#is he wearing tater's jersey?

[parvuls]

A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps

"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those." Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."

"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."

"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."

"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."

"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"

"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]

[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."

"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."

[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."

Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!" Jack: "…Your kitchen?" Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm." Jack: "My big…?"

[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."

[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"

"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."

"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"

[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."

[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."

"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."

"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."

"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"

[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."

[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."

[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."

[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."

"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"

[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"

[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!" Jack: "Stop crying first."

"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."

[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."

"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."

[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared." Jack: "Yeah, you should be."

[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S." Holster: "…Jack." Jack: ":)"

Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?" Jack: "No." Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann." Jack: "Well. Not in French."

[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"

[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"

"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."

[heygerald]

The headcanon about Tom growing up in rural midwest actually fits him so well! I imagine how his midwest personality traits (like, little habits or preferences for food or whatever, like loving a good apple pie or whatever people in the midwest are known for, sorry If I'm offending anyone I just don't know much about that) and Parker being surprises at seeing LA-based A-list actor and celebrity Tom Ryder doing something that isn't typical for someone in Hollywood

Oooohhhh haha this is so fun!

Maybe Parker first notices his obsession with hockey, and, like, boys will be boys, so that's not super weird so she writes it off. But then evrrytime they get gas he complains about missing Speedway and their slushies which is a little weird, but OK. Until one day he offhandedly mentions that he was really craving tater-tot-hotdish and she's like?????? Hold up, WHAT?

Of course she stalks his Wikipedia page to find out where he's from, and from then on its endless teasing eveytime she hears his accent ever so slightly slip out on trigger words.

Tom hates it, but he puts up with the teasing for her, and eventually she becomes a fan of hockey and learns how to cook weird Midwest dishes just for him so when she buys them matching hockey jerseys he doesn't even mind (he even wears it once during an interview, with a nice jacket and necklace combo of course, because fashion). ❤️💙💖

[hashtagdex]

could you do misc 7 please!

thank you so much!

7: If I die, I’m haunting you first.

--

The jamb of the sliding door to Jack’s—arguably pretty fucking big—balcony digs into Nursey’s back as he leans against it, but it’s better than being stuck in a room with fifteen other people. 

The noise from everyone in the living room, squeezed together on the couch and peppered across the armchairs, drifts through the glass. Holster is yelling the loudest, but Tater is right there with him. Ransom is probably having the time of his life sandwiched between the two of them, Nursey thinks. A comfortably cool breeze hits his too-warm skin and it’s a wonderful contrast to the stuffy air they just escaped.

In front of him, Dex is looking out over the city with his hands on the railing as he takes a deep breath. Nursey’s eyes get caught on Dex’s shoulders, exposed by the tank top he stole from Nursey before they had to leave for Jack’s birthday party earlier, then trail down Dex’s back.

Nursey loves looking at Dex, obviously, but he especially loves it when Dex is like this, relaxed and comfortable. The tension will undoubtedly return to his shoulders the moment he slips into his new jersey with the C sewn into it, so Nursey drinks it up while he can.

He’s taking in the way the dusk light hits Dex’s hair—he knows it’s awfully clichéd, sue him—when Dex turns around. 

He’s smiling at Nursey, a soft little thing that Nursey can’t help but mirror. Dex smiled like that too when he kissed Nursey for the first time, right before he had to leave for the summer three months ago and left Nursey standing in the kitchen for Tango to find ten minutes later still rooted to the spot with his jaw still on the floor.

“It’s so nice out,” Dex says, tearing Nursey out of his memories.

Nursey hums in agreement as another gust of wind hits his face.

“You should come out here,” Dex suggests, leaning against the railing. Nursey decidedly does not think about how high up Jack and Bitty live.

He laughs instead and shakes his head. “I can tell from here.”

“You sure? It’s really nice,” Dex tries again, quirking up an eyebrow as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. Nursey’s glad Dex decided against wearing a shirt with sleeves.

“I’m good here,” Nursey says and moves into a little less uncomfortable position against the door jamb.

“You’re not, like, scared of heights, are you?” Dex asks and pushes off the railing to take the few steps back to Nursey.

Well.

“No,” Nursey shoots back immediately, too quickly not to be suspicious.

“You are!”

“I’m not!”

“Nursey, you chose the top bunk!”

“Yeah, well, the top bunk is the cool one,” Nursey defends, crossing his arms. “And it’s not that high up.”

“What about that time in freshman year when you climbed up the fucking roof of the Haus?” Dex’s voice is oozing disbelief.

Nursey shrugs. “Liquid courage.”

“You live in New York!”

Nursey uncrosses his arms. “That doesn’t mean I have to scale the fucking skyscrapers!”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible.” Dex chuckles fondly. “I can’t believe i fell for you.” A flush paints his face a pretty pink as he stretches a hand out toward Nursey. When Nursey looks at him quizzically, he continues, “Would holding my hand help?”

Nursey really wants to hold Dex’s hand, has been wanting to for a handful of excruciating months. He wants so much, so he swallows down any mental pictures of this balcony collapsing under their weight or either of them tipping over the edge and reaches out.

“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” he warns, but laces their fingers together and lets Dex lead him out toward the railing. 

“We’d both die,” Dex reminds him unnecessarily, but he squeezes Nursey’s hand tightly.

“Oh, fuck you,” Nursey bites out, squeezing back.

“I swear you won’t die,” Dex says and runs his thumb along Nursey’s hand. Nursey has to admit that it is helping, kind of. “This is structurally sound, I promise.”

Nursey clings to Dex’s hand and makes it a point to avoid looking over the railing at the cars and people eighteen stories below them. Instead, he trains his eyes on the skyline of Providence, speckled with the bright lights. It reminds him of home, of New York, a little and something in him settles.

He briefly imagines having Dex on the roof of his childhood home and decides he should really convince Dex to visit him in New York one day.

“Told you it was nicer out here,” Dex says in a low voice, squeezing his now sweaty hand again. 

Nursey presses their shoulders together, then looks over at Dex. “Yeah, it really is.”

Dex meets his gaze, impossibly fond. “You fucking sap.” He smiles, a soft little thing that Nursey can’t help but mirror, and leans in.

[kryptonitejelly]

Bradley Bradshaw Masterlist

Okay so, I haven’t decided if I want to start to write for him, but I wrote one thing which I really liked, so I am dumping it here.

Main Masterlist

DISCLAIMER: all work posted here is purely fanfiction; it does not in any way purport to be an accurate representation of real life or the general workings of any institution.

BLURBS

Non-asks

Bradley picking you up from girl’s night because you are drunk and want to come home; he makes you tater tots (thank you @bradshawbaby for the original idea which I rode on)

Summer Dresses - fluff. Winter eases up, and you start wearing dresses again

Telling Bradley you want to try for a baby with a baby Hawaiian print shirt that matches his

KJ’S 5 SENTENCE BABY BLURBS

From asks

Dancing in the rain and singing silly songs with Bradley

Bradley and sleepy snuggles during a thunderstorm

Bradley playing hard and falling asleep on the beach; you draw a sunscreen smiley face that tans into his skin

Bradley meeting your family for the first time

Bradley wrapping his arms around you while you are looking out over the beach in a sundress and undoing a strap

Day drinking and watching baseball games with Bradley while dressed in his old jersey

Fic idea - for friends to lovers / fake dating with Bradley

Last updated: 4 September 2022

[lunar-nebulari]

Parts of random panels in Check Please that me and my gf heavily discussed late at night

#1:

- Jack's arms-

- The pinnacle of Bitty's whore era

- Jack's mixing of two different types of merch is so funny to me

- FUCKING JACK'S ARMS -

#2:

- The fact that Ransom is wearing either a merch version of Tater's jersey or Tater's actual jersey while sitting right next to him

- WHAT THE FUCK IS IN THAT BOWL

#3:

- He's so low-quality and tiny

- It's fucking hilarious

#4:

- Why does homie literally look like the 🥺 emoji

- His eyes are so big

Anyways that's all for now y'all, I just wanted to share

[montrealmadison]

find our way back home

for @omgcpanniversaryweek day 4: free day

(here’s my first ever check please fic! because we all need a little more jack & shitty friendship in our lives. takes place the morning after the cup final.)

Late morning sunlight is slanting across the floor of the kitchen when Bitty gently nudges Jack away from the counter. “Honey,” he says, wearing that soft expression that Jack knows to mean let me take care of you, “why don’t you go lie down for a minute? I can finish up in here.”

Jack’s been up to his elbows in soapy water for the last twenty minutes. Doing the dishes is meditative, a task almost mind-numbing in its simplicity, and he’s been enjoying the chance to just shut off his brain after the presser. He can still feel residual exhaustion tugging at his limbs, though, and a nap does sound like an excellent idea.

“I’m not being rude by going to sleep, am I?”

“Shoot, no,” Bitty says. “Have you seen the state of the living room? Most folks’re passed out in there. Hell, Tater and Chowder were cuddling last I checked.”

“Ha, okay, then I’ll go,” says Jack. “Can you get a picture of Tater and Chowder for posterity, though?”

Bitty holds up his phone with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Already did.”

Jack laughs and leans down for a kiss, reveling in the sweet sound of surprise Bitty makes in the back of his throat. Then, smiling, Jack heads down the hall to their bedroom—only to find that he’s not alone.

Shitty’s sprawled in the big chair in the corner, the one that’s usually covered in laundry that Jack hasn’t gotten around to putting away. Thankfully he’s at least partially clothed (even if it’s just a pair of maple leaf-patterned boxers and one blue and gold Falcs sock on his left foot) and scrolling idly through his phone.

He starts when Jack walks in, pushes himself halfway to his feet. “Sorry to invade, Jacko. I was just checking my email, I can—”

“Shits.” Jack feels himself starting to smile. “Since when have you cared about invading my space, dude? Does constantly naked on my bed ring a bell for you?”

Shitty’s expression relaxes, and he blows out a long breath. “I don’t know, man. It’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Dunno. Just feels kinda weird to be all up in your space now that you’re a ‘real adult’.” He uses gratuitous air quotes, and he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Something about Shitty’s tone rubs Jack the wrong way. He knows how important Shitty’s friendships with the Samwell guys are to him, how hard it’s been for him in law school without them around all the time. He hides it well, but Jack knows a thing or two about what it feels like to hide when what you really need is to be seen. He doesn’t want Shitty to have to do that.

He resolves to invite himself up to Boston more often, just to check in. It’s what Shitty would do for him.

“Hope you know you’re always welcome,” Jack says. “In fact, I’m gonna crash for a bit, and just ‘cause I’m a ‘real adult’ doesn’t mean I don’t snuggle anymore. Wanna stay?”

This time Shitty smiles for real. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Jack curls back up in the spot he left just a few hours ago, flipping the opposite corner of the comforter down for Shitty. His friend dives under the covers and wastes no time in making himself at home, slinging an arm over Jack’s stomach and reeling him in.

They lie there in comfortable silence for a minute. For a moment it almost feels like they’re back in the Haus: the sleepy sounds of the team coming slowly to life all around them, the smell of Bitty’s cooking wafting in from the kitchen, the easy presence of Shitty at his back. It’s nice, Jack decides.

Finally Shitty breaks the silence to ask, “So, how do you feel?”

Jack considers the question. He feels… complicated, at the moment. He’s trying to cement the lingering scenes from last night into his memory forever: cameras flashing, champagne running down his face and soaking into his jersey, his friends’ bodies crushed against his. He feels the heavy weight of the Cup in his hands, the dream of twenty-six long years finally realized.

He’s been thinking a lot about the eighteen-year-old kid with wide blue eyes and curling hair who woke up restrained to a hospital bed and thought his life was over. Last night Jack pressed the Cup to his lips and shed tears of joy and wished, fervently, that there was some way to send this feeling back through the years. We did it, Jack. We deserve this. Keep fighting.

“I feel good, Shits,” he says at last, softly and kind of awed. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Believe it, dude.” Shitty’s tone is bright, but his expression turns serious, earnest. “Listen, I’m so fuckin’ proud of you. You know that, right?”

“I…”

Jack huffs out a long breath. How can he tell Shitty how much his pride means? How can he tell him he’s glad for Shitty’s stubborn willingness to stick around, for the way he latched onto Jack at their first practice when everyone else was too intimidated by his name and his legacy and his sordid past to say two words to him? How can he tell him how grateful he is for every Annie’s trip, every late night in the library, every friendly bump of their shoulders in the locker room?

How can he tell Shitty that his enthusiasm, his unwavering friendship, and his fierce faith in Jack are a huge part of the reason the Cup is sitting in Jack’s living room right now?

He can’t begin to hope to put it into words. But he thinks Shitty gets it all the same.

“I love you, Shits,” he says in the end, and it feels like enough. Shitty squeezes him once, gently, butts his head into Jack’s shoulder. His breath is soft on the back of Jack’s neck, and his presence is a warm, familiar comfort.

At last, Jack feels himself relax into sleep.

[horrorcomeshome]

“Oh honey look at you! You look so cute! Thanks for takin us to the game, gosh I never thought I’d say this but I miss hockey. And tell that Russian mountain of a boyfriend of yours not to start any fights in front of my daughter you got that,” he laughs, closing things up at the bakery. He was excited to spend the night with Lavinia and take Tilly to her first hockey game. Plus some of those falconers players were really good looking.

“You are too kind! I’m serious! And it’s no trouble. Bitty, you are such a good friend to us, and we love your little Tilly,” she smiled, straightening out the layers of her outfit. Tater had pretty much fallen in love with the single father’s baked goods, while Lavinia loved the daughter. While likely, Bitty would be getting stuff for his daughter himself, Lavinia had decided to get Tilly a small Mashkov jersey to wear at the game. She’d give that to her soon. “Well, I’ll let Alexei know he’s not supposed to. Hopefully, he will listen, she laughed, shaking her head.

[wellbutrin-shakes]

Thoughts about Whiskey in the NHL- specifically SMH’s support of him in the NHL.

Like obviously as soon as he gets drafted he gets a call from Jack congratulating him and offering advice on making the transition from NCAA to the NHL. But maybe Whiskey is a little surprised that Jack actually frequently checks in on him and asks how he’s doing during pre-season, and Bitty even sends him some protein bars or something once regular season starts.

