly.

 TVC1: I have my guesses. Don’t you?

 TVC2: There has been so much speculation, especially based on Montreal’s theme of “The Olympic Family.” Canada has so many superstars who are a part of that legacy of winter sports excellence.

 TVC1: Oh, and we can see a runner coming now with the torch, and the crowd is simply roaring. What a moment. It’s Team Canada’s captain, gold medalist Jack Zimmermann.

 TVC2: What a perfect moment for Zimmermann. Closing the circle on his long journey back to the pinnacle of his sport. So much focus on his personal life in the past, but now he’s just here as an athlete representing his country. What a moment. Listen to that crowd.

 TVC1: He’s taking this job seriously, look at that face. That’s the face of a proud Canadian and a proud Olympian.

 TVC2: He’s back for his second Olympics this year, after so many said he couldn’t get back here. What a moment for him, here in his hometown...

 TVC1: Oh goodness, look who is coming out now to take the torch from Jack.

 TVC2: Oh wow.

 TVC1: Four-time Stanley Cup champion and gold medalist Bob Zimmermann. Bad Bob, truly a legend in hockey.

 TVC2: Taking the torch from his son, what an iconic moment for Canada.

 TVC1: What a journey it has been for this family. So many public ups and downs, and now to be here. Truly an Olympic family and an Olympic story. My goodness.

*

 The stadium was enormous and darkened, so Jack didn’t look up, just watched the few feet of space in front of him, making sure he kept his feet and stayed in the light, taking the steady pace they’d suggested during rehearsal.

 He'd marched in with the team during the Parade of Nations and then been hustled out to quickly change and make his way to the tunnel for his run. There was hardly time for a breath.

 He’d been here before, of course, four years ago. But he’d needed to be so stoned on benzos to make it through the Opening Ceremonies, he didn’t remember much, just an exhausted and colorful blur.

 He’d come a long way since then. Far enough that he was ready to be back here, through rehab, finally on the right meds, in regular therapy, three years of progress, fully vetted by the Olympics committee. Captain.

 But still, it was impossible to look up.

 “I’m here, Jack.”

 His father’s voice, so close. Jack looked and there he was, his hand outstretched, eyes shining.

 “Here you go, Papa.”

 “Run with me?”

 Jack felt himself smile a little.

 “Yeah. Okay.”

 They took a few steps together and then a few more at a run before Jack let go and watched his father jog away from him, all of the spotlights and cameras following and leaving Jack alone in the darkness.

 It had all happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what to think.

 “You can go in through the athletes now and rejoin your team, Mr. Zimmermann.”

 The same helpful woman who had assisted him getting into place was suddenly at his elbow, holding out his team hat and sweater so he could change. “Canada is just on the other side of the U.S. here, through Norway. Would you like me to take you?”

 “No, I’m fine.”

 She led him to the edge of the roped in area that was swarming with American athletes, most of whom were still watching the torch’s progress towards the cauldron on the big screen, but several of whom were ignoring that in favor of taking pictures of Jack or shouting congratulations. She held the rope up for him to join them.

 Pats on the shoulder (and ass) from familiar faces and a couple of teammates who stopped him for hugs and chirps, fist bumps and high fives from random skiers and bobsledders, Jack threaded his way through the Americans. He’d almost made it to the next rope when one more voice managed to call out to him, distinct from the general din.

 “Jack Zimmermann? Hey. That was amazing!”

 A shorter blond man, familiar. Maybe from TV? Jack wasn’t sure.

 “Thanks.” Jack stopped in his tracks. The guy’s face was framed with little curls peeking out from his under his hat, cheeks flushed and lips red. Jack felt himself staring.

 “Glad we get to bump into each other again. Four years, oh lord.”

 The man was having to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

 Jack wracked his brain trying to remember. “We met last time,” he shouted back.

 “We sat together at that athlete’s breakfast thing? Remember? I think I talked you to death. Sorry we never got the chance to meet up again.”

 Jack’s brain made the connection. He’d just watched an interview with the US Figure Skating Silver Medalist two days ago. “Eric Bittle.”

 A smile lit up Bittle’s face. “Yep. That’s me.”

 The holes in his memory from his first Olympic experience suddenly gaped open, vast chasms of people and events that Jack desperately wished he could somehow get back.

 Eric Bittle was still talking, his hands rubbing together in what looked like nerves. “I just wanted a chance to tell you… how much it meant, in my sport, that you were willing to do what you did in yours. You know. Coming out. It just was a… life changer. Really.”

 At that moment, the crowd around them started to roar, far louder than before. Jack swung around to look at the big screen.

 Eric Bittle leaned in close. “Oh lord, we did not just miss the cauldron lighting! I’m so sorry. I’d best stop distracting you, honey.”

 Jack shook his head, and shouted back, right in to Eric’s ear, “It’s fine.”

 The noise started to die down.

 “You get yourself back home to Canada, before I make you miss anything else.”

 Eric Bittle patted him on the arm and gave him a sweet smile. Jack could feel himself still staring.

 “Yeah. Okay,” he muttered.

 Bittle had already turned back to a group of athletes behind him to gawk at the spectacle unfolding around them.

 Jack slunk under the ropes between nations, ignoring the fireworks, and started to make his way across Norway.

 *

 Jack met up with his parents after the ceremony, still in the sea of bodies as it started to disperse.

 “Glad I roped you into this, kiddo?” his father asked with a gentle punch to the shoulder. “That was quite a ride.”

 “It was great, Papa.”

 Oddly, Jack had hardly thought about his torch run since it happened.

 Someone tapped Bob on the shoulder and he was cheerfully dragged aside into an interview, already offering sound bites as he turned to their camera. Jack’s mother pulled Jack into a hug then, her hands softly rubbing circles on his back.

 “I’m so proud of my boys,” she murmured.

 “Maman, could you see whether my schedule conflicts with men’s singles figure skating?”

 She pulled back to look Jack in the eye, brush a stray hair out of his face. “Sure, honey. If it works, do you want me to get tickets?”

 Jack thinks back to those little blond curls, wide brown eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

 His father turned to them at that moment and gestured for Jack to join him in the interview.

 Jack took a deep breath, and went.

 *

 Back at his room in the gorgeous building where the team was being housed, Jack collapsed into a chair, wrung out and exhausted.

 He’d had a vague memory as he’d walked back across the plaza: of four years ago, standing in the cold, freezing his ass off while someone short and blond used his phone. But he was probably remembering wrong.

 Jack scrolled through his contacts anyway. He had hundreds, and he never sorted through them, even when he’d changed phones. Years of “we should get together” and “text me some time” merged into a huge list of unfamiliar names and numbers he’d never used once.

 There it was, partway down the list. Eric B. Jack’s heart picked up its pace a bit. It couldn’t be him.

 Jack Is this Bittle?

 Jack hit send and then twitchy panic flooded his legs. It was probably someone else that he’d forgotten, some prospect named Eric he’d housed for a night or some trainer who’d hoped Jack would call him for another session.

 The panic was electrical; he had to hop up and do something with the charge in his body. He did twenty push-ups and then changed into his pajama bottoms and brushed his teeth. When he came back to his phone, there was a response waiting.

 Eric B It is. Who’s this?

 Jack froze and read the text five times, slowly.

 Jack Jack

 Jack Zimmermann

 Eric B Jack Zimmermann?

 Jack I think you gave me your number four years ago, and I’m finally using it.

 Eric B Well that’s a kick! Better late than never, as my MooMaw would say

 Jack could feel his face heat at Eric’s conversational tone. Like he might be happy that Jack had gotten in touch.

 Jack I didn’t get to thank you for what you said tonight. Thanks.

 Eric B Oh honey. There’s so many of us this year, Jack. I can’t tell you enough how much your coming out meant to us.</I>

 Eric B To me.

 Jack had to stand up again for a moment. He walked in a quick circle around the room before he could answer.

 Jack It was the right thing for me to do for myself. I’m glad it helped you too.

 There was long pause after Jack sent this message. Maybe that was all either of them had to say?

 His text alert went off again after a minute.

 Eric B So, when’s your first game?

 Jack settled down and leaned back in his chair, pulling his feet up to tuck under him. Was this an actual conversation?

 Jack Thursday. When do you start?

 *

 Jack had gotten to sleep finally, way too late, after an extended text exchange with Eric in which he’d learned quite a lot about the upcoming figure skating schedule, good recipes for jam, and the story of Eric’s own tricky public coming out last year.

 He grabbed his phone in the morning and looked at the last text Eric had sent, just to be sure he was remembering correctly.

 Eric B Hope we can talk more soon. Anytime, okay?

 Eric had to compete today, day one. Jack’s hands got clammy just thinking about it.

 He stood in the hot shower for a long time, pondering his day: breakfast with his parents, team skate, interviews at one o’clock, and then, if his mother had worked it out, tickets to the figure skating venue in the afternoon.

 He needed to get his head around being here, get focused the series of games in front of him, because honestly right now, his mind was full of nothing but Eric Bittle.

 *

 Interviewer: So Jack, you carrying the torch into the stadium was a huge moment for the LGBT community. What has it been like since you publicly revealed your sexuality last spring?

 Zimmermann: Huh. Been like? Euh, the main difference is that I get asked about it in interviews all the time.

 Interviewer (laughing): Fair enough.

 Zimmermann: People just know a little more about me. Like knowing I’m Canadian, or six foot one.

 Interviewer: But it must be interesting to be here with a larger community of athletes who are out?

 Zimmermann: Yeah, sure. There are some great role models out there, like in... lots of different sports. And there are people who aren’t ready to be out, too, which is fine. The main thing is to improve the atmosphere so people can be themselves.

 Interviewer: Indeed. Do you think that’s happened?

 Zimmermann: It will have happened when we don’t have to talk about this in interviews anymore.

 *

 Eric Bittle was very flexible.

 That was what Jack had noticed a few seconds into Eric’s short program. Well, flexible and fast. And strong. Also, really slender. And his hair fluttered in a interesting way.

 Maybe he’d noticed a few things.

 Jack’s hackles were still up from his hours with the press after lunch. It had gotten a little better once he’d been able to join a few teammates in a group interview that was almost entirely fluff about the best places to visit in Canada, but before that he’d had three interviewers in a row ask him about his sexuality, and only one of them ask him anything specific about hockey.

 He’d stewed next to his mother for several skaters before Eric’s name was finally announced. He was fully aware of the cameras that were probably seeking out familiar faces in the crowd, and would no doubt find him, and then speculate.

 However, Eric’s leg could (apparently) extend entirely above his head in more than one direction, and honestly, that thought alone wiped clean Jack’s entire frustrating afternoon in one stroke.

 At the end of Eric’s program, as the crowd waited for the scores, a few people threw stuffed animals or flowers onto the ice. Jack watched as they got gathered up.

 “I should have brought something,” Jack muttered to himself, out loud.

 His mother looked at him, her brows raised. “You... wanted to… ?”

 Jack felt his cheeks go hot. “Oh, no. I just… I know him. Eric. But I’ll just send him a text.”

 Jack’s mother stared at him for a long moment, biting her lower lip. “Oh. Well when you do, tell him I thought it was a beautiful skate.”

 Jack’s cheeks got hotter.

 *

 Jack My mother loved your performance.

 Jack Oh and I did too. A lot.