But he’s not prepared for his first game at Providence. (Wait actually sidebar- maybe he plays the Sharks first and Chowder is so excited to see him and take him out after the game. And Whiskey’s team is like “Damn I guess you guys were close at college” and Whiskey says “No Chow’s just like that with everyone” (secretly though Chowder did always really like Whiskey, and they both lived in the Haus Chowder’s senior year and grew fairly close then))

Then his first game against the Falcs he knows that Jack and Bitty already invited him over after the game, and he saw in the group chat that some of the team got tickets. But he’s not expecting to skate out onto the ice during warmups and hearing absolute chaos, and then turning to see almost all of SMH and alum wearing his jersey. Connor’s Jersey. At a Falcs game. And Jack skates by and chirps “Bitty’s wearing your jersey instead of mine tonight so you better score for him, eh?” And there’s no bitterness in his words or malice in his eyes and yes he scores, and Jack even smiles at him during his celly. And after the game the gang all rushes into the locker room, and Ford and Tango are hugging him and Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are talking about how their frog is all grown up and even Shitty is there, talking about Whiskey’s goal in a pornographic way like he does. Bully, Hops, and Louis even made the trip from Samwell and are tripping over themselves to update Whiskey on how the rest of the team is doing. Anyone who couldn’t make the game is blowing up the group chat with congratulations and pictures of themselves also in Whiskey’s jersey. And then Jack and Tater stop by, and Whiskey can’t believe that Tater actually remembers him from a few visits to Samwell but he does, of course he does. And Whiskey is introducing his new team to his old team, and then he brings along a few fellow rookies to Jack and Bitty’s for an unofficial kegster and he is sitting on the couch when it just hits him that SMH love him. He’s kind of quiet and he knew that Ford and Tango loved him but always felt that maybe the rest of them considered him a friend but not close. He knew that he spent a lot of time with Lax bros and was always a little worried that the rest of the team held that against him, but here they all are celebrating him and cheering him on. They all love him, even Jack and Shitty who didn’t even go to Samwell the same time as him. SMH is a family and he is a part of that, has always been a part of that. (Maybe he gets sloppy drunk and cries a little in Tango and Ford’s arms by the end of the night, but hey, he’s overwhelmed with love).

[iphoenixrising]

Check, Please WIP: Part 1-4

AHL!Bitty

I’m going to hell, but… Parse, Bitty, and Jack or PB&J as I’ve seen it, have some wonderful stories in the fandom, and tbh I’ve come to look at Kent Parsons very differently thanks to a few. You can probably check them out on my Ao3 bookmarks and such. 

Notes: 

I know shit all about hockey but damn if I don’t love Check, Please! Not everything is accurate and some details are mine. Like, I’m just going to pretend the Bruins aren’t in Providence, and the Pawtucket Rebels are the AHL team. 

But then, what if Jack and Bits didn’t get that kiss at the end of Jack’s graduation? What if they just stayed the best of friends, pining away at one another until Kent Parson comes back into Jack’s life. Now it’s not just Jack pining, it’s Kent too :D

And, well, after winning the Championship his senior year, bringing that back to Samwell, Eric Bittle might just think he hasn’t had enough Hockey after all.

Really, it’s time to put up or shut up.

** Pro

Of all the things on Kent Parson’s Wish List (winning the Stanley Cup, being on a team he loves, playing hockey for the rest of his life, having a pet and Kit meets all those criteria for so much cute and cuddly), getting his friendship back on track with Jack Zimmermann hadn’t moved down from number 1, ever. 

Things changed after that disaster at his college frat house, then later in Zimm’s first season with the Falconers, Kent wasn’t sure it could even be a wish. 

When it came to hockey, things were always too easy. They never had to talk about it, about what they were doing on the ice. All of that just came like breathing. Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. The whole Zimmermann-Parson No-Look One-Timer was never something they discussed, it was something that just happened. 

On the ice, they were unbeatable, just like in Juniors.

Off the ice...was a different story. 

(Sometimes he dreams about it, finding Jack passed out on the bathroom floor of the hotel, foaming at the mouth, panic and adrenaline hitting Kent hard when he’s pretty sure his best friend, the man he almost-kind of-sometimes loves, is going to die on this floor.)

Jack’s problem with pills started early, around the time he and Kent got serious enough to play for scouts that started coming around with the promise of watching the son of Bad Bob. 

(He was always partially to blame for Jack’s downfall. Kent had been the closest to Jack back then, had seen the signs, had tried to pull him back whenever he could, had been the one to ease Zimms down before every game, to be the one sitting in a corner with the bigger Canadian, running his hands over Jack’s shoulders and holding his hands, checking his breathing, helping him work through the anxiety.)

But, but!

That’s all old history, something Jack probably never wants to revisit ever again (because he cut you out of his life so well–), even when he makes it to the Falconers. 

(After that disaster at his school, well, no wonder.)

And Kent just has to deal with that, has to accept it finally, and just move on. 

(He could have been an Ace, just that fast, playing with Kent’s team of awesome guys. And fuck did it hurt when Jack turned him down flat...)

Until this little shit came along.

** 1

Eric Bittle realizes he’s severely messed up when he doesn’t kiss Jack Zimmermann at graduation. 

For two years, they’ve played hard hockey for Samwell, have gotten close, becoming best friends. They’ve held checking clinics, hugged tightly in cellys, watched boring as hell history documentaries on that god-awful green couch, and pulled each other back from the brink of insanity during midterms and finals. They’ve spent time in the kitchen with Bitty cooking and Jack working at the table. They’ve spent time outside in the quad, bullshittin’ like the oldest friends, chirpin’ back n’ forth like they’re two peas in a pod. 

Jack somehow started being his best friend without even trying. 

The last game showed him how close they’d become when he’s going through the empty rink, making it to the loading dock, just a flash of jersey leading him to Jack hunched over, tears in his eyes. 

The utter agony right there had gone through Bitty like lightning, driving him forward to hop up on the pallets Jack was sitting on, and wrap both arms around those wide shoulders, hold on to ‘im as tight as he can. 

“It ain’t your fault, Jack. You did so good with us. I’m so proud of you, honey, you have no idea. You worked so hard, so hard, Jack.”

“Bits,” is soft and sad, Jack choking a little, but those big arms come around him, crush him against Jack’s chest and the pads he’s still wearing. 

“I know, I know. Sometimes it just isn’t in the cards, no matter how hard we fight. You get that, don’t you? Sometimes it just is what it is.”

“I can’t–” accept that is what Jack wants to say. 

“I know it’s hard, but sometimes all the trainin’ and plannin’ and best of intentions just aren’t enough to tip the scales in your favor.”

And Jack seems to get something there, tightens his arms a little more, and holds on. 

It’s a little while later when Jack’s stopped shaking like a leaf, “I wanted to bring home a Championship. Wanted to make my mark on Samwell.”

“Of course you did–”

“Thought after all this time, everything I owe Samwell and the team, bringing me here, giving me this second chance–”

“Oh Jack,” at this juncture, Bittle’s head is under Jack’s chin. 

“I finally felt like I’d stopped fucking up,” is rough and dark in the quiet of the rink. “I thought coming to Samwell was a...a punishment. I dealt with it because I thought my life was going to start after, when I finished up my degree and got back into the Draft. But that’s...that’s not how it happened. My life started the minute I met you and the team and I remembered why the hell I love hockey so damn much in the first place.”

And if maybe a few slow, shameful tears escaped Bitty, well, no one would ever know.

But they got even closer as Jack’s graduation loomed, and Eric Bittle stayed in his own personal hell of loving Jack so much it ached, but helpless to stay away to protect himself. 

Instead, when Jack pauses at his door, Bits knows what he needs and finds space to lounge on Jack’s bed, scrolling through Twitter while Jack talks about the negotiations with NHL teams or works on his last assignments. 

Watching Jack pack his things, preparing for the Falconer’s training camp, getting ready for the next stage of his life, all of it makes Bits so dang proud and so sad at the same time.

But, well, nothin’ lasts forever, now does it.

When Jack ran all the way back to the Haus just to see him, just to pull him in hard for a desperate last hold, it was all Bits could do to stop from sobbing his heart out.

“–and you’re coming to Providence this summer to stay with me for a while, and-and I’ll be down when I can. You’re going to Skype me all the time. Bits, promise me. All the time.”

“Okay, Jack. Okay.”

Something soft in French that he has no idea what it could possibly mean, but he absolutely imagines Jack pressing a kiss in his hair. 

“I’m sorry, Bits, but I have to go. I...I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” is more watery than he’d like, but he can look up in Jack’s blue, blue eyes and at least feel warm that he’s had this man for as long as he has. When Jack’s hands slide out of his, he somehow doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything at all. 

** 2

And just like that, Jack takes a step in his life he never could have predicted. Like an hour away instead of across the hall is enough to keep holding on, enough that Jack comes to Madison over the summer, enough that he asks Bitty to show him how to use FaceTime and SnapChat. 

It’s enough for Jack to pick him up off his feet every time they meet up and bury his face in Bitty’s hair. It’s enough for Jack to Skype almost nightly while he’s tuckered out in his bed, talking about the joys and pitfalls of being a professional athlete. 

It’s enough that he gets to meet the Falconers long before preseason starts, and the amount of pies he brings is literally obscene.

(It all works out just fine in the end because he goes home with the empty pans. Not a single slice left.)

It’s enough when Jack talks more about life than hockey sometimes, and Bitty is utterly helpless to stop any of it. And it’s funny, he thinks, how he was sure Jack would just flitter out of his life after a while. That they would be reduced to a Skype call once a week maybe when they find the time, then once a month, then not at all, moving into texting once and a while until Jack would be nothing more than one of his best memories of Samwell. 

It’s funny how he thought Jack moving into the NHL, moving to Providence, moving out of the Haus, moving on with his life, would mean also moving on from Eric Bittle.

And my, how wrong he was about all that.

Watching Jack play with the Falconers from the stands with the Stanley Cup on the line is not really where he’d thought he’d be once Jack had graduated. 

But, if anything else, they’ve gotten even closer than before. 

And when the buzzer finally sounds and the Falconers win it, he’s among the crowd running out on the ice for the biggest celly of the year. 

Jack spots him immediately, grabs him up with a victorious roar, and skates around people holding Bitty like a favorite toy until Tater scoops him up from Jack yelling about “Nook pies!”

Marty skates by him, ruffling his hair with something twinkling in his eye. Thirdy hauls him up, too, though Bitty has no idea why all these hockey players are just throwing him around when they’ve just won the Stanley Cup, but he still thinks it’s awful nice of them to include him in their celebration.

He doesn’t go back to Georgia for the summer after all or the next one before he starts his senior year, but goes between staying in Jack’s guest room and the Haus instead. His Mama’s not happy about it at all, but he’s a grown man, so that’s all she can say about that.

So Bitty passes the summer of his Senior year training with Jack or at Faber when the ice is up for grabs, works on some chapters for his someday cookbook, and continues his vlog so everyone can see how superior filo is to choux in the right circumstances.

With the season over after winning the Cup, Jack is over at the Haus more than ever if Bitty’s not in Providence already staying in his guest room. 

It should be strange to answer the door at the Haus on Saturday morning during the summer and see Jack there in his trainers, sweats, and t-shirt, wanting to hang out for the day after he’d put in a few hours at the Falc’s stadium already. 

(“C’mon, Bits. Can’t slack during the summer. You’re the captain. Set an example.”

“Jack, it’s summer. Leave me alone until at least nine am for goodness sake!”

“Not going to happen, bud.”)

It should be strange riding the train or in the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV on their way to Providence while he fiddles with the music and Jack doesn’t complain about the selection. 

It should be strange to wake up on Jack’s couch, laying on a broad shoulder with a heavy arm flopped around Bitty’s waist and logs being sawed in his ear.

It should be strange to know Jack’s kitchen better than the back of his hand, and to be giddy every time there’s a new utensil bought with him in mind.

(“Jack, why in the world would you need a dough scraper of all things?” “Not for me, Bits.”

“O-Oh!”

“Yeah. Thank Tater. He went with me this time. He held up that and said, ‘oh does B have one of these? It looks important.’ I didn’t know so I bought it in case.”)

It should be strange to see Jack’s Skype requests almost every night before bed, or have his former captain sprawled out in Bitty’s full sized bed once Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are already moved out and the new Waffles are well into the first semester of his senior year.

(“Good Lord, Jack, scoot over!”

“Mm.” Jack scootches maybe a foot more so Bitty can climb in beside him, already yawning. “Comfy, bud?”

“Gettin’ there,” and he absolutely ignores how much easier he falls asleep when Jack throws a heavy arm over him.)

It should be strange for Jack to whip him on up in a big hug when he admits the boys voted him as the Captain, and Jack breathes out, “damn right,” too close to his ear.

(“I don’t know if I can do this, Jack.”

“Too bad, Bits. Looks like you’re already doing it.”)

It should be strange for Jack to chirp him about his thesis, about his struggle with Whiskey, about why this darn strudel just won’t turn out right.

(“Jaques Laurant Zimmermann, do not make me ground you from pie.”

“Haha. I know you wouldn’t do that, bud.”

“Oh? Don’t be so sure, Mister.”)

It should be strange to get an earful when his new video comes out and Jack had no idea the jam war was that serious while Bitty has been supplying the Falconers for nearly a year. 

(“Are you kidding? Aunt Judy is really that upset?”

“You have no idea, honey. It’s almost World War III down there.”

“Good thing you’re stuck at Samwell.”

“Good thing is right! I don’t want any part of that mess.”)

But somehow it never is. Strange, that is, to have Jack so much. Even though nothing could happen between them (“Never fall for a straight boy.”), Bitty still can’t let go of Jack, can’t deny him, can’t tell him no, can’t be the one that fails to respond when Jack reaches out for him. 

Even when Kent Parson shows up at a Falcs game and cheers himself hoarse, screams for Jack right there on live TV.

And while trying to get through his dang senior year, trying to get his team to the Eastern Conference, he watches how Jack and Kent start to move back in one another’s orbit.

...which is probably why he doesn’t tell Jack anything about the scouts from the AHL coming to see him after the game with Princeton.

** 3

The Pawtucket Rebels manager, Michael McLean, is the one that meets Bitty with a Standard Player Contract the morning he gets back from Jack’s place when they’re going to be starting in the Frozen Four if they win the next two games.

The weekend away was nice, but he hadn’t been expecting Jack’s intention to introduce him to Kent Parson of the Las Vegas Aces. 

“We’ve already met,” Bitty had filled in, still shaking Kent’s hand with a distant smile on his face, “at the Haus party when he swung on by.”

“Not my best moment,” the Captain admits sheepishly, eyes not meeting Bitty’s, and dang it if the boy ain’t at least a little bit cute. 

“I suppose we all have our days,” Bits just drawls out and gives him a wink. He holds out the plate of fresh cookies as some kind of peace offering. 

The weekend was still nice, being caught up in Kent’s manic energy and Jack’s easy acceptance. But, he starts seeing the signs pretty easily, when Jack’s hand goes to Kent’s shoulder after a good joke, the exchanged glances that linger, the slowly dwindling personal space that used to be there for them. How they start finishing each other’s sentences, and oh, doesn’t it just make his heart give a little beat when he sees them both happy. 

(But doesn’t that just break it at the same dang time. Not only does Jack like men, but he’s already got his sights set on his old boyfriend. It’s almost enough to make a grown man cry. Bitty consoles himself after breaking down in his room on Sunday when Jack and Kent dropped him off at the Haus. Only Senor Bun knew how much he’d ugly cried himself out that night.)

When Mr. McLean gives him the contract to peruse and a business card with his information circled in blue pen, Bitty almost picks up his phone to call Jack, talk about what he would need other than a lawyer to go over this thing. 

He thinks about Kent and calls Coach and Mama the next morning instead, promises to send scanned copies of the contract. Mama asks if this is something he really wants to think about doing after graduation. 

“It’s money, Mama, a lot of money, and who knows? Hockey might not be outta my heart just yet. I’ll still have time for everything else.”

He only feels a little bit bad when Jack Skypes him on a roadie, set-up in a hotel, asks how his darn thesis is going, and promises to be at the next home game. 

Kent joins the call while Bits is slid down all snug and sleepy-eyed, kids around with him by making kissy faces. 

“College is brutal, Bits. You aren’t sleeping enough.”

“Well, now that’s life, ain’t it?”

Bitty knows something’s going on between them because Kent is shaking a finger at the screen and lecturing him about procrastination while Kit snoozes on. He’d only known if Jack told him about it.

“Bits, your thesis is basically about baking. Baking is the thing you love that isn’t hockey.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Bitty slurs tiredly, wondering how he’s talking to the man that’s swiping his unrequited crush right out from under him even though he doesn’t even feel too bad about it. Not when he sees how good Kent is for Jack now, even if that hadn’t always been the case.

(Long as it makes Jack happy, I can endure it. It’s tough, but I’m tougher.)

But really. Kent Parson is so different from his image as the Captain of the Aces, Bitty can’t help but genuinely like the man. 

“I’m so jealous. I love peppermint cookies and I’ve never gotten any sent to me!”

Sleepy time Bitty makes a note of that even when the world fuzzes out a little bit more.  

“God, he’s so cute, Zimms.”

“Euh. He really is, Kenny. We should hang-up and let him sleep.”

Or he might of just dreamed that part.

The Aces have a hard game coming up, and he’s got his outline done, so the Haus is finally going to let him alone long enough to bake one single, solitary pie. In the middle of it, he certainly doesn’t expect Jack to show up with a six pack of Molson Blue, apparently assuming they’re going to watch it together and cheer on Kent.

“But I expect you to cheer for the Falcs when it comes down to us and the Aces, Bits.”

“Oh honey, I always root for the underdog anyhow.”

The chirp makes Jack flop back on his bed and laugh hard enough for tears to be in his eyes. Bitty just goes back to the Aces on his laptop and drinks Jack’s awful beer with a smirk.

He stirs a little from sleep to Jack talking softly beside him in bed since “It’s too late to drive back to Providence tonight. Move over, bud.”

He mutters something maybe, sighing instead when fingers comb through his hair. 

“That W was perfection, Parse. You were skating your best life out there, eh?...sleeping right now. Yeah, senior year is a pain in the ass...you bet I miss you. Three weeks, we’ll be close enough to Vegas...yeah, I’ll try to get him to come along, but the Wellies are getting closer to the Championship...he would kill to bring it home for the boys.”

But he probably imagined all that, too. 

Still, he’s got a short break before the next round of games, and just five days until his deadline to let Mr. McLean have his answer when Jack shows up at the Haus and is apparently confused why Bitty isn’t packed for Vegas.

“What do you mean we’re going to Las Vegas, Jack?!” Because this is the first he’s heard about it, and how does Jack already have a plane ticket for him?

“Come off it, bud. If I go there without you, Kenny will never forgive me.”

“How does he even know I don’t have a game?” He frets while putting sleep shorts in a suitcase, wonders if he should bring one of his suits since Jack is already wearing one. 

Jack’s brows scrunch together, “Don’t you talk to him on that–that bird one? All the time? He says he always reads your updates.”

He pauses with a pair of boxer briefs and gives Jack his very best unimpressed expression, “Jack, sweet pea, please tell me you didn’t just refer to Twitter as that bird one?” He carefully does not say anything about Kent Parson checking his Twitter updates.

The soft smile and shrug in reply answers that now doesn’t it.

“I swear, what would you do without me,” he sighs, a little throb of love getting caught in his chest, and he just busies himself right on past it, going for at least one pair of flip flops probably buried under mounds of winter gear. 

“Honestly? If I didn’t have you these last few years, maybe it would have been like what happened when I was in the Q,” Jack leans back on his elbows on Bitty’s bed, right beside the suitcase he’s quickly trying to pack. Being stuck between two button-ups, biting his bottom lip because he’s already bringing so much takes a backseat when Jack mentions the days he was in Juniors, and Bitty feels his eyebrows raise. 

“When we started checking clinics, you and me, that was the most...balanced I ever started feeling after all that. The, ah, overdose. That...that might have been where I ended up if it hadn’t been for you and Samwell.”

With a breath (because Lord, here was Jack finally talking about it, in such a soft tone, his eyes so very blue, and just! Well, he’s not made of stone and this is Jack), he scoots the suitcase back and plops right down on the bed, reaching for Jack’s hand. He carefully looks at the closed door and rubs those big fingers with his thumb.

“You honestly think you would have made those same mistakes without me, Jack?” He tries to be nice about it, “because I sure as heck don’t.”

His fingers tighten around Bitty’s, a squeeze, a soft thank-you.

“I mean, I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t say who you were, but there are some parts of that Jack left in the one I know now. And the Jack I know now is someone that knows how to lead his team, and takes care of them, who knows how to inspire them. The Jack I know got up extra early just to help this hopeless case learn to overcome his fear and be able to play hockey better than he ever could have before. You helped me not just be able to take the check, but I’m a captain, a center, and I earned it because of you. The Jack I know is selfless in so many ways and selfish in just the right ones, and dang it, he’s my best friend, so you better not say anything else like that about him again.”

The bed shifts under him when Jack sits up, a big hand coming up to palm the side of Bitty’s face so Jack can lean his forehead in, look straight at him from just inches away with those stupidly big blue eyes, and be so warm and just Jack. 

“You were never hopeless, Bits,” and with his voice that low, being this close, Bitty feels his cheeks getting warm, his eyes helplessly sliding down to Jack’s mouth.

The errant thought Vegas, we’re going to Vegas shakes him out of the moment, and he pats Jack’s forearm, gently pulling back from the very intense, heart-stopping moment where his brain almost killed him when it told him to just go on and kiss Jack.

But his brain also knows it would probably be the last thing he’d ever do with Jack because Jack has Kent for that now, doesn’t he?

Mentally shaking himself, Bitty stands quickly, goes back to his suitcase, “All right, now for heaven’s sake, Jack, help me here. I’ve never been to Las Vegas–”

And it’s not nearly as hot in Georgia as it is in Las Vegas when they get off the plane, but everything else about it is incredible. 

(He doesn’t think about how nice it was to ride next to Jack on the plane, talking strategy and the team, the upcoming games and new plays they might bring to the ice. It’s nice to hear about the Falcs eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with hollers for more. The pies never last long and cookies are always a favorite.)

He might have worried for about a minute, fiddling with the Uber app on his phone to update his location, but Jack just lays a hand on his back and guides him out of the terminal. 

“Don’t worry about it, Bits, we’ve got a ride.”

And standing by a stunning red Ferrari is Kent Parson himself, grinning wide under his sunglasses.

“Oh my,” even if it’s a little breathless, he gives himself an out here because wow, it’s a nice car. 

(And he is not at all looking at Kent’s bare arms or muscled calves. Absolutely not. He’s already got one heartache, thank-you very much.)

He still squeaks a little when Kent literally picks him up off his feet and swings him around.

“There’s my guys! Falconers and Rebels!” Kent yells for half the airport to hear. 

Jack blinks and Bitty groans softly.

Those blue eyes aren’t accusing him of anything, but it’s that same confused look when he tries to figure out if the next song is Destiny’s Child or Queen Bey herself.

“Rebels?”

He doesn’t wince, but it’s a close thing.

“I’ll...tell you about it later.” He waves off, deflecting perfectly, and snaps up his luggage again now that he’s on his feet.

“Oh,” Kent looks from him to Jack and back to him, and his mouth opens probably to say something else no one else needs to hear.

“Thank-you for coming to pick us up, by the way,” he starts rambling right on, “I’ve never been to Las Vegas before. And we’re even going to watch a game? How exciting! Should I make something for your team? A good luck something maybe? Is there a grocery store close to your house? Can we stop? Maybe I could do a few apple pies and a strawberry one...?”

“You can make me food all day, B,” Kent smiles so wide and white down at him and just swipes his bag right up out of Bitty’s hand like it weighs nothing at all. “My favorite pie is peach, just in case you were wondering.”

Bitty slaps him right on the arm, absolutely offended. “Kenneth Virgil Parson the Third, like I wouldn’t already know what your favorite pie is! Why of all the nerve!”

And that is how Bitty talked himself right out of the AHL conversation with Jack. At least, for the time being. 

**

In the end, he makes two apples, two strawberries, and three peach pies, one for Kenny to keep at home.

Jack mutters under his breath about the Falcs needing a peach pie, and Bitty can absolutely do that once they get back home. 

The boys are wonderful at keeping him company in Kent’s big kitchen while he works, staying out of his way unless he directs them. 

“It’s not going to be a super exciting game. The Schooners are old rivals since before I came to the Aces,” Kenny shrugs, fish oven mitts on, and his own apron is really just Kit’s face blown up on a white background.

But the man’s fish oven mitt is–

Wait for it

– named Fish.

Because Kent is a master at naming things, obviously.

Kit Puurson is laying on the kitchen table from where Bitty banished her from walking along the counters while he’s baking.

“Now, don’t sell it short, sugar pie,” Bitty replies absently, makes the lattice on the last pie perfect. The A in the center is going to be great once the pie finishes baking. “It’s going to be exciting to see you play live no matter what.”

“Aw,” and Kent is smiling all nice at him now that he probably knows Bitty’s not gunning for his boyfr- for Jack, “you’re just saying that because it’s true.”

“Of course I am, Kent. It is true.”

“Any time you get bored of watching the Falcs, all you have to do is call me, Bits. I’ll have you on a plane in a hot minute,” and Bitty has to look over at him for that because it might have been a chirp at Jack, but the tone was a lil’ too serious for his taste.

“Who knows, Mister Parson, I might take you up on that someday.”

(When hell freezes over.)

“I hope so, Bits,” Kent’s eyes go to the masterpieces on the counter waiting for their turn in the oven, “I really hope so.”

*

At the game later that night, before the Aces take the ice, Bitty gets a Snap from Kent Parson. 

All the pie pans are licked clean. Not a crumb in sight.

Bitty sighs in unmitigated relief.

Even though he feels strange not wearing a Falconers or Samwell jersey when he’s at a hockey game, he can’t blame Jack for leaving their home team merchandise back in Providence. 

Earlier, Kent had tugged an Ace's jersey over his head and landed a cap as the cherry on top, winking at him while Jack was busy grumbling to himself about something or other. 

It feels odd to have someone’s name across his back other than his own (or frankly Zimmermann because Jack already gave him two hoodies and several other Falcs shirts, which was real kind of him, and they’re such nice clothes!), but his Mama would fly up from Georgia and whoop his butt good if she knew he’d refused a gift from a celebrity. 

So, even with Jack scowling, he accepts the jersey and hat for the game tonight.

He and Jack find their seats, right behind the bench, and it looks like they can finally settle in.

Jack keeps a running monologue of stats and predictions, leaning in to Bitty while eating the carrot sticks they'd packed in so Jack wouldn't be tempted with junk food.

This boy and his rigid schedule of cheat days. Honestly.

And Bitty is content to talk hockey and the upcoming season, is content to talk about the Samwell team and the next game coming up. 

He gets to watch Kent and the Aces make an opening lap around the rink to wave at their fans, laughs at the finger guns right in their direction.  

He settles on in to watch what will probably be a good game no matter what Kent said earlier, and of course, Jack chooses then to bring it up.

"Are you going to tell me about the Rebels anytime soon?” Jack is watching the game when he finally says it, something in his tone of voice that sounds a little closer to mad.

Bitty looks over, guilty as sin, and Jack looks back, all kind of calm.

“I...I didn’t make a decision or anything–” he starts then turns away from those blue eyes. “I-I should go get us something to drink! Jack, what do you want to–”

He’s halfway out of his chair, but Jack’s hand on his wrist stops him, pulls him back down to his seat.

“Don’t be mad!” Bitty sighs, loud and long, “I didn’t even know what to do when Mr. McLean came to see me.”

Jack hums, “You could have called your best friend who happens to be a professional hockey player.”

“That will be enough chirps outta you, Mister Zimmermann. You were already having a time with the changes to your medication, and I didn’t want to add anything else to your list.”

Jack guffaws at him, “that was two months ago, Bits, and my anxiety is under control. You could have told me anytime since then.”

“Well, I–” and Bitty has a moment where his mouth almost runs right away with him, and he almost tells Jack they ain’t datin’ so not everything has to be out in the open.

“You?”

And even though Kent has the puck, Jack’s eyes are all for Bitty.

“Jack,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right bud?” And that line between his eyebrows lets Bitty know Jack is actually concerned.

“Of course, Jack, I...I just. I don’t know, you’ve got your own career to worry about, and I don’t even know if I still want to play hockey after graduation, nonetheless with a team in the AHL.” He shrugs lamely, pretty sure Jack probably thinks he’s an idiot.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Bits. You don’t have to make a decision right away.”

“Well, I’ve got about five days until he wants to know if I accept their offer,” Bitty rubs the back of his neck, cheeks pink. 

“Oh. Well, you should let me read the contract anyway, eh? At the very least, it could help you make a decision if the offer isn’t for much.”

“If– I mean, if you want to? That would be real nice.”

“Euh. Tomorrow morning after my run, we’ll look at it.” Jack gives a sharp nod like he’s accomplished something, pats Bitty on the shoulder, and goes back to the game, just as pleased as pie.