 Eric B Wait? Are you here???

 Jack Yes

 Eric B Come say hi!!!

 “Honey?”

 Jack stared at his screen and then met his mother’s curious expression. “I just… Eric is asking… if we could meet up.”

 His mother’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

 “I thought he’d be busy�� so. But it’s fine, never mind.” Jack looked back at his phone and then tucked it quickly into his pocket.

 “No. Go see your friend, honey. Papa and I will find you again later.” Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about the little knowing smile on his mother’s face.

 *

 “Jack Zimmermann, what in heck are you even doin’ here?”

 Eric pulled away from a gaggle of people and came dashing over to him in the cold concrete corridor, fully decked out in a cute zippered Team USA hoodie and some extremely form-fitting leggings that Jack had to look away from quickly.

 A huge set of badges were clattering against his chest as he ran over to him and pulled him into an enthusiastic hug. Jack’s body froze for a moment in surprise before his stubborn arms agreed to wrap around Eric’s back for a moment.

 The official who had led Jack back to the skaters’ area looked rapidly between the two of them, gave a quick nod, and left.

 “I got tickets. To…” Jack hesitated just a moment, but he’d already started the sentence so there was no going back. “... see you. Uh. Skate.”

 Eric’s cheeks pinked up and he shook his head. “Well that’s just a hoot and half cause you won’t believe what I finagled this morning? Tickets to your first game!”

 Jack thought his heartbeat might be visible through his skin. “Huh. Really?”

 Jack’s brain was flooded with the fact that now he was gonna have to score at least one goal on Thursday.

 Eric smiled then, his entire face lighting up. “Great minds, I suppose!”

 Jack couldn’t stop staring at him. The silence lingered just a bit too long before Jack managed to clear his throat and say, “Congratulations, Bittle. You were really great.”

 Eric shook his head, still grinning. “Lord, Jack, it went so well. I mean, I’m skatin’ in the goldarn Olympics. The team is fourth after the shorts! I cannot believe it!”

 Eric’s enthusiasm was so infectious, Jack found himself laughing a little. Eric’s eyes were so deeply brown, and he could not stop looking at them. Shit.

 “I should let you get back,” Jack managed.

 Eric licked his lips, and then said, sort of tentatively, “Jack, uh, you must have practice and all sorts of stuff you gotta do, right? Torch-guy interviews and all?”

 “Euh, when?”

 “Later?”

 “Today? No. I don’t have anything else today. Why?” Jack had hopes, but he didn’t want to even hint at them.

 “Well, Katya will literally murder me if I do anything right now but go back to my apartment and stay there, probably to use the crappy-ass oven to bake something so I don’t pass out from stress...” Eric’s cheeks were so pink Jack wanted to touch them just to see how warm they were. “But, well. She never said I needed to be alone, if you wanna keep me company.”

 Jack’s ability to communicate had been reduced to head nods and single syllables. “Huh. Sure.”

 Eric smiled and rested a hand on Jack’s forearm. “I gotta warn you, though, after I’ve skated, I don’t stop talking for hours.”

 Jack laughed and swallowed. “I won’t be a distraction?”

 Eric leaned in conspiratorially and said under his breath, “Well shit, Jack, I was kinda hoping you would be.”

 The official-looking group of people that Eric had been with were now all looking over at them with interest. A photographer down the hall had his lens pointing right at them.

 Jack felt like he was on the edge of something, a steep cliff, ready to fall or fly. But this was it. He’d come out so he didn’t have to pretend anymore, so he could march into a stadium of thousands of people, into a world of millions, and not have to pretend. Seemed like Eric Bittle was done with pretending, too.

 “I do like baked goods,” Jack said.

 Eric waggled his eyebrows. “Match made in heaven, honey.”

 They walked out of the arena together.

[bittysvalentines]

To @existentially-ruined

From @jckzimmermanns

[bittysvalentines]

Something Missing

To: @magnetosbf

From: @polaroidpidge 

__________

Jack knows it’s the slap shot of his life as soon as his stick hits the ice. Time moves in slow motion as the puck heads towards the crease, sliding between the goalie’s legs and sinking beautifully into the net. And then the buzzer sounds and time is back to normal again. Jack grins and pumps his fist as the crowd roars and confetti begins to fall.

“Well, there you have it, folks!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers. “The Providence Falconers are the twenty eighteen Stanley Cup champions!”

   “Zimbonni!” Tater skates rapidly towards Jack, delivering a hearty slap on his shoulder.  Jack doesn’t even have the chance to respond before the rest of his teammates are pulling him into a crushing celly.

“You did it, kid!” Thirdy says. “We knew you had it in you!”

After some good-natured chirps and Marty pretending not to cry, Jack is finally released. He looks around, searching for his parents, but doesn’t see them just yet. He has a moment to take in the ice as it’s covered in blue and yellow confetti and people embracing.

This is it, Jack thinks to himself, I’ve finally done it!

But for some reason, as he looks around at everyone hugging and kissing, he can’t help but feel that something’s missing.

…

A sign with large blue letters reads “Welcome to the Hapuna Beach Resort” as Jack strolls into an air-conditioned lobby, a massive duffle bag slung over his shoulder. After a series of strange flight delays and an abnormally long taxi ride, Jack can’t believe he’s finally here. He gets in line to check in behind a middle-aged couple, and breathes a sigh of relief.

The vacation was his parents’ idea. After the cup, Jack had been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. When he could barely clean his own apartment post-cup celebratory kegster, his mom had brought up Hawaii and after a bit of convincing, Jack agreed that he could probably use a week in the sun.