**

The win was really something for the Aces, and he gets to meet Swoops, Poots, Scrappy, and Gopher when Kent tells them the baker of the pies is at the game.

“Oh my God, I ate like three pieces,” Swoops pats him on the shoulder and laughs.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!”

“Oh totally. Gopher can’t help himself around sweets, so you might get a marriage proposal if you aren’t careful.”

“O-oh my! That’s mighty sweet, but I would hate to have to break his poor heart.” Bitty laughs a little and doesn’t notice how Jack’s eyes narrow. 

It’s entertaining as all get out when Jack groans at the amount of chirps he’s already gotten for being a Falc instead of an Ace.

“He’s got important...things in Rhode Island,” Kent had finally said to his team, which Bitty did not understand at all.

(But, it does make sense. Jack wants to stay close to Shitty and everyone from Samwell. He couldn’t be part of their nearly everyday lives if he had joined the Aces.)

They drop by Kent’s house to change clothes, and head out to celebrate the victory with the team, and all that fluttering around his room at the Haus is suddenly worth it when he looks damn good in his button-up with a black tank top underneath and a pair of shorts that look like they’ve been painted on his ass.

When he comes downstairs, Kent wolf whistles and Jack gets red in the face.

“Are you sure–” Jack starts, a little stuttery that makes Bitty preen.

“Mister Zimmermann, it’s best you do not finish that sentence,” Bitty snipes with his nose in the air.

It’s absolutely satisfying when two very cute boys dance with him at the club, grinding on him and having a heck of a good time.

He doesn’t notice Jack’s sour face until the third or fourth song in, and by then, Kent is making his way through the crowd. 

The hand on his arm pulls him out from between two different boys, and Bitty is just about to give whoever it is what for, but Kent just shifts to grip his hips and pulls him in, back-to-chest. 

And Lord help him, Kent is an amazing dancer. How does he even get himself into these things?

** 

Watching his favorite person, favorite people, dance is giving Jack too many Ideas.

He already has plenty when it comes to Bits. Even more when it comes to Kenny since they have history to fall back on, but for Kenny and Bits? His brain might shut down because Jack is even more invested in that. 

(Kenny hasn’t said anything, but Jack knows him, knows what the look in those eyes means when he watches Bitty. Instead of Kenny trying to talk him into asking Bitty for a date, maybe Jack should be trying to do the same. Or-or talking about if all three of them…?)

As is, Jack has a lot more thinking to do after this trip.

“I swear I take care of him as much as he lets me,” Jeff is saying, “it’s not like it’s his first year anymore. He’s way past all that, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack downs his beer, tries not to be too irritated at Swoops because of the attitude. Since he and Kenny have been talking again, he knows more about that first year with the Aces and Kenny’s struggles after the Draft than he’d wanted to know at the time. He hadn’t wanted to focus on the difficulties his best friend was having with a new career as a professional athlete, was more concerned about getting himself through rehab. 

He’s been finding out about those struggles and bad times, feels better knowing about all the things he’d missed out on back then because that means Kenny is talking to him again.

(“You cut me out!” Still haunts Jack sometimes when he thinks about how he did that to his best friend, his other half. At the time, it had seemed like a trade he didn’t have any other choice but to make, give up his best friend for the chance to get better.)

Jeff was the Ace Kenny billeted with his first year, and the two are close. Maybe even closer than Jack and Kenny had been in the Q. 

He doesn’t deserve to be jealous of that, but somehow, he still is.

“I did him wrong when he was in the Draft,” Jack finally admits to Swoops, “and I’m glad he had you and the team there when he needed you. I just...I just want to make sure he’s okay. Kenny means a lot to me.”

Swoops raises a brow over the beer he’s drinking. “He was pretty torn up over you that first year, Zimmermann. If I could have, I would have found you and punched you right in the nose for that kid.”

Jack shrugs a shoulder, “would have deserved it.”

“Yeah, yeah you would have,” but it seems like the salt has gone out of Jeff’s spine, and he slumps down in his seat across from Jack. “I had to tell the team not to mention your name for a long time. Not gonna lie, when you got picked for the Falcs, I drove over to his place and stayed the night in case he had a breakdown.”

And oh does that hit Jack right in the heart. 

“But, he was...not okay but okay? He was happy for you, is the point.”

Jack’s heart twists painfully at that, “Euh. He’s a better friend than I deserve.”

“You know, he told me about going to your college, right?”

Jack looks Swoops in the face, thinks he might get a little more clarity about that night of the Epikegster.

“Yeah, he did,” because Jeff can read the tell me more on Jack’s face, “and he beat himself up about it for months. Told me he ran off at the mouth because he was angry at you. Hell, you weren’t even happy to see him.”

At the time, no. No, he wasn’t. 

“It was...a shock. We both said some pretty harsh things, I think. But, we’ve come a long way since then.”

“I’d say so. He can say your name without looking like he’s going to start crying now at least.”

Kenny…

“I’m not going to do that again,” Jack feels like he needs Jeff to know this. “He’s stuck with me this time, eh?”

Swoops laughs and raises his glass for Jack to tap with his own, “here’s hoping, Zimmermann. Here’s hoping. But hey, at least he has someone to help pick-up the pieces.”

**

Kent manages to get them through the throng of people at the bar and get them bottles of water, bracketing Bitty in with his arms to keep people around from jostling them.

They’re both sweaty and panting after the last song, and Bitty doesn’t even know how he managed to survive pretty much humping a professional hockey player on the dance floor without embarrassing himself.

“That was so fun,” Kent leans down to talk in his ear since they’re so close to the music, “can we dance some more?”

“Of course we can, honey,” Bitty tilts so he’s talking in Kent’s ear, and it presses them closer together, “but do you need to check in with your team?”

The laugh is low against his neck and Bitty almost, almost shudders.

“My guys are big boys, Bits. They’ll be fine without me mother-henning them to death.”

“Well, all right then, handsome. You’d better get me on out on that dance floor before someone else does!”

And it’s another song or so before they get a slow one. Kent manages to maneuver them into a corner, and pulls Bits in for a slow dance.

“Lord, that was fun,” Bitty doesn’t think much of it, his hands around Kent’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” and Kent gives him that big ole’ smile that makes his whole face light up, and Bitty can’t really blame just one bit for just how cute Kent is in that moment. “I’m glad you came with Jack, Bits.”

“Me too. I had reservations with how close we’re getting to playoffs, but I’m glad I could take the time.”

The hands on his hips squeeze once, and Kent’s face falls, his eyes darting away.

Bitty moves a hand from around his neck to his face and turns him right on back. “Hey, what is it? Should we go?”

“N-no, no. I was just–” and Kent looks back at him with a frown, leans in a little to talk quieter. “Do you still hate me? From when I came to your college?”

And oh. Oh my.

Well, looks like they’re going to have this talk, aren’t they?

“I mean, it’s okay if you do. I was...a dick, okay? I was a complete and total dick. Zimms and I talked about it some, so-so he gets why I said some of the things I said because I mean, he just–and-and I… There’s a lot is all I’m saying. It was awful, not-not all of it, but therapy kind of helps a little? Sometimes it helps I mean, dealing with it when I found him like that, and then later when Big Bob–”

Bitty gently puts a hand over Kent’s mouth to shush him on up. 

“Kent, honey,” he tries softly, misses how those eyes get wide above his hand, “I understand how someone can say mean things when feelings are hurt, and it seems like you and Jack have mended fences since then, right?”

Kent nods without dislodging his hand, but his eyes are shiny and just oh, that poor boy. Jack had talked to him about those days back in Quebec with Kent Parson as his right-hand man, Bitty knows Kent is the one that saved Jack’s life during that overdose. He knows how quiet and strained Jack’s voice gets when he talks about it, can only imagine how terrified Kent had been finding him, performing CPR, getting him to the hospital in Bad Bob Zimmermann’s car.

He can’t touch that painful past for either of them, wishes sometimes he can give that back when he hears how wistful Jack sounds, sees how Kent sometimes looks like he has regrets. No, Bitty can’t fix their past for them, give them back their innocent days, but he can help the people they are in the here and now, can’t he?

“Well, that’s good to hear. What’s really important is that you don’t do that again, all right? Don’t take your anger out on Jack even if he might deserve it sometimes, and don’t ever say those horrible things to him again. Okay?”

Kent blinks at him and his eyes go softly half-mast. He finally nods with Bitty’s hand still over his mouth.

“Good. Then, we’re all fine, right?”

Another nod and a squeeze to his hips.

“Wonderful. Now Mister Parson, we are going to finish this song and then go back to your boys to celebrate. Maybe if we’re lucky, they’ll play ‘Crazy in Love’ later because that is one of my favorites.” He takes his hand away and grins up at Kent while his heart beats harder at the soft smile looking down on him.

“Good plan, B. If they play it, you can only dance with me, okay?”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

Sure enough, the DJ plays ‘Crazy in Love’ and Bitty is pretty sure Kent’s the one that asked for it. That absolutely doesn’t mean he gives it any less ass shaking than it rightfully deserves.

**

He’s happy to see Jack laughing with Swoops and Poots when they finally tear themselves away from dancing, and Bitty absolutely refuses to drink whatever fruity thing Kent offers him because he’s not twenty-one quite yet, thank-you very much Mister Parson.

But the Aces are so nice when they leave, thanking Bitty again for his victory pies. He waves them off and doesn’t mind Jack’s hand at the small of his back when Kent guides them out.

(Later that night, he pretends he doesn’t hear Jack get up off the couch and walk down the hall to Kent’s room and softly close the door. But at that point, he’s not sure if he’s still a little jealous, or even who he’s really jealous of if he’s honest with himself.)

He eventually gets a few hours of sleep, and still wakes up god-awful early anyhow.

Since he’s been in this kitchen for three days already, he automatically puts on coffee and pulls out what he’s going to need to feed two big hockey players. 

He doesn’t even register Kent in the doorway watching him until the first cup of coffee is gone and the second is on the way there.

“Oh my Lord!” He fairly screams when he notices Kent watching.

“Sorry,” is totally unrepentant, the ass.

“You sure look it!” Bitty chirps back after his heart has climbed down out of his throat. “Goodness sakes, were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Nah, you just look cute in my kitchen, all busy and stuff. I like it.”

And well, that just takes the words right out of his mouth, so he goes back to make sure the bacon doesn’t burn while the quiche cools.

“Bits?!”

Jack is flustered and drenched from the shower, skittering almost right on the ground. He’s only got a towel around his waist and his hair is all over the place.

Bitty can resolutely say it’s the best morning in the history of mornings because that towel is awful short and Jack’s legs are awful long.

“I’m sorry! He just surprised me, we’re fine!” Bitty flaps his hands to shoo Jack out of the doorway. “Go on now and finish your shower. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Jack wipes water out of his eyes from his dripping hair and looks down at him silently.

“I promise, Jack. Go on now. Shoo! Naked is for the bathroom and the locker room.”

The slow grin is really just the nail in the coffin because no man should be that beautiful, it’s really not fair to the gay population. 

A glance at Kent’s shit-eating grin and he has to silently amend that statement. No men should be this beautiful.

While Jack trucks back down the hall, Bitty grabs paper towels to sop up the water he’d trailed, giving them up to Kent when he gets a frown for trying to clean up.

He tisks to himself and pours Kent a cup of coffee, mixing in the right amounts of cream and sugar, hands it to him when he throws away the wet paper towels.

He puts the bacon on another paper towel to get some of the grease while Kent sits down with his coffee. 

“I had so much fun last night. I can’t thank-you enough for taking us.” As he puts the quiche in the middle of the table.

“I had fun, too, B. Most the guys won’t dance no matter what, and you are awesome.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, sugar pie.”

Kent laughs at him, but reaches out to grip Bitty’s wrist before he can go back to the stove, “but, just so I know...you really don’t hate me anymore, right? We’re friends now?”

Oh, this must be the I need to tell you as Jack’s friend that me and him are datin’ talk. Lord, help him get through this conversation.

“Now, Kent. I already told you last night as long as you don’t hurt Jack like that again and have significantly groveled, we’re all fine.”

“Yeah, I know, but I mean, you and me. We’re fine, too, right?”

“Why of course we are.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

Bitty pats Kent’s hand with the free one, “and you already know you can talk to me about anything, right? If things like that are bothering you, you can talk them out with me before you go and say something like that again, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bits.”

“You’re welcome, Kent.”

He retracts his hand with another pat and goes back for the bacon, waiting for the something else that might be on Mr. Parson’s mind.

“Bits?”

Mmhm. There is it. “Yes, Kent?”

“You...can call me Kenny, too...I mean, if you want.”

The bacon plate in hand, and Bitty turns to look at the pink cheeks on Kent Parson, the way he doesn’t meet Bitty’s surprised eye.

(Even with all his team and the press coverage, he’s only ever heard Jack call Kent ‘Kenny.’)

“All right then, Kenny,” and oh is he grinning, thinking about chirping him just for fun. “I think we’re just about ready for breakfast.”

Nothing else comes of it, and Bitty’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

 **

Jack slowly, methodically reads through the scans of the Rebels contract he’s got back at Samwell. Kent reads over his shoulder, eyebrows squinty in concentration.

Lord, they look so cute like that. It’s really surprising no one else has picked up on the dating yet because these two are absolutely transparent.

“So–”

He gets twin wait a minute fingers. 

“Well fine then,” and he meanders in the kitchen to see if maybe he should make those peppermint cookies after all. 

A batch later and both boys come on in and sit at the table with the tablet between them.

Bitty absolutely puts the cookies in the middle and pours glasses of milk. Kent looks from the plate to him with wide eyes. 

Two seconds later, he’s already demolishing his third.

Boys.

“All right, you two. Give me the low-down.” Bitty waves a hand over his shoulder and starts washing up dishes.

Jack tells him how it seems to be a right fair offer for a rookie hockey player. The money could be better, but well, it ain’t too shabby. 

Bitty sighs because the money is utterly obscene. More than his scholarship to Samwell for all four years.

Kent has no problem finishing Jack’s thoughts when he trails off, longer in the profession than Jack. He gives more examples of what bad contracts would probably be and makes Bitty wonder if this isn’t his first time helping with these sorts of things.

Well, as Captain of the Aces, he probably has. Not to mention how he babies his rookies. 

“So,” Bitty finally bites on his lip, looking down at the tablet, “so if...if I wanted to keep playing hockey after graduation. This is a good opportunity, is what you’re tellin’ me.”

Both Jack and Kent nod at him, serious as a heart attack.

“This is a good opportunity, Bits.”

“But,” Kent looks at him seriously, “we aren’t agents, either. This is from our experience. For a professional opinion, I can suggest some guys, so can Jack, that can haggle the contract for you.”

He stands at the sink with soapy hands braced on the edges, just looking out the window into Kent’s nice backyard. 

Kit is lounging on a dishtowel right there on the ledge to get some sun.

And just like his worst tendency, Jack stands up with a cookie and saunters over to stand beside him, back against the counter.

“It’s a lot to take in, bud,” is all growly and soft.

“I never imagined playing hockey after this year,” he admits, “buying a bakery, sure. Learning under other chefs, maybe taking a turn in another culinary art, yes. But, professional hockey? Hell, I couldn’t take a check without passin’ out a few years ago, Jack.”

Jack munches on his cookie, watching Bitty’s profile with soft eyes. “True. But, couple years ago, you wouldn’t have thought you’d end up Captain, and be on your way to the Frozen Four, eh?”

Kent shuffles his feet a little but boosts himself up on the counter beside Jack. “The AHL is like, our version of boot camp, you know? The kiddie pool before you hit the NHL. And there’s a four-season standard for that reason, B. You’ve got four seasons to play your best game and see if the Scouts are interested. I mean, a lot of guys that get a bad break and don’t make it, they can renew their contracts every four years or join the practice teams. Guys that still want to play hockey, like a lot of the guys on the Rebs.”

“That offer is for one season, though.” 

“Sure,” Jack fills in, meandering back for another, handing one off to Kent. “It’s a chance to get your feet wet, Bits, see if you can make the first year. I didn’t get a four-year from the Falcs until I got through the probationary period.”

“Lucky they didn’t make you billet, Jack. That’s usually a requirement.”

“Nah, I was old enough. Marty and Tater kept up with me, though. And I had Bits,” Jack shrugs and promises himself this is the last one even as he eyes the full plate.

He glances over at the serious expression on Bitty’s face, thoughts turning behind his eyes because now he’s thinking about it. On one hand, yes, he wants his bud to stay close, be on their sister team’s roster. Pawtucket is only twenty minutes or so from Providence, even closer than Samwell. 

(Jack wouldn’t have to lose him if Bits accepts the offer, keeps playing hockey. Jack thinks he’s terrible for wanting that as much as he does.)

For Bitty, the eminent future is looking closer and closer as this year draws to a close. Getting this offer was terrifying because of all those what if’s?

Kent hums around a mouthful, leans around Jack to look at him. “Sure, but you never know, B. You take Samwell to the ECAC, and there might be more people coming to talk to you.”

“Sugar pie, I’ve seen what you and Jack are up against. If there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that I’m not ready for the NHL, no matter how far we go this year. But–” he sighs a little.

“But what, bud?” 

“...the real question is, what if I’m not ready to give it up once the season’s over?”

Kent chuckles at him around the last bite, “then you’ll have a year with the Rebels to figure out if you’re done with hockey, or not.”

He catches his breath a little (could it really be as simple as that?).

“...that’s what I needed to know, thank-you boys.” He pats Kent on the leg and Jack on the arm, taking up the tablet, swinging right around to go back to the stove and wait for the next batch, hip hitched on the cabinets while he reads all over again.

He’s going to call Coach and Mama when he gets back to Samwell. Then on Monday morning, he’s going to call Mr. McLean and accept the offer.

 ** 

It’s not his fault most the people he’s friends with are so much taller than him. 

Really, it’s not. 

So when Kent just grabs him up before he and Jack get on the plane and hugs him tight for long minutes, Bitty’s feet dangle off the ground, but he’s pretty much used to it by now. Shitty broke him of it first, Holster helped.

“I’m going to miss you,” is said against his shoulder because he thinks Kent might just be tearing up.

Because of Jack.

Because Jack’s leaving.

Right?

With his feet still dangling, he pats the back of Kent’s head soothingly. “I’ll miss you too, honey. But, it’s not forever, right? We’ll see you again.”

Kent eventually put him down when Jack laid a hand to his shoulder and turned him in for a hug, and Bitty looks away when Kent wraps himself around Jack like an octopus, shoulders shaking just a little. 

Jack makes soothing circles on Kent’s back, talks softly in French, and just holds on for a few long minutes. Bitty makes himself busy by checking their luggage tags and slips away to get them some coffee from one of the twelve Starbucks in the airport.

A caramel frappuccino helps a little, and Kent just sweeps him on up again.

Jack keeps a hand on the back of Kent’s neck until the very last second, and something in Bitty’s chest tightens a little, but for the very first time, he’s not sure if it’s for Jack touching Kent like that or if it’s for Kent being all upset they’re leaving.

Something to think about another day.

As is, he’s got a thesis to write, a team to take care of, and a pair of professional hockey players that need fresh baked goods. His plate is pretty much full.

** 4

His vlog has always been somewhere to vent when he needed to, and even if he doesn’t have a huge following with millions of subscribers (yet), he didn’t think things would turn out this way.

But, the school newspaper he usually ignores puts it right out there for everyone to read.

Eric Bittle of Samwell’s Own Hockey Team is the First Out Captain in the NCAA

Dex is there to put a hand on his shoulder when he feels like he suddenly can’t breathe.

Someone watched his vlog and picked up on a few things apparently (“Never fall for a straight boy.” Those words are going to haunt him forever). 

He’s out to the team, but not the rest of campus. Good Lord. Hopefully no one pays it any mind, and they can just ride right along to the next game.

It does not go away.

Instead, the news catches fire, and before he knows it, his face is on ESPN as the first out NCAA captain. The rainbow background isn’t doing him any favors, but in between the panic in his brain, he thinks the yellow of the spectrum looks real nice with those shorts.

Chowder is the one that calls him in to look at the breaking story, looking over the couch to take note of Bitty’s face. 

He shows how much his reflexes have improved when he throws himself over the couch and latches on when Bitty’s knees fail and he almost sprawls himself all over the floor. 

His phone is in his hand, and Chowder is talking, saying something. He didn’t know when Ollie and Wicks, Dex and Nursey, Tango and Whiskey and Foxtrot, River, Hops, and Louis all got there crowded around him, but he just seems to blink and there they all are.

“I,” he starts loudly, immediately quieting everyone with a single word, “am going to make a pie. Everyone is welcome to hang out while I am doing so.”

So, he makes a pie and while he does, he makes a plan.

He talks out how this could affect the team’s chances of getting to the Championship, how this could affect how they play, how they plan to win the next few games. Bitty thinks it might be smart to step down as captain, being pragmatic as possible now that he’s not panicking about finishing the season and his senior year at Samwell. 

Whiskey, who he hadn’t been able to connect with all darn season (more n’ likely because he found Whiskey at that party kissing the Lax bro), smashes his fist on the table and says that’s a whole lotta bull. Bitty’s the one that got them this far, and he’ll take them the rest of the way.

(Bitty still has several talks in the next few days. With the coaching staff, with Samwell administration, with the entire gathered team. He gives all of them the same option. He’ll give up being captain or all out quit the team if this would hurt their changes to go to the Frozen Four. He gets the same denial, loud and belligerent from his whole team –which warms his heart, honestly. They’re all such good boys.)

They decide to handle it one game at a time, and break for the night. In his room with coppery fear still in the back of his mouth, he holds his phone and stares at the contact information for Home. 

He’s almost pressed it when a FaceTime request comes from Kent.

Almost at the same time Jack doesn’t bother to knock, but just throws his bedroom door open, looking like he’d run miles.

Throwing himself to his feet, both hands up, he probably looks terrified because Jack scared the absolute heck out of him. 

“Bits,” and now it’s Jack that’s got both hands up, coming at him, “Bits, it’s okay. It’s okay, bud.” And he really means to say something, but he’s just all caught up in Jack. He smells so good and feels so nice, he’s strong when Bitty feels weak and shaky, picking him right on up and sitting down to fold over him like a big Canadian blanket.

“What a horrible way to be outed,” he laughs through the shakes, but his voice is hoarse. “This is absolutely awful, Jack.”

“God, it really is. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Bits.”

“Lord, I’m making a fool of myself. What’s done is done, I suppose.”

“Still, I want to be here for you.”

“Oh, honey. I appreciate it.”

And he just lets himself sink into Jack a little, burying his face in Jack’s neck, just tries to breathe.

His phone goes off again, and this time Jack picks it up, sees who it is, and taps the top of Bitty’s head with it.

He thumbs the request without looking, just keeping his face right where it is. This is the best he’s felt since that awful ticker tape just laid out his biggest secret, and put a big ole’ target right on his back.

“Hi Kenny,” and he’s proud his voice sounds as steady as it does.

“Hey B,” is so soft and concerned, his heart gives a little patter. 

Jack holds the phone for him with one hand, and squeezes him tight with the other. 

“This sucks so hard, B. I’m so sorry ESPN gives a fuck about college sports enough to do something shitty like this.”

He raises his face just enough for Kent to see half his face out of Jack’s bulk. “One of those silly human interest stories, I guess. Too bad they got a little too interested, huh?”

“You can totally sue the shit out of them, okay? B, I know a guy. He could get you millions.”

“That won’t make everything right, Kenny, but thank-you for being here with me.” He gives a shuddering sigh, “I’m still going to have to deal with the backlash, and as much as I hate it, so will the team. I haven’t talked to the administration or the coaches, but it might be smart if I step down for the rest of the season, maybe quit outright. Then the boys might still be able to make it to the Frozen Four…”

“You’re two games away, B. You can’t give up now!”

“Agree. You got them here, they’ll have your back, Bits.”

“Kenny, Jack this is hockey. Everyone we go against from here on out is going to be gunning for us. The things they’re going to say to the boys–”

“They’ll handle it. Trust me,” Jack soothes, “they won’t let you give up either.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll see come Monday,” he’s tired, but there’s no slowing down right now, even if Kent is petting Kit and Jack’s lap is absurdly comfortable.

“Besides,” Kent continues, “you’re not alone, B. Plenty of us in the NHL. We’re just not like, out out. Maybe to our teams and stuff, not like, outed on ESPN or anything, fuck those guys. You seriously don’t want me to contact my guy for you? He got 6.8 million dollars for a celebrity case–”

“So you’re out to your team then, Captain Parson?” He blinks because the way Kent just came out with it, not a stutter one, shakes him.

“Huh? Well, yeah, of course I am. I’ve been on the Aces for years, Bits. These guys are like my family, so yeah, they know.”

“O-oh.”

Kent blinks at him, pauses. “Ah, I didn’t come right out and tell you, but yeah. Me too, so it’s okay, B. You’re not alone.”

It’s that moment when Jack leans down, shifting so Bitty’s looking up at him. “You’re not alone,” Jack repeats softly, “I kiss boys sometimes, too. None of that changes how good you are at hockey, and none of that changes you, okay Bits?”

And Lord above help him. He throws both arms around Jack, biting his lower lip between his teeth, and shaking like a leaf in a wind storm.

“Jack...Kenny…thank-you, boys. Just when I need you, and there you are.” He chokes a little, and there’s Jack folding down around him, there’s Kent holding Kit closer to the phone, sending virtual purrs and cuddles.

He doesn’t feel that bad wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist shamelessly, locking his ankles in the back, and just not facing the world for a while. 

It gets a little better when Jack tries to squeeze into a pair of his shorts while Kenny is brushing his teeth and talking about the camp they had at a local rink, running drills and plays with some of the high school kids from around the area. 

But everything in the world absolutely pauses when Jack clears his throat awkwardly

And really, God Bless Canada. 

The little sigh that comes out of him is echoed from his phone, and yes Kenny, they do have good taste.

“I can’t sleep in these, Bits, ah, sorry.”

But that color blue stretched taunt against Jack’s big thigh is just the best sight he’s probably ever seen.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ve got to offer. I can go talk to Dex?” Because Chowder has wider shoulders like Jack, but is about a foot shorter.

“Eh, not necessary.”

And well, yes. Bitty knows Jack wears cute little briefs. They were on a team together, have spent time in the locker room, have seen the occasional moment before towels go on. It’s men’s sports for crying out loud. 

But none of that, absolutely none of that, prepares him for Jack shimmying out of those shorts for black briefs that absolutely mold to his behind and cup the front of him. The real coup de gras is that t-shirt coming off, and heaven help him, it’s muscles for miles. 

Only those little briefs between Bitty and what the Good Lord gave Jack, the definition of fine walking across the room like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

Bitty unabashedly watches, lips parted, cheeks a soft shade of pink. 

Jack closes the bathroom door, smirking where Bits can’t see, muffled noises as he roots around in the bathroom for a spare toothbrush. It gives Bitty can just take a second to himself to take in this whole situation. 

He’s been outed on a national sports network that may or may not take the question of the Rebels right out of the equation

Chances of going all the way to the finals is looking slimmer and slimmer the more he thinks about it

Jack and Kenny confirmed some of his suspicions and it’s an absolute crime and a blessing that they’ve found each other again

Jack has gotten bulkier than Bitty realized in the last year and a half playing for the NHL and his ass should be marked as a dangerous weapon

He hasn’t answered any of the phone calls from home

Still, Coach sent him a text, Call your mother. She’s worried about you.

 And top of the list, Jack Zimmermann is in his bathroom, shirtless, barefoot, after just having verbally come out to him.

If there was ever anyone that deserves to be up for Sainthood, it’s this good ole’ Georgia boy Right. Here. 

With his head in his hands, he groans softly, and scurries to throw on his own sleep clothes, stripping down without a thought more than those short on Jack and those shorts off Jack.

“I absolutely feel you,” a breathy chirp, and he forgot Kenny probably saw the entire thing.

Bitty spins, almost ready to start getting on a boat down that river called denial when he realizes Kenny is giving him the most devilish looking smile.

“It’s really unfair that he’s a hockey God and blisteringly hot to boot.”

“We are the best of friends, I’ll have you know Mister Parson. Jack doesn’t even see me that way, even after tonight. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s got his eye set on someone prettier than little ole’ me.”

He throws the covers back to busy his hands, but can spare a second to put some charm into it and look back at Kenny with a wink. 

It’s either the best or the worst timing because Kenny gets this look on his face, opening his mouth for something that might have been good or bad, when Jack comes out of the bathroom smelling like mint and looking like a touch could burn you down to the ground.

Kenny looks at him for a few long seconds while they’re climbing into bed, and chirps them about hands above the comforter and hockey bros cuddle like champs before he yawns and finally hangs up for the night.

The sheet gets maneuvered between them so he’s not going to be tortured most of the night with only his sleep shirt and pants between them–

(and those sinful underwear, he’s never going to forget those)

–so it’s suspiciously easy to drop off with Jack’s arm around him and snoring in his ear.