“Your room will be in the west wing on the second floor, Mr. Zimmermann.” The cheerful front desk woman says, returning Jack to reality. “Here’s your room key.”  He accepts the plastic card gratefully and re-slings his bag over his shoulder. As he walks down the long, tiled corridors of the hotel, Jack can’t help but feel a little removed from reality. It’s been a long time since he had even a few hours not completely dedicated to hockey and the mellow, balmy aura of resort is foreign to him. Jack finally reaches his room and opens the door with a swipe of his keycard.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad.” Jack says aloud, the beginnings of a smile on his face. The bed looks incredibly soft and plush and even from the doorway, Jack spots a large Jacuzzi tub in the en-suite bathroom. But what really catches his attention are the glass sliding doors to a small balcony with an incredible view. Jack kicks the door shut and drops his bag before making his way across the room for a better look. The latch for the balcony doors takes a little elbow grease to open, but it’s absolutely worth it as Jack steps out into the blissful ocean breeze. The water is crystal clear as it laps against the sparkling white sand in a simple yet mesmerizing fashion. Jack also takes in the greenery surrounding the beach and spots a lone figure sitting on a patch of grass that overlooks the sand dunes. Jack can’t make out much from this distance, but there’s something about that blond hair and those tanned, golden shoulders that make him want to get a closer look.

The impulsive part of Jack debates going down there for a moment before his rational brain catches up with a well-timed yawn. Jack has to admit that he is pretty exhausted from his traveling woes and resolves to at least take a quick nap on his luxurious new bed. He spares one last glance at the distant stranger before going back inside and re-latching the balcony door. Jack’s body relaxes completely as soon as his head hits a pillow and within moments he’s passed out in a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Jack wakes up, the sun is already beginning to lower in the sky and he’s desperately hungry. After quickly splashing his face with water, he ventures out into the resort in search of food. He gets slightly lost in the labyrinth of bright floral decoration, but eventually ends up at the casual restaurant by the outdoor pool. Jack finds a menu posted on a decorative Tiki torch and tries to decide what to order.

“Who does he think he is?” An irritated voice causes Jack’s head to whip around, wondering if the speaker is referring to him. Jack’s jaw goes slack as he sees the source of the outburst. For a moment, all he can take in is miles of sun-kissed, freckled skin, sparkling brown eyes, and a pair of illegally short pink shorts. Jack just knows that this is the same person he spotted from his balcony and struggles to come up with a conversation opener.

“Who, me?” is what eventually comes out of his mouth. And Alicia Zimmermann can’t believe that her son is still single. The man raises his hands in placating gesture.

“Oh no honey, I was just thinking aloud,” he says. “My ex keeps trying to call me again now that he knows my career is finally taking off. Bless his heart.”

“I think I know the feeling,” Jack says ruefully, thinking about the strange congratulatory dm he’d gotten from Kent on twitter about the Falcs winning the cup. It had been accompanied by a single sushi emoji and Jack is still confused. “I’m Jack, by the way. Jack Zimmermann.”

The man gives him a warm smile.

“Very nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Eric Bittle, but my friends call me Bitty.”

“Bitty?” Jack tilts his head to one side.

“It’s a nickname.” Bitty blushes. “I got it in college when I played hockey.”

“What school did you play for?” Jack asks, suddenly curious.

“Cornell,” Bitty answers. “We managed to get to the frozen four a couple of times, but we almost always got beat out by this school called Samwell. Don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?”

“Uh…” Jack thinks about his next words carefully, as he really wants Bitty to like him.

“I’m just messing with you, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bitty says, playfully touching Jack’s arm. “I remember you perfectly from the ice. All those insane slap shots that would just blast past our poor goalie.” Bitty smiles. “I suppose that’s to be expected from a top level NHL player.”

Jack ducks his head sheepishly, realizing the jig is up. “Guilty as charged,” Jack says. “I’ll admit, I didn’t recognize you at first but now I remember. You were number fifteen, right? Always so fast on the ice! It was like no one could touch you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Bitty replies, although he’s clearly glowing at such high praise from Jack.

“How about I just buy you dinner instead, then?” Jack asks. Bitty flashes a dazzling smile.  

“I’d love that.” Without thinking, Bitty offers Jack his arm, which Jack takes gracefully. This is one hundred percent not how Jack was expecting this night to go, but somehow he doesn’t mind it as Bitty leads him over to a table near the bar. Maybe I should go on vacation more often, Jack thinks as Bitty makes some comment about piña coladas and it’s suddenly the funniest thing in the world, yep, definitely.

Jack’s not usually great at small talk, but somehow talking to Bitty is easier than breathing. They don’t linger for long on hockey, and find their way to talking about family, pie crust making techniques, and everything in between, all interspersed through bites of over-priced cobb salad and pasta.

“And I’d always thought of writing a cookbook as a long-term goal, you know?” Bitty says. “But when my agent suggested that I approach Harper Collins myself after my Youtube channel started blowing up, it felt kinda crazy, even though I knew I wanted to do it.”

“Sometimes making the right choice is scary,” Jack replies. “I know how stressed I was leading up to the cup final about doing the right thing.’”

Bitty nods sympathetically.

“But I guess it all works out in the end. Several months later and boom! The book that used to just be a dream is now a glossy hardcover at the top of the New York Times bestseller list!” Bitty ducks his head. “Gosh! My mama always said it’s not polite to brag but I can’t help but go around telling everyone.”

“As you should,” Jack replies. “You should be so proud of yourself, Bitty! That’s an amazing accomplishment!”

“Thanks, Mr. Stanley Cup champion.”

“Touché.”

They both pretend they’re not blushing.

“So that’s why I’m on vacation, actually.” Bitty says, finally returning to his original train of thought. “I figured I could use some me time after months of mockups and editing. And I’ve been in a wonderful mood until someone started calling me just this afternoon.” Bitty glares at his phone as if it’s personally offended him as it rests face down between the salt and pepper shakers.

“I’m not the greatest person for advice on dealing with exes,” Jack admits. “But blocking him might be a good place to start.”

“I know, I know.” Bitty sighs. “And I know nothing good would ever come from talking to him again. I just…” He trails off, at a loss for words. Jack waits a moment before reaching across the table and taking Bitty’s hand. “I guess my heart is stuck on old habits,” Bitty says softly.

“Well I guess your heart just has to make some new habits then,” Jack replies. He rubs circles into Bitty’s hand with his thumb and Bitty chuckles.

“I think I’ve already started working on that,” Bitty says, making steady eye contact with Jack as he speaks. Jack smiles at Bitty and feels a warm fluttering in his chest. Jack feels like he’s thirteen again with his first major crush but he’s never felt better.

After they leave the restaurant, Bitty suggests they go for a walk by the beach and there’s no way that Jack can refuse. The sun is setting properly now, and dark purple and pink hues light up the sky with ethereal beauty. They walk in silence, too captivated to speak much at all. But at some point Bitty’s fingers interlace with Jack’s and words aren’t necessary. At least, not for a little while longer.

When the sun finally dips below the horizon, Jack offers to walk Bitty back to his hotel room, but Bitty wonders if they can’t stay and look at the stars for a few minutes. In reality, his suggestion has very little to do with celestial bodies and Jack knows this. There is a moment of silence where Jack looks down briefly at Bitty’s lips before making eye contact with the blonde as the stars watch.

“Bitty?” Jack’s voice is soft and barely audible.

“Yes?” Bitty breathes.

“Can I kiss you?” Jack’s question hangs in the air for a second before Bitty nods and then Jack is leaning down, pressing their lips together with an insistent tenderness that makes Bitty’s toes curl. And there, in the magical air of summer, Jack feels like he’s finally found that ‘something’ that’s been missing.  

[bittysvalentines]

Puppies and Hockey Players

To @missweber

From @maramcgregor

_______________

Local news stations were covering nothing but the sensationalist story in Providence. People talked about how horrified they were. There were calls to local officials.

 Georgia Martin, brilliant strategist and assistant GM of the Providence Falconers saw an opportunity.

 “Hey Bitty. Is Jack there?”

 “He’s in the shower, but I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute. Breakfast is almost done.”

 Georgia hummed, thinking about the crepes Bitty had made one morning when she dropped in unannounced. “If he can smell it in the bathroom, I’m sure he’ll be making an appearance sooner rather than later.”

 “Is there something I can help you with?”

 “Not really. It’s more of a PR/publicity thing I was hoping to rope Jack into. Make use of his not insubstantial assets for the greater good.”

 Bitty laughed, high and bright, “Well, he certainly has an abundance of those.” There was a pause and a bit of muffled conversation.

 “‘Allo?”

 “Jack! What do you think about puppies?”

 “Umm … they’re cute?”

 “Falconers PR is thinking of being a public face to help raise money for the rescue shelter that took in all those dogs from the Reservoir case.”

 Jack sighed. “We’ve had to keep the TV off. Bits can’t stand to see the conditions they were kept in. And everyone keeps playing the same video clips. It’s worse than those SPCA ads.”

 “We have an opportunity to raise money for their care and help them get adopted. You interested?”

 “Sure, George. What do you need me to do?”

 “Nothing, yet. We’re going to get the city engaged and set a date for a fundraising event. Something casual and fun.”

 “Sounds good. Just let me know.”

* * *

 It was the off-season and the days flew by. Bitty and Jack didn’t think too much of the upcoming PR event. It was pretty standard and low-key in comparison to most of the high dollar events Jack was usually asked to attend. Bitty sighed to himself and realized that he was probably not going to get out of those now that everyone knew he was dating Jack.

 The week before the fundraiser, the Falconers PR team revved up into high gear. They had Jack come in with the rest of the team that was still in Providence for the off-season and do photo ops with the dogs that had been approved to go to homes. The 15 dogs were the healthiest of the lot and were well-groomed by the shelter volunteers. These 15 were named by the Falconers with hockey themed names or after players themselves.

 The dogs that were named after players had their photos done with their namesakes. People lost their minds over Snowy holding a tiny ball of white fluff in his goalie glove. The die-hard Potatomann shippers were cooing over the littermates that were named Jack and Tater. They were black and tan large puppies, easily out-sizing every other dog up for adoption. The pictures were widely shared and certain sites tried to argue whether Snowy and his namesake or Jack and Tater with theirs were cuter. Georgia was ecstatic and posted an online poll encouraging the debate.

 Bitty retweeted the poll, kissed Jack on the cheek, and voted for Snowy with the hashtags #SnowyPupWins #SorryBabe.

 The day before the adoption event, Georgia called Bitty directly. “Hey, so we were going to have the WAGs help out with running the raffle and help the children that come to hold the puppies. There will be media there getting video and pictures of the SOs mingling with the fans, holding the puppies, etcetera. As the boyfriend of one of our As, and the face of the franchise, I was hoping to rope you into this. I know you have another year of college, so I’m not expecting this to be a common request, but as it’s the off season -”

 Bitty snorted quietly to himself. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous?”

 “Well, eventually. This is just a puff piece. Something easy and not truly demanding of anyone.”

 “And it’s a good look for the organization and all of the players.”

 “Hey, who doesn’t like large hockey guys and adorable dogs?”