**

The next two games are utterly brutal. 

Ice bags are wrapped around his shoulder while he sits in his spot in the locker room, forearms on his knees to just hurt while Chowder is talking at his right and Dex at his left.

The bruises tomorrow are going to be beautiful, but heck, what’s some bruises when Samwell is officially in the Frozen Four.

Lord, they made it.

And he will start celebrating, right after he can raise up his arm again.

Oh, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Making pies for the campus captain club is going to be awful, isn’t it?

He manages to get the ice bags off in time to walk with the boys back to the Haus, Ollie already scooping up his bag and Chowder, bless his heart, hovering anxiously right by him the whole walk there.

They don’t make him do a keg stand this time, thank goodness, but the party celebrating their win is well underway in less than an hour.

It’s real nice when the Lax bros bring in a stack of pizzas and slap him on the back in congratulations, like he hadn’t just been outed on national television. (He loves Samwell so much.) Chad L. says a whole bunch of something that Bitty tries to follow and ends up handing him a plate with pizza and accepting a piece of pie in exchange. 

The fire extinguisher is in plain sight to remind the footballers what could happen if they don’t behave, and at least two of his boys hang around him most the night, bracketing him on both sides to keep an eye on him. Ollie and Wicks pop around the corner periodically anyhow.

He catches Chowder taking a picture for social media, has a second of panic, almost tells his sweet son not to do that because everyone knows, but shuts his mouth last minute and straightens up to grin for the next one.

**

The night the news came out, Bitty changed his social media to private, hoping to avoid some of the homophobic comments. Since the morning after (and it’s a crying shame he missed seeing those little black briefs again since Jack was already dressed by the time he got up), he’s been talking to pretty much everyone.

Most of all, his Mama and Coach...and Mr. McLean.

Jack squeezes his hand, and Bitty bites his lip, but still, “I’m afraid I don’t think I should accept your offer after all. This isn’t going to blow over any time soon.”

“Mr. Bittle. I’m interested because you’re fast, you’ve got soft hand, and you’re a good fit for the Rebels. As far as I understand, this isn’t going to change any of that.”

“O-oh!”

“If you want to play hockey, Mr. Bittle, you can do that with us.”

And it’s there when he looks in Jack’s blue, blue eyes, when he thinks about Ollie and Wicks, when he thinks about Shitty being so kind when he’d come out to the first person on the team. It’s there when he thinks about being terrified at that first check practice, when he thinks about how dang far he’s come in four years.

(It’s tough, but you’re tougher.)

“I want to play hockey, Mr. McLean.”

“That’s the spirit Mr. Bittle. I’ll send you training camp information in the next week or so. Welcome to the Pawtucket Rebels.”

If Jack holds him tight while he almost shakes apart once he hangs up the phone, well, only Chowder and Dex will ever tell a soul because they fell on him and Jack like a ton of bricks, hugging him and laughing.

**

Shitty, Ranson, Holster, and Lardo make the trip from Boston to show up on the Haus doorstep before they’ve even finished clean-up from the party the night before.

Before he knows it, he’s got Shitty crying all over him, telling him he’s so proud and Bitty’s just the best little captain there ever was.

It’s so nice because Shitty is silly as hell, but he’s an amazing friend in times of need. 

And he can’t say it isn’t nice when Shitty picks up the loud speaker and starts shooing the rest of the hanger-oners out.

“Frozen Four!” Ransom crows, “our guys are going to kick some ass.”

“You said it, bro,” Holster warmly pats Bitty on the shoulder with one of those big hands while this pie is just coming along easily enough.

The flinch when the bruises ache is enough for more ice bags to get wrapped around him, and Shitty to shake a finger in his face, talking about taking care of himself. It might not be a concussion, but they’ve got serious games coming up, and he needs to be tip top if he’s going to take them all the way.

Bitty takes it to heart and lets them baby him for a few hours.

It does get worse when Dex and Chowder see Holster pulling the neck of his shirt up a little to check how bad it is, and then he’s got more hockey players in his kitchen butting in. Luckily, Dex is getting just as good at making pie as Bitty, and finishes up the lattice work perfectly.

He talks strategy with Ransom and Holster at the kitchen table while Lardo makes another pot of coffee, and Chowder subtly slips the bottle of ibuprofen next to him. Whiskey listen to them strategize for the upcoming games, and my, don’t it feel so normal.

He hugs Shitty again, holds on just as tight as he can, and thanks the Good Lord for such amazing friends.

**

Mama and Coach are more understanding than he ever would have imagined, taken in account what a shock it is just to come across the television like that.

“Dickey, honey, now you know,” and she has to pause because Lord, his Mama is crying, “you know you can always come home. Always. No matter what. We love you. We love you and everything else, we can figure all that out.”

And so, since he’s never said it, only thought about what could happen, he tells her, “Mama… I’m gay.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know and that’s-that’s fine. We can figure it all out. But, you can come home sometime before the semester ends, can’t you?”

“N-not while we’re close to the Championships, Mama. I-I can’t–”

“Junior.” 

And now he’s glad he just called instead of trying to FaceTime. So glad he doesn’t have to look Coach in the face right now.

“You’ve done a heck of a job this year. Been a good captain. You know me and your mama are proud, don’t you Junior?”

And there goes his lip all trembling, his eyes getting hot. Only Jack squeezing his hand keeps him together at all.

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“Good. You just keep fighting. We’ll be here cheering you on, all right?”

His breath hitches in his chest, “yes, Daddy.”

“That’s my boy. You can do it, Junior. They’re tough–”

“–but I’m tougher,” and he’s covering his eyes, shoulder hunching down. Jack goes from holding his hand to pretty much lifting him up enough to slide on Jack’s lap.

“That’s right, son. You sure as hell are.”

He sighs out, a soft noise. “I am, Daddy. We made the Frozen Four.”

“Go get ‘im. Me and your Mama are behind you all the way.”

And even if Coach gets squicky when it’s time for I love you, Bitty manages to get it out anyhow.

“Love you too, son. Now you gotta stop, or else your mama’s gonna drown me.”

The thick laugh is so much better than crying. Jack thinks so too apparently, squeezing tight while Bitty’s sitting on his thighs.

If he thinks there’s a kiss pressed to the top of his head, well, he’s just going to blame it on being emotionally overwrought and leave it at that.

**

He didn’t bother with pads, just pants, sweatshirt, gloves, stick, helmet, and skates. The ice is quiet as can be in the morning light bouncing off Faber, making it beautiful.

Kenny’s far enough ahead of them that he’s on a break from practice, already home making brunch. “Big Red is going to be killer, B. Cornell is ruthless. Fighting Hawks from North Dakota.”

His skates cut through the ice until he’s gliding, hitting the long stretch, pumping as fast as his legs can take him, cycling the puck. 

He doesn’t reply to Kenny, just listens while his muscles burn, his mind works, he sees the next move like a playbook. 

Over the past four years, he’s gotten stronger, faster. Sure, he’s smaller than the average hockey player, but that don’t mean weak. Everyone they’ve played already figured that one out now didn’t they?

His arms and shoulders burn when he swings high, throws some muscle in it when he slaps the puck right in the sweet spot of the net.

“No fair, B. I want to watch!”

“I’d have to set my phone in the stands, sugar pie.”

“If that means I get to watch you do suicides, I’m on board.”

Bitty laughs out loud because Lord, he sounds like Jack. 

“Trying to kill me before practice?”

“Captain’s prerogative, babe.”

Obligingly, Bitty sets up his helmet, laying on it’s side, throws a t-shirt in it to hold the phone up, and FaceTimes Kenny.

He gives the captain of the Aces a wink and then takes off to the blue line. He’s got his game face on, stick balanced perfectly, moving like his ass is on fire.

After a good turn out, he skates back to the stands where Kenny is very close to the screen. 

“Well, there you go, Captain,” he snickers, scooping up the whole thing so Kent goes around the rink for some easy, cool-down laps with him before the boys start meandering in for practice. “That what you wanted to see?”

“You? Are fast, B. That was incredible.”

“Oh, sugar pie,” he grins down at Kent’s face in his helmet, “you say the nicest things.”

“Hey, I’m not being nice, Bits. I’m saying as a professional hockey player that you? Are fast.”

“Well, so are you. Short guys like us have a tendency to out-maneuver the big guys.”

“I’ve based most of my career on being the fast guy on the team, B, but I don’t know how I’d hold up against you.”

“Mmhm. I also haven’t been playing professionally for the last few years, tearing the fire out of my knee, Kent.” Very serious because he’s counted how many nights he’s seen ice bags over that knee in the last few weeks.

“Also true. It might be surgery for me this summer, but that should do a lot. I’ll have maybe ten years instead of five.”

“So you said. Your doctor is talking about it again?”

“...yeah. He says it should do wonders for where I’m at right now, and this might be the year to just do it and get it over with.”

“Three-time Stanley Cup winner is where you’re at right now, sugar pie.”

The laugh is nice, but now he’s wondering if he can convince Kenny to come to Providence and stay with Jack during his recovery. That’ll let Bitty be close enough to come over and take care of him while his knee heals. He’s already thinking it over when his third lap is coming up.

“B.” Startles him right out of his thoughts.

“Kenny?”

And something is there in the way Kenny is looking at him from the screen. “Be careful at the game tonight. Watch out for the Minnesota D-Men, okay?”

“Thank-you, sugar. You watch on out for those Rangers.”

“I will. Just send me a text when the game is over, even if I’m in overtime, okay?”

“You know it, honey. Now go on and get a nap. We’ve both got a busy night tonight.”

**

This could be the last time he steps out on the ice. This could be it. All of it could end right here right now. 

They’ve got to play their hearts out. He’s got to give it everything he’s got. For himself, for the boys, for Samwell. 

It comes down to this, facing Minnesota’s line like there ain’t no going back.

**

He sits on his bed, faggot and fairy in his head from the game earlier. He doesn’t accept Jack’s call because his face is a mess.  

Well, serves him right because Jack just shows up at the Haus an hour later when Bitty has finally got it together.

**

The check is absolutely brutal. 

He used to be floored by it, curled up in a little ball on the ice, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. 

But not this damn time. Oh hell no. 

It’s fast when he’s back up on his feet, shoving his way through bigger men than him and stealing that puck right on out from under them. 

He feels like he’s got wings on his feet when he glides by them like they’re just standing still. 

**

Mama and Coach are here because they’ve come down to the last stand. 

This is it.

Jack and Kenny are both there and where in the world they got #15 Bittle jerseys, he will never know.

Number #82 has already been gunning for him, but the last one is the very last of Eric Bittle’s patience running right on out.

His heart is racing, his legs burning, skates cutting ice as he steers around players, gritting his teeth against the ache, and for the first time, he’s gonna stand up, holler out that no, he’s not gonna take that nonsense lying down.

The moment slows down for long enough that he feels weightless when he pushes off, is airborn, shoving all his weight right into #82 just as they’re at the Samwell bench and shove the both of them right in with the boys.

It’s a tangle of arms and legs and skates and sputtering. 

“Try me again, asshole,” Bitty sneers in #82’s face with the face guards the only thing between them. 

“Homophobic prick!” One of his boys shouts.

Coach and the boys pick him up (shocked because he doesn’t usually have a need for potty mouth thank-you very much), want him to go get checked out while the ref blows the whistle just after Whiskey gets the puck, and now it’s all on Samwell.

He doesn’t get a penalty, thank goodness, and argues loudly with Coach to let him back in the game, he needs to get back. It’s not like he lost a tooth, just some scratches from going over. It’s a long look in his eyes before Coach just throws up his hands and shoos him back. 

And Bitty’s not thinking about Jack and Kenny and Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster and Mama and Daddy and everyone else up in those stands screaming for them when he hits the ice again. He’s not thinking about how badly he hurts or the scratches on his face. He’s not thinking about his thesis or graduation or his spot in Jack’s guest room. 

He’s only thinking about the tied score, the next play, and how they’re going to show these away boys exactly who’s house this is.

**

And his arms strain when his stick comes back, when he slams that puck with every ounce of strength he has left. His heart thuds hard in the back of his mouth when their goalie’s hand shoots out, tries to catch the puck, just the tips of his gloves skimming the surface.

The alarm blares and the scoreboard changes so fast, Bitty’s not really sure what happened until his boys slam into him, gather all around him, screaming.

He’s dazed, fingers limply holding his stick, eyes still stuck on the scoreboard even when they lift him up, stick and all.

The crowd takes to the ice, and he gets his helmet off in time to get hugs from Mama and Coach, in time to accept the huge trophy, him and Coach and Dex holding it up with all the boys around them just a hooting and a hollering all over the place. 

Ransom and Holster catch him right up off his feet, crying all over him when they tell him how proud they are.

The interviews shake him out of the daze and he tells the viewers at home that the team fought hard for this and earned it all themselves. He’s proud to be their teammate and captain, he’s proud to be a Wellie, and darn it, their hard work paid off.

Just as he turns, sees Chowder going past with three of their guys behind him, singing the Samwell song at the top of their lungs, he catches Jack and Kenny standing on the ice by the boards, watching him with soft smiles on their faces, and his eyes get hot abruptly, get full as can be.

Center ice, just like with the Stanley Cup. And this ain’t that now. This? This one is all his.

He feels his lower lip tremble just a little, puts his hand up to stop it, but dang it if Jack and Kenny aren’t just easing across the ice toward him with those smiles and his name across the back of their shoulders.

He gets a hand on the back of his neck and a shoulder to hide his face while the whooping and celebrating gets loud, loud, loud.

Lord, he’s going to vlog the hell out of this tomorrow.

**

Shitty is naked. 

While it’s not new (they’ve been to Haus 2.0, and yes, Shitty was naked there too. Good times, really), Bitty has always had reservations about him being skin-to-fabric on that dang couch. Who knows what he might get. Well, all that spilled tub juice probably goes a long way to sanitize. Or so he says to keep his revolution to a minimum. 

Watching Kenny get his ass handed to him from Lardo is hilarious. Watching Jack give in and have a chugging competition is even better. 

He’s lucky the ECAC playoffs beat the NHL by almost a month. Jack and Kenny have another week before they start getting serious. 

Ransom and Holster are talking animatedly with the Waffles, back slaps all around. He’s pleased as can be when Shruti, Sharon, Edgar, Chad L., and some other captains drop by to say congratulations and have a piece of pie. He doesn’t see Jack pause over his shoulder while he talks up a storm, doesn’t see the considering look on Jack’s face.