 Bitty laughed. “Ya got me there!” He gazed at the bedroom where Jack was taking his afternoon nap. Well, his post-coital nap while Bitty baked some quick finger foods to snack on and tempt Jack back into wakefulness. Tater was at his physical therapy appointment. Bitty expected him back within the hour. “I have a vague idea of what I signed up for. Alicia has been more than helpful in letting me in on what might be expected once I’ve graduated. And Gabby and Carrie have been really great at making sure that I integrated with the group. I can’t say that I wouldn’t have benefited from starting at regular ol’ SO rather than face of the franchise level, but this might be good for me to get my feet wet with.”

 Georgia kept her voice low and sympathetic, it was a practiced tone, but honest. “I know this has the potential to be overwhelming. It’s why I’m hoping to start you out with a bit of a softball, get the town to really love you. Hockey fans have a tendency to defend their own. And if they see you doing local charity, it’ll go a long way.” Georgia paused and debated with herself for a minute. “Do you think you could make a couple of pies? Or, if it’s not too much trouble, some of that treacle tart?”

 Bitty laughed. “You think you could get me to go to a charity event and not bring pie?”

 “Well, I was thinking maybe you could have your own raffle table. Maybe an assortment of things? Some muffins, some fruit tarts, some pies …”

 “There won’t be any blueberry, unfortunately. Tater hasn’t left a single blueberry in peace since he moved in.”

 “Your instagram stories with him have been priceless. I have loved every update.”

 “Well, bless his heart, I love that boy, but dear lord I have no idea how he has survived on his own for this long.”

 * * *

 Bitty was a bit of a nervous wreck in the hours leading up to the adoption event. Jack chuckled and ruffled his hair as he desperately tried to tame his cowlick in the back.

 “Honey, please. I need this to go well. There’ll be cameras everywhere. And George has me running a dessert raffle. I can’t afford to have anything out of place.”

 Jack kissed him on the temple. “You’ll be fine, bud. And your raffle is going to be amazing. I’m sure you’ll sell plenty of tickets. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up selling more tickets for your pies than some of the puppies get.”

 Bitty smiled up at him and raised one eyebrow. “Only some of the puppies, Mr. Zimmermann?”

 “Of course. Mine and Tater’s are going to get the most tickets out of everyone.”

 Bitty laughed and slapped Jack’s chest. “I believe you are mistaken. The most popular puppy is surely going to be Snowy. That tiny white ball of fluff sitting in that gigantic goalie glove is too cute for words.”

 “As long as it’s the puppy and not the guy you think is cute,” Jack chirped.

 “I’ll have you know Snowy is quite the looker. But, to be honest, I don’t think I could handle a goalie. They’re just plain weird.”

 Jack pinched his denim clad butt and laughed as Bitty squeaked in indignation.

 “Don’t you start something you don’t have time to finish!”

 * * *

The Providence Pups Charity Drive couldn’t have gone better. Georgia watched as reporters dutifully followed the narrative she wanted crafted. It was fluff, pure and simple. Pictures of the players skating with the dogs in hand, kissing them, photo ops with the fans and the lucky winners. It was perfection. And, to top it all off, Bitty had made her a separate batch of treacle tarts.

 There was stiff competition for most popular dog … if you added Jack and Tater’s together. Snowy won by a landslide. Tater argued that they campaigned their dogs together and it was only fair to add their tickets to come up with a correct count. Jack nodded along solemnly, and forced his face straight as Tater’s arguments grew more and more outlandish. Apparently, “treason from Little B” was now a high crime and the sole fault of why they lost. Bitty promptly informed them both that he was the one cooking their meals and if they didn’t at least try to behave they could go out for dinner for the foreseeable future.

 Jack gave him an overly scandalized look, “Bits, bud, I would never -”

 “Don’t you dare, Mr. Zimmermann. Those sad, blue eyes only get you so far. I’ve seen you sweet talk your way out of trouble with professors, don’t think I don’t recognize that look.”

 “You bribed your way into class with pie!”

 Before the chirping could get out of hand, a woman and her son came over. “Excuse me?”

��Bitty bit back his retort and smiled pleasantly before scooting to the side.

 Jack smiled at them and the small Parson Russell Terrier the boy held. “Congratulations on the dog. Can we help you with anything?”

 The woman, brunette with a few strands of gray, patted her son on the shoulder. “Go ahead.”

 The boy was maybe 13 or 14 years old. He shyly stepped forward and held the small dog to his chest. “Um, I actually have a question to ask - um, Bitty? Is that okay?”

 Bitty was momentarily shocked, but smiled gamely. “Of course. What can I help you with, sugar?”

 He glanced back over at his mom and cleared his throat. “Well, I know the Falcs named all these dogs, but I was wondering - I was wondering if it would be okay if I changed his name?”

 “You certainly don’t need anyone’s permission to change your dog’s name. He’s yours. Free and clear. I’m sure the Falcs won’t mind, just so long as you give him a good home and lots of love.” Bitty tried to keep his confusion out of his voice and off his face.

 “Well, you see, I was hoping to change his name to - um -” he looked down at the puppy that was snuggled into his chest and forced the last of his question out, “to Bitty. If that’s okay?”

 Bitty pressed a hand to his chest. “Of course that’s okay. I don’t know why on earth you’d want to bestow such an honor on me, but I’d be thrilled to know this little guy had my name.”

 The boy gained confidence at that and the words he’d been struggling with poured out. “I just want you to know that you’ve been such an inspiration to me. I know you haven’t been public with your relationship very long, but just the way you chose to be yourself. And being from Georgia and choosing to come all the way up here to go to school? It’s so amazing. And then joining the hockey team? That was really brave. I mean, I just started following your Twitter and YouTube when the Falcs announced who you were. But, I can’t believe you haven’t been playing hockey for very long and managed to get a scholarship to play Division I. And you coming out to your team in your first year? I couldn’t imagine doing that. And knowing that everyone was watching on TV and you are still in college? You declared your love so openly and honestly and I really hope that one day I can find a boy that I feel so much for that I would dare to do that with. I haven’t come out to my hockey team, yet. But seeing you and knowing how hard you worked to get to where you are is so amazing. And I can’t think of a better person to name my dog after. Terriers are supposed to be tough, and fierce, and loyal, all wrapped up in a small package. So, I just … you know … wanted you to know that.” The boy trailed off clearly started to become embarrassed by just how much he said and started toeing the ground with his sneaker.

 “That is just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I would love for your puppy to be named Bitty. And I hope that he gives you every bit of love and support that you deserve.”

 The boy smiled and left with his mom’s arm over his shoulder. Bitty held it together until they were out of sight and then let the tears stream down his face.

 “Awww, Bits, bring it in.” Jack held his arms open and wrapped them around Bitty as he buried his face into Jack’s chest.

 “That boy - if that wasn’t the sweetest - ugh, I’m a mess.” Bitty snuck a hand up between his face and Jack’s chest and wiped his eyes.

 “My hero.”

 “Don’t you chirp me right now, Mr. Zimmermann.”

 “Non, mon petit. You’re my hero, too,” Jack murmured into Bitty’s hair.

 Bitty chuckled through his tears. “My goodness, you’re not helping me stop the waterworks.”

 “Is fine! I am helping!” Tater grabbed Bitty from the back and wrapped his arms as far around the two of them as possible. “Little B is no longer persona non grata. Have little dog named after him just like Zimmboni and me. And all three have lost to Snowy. Is fair now.”

[bittysvalentines]

Rosemary

To @oliverxmarks

From @askboo

Happy B-Day, oliverxmarks, who requested angst and paranormal AU. 

___________________

Every person who worked in a cafe was guaranteed at least one regular customer crush.

Bitty’s was a man named Jack, a tall broad-shouldered blue eyed hunk with a charming trace of an accent who wore basically 5 of the same flannel shirt in different colours. A crush on a man like Jack was a no-brainer, but there was also the way he lit up a little whenever Bitty greeted him by name, flirted with him at the register, or had his usual coffee already prepared in his usual bright yellow mug. Like Bitty was one of the best parts of his day, or something, or made his life just a little bit better.

Acting on these crushes was never a good idea, though, if only because it was so much more fun to admire people from afar, to get that exciting rush whenever they walked into the shop, to imagine the perfect life together with the dog and the kids and the house, instead of facing reality, which was: the awkward need to avoid this person after a date gone wrong, when you actually got to know how boring or rude or weird they really were.

With Jack, Bitty wanted to cross that line for the first time ever. And it wasn’t because of his blue eyes or his great ass. Well. It wasn’t just those things. But it was more because Jack’s cute little smile was always sad, and Bitty...well, Bitty knew what the problem was. And how to fix it. Not getting closer to Jack and his blue eyes and his great ass was just letting him suffer, and that was being a bad person.

That was what Bitty told himself on the Monday afternoon when he made himself a mocha and put one of Jack’s favourite blueberry muffins on a plate, and then when to sit with him on his break.

Jack looked up from his textbook and smiled. This was a knowing smile, but still a little sad. He shifted his stuff around so Bitty would have room for his mug and the muffin. His eyes were warm when they looked at Bitty across the table.

“Jack, I wanted to ask--”

Jack reached across and put his warm hand on top of Bitty’s. “Bits, I…” he said softly, and then swallowed. “Believe me, I want to. But it’s...it’s not a good idea.”

Bitty flushed happily, even though Jack had effectively just turned him down. Because Jack had said he wanted to, even though Bitty hadn’t been about to ask him out, and wasn’t that sweet. He didn’t want to embarass Jack by correcting him, so he simply said: “Tell me about your ghost.”

Jack took his hand away like a snap, sitting back in his chair like Bitty had pushed him there. Colour slowly drained from his face. “What?”

“Your ghost,” Bitty repeated.

Because you see, Bitty was a psychic, and Jack the tall handsome lumberjack had a smoky aura that twisted and shifted unhappily around him. It was kind of hard to miss, no matter how distractingly beautiful his face was.

Jack was being haunted.

Bitty was ready for the denial, the ‘are you crazy’, for Jack to just get up and leave. Haunted people were so rarely prepared to admit that what they were experiencing was real, so it wasn’t a comfortable experience most times to have someone else confirm it.

But Jack was the most honest, straightforward guy that Bitty thought he had ever met, so even though he looked pale and whoozy, he swallowed and leaned across the table. “It’s my ex,” he whispered.

Bitty pulled out his phone, unlocked it. “Gimme your number,” he said. “I’m coming over tonight.”

*

When the doorbell rang that evening, Jack paused to check his hair in the hallway mirror. Then he frowned, messing it up again, and went to answer the door. God, he was such an idiot. He didn’t need to look good for a...a seance, or whatever this was.

Bitty stood at the door adorable as ever, wrapped in a peacoat and a red knit hat and matching scarf. He had a big black duffle bag on his shoulder. He smiled warmly at Jack and stepped in. Jack watched his eyes go a liquid honey colour, as if he was looking straight through the room. “Oh,” Bitty said softly, and he sounded relieved. Jack hoped that was a good thing.

Bitty put the bag on the floor and toed off his shoes. He passed Jack down the hall and then bent to pick up a fallen picture frame. Jack had long since taken out the glass.

“Sorry,” Jack said quietly. “He likes to knock things down.”

Bitty kept the picture in his hands and then walked into the living room. Jack followed him, and he found Bitty sitting down on the couch, looking down at the picture in his lap. Jack leaned against the back of the couch and looked down at it over Jack’s shoulder. He and Kenny were probably 17 or 18 in the picture, sitting together on the back of Jack’s old corolla, arms wrapped around each other. Jack looked at Kenny’s hooded green eyes and felt his throat tighten. He’d looked at that picture a thousand times, but somehow having Bitty see it too made Jack feel like the past was somehow closer.