Something about this Bitty hits him harder than the last four years, makes that perpetual tightness in his chest mean something completely different than anxiety.

He should have realized it long before his graduation, should have been terrified of it all happening again. 

Bitty affects him in so many of the same ways Kenny does, and it’s an amazing yet terrifying thing for Jack Zimmermann. Feeling like this person you’re looking at is literally made for you. 

And just as he starts taking a step forward, pushing himself in to stand at Bitty’s side like he’s done the majority of their friendship, Kenny ducks out of nowhere and takes him by both biceps. His expression is desperate.

“You’ve got to stop her. Zimms. Zimms, be on my team. Right now.”

It’s so absurd because it’s Kenny and also because he knows no one is beating Lardo. 

Ever.

Anything else is wishful thinking.

He casts a wistful look at Bitty, animated with his big win, and if Jack literally has his heart in his eyes until they’re out of sight, then only Chad L. from would have seen it.

**

Later on after the captains have said good night and some of their...guests have started staggering out, cheering for Samwell, for hockey, for tub juice, and for pie. 

For this one, Bits really couldn’t take credit because Dex really made most of them, bless his heart.

Moving around the party-goers with a spare trash bag to pick up a bit, he spots someone sneaking upstairs, pauses to squint up in case he needs to charge on up there and firmly remind people the upstairs is off limits. 

Or break out the fire extinguisher.

Either way.

...but he knows that ass in those jeans, and gasps softly as Jack’s plaid is bouncing up the steps ahead of Kenny. 

And, he can let out a sigh, catch just a little bit of bittersweet. But, if there is anything Eric Richard Bittle prides himself on, it’s being a good friend. If Jack and Kenny needed a-a wingman or whatever, then he’s just going to dang well be that.

He keeps an eye on the stairs for the rest of the night for more than one reason. No one, no one, is going to disturb them when they’ve finally come this far, and even if he silently dreads it, hopes they at least used his room instead of a bathroom for heaven’s sake.

[justlookfrightened]

If you’re still taking prompts, how about “long distance relationship” for zimbits?

“How long are you here for?” Bitty asked, glancing at Jack’s image on the screen.

“Three days,” Jack said. “We have the Kings on Thursday and the Ducks on Saturday. We change hotels in between, though.”

“Any team commitments on Friday?”“No practice,” Jack said. “Yet. Meetings and a workout.”

“Are you free for dinner?” Bitty asked. “And after?”

“Pretty sure I can be,” Jack said. “I don’t know if I can stay with you, though. Can you come to the hotel in Anaheim?”

“Of course, sugar,” Bitty said. “Oops, meeting’s starting. Love you, See you Thursday?”

“You’ll be at the game?” Jack said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bitty said.

“I’ll see if I can get that night to stay at your place,” Jack said.

“Just let me know,” Bitty said. “Is it okay if I bring treats for the boys after the game?”

“Maybe I can bring them in Friday,” Jack said. “Love you. See you soon.”

Bitty closed his laptop and headed for the conference room, ready to plan the season’s third episode.

The job in Los Angeles had been a dream come true. He was the food and dining consultant for a lifestyle makeover show for families, something like “Queer Eye,” although the on-screen crew weren’t all men and weren’t all gay. A lot of his time was spent trying to convince parents that their children actually would eat something besides mac and cheese and chicken tenders. Usually the kids were easier, especially if they were presented with something colorful. Extra points if they could eat with their fingers.

The family for Episode 3 consisted of two moms with a hockey-playing son. They would have to work on family scheduling and budgeting, nutrition for a growing boy who participated in a demanding sport. The group would also be providing advice on how to navigate what was still a male-dominated, homophobic sports culture, and how best to protect against injuries.

Bitty, for one, was looking forward to lacing up his skates for one segment, knowing he was probably the only one of the crew who could keep up with the 12-year-old bantams.

If only he could get Jack on camera, but the taping wouldn’t be for weeks yet, even if Jack could get the Falcs and his agent to agree it would be a good idea.

Maybe he could bring Philip and and his moms to one of the games this weekend? Just get a quick meet-and-greet in the corridor after the game?

************

Bobbie bounced in her seat every time they played music at the Staples Center, and leaned forward and focused on the game with an intensity that rivalled Jack’s. Bobbie, one of the producers, had greeted Bitty on his first day in Los Angeles by gushing over his spinorama that led to the winning goal in the Frozen Four when he was the Wellies’ captain, and had become his go-to hockey companion ever since.

They made the jumbotron, probably because Bitty was a semi-recognizable face after two seasons, he was in a Zimmermann Falconers’ sweater and she was decked out in Kings gear, and both of them were engaged and enthusiastic.

“Everyone in LA is gonna hate you now,” Bobbie said.

“No,” Bitty said. “Everyone in this stadium who actually cares about the Kings might hate me. Or everyone who isn’t you, because you need me. And there aren’t actually that many of them. I’ll take my chances.”

“Well, I know the only person here that you really care about is Jack,” Bobbie said, “Looking forward to spending time with your man?”

“It’s been weeks,” Bitty said.

Once the game was over and Bobbie was put in a car to go home, Bitty headed to the visitors’ dressing room and settled in to wait. With an off-day tomorrow, players were going through a quick post-game workout.

Jack came back and tried to pull Bitty close. Bitty accepted a kiss on the cheek, but the wrinkled his nose and pulled away.

“Shower first,” Bitty said. “Give me a minute to say hi to Tater and Marty.”

When Jack was dressed and smelling clean, they left the locker room together.

“I have to be back at the team hotel by ten,” Jack said.

“Wow, almost ten whole hours together,” Bitty said.

“And I’m all yours for dinner tomorrow,” Jack said.

When the car dropped them off, Bitty let them into his rented condo. He closed the door and pulled Jack into an embrace.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” Jack said, and leaned down and kissed him. “Tired?”

“Probably not as much as you,” Bitty said.

“Believe me, there are things I’d much rather do than sleep right now,” Jack said.

*************************

Bitty crawled out of bed and left Jack to sleep. They were a month and half into the season, and Jack needed all the rest he could get, especially after they’d stayed up late, getting reacquainted with one another’s bodies last night.

He scrambled some egg whites, adding a yolk for flavor and color, diced red and orange peppers and trimmed the stems off spinach. He had a loaf of homemade whole wheat bread sliced for toast and coffee brewing (for him) and decaf tea for Jack, who had gone caffeine-free last year after Bitty moved to California.

The Jack followed the aroma of the coffee into the kitchen.

“That still smells so good,” he said, taking the mug of tea Bitty handed him. “One sip?”

“It already has cream and sugar,” Bitty said.

“One sip,” Jack said.

Bitty handed over his own mug, then turned to cook the eggs.

Once his back was turned, he said, “Do you ever wish I hadn’t moved here?”

Jack didn’t answer right away, and Bitty sneaked a peek at him over his shoulder. Jack was staring into his mug of tea.

He looked up to meet Bitty’s eyes.

“I want to say this right,” he said. “I wish we could have this every morning.”

Bitty turned back to his eggs.

“But I don’t regret you coming here to take the job,” Jack said. “You love it, and you’re good at it, and I’d feel guilty if you gave it up to stay in Providence and just sit and wait for me to come home, especially during the season.”

“I had a job in Providence,” Bitty said.

“Not like this,” Jack said. “You’re doing what you do best, taking care of people and teaching them to take care of themselves, not just the ones on the show, but everyone who watches. I miss you, but you’re happy.”

“But I miss you too,” Bitty said. “I can’t always make it back to Providence for weeks at a time.”

“I know,” Jack said. “And I’m happy too, even though I miss you. We make time to see each other when we can – and thank the NHL scheduling gods for three days here – and it won’t be forever.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “And I do love what I’m doing, but sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing.”

“If you’re happy, it is for now,” Jack said.

They sat at the counter to eat, then Jack took the box full of treats for team. “Meet you here tonight? Then we can head over to the hotel.”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “I’ll be home by five.”

***********************

Bitty spent much of Saturday hanging around with the Falconers, guys who had become some of his best friends during his time in Providence. Once Jack settled for his pre-game nap, Bitty went to meet up with Philip and his family.

“I have a surprise for you,” Bitty said. “After the game, the whole team wants to meet you.”

“Me?” Philip said.

“You,” Bitty said. “Are you okay with that?”

“Are you kidding?!”

Jack scored the winning goal and pointed right at Bitty and Philip, making Philip jump up and down. His mothers had insisted that he wear a Falcs jersey — “You’re their guest. It’s only polite.” – but he still had a Ducks cap. Being in the Ducks’ rink, there was no recognition of the celly. That was fine by Bitty; no one knew about Philip being on the show yet.

Jack handed Philip his stick over the glass before heading down the tunnel, then Bitty and Philip scrambled to make it to the locker room corridor.

Philip was welcomed in as soon as the media were gone, with fist bumps all around.

“When B cooks for you, you will eat so well,” Tater said. “He can give skating tips, too!”

Philip left will signatures all over his jersey and Jack’s signature on his stick. Bitty waited for the team to be ready to board the bus for the airport, then pulled him aside for a brief kiss goodbye.

“You might be captain but we can fine you,” Marty called.

“I can afford it,” Jack responded, kissing Bitty again.

“See you next month?” Jack asked Bitty.

“Yes,” Bitty said. “I have a whole week off. I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” Jack said.

[vestsfriends]

Here’s a Long List Of Jyrus Headcanons:

Bc I can :)

-would totally hold hands everywhere they go

-once they got used to the other liking them back, they no longer freaked out around each other

-affectionate kisses™️

-being totally adorable in public

-having their arms around each other while listening to the daily drama of Andi and Buffy’s lives

-Jonah making pancakes for Cyrus

-them coming out to the Space Otters team together

-giving hugs/kisses before a game starts

-cuddling anywhere, anytime

-both a “cute” and “flirty” couple

-tons of puns

-Jonah + bisexual finger guns

-always affectionate

-one melting over how the other always looks adorable

-loads of compliments

-Cyrus helping Jonah during his panic attacks

-will go to any pride event during June

-Jonah “Heart Eyes” Beck, everyone

-them staring at each other from across the room during class

-falling asleep on the others shoulders

-Jonah helping Cyrus work on his self esteem

-texting each other in the middle of the night

-constantly having height contests

-decorating the others locker for their birthday

-total sweethearts

-Jonah teaching Cyrus how to play frisbee

-t o n s of giggling

-blushing 24/7

-Jonah playing his guitar for Cyrus

-Cyrus attempting to flirt and Jonah blushing over it

-watching disney movies till 1am

-everyone at school is jealous of their relationship

-hand holding experts™️

-millions of emojis in their texts

-have tons of nicknames for each other

-use the words “dude”, “bro” and “brah” in the gayest of circumstances

-occasionally wear their matching space otters jerseys or matching sweatshirts from Cyrus’ Bar Mitzvah

-Jonah always being fascinated by Cyrus

-Cyrus poking Jonah’s dimples

-they hang out regularly but also make sure to hang out with their other friends

-sharing milkshakes

-going on double dates with Walker + Andi and Buffy + Marty

-Buffy teasing Cyrus about Jonah

-go to the pool together in the summer and splash each other in the water

-Carnival dates

-them being each others emotional support

-grabbing onto the other when they’re frightened

-painting their nails

-Smirking

-going to every Marvel or D.C. Movie because they're dorks

-tackling each other (or attempting to)

-being very romantic while homophobes are around

-holding hands under the table

-tater theatre, baby

-they are very disorganized

-they both try to plan special dates to impress the other

-Jonah staring at Cyrus while he's rambling about random things

-"pay attention to meeee"

-they make many gay/bi jokes

-going to more "sports" games

-dancing dramatically

-Jonah being taught by Buffy and Andi how to be a good boyfriend

-always ready to help each other

-sleepovers

-came out to their parents together

-buying random yet cute things for each other

-whenever there's a "side" to pick, Cyrus always picks Jonah's side no matter what because he kisses him which puts Cyrus in a trance.

-Cyrus buying roses for Jonah on Valentines Day

-caressing each other's cheeks

-Jonah stuffing his face in Cyrus' shoulder when he's fed up with something.

-Cyrus pecking Jonah on the forehead for encouragement

-Cyrus patting Jonah's head to indicate their height difference, which pisses Jonah off but he still smiles anyway.

-putting flowers in each other's hair

-Cyrus kissing Jonah's dimples

-Cyrus also plays the saxophone but is horrible and makes bad sounds but Jonah loves it.

-Cyrus is the intellectual in the relationship

-ice cream dates that end with stuff all over their faces

-holding each other like their life depends on it while they're on a rollercoaster

-Jonah getting Cyrus a plack with the words "docious magocious" in Hebrew

-planning indoor picnics

-them dancing with their umbrellas in the rain

[thecrandays]

TJ’s Jersey

I wrote this some time ago it's on ao3  but I decided to bring it back since the new episode happened to talk about jerseys (I promise in the story it’s TJ’s jersey 100%)

At Jefferson practice jerseys were sacred, the jerseys are so important that not anyone can just wear it.

It had to be someone you were devoted to, someone who held your affections. Everyone on the basketball team had someone to wear their jersey, even if they hadn’t been together for long.

Everyone but TJ, he just didn’t see the appeal of giving your jersey to someone just because you were dating them.

If he was ever going to give his jersey to someone, it had to be someone he was absolutely smitten with.

His jersey meant so much to him it had gone through everything, victories, losses that made his heart ache, comebacks and blowouts. The number 34 at the back of his jersey had been with him through blood sweat and tears, the jersey was full of memories he’s made with his team from freshman year to senior.

So if anyone was going to wear it they had to mean a lot to him, they had to understand the significance of it.

How playing basketball, even if it was just a sport for some, had gotten him through some of the toughest times in his life, like when his dad passed away.

Basketball had always been their thing, his dad was the reason the number 34 was so significant to him and he was the reason why it was his jersey number.

Basketball wasn’t just a sport to him, it was all he had in life besides his family.

So whoever was gonna wear the #34 had to mean the world to him and Cyrus Goodman meant the entire universe to him.

Cyrus had always made sure to make it to everyone one of his games ever since middle school, he’d bring his posters and paint his cheek with TJ’s number.

He’d even gone as far as bringing a megaphone one time, it was one of TJ’s favorite memories of Cyrus at his game.

Every time TJ had shot a basket that’s game he’d here Cyrus shouting ‘Number 34 is number 1’ over and over again into the megaphone.

Cyrus had been there for his worst losses and the best victories, he’d been there to comfort him when TJ blamed himself for the team losing finals a sophomore year and he was there’s the next year when they won finals.