“There was an accident,” Bitty said softly, running his fingers gently over Kent’s face.

“Yes,” Jack said hoarsely. He rounded the couch to sink down next to Bitty. He took the frame from him, then reached out to touch Kent’s face himself. “Freshman year. He was driving home from Christmas break.”

Bitty was looking around the room in that hazy way again. “You felt guilty,” he said.

Jack closed his eyes. This time, his throat tightened so much he couldn’t swallow. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this, even though it had been four years. Kenny was still with him, but he knocked things over or sent them flying, important things like Jack’s cell phone and keys went missing, and sometimes he made the whole house shake in the middle of the night. Kenny’s ghost, his spirit, whatever it was, was angry, and Jack knew why.

“I broke up with him,” Jack said finally, eyes still tightly closed. “Right before. We’d been together since tenth grade, but...everything at the time, school and the long distance, it was just...too much.” Jack opened his eyes to look at Bitty. “But I still loved him. You know? I didn’t want this to happen.”

Bitty blinked, and the focus came back into his eyes. He looked so sad, and he reached out a warm hand to touch Jack’s cheek. Jack couldn’t help but lean into it, even though comfort was the last thing he deserved. “Oh honey,” Bitty said. “Of course you didn’t. And that’s not why he’s here.”

Jack’s lips parted in surprise, but before he had the chance to ask, Bitty was up and moving back into the hall again. He came back with the bag, and sat back down. From one of the side pockets he lifted out a thick bunch of herbs, wrapped up like a cigarette, and his lighter. “We’re not smoking this,” he said with a wink. “So don’t get too excited.”

He lit the bundle with the lighter and then blew it out. Thick white smoke flowed from the tip, but it smelled good, earthy and floral. “What’ll that do to him?” Jack whispered anxiously.

“It’s not for him,” Bitty said softly. “It’s for you.”

Bitty waved the smoke around for a little while, and then let the bundle rest gently on one of Jack’s coasters on the coffee table. Then he reached up and brushed Jack’s hair away from his eyes. His warm hands came back to Jack’s, holding both of them tightly. “It’s Rosemary, and Mistletoe,” Bitty explained gently. He looked Jack in the eyes. “For letting go.”

Jack looked down at their joined hands, and Bitty’s sympathetic eyes, around the smoky room. His breathing shortened when he realized what was happening. “I can’t,” he breathed.

“You have to,” Bitty said, squeezing. “Honey, he’s not mad. He doesn’t blame you for the accident, or the break up. The knocking things over, the shaking, you’ve been holding on to him for too long. He’s only been trying to tell you that he’s ready to go.” Jack’s eyes filled with tears. He closed them, but the the tears dripped down his cheeks. “Go where?” he said.

“I dunno,” Bitty said softly. “But it’s gotta be good, because they all want to go so bad. We hold them back when we try to hold on. And I get it, honey, I do. It’s hard to let go but it’s the right thing to do. For him.”

Bitty reached up to Jack’s cheek again, wiping the tears, and then he took Jack by the neck and tugged him down. Jack sogged up Bitty’s t-shirt, and held on to him. When he pulled back, his face was red and his nose completely clogged. His heart ached as much as it had when he’d lost him the first time. Jack closed his eyes, breathed in the sweet smell of the smoke. He tried to imagine the beautiful, warm, safe, happy place that all the lost souls wanted to go.

“Okay, Kenny,” he whispered. “Get outta here.”

Jack felt something cool and soft brush his cheek, then boop the tip of his nose. Jack left wetly, and then smiled. It was a signature Kent move. When he opened his eyes, he almost expected to see Kent there, but there was nothing. The smoke had gone out. For the first time in four years, Jack could feel that he was really alone.

But of course, he wasn’t alone. Bitty leaned forward and gave him a real proper hug this time, both arms wrapped around him, squeezing tight. Jack took him by the waist and turned his face into Bitty’s neck, holding on. He’d thought this moment would bring unbearable pain but it had only brought….

Relief.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered.

“You got it, honey,” Bitty said, pulling back with a smile.

“Do I…” Jack tugged at his collar awkwardly. “Owe you...I mean, what do you charge for this kinda--”

“Hah!” Bitty said, grinning. “You think I’d make a living off being psychic? I briefly considered it once, you know. Getting my own TV show. But it’s so not a good look. So no, sweetheart. There’s no charge. Except maybe cooking me dinner ‘cause talking to ghosts gets me starving.”

Jack laughed. He got to his feet, rubbing at his face. He felt exhausted. “What if I ordered you chinese food,” he said, from behind his hands.

“You can own me,” Bitty said with a smile, standing up too. He leaned up on his toes to kiss Jack on the cheek and then grabbed his bag. “Get some sleep.” Jack walked him to the door, and watched him tie his scarf around his neck. He reached out and put a palm against the front door, stopping Bitty from opening it. Bitty turned to look at him in surprise. “What I said before, about---it, not being a good idea?” he said awkwardly. “I think now, it might--”

“Might be an okay idea now that you’re not being haunted by your ex?” Bitty teased him.

“Yes,” Jack said seriously, which made Bitty laugh even more.

He put his hands on Jack’s shoulders and leaned up to peck him on the lips. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let that dinner you owe me be the date kind of a dinner.”

Jack smiled and told Bitty he would text him, and closed the door behind him. Then he took the framed picture back over to it’s spot on the wall, hanging it back over the nail. He stood and looked at Kenny’s face in the picture for a long time.

He was somewhere better now, and soon, Jack would be happier too.