Even though Cyrus had always been a support system at his games, he always thought there was something missing, something that needed to be added to the posters and the face paint.

TJ decided that what was missing was Cyrus in his jersey, Cyrus Goodman has always been there for him and he was smitten.

All he needed to do now was give it to Cyrus so he could wear it at the game, the final game.

Cyrus was speed walking down the hall, he had been so busy making posters for TJ’s final game tomorrow that it nearly slipped his mind that he needed to be at TJ’s practice.

Well, he didn’t need to be there but it had become an unspoken agreement since middle school that Cyrus would go to his practices and after they’d catch a bite at the spoon.

When Cyrus finally made it to the gym, the boys were already halfway into practice he made his way to the bleachers and sat next to one of the ‘basketball girlfriends’ as Andi called them.

The term ‘basketball girlfriends’ was pretty self-explanatory, they were the girlfriends of the basketball players, you’d find them at every game wearing their boyfriend's jerseys, sitting in a row together debating whose boyfriend was the hottest.

He watched as the boys ran drills, he’d never admit it but he’d always admired how good TJ looked when he played.

Every time he’d shoot a basket, he’d turn to the bleachers and look at Cyrus as if checking to see his reaction and it was the cutest thing Cyrus had ever seen.

Cyrus would give him a thumbs up and smile, TJ would beam at him and turn back to the drill.

When practice was finally over, Cyrus stayed on the bleachers to wait for TJ to change and get his stuff so they could leave.

TJ finally emerged from the locker room, his hair damp and bag in his hand making his way over.

Cyrus got up from the bleachers meeting TJ half way and wrapping himself around him.

“Sorry it took so long, coach really wants us to win tomorrow,” TJ mumbled into Cyrus’ hair.

“It’s fine, it’s your last game ever. Plus I had the basketball girlfriends to keep me company” Cyrus said pulling away from the hug slowly.

TJ chuckled and shook his head, “If they ever hear you call them that, they’d come after you”

“It's a good thing I’ve got my own personal basketball player then”

TJ gasped in mock horror, “Is that the only reason you’ve been friends with me all along?”

“Yes TJ, I’ve been friends with you since middle school because I needed you to make me look good,” Cyrus said rolling his eyes fondly.

“Take that back!”

“Never!” Cyrus shouted running away from TJ who was trying to tickle him.

“Come back here!, let me tickle you, Underdog,” TJ said catching up to him.

“No, don’t come any closer!” Cyrus said in between giggles.

TJ finally caught up with him and wrapped his hands around his waist slowing him down to a stop.

Cyrus turned around in his arms and felt his heart speed up, they were so close together that he could feel the warmth of TJ’s breath hit his lip.

He looked up at TJ who was already looking down at him.

His eyes flickered down to TJ’s lips, they were right there and he had had a crush on TJ for so long, but he couldn’t just kiss him, TJ didn’t like him like that so he stepped out of TJ’s arms and cleared his throat.

“Are you ready to go? I can hear baby taters calling to me”

“Wear my jersey to the game tomorrow” TJ blurted out, his face flushing a bright crimson.

“You- You want me to wear your jersey tomorrow?” Cyrus sputtered pointing at himself “Me?”

“Yes, Cyrus you, I want you to wear my jersey,” TJ said looking him in the eyes intensely.

“B-but it means so much to you!” Cyrus exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

TJ was acting like asking Cyrus to wear his jersey was an everyday occurrence.

“You mean so much to me to Underdog,” TJ said stepping closer to Cyrus until there was no space left between them.

He gently placed his hand on Cyrus’ jaw and Cyrus felt like his jaw was tingling.

“I’ll wear it,” Cyrus whispered into the shared space between them.

“Good..” TJ whispered back leaning closer to him, pausing to give him time to pull away.

Cyrus couldn’t wait any longer and closed the distance between them.

TJ responded immediately, placing his hand on Cyrus’ hip and pulling him closer.

TJ tentatively flicked his tongue out brushing it against his lip, and Cyrus opened his mouth with a low hum.

It felt like they had been kissing for hours when Cyrus pulled away to breathe, he opened his eyes slowly watching as TJ’s eyes fluttered open staring deeply into his own.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long” TJ whispered his lips brushing against Cyrus’.

Cyrus felt blood rush to his cheeks and buried his face in TJ’s chest.

“You can’t just say things like that” he whined.

“Why not? I’ve been waiting to kiss you since middle school.” TJ said stroking the bone on Cyrus’ hip where his shirt had ridden up.

“I really like you Teej, thanks for asking me to wear your jersey. I know how much it and basketball mean to you” Cyrus mumble looking up at TJ.

“I have one more question,” TJ said, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Cyrus was speechless, he had been waiting for TJ to ask that for so long now and suddenly when he did Cyrus didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t want TJ to think that’s not what he wanted but his voice wasn’t working so he did the first thing he thought of and kissed him.

TJ wasn’t sure what to do for a second before he kissed back, smiling into the kiss.

The answer was clear, he had a boyfriend.

And when Cyrus came to his game the next day in his jersey with posters, face paint and a megaphone screaming ‘Number 34 is my boyfriend!’

TJ knew he made the right decision.

[ceslatoil]

WIP: A Short Scene from Chapter 2 of Preposterous Proposals!

This might count as a spoiler, but here’s a sneak peak at chapter two for anybody who’s interested!

“Pa, for the last time, ya cain’t set off a giant robot in the middle of the restaurant to propose to your boyfriend, everyone’ll die,” said Tate without much energy. He had been arguing with his father all day in a futile attempt to convince him to change his plans, at least a little bit. There were certainly other ways to propose without involving mechanical death machines, weren’t there? "Well, I think it's daring," countered Puck, a wide, toothy smile plastered across his pointed face as he pinned a flower to the lapel of Fiddleford's jacket. Tate had objected to the suit his father had chosen as well, a bright pink tailcoat with green, plastic buttons that looked a bit like owls (where had he even found that?), the suit's only saving grace was that it was well-tailored and clean. However, Fidds adored the outfit, and, knowing a losing battle when he saw it, Tate decided to let the matter go. "Golly, I cain't remember the last time I was this nervous!" Fidds' knees were bouncing together erratically, he himself had been bouncing off the walls of the mansion himself in anticipation the entire day. It had taken him all his restraint not to pop the question over the phone earlier, luckily Ford had to go, who knows what he might've said! "Do y'all think he'd really say yes," Fiddleford asked the boys, hardly believing it himself. "Of course he will," said Puck with wholehearted conviction. He clapped Fiddleford on the shoulder with one of his slender hands, beaming enough to reveal every one of Puck's needle-sharp teeth. "He'd be mad to say no! Daft even! Absolutely delusional!" "Pa, I'm sure Stanford will say yes," said Tate, "which is why ya don't need to bring that death trap into the restaurant." "Oh, come now," said Puck, his hip jerking to the side as he spoke, "Stop being so sensitive about you father getting remarried already! Let him live the life he wants, Tate!" "I ain't got no problem with Pa getting remarried ya twerp," Tate snapped, his patience with the bug-eyed Fae well worn and tattered at this point. In fact, Tate was relieved that his father had announced his plans to marry an actual, living human being for once instead of a raccoon or his own beard like he'd done so in the past. Tate's own mother had gotten remarried some years back to a woman from New Jersey named Carla (a sweet old lady, even if she did insist on wearing hot pants all the time). This was a sign that Pa's mind was steadily improving, and Tate was relieved. But still... "Aw, Tater-Tot, it ain't even that big as giant robitmajigs go," said Fidds with a pout. "It's only ten feet tall, it's practically a baby!" "A baby that has exploded in every test run you ever put it through," said Tate firmly. "All right," said Puck, rolling his eyes at his Boss' son, "so it gets a bit of... mechanical indigestion when we use the pyrotechnics. I still think it's a showstopper! It shows passion, dedication; those are good qualities to have in a marriage, right?" "AHHH I'M FREAKIN' OUT, MY BOYS!" Fidds' screaming disturbed a cluster of Brownies who were trying to coax Raccoon Wife (Ex-Wife? She would have to change her name if Ford said yes) into a bath. The woodland she-beast snarled at the furry little Fae, scrambling them halfway across the room. "Pa, try to breathe," sighed Tate; McGucket took several deep breaths while Puck rubbed his shoulders. "Look, maybe ya won't be so nervous if ya just kept it simple. Now, do ya got yer rings ready?" "I ain't let 'em go since I finished them up," admitted Fidds, pulling a black, velvet box from the depths of his beard. With trembling fingers, Fiddleford opened the box and peered inside at the precious contents. All three men agreed that Fiddleford's idea for the actual engagement rings were brilliant. A set of two magnetic rings specifically crafted with Ford's unusual digits in mind. They were a steely, gunmetal color, inscribed with a lengthy cipher about love and happiness. Fidds had made them himself, his personal favorite invention. "Why don't ya just show him these," said Tate, giving his father a rare smile. "That's going to be much more impressive than some crazy robot; Ford's going to love them." "D'ya mean it?" asked Fidds, who was tearing up a little bit. "If he doesn't," said Puck, giving the little old man a kiss on top of his head, "we'll toss him in the lake and let the Gobblewonker eat him!" "No, Puck." "Yes, Puck." "Thanks boys," said Fiddleford, tucking the box back into his beard. He hugged the both of them; though he was still nervous, they had both comforted him greatly. His heart was pounding with joy. "I'll get the driver ready for ya, Pa," said Tate, pulling away to leave the room. "And remember: just relax, keep it simple, and no giant robots!" Once Tate was gone, Puck pulled a small, black remote from his pants pocket. "Aaaaaand if ever that doesn't work," said Puck, handing the remote to McGucket, "Here's the remote that'll summon the Proposal-big. Just in case."

[daniellesimagines]

Shoot Your Shot [SOCCER!CAL AU]

submitted by @calinthewatermelonshirt

The game was tied at 2 and Bia’s team only had a few minutes left on the clock to score. “Time out!” She called out to the ref, and he nodded at her. Bia had the authority as captain and the team huddled around her. 

“Here’s the plan: We’re doing the new drill we just learned in practice. I know it’s kind of new, but you guys know what to do.” 

The team fanned out, ready for the drop ball Bia was sure to win. The soccer match had gone exactly as she had expected so far: close. Bia and a player from the opposing team stood face to face with the ref holding the ball between them. Then it happened: he dropped the ball and Bia was off like a shot. Immediately she pounced on the ball, spinning away from the player. 

“Man on!” Bia heard her best friends shouting from the stands, warning her that there was a player closing in on her. They didn’t however, warn her that there were three of them. 

It made sense to her, though. The Tigers were never afraid of playing dirty, and seeing as she was the captain and one of, if not the, best players on the team, it put a huge target on Bia’s back. She and the team had planned or this, though. In attacking Bia so strong, they had left their defense with more holes in it than a 5-year-old’s smile. 

Seeing an opening, she passed the ball to Sophie, another of her best friends and fellow forward, and sprinted ahead, ready to receive the ball again. Sophie passed the ball through the other players legs, careful to get the timing exactly right so as to not be caught off-sides. 

With only Bia and opposing goalie left, she practically dribbled the ball into the goal and pulled ahead, leaving the other team only seconds to get the point back. Bia guessed that they knew they were losing the match anyways, because as soon as the whistle blew, they ignored the ball all together and started attacking her team instead. 

It wasn’t long before there was an all-out fight going on. Bia was battling the other team’s captain and she was kicking her ass, too. It was a bit of an uphill battle, though. 

Bia wasn’t a small girl by any means – standing at 5′10 and having a few pounds of muscle from playing soccer since she was 5 – but this girl was about 6′0 feet and 180 pounds of pure spite. The opposing captain got a good hit on Bia – she was sure was gonna bruise – but she still won in the end with a well-placed elbow and a cracking noise that signaled broken nose. 

The ref broke it up soon after, and called the match, declaring Bia’s team, the Bears, the winners. She cheered and smiled along with the rest of her team, happy the match had gone her way. Bia’s friends flooded the field – Ashton, Luke, Michael and Calum sweeping her up with hugs and congratulations. 

“I can’t believe you actually went through with it.” Bia grinned from ear to ear. 

“With what?” Ashton teased and then the boys all turned around, showing off their matching jerseys with Bia’s last name and number on the back. 

“I guess it wasn’t my week, huh?” Sophie jogged over and hugged the boys, too. 

“You, my dear, are in desperate need of a shower.” Luke crinkled his nose at Bia. It had rained the day before, and combined with the rough match, meant she was caked head to toe with mud. 

“I am in need of a shot.” Bia declared, wanting to celebrate with her best friends.

“I’ll second that, captain.” Sophie came up behind her and slung and equally muddy arm over your shoulders. 

“No way. We have our match tomorrow, remember? None of us are allowed to be drunk or even mildly hungover.” Calum, the boys’ team captain, warned. 

“Fine.” Bia whined, “I’m going to clean up and go to bed. See you tomorrow for pregame.” The boys all said good bye and she and Sophie – already feeling the adrenaline wear off – drove home in her Jeep. 

~

The boys were already at their usual diner when Bia and Sophie got there. The two of them slid into the booth with the boys, Bia next to Calum and Sophie next to Luke. 

“Nice bruise there, Rocky.” Michael teased Bia as she got settled. Bia playfully flipped him off in lieu of a response. 

“Alright boys. I’m just going to say this once: you had better whoop some ass tonight.” She said, stealing a tater tot off Calum’s plate.

“And why is that?” Calum asked, swatting her thieving hands away.

“Well, we won.” Sophie chimed in, giving Calum a look. “So it’ll look awful if you idiots lose.” Bia said, ordering her usual from the diner. “And Sophie and I will tease you mercilessly for months.”

“We wouldn’t expect anything different.” Ashton smiled. 

“Whatever.” Luke waved her off. “Onto more important topics: who’s wearing whose jerseys tonight?” 

Since there were only two of the girls and four of the boys, Bia and Sophie had to rotate through whose jerseys they wore, much like they did with her and Sophie. Why they didn’t just wear both of the girls jerseys at the same time was a mystery to Bia, but she had never claimed to understand them.

“Can I get a drumroll please?” Sophie got pumped and shook her shoulders, building up the suspension. “Tonight… I.. will be… wearing…” 

“Hurry up, woman!” Luke groaned. 

“Michael’s jersey!” Sophie screamed and Michael whooped with joy. The other three turned to Bia like vultures on roadkill. 

“Jeez, back off.” She said, feeling a little attacked. 

“Mine’s a surprise.” They all groaned and the rest of the afternoon went the same, all of you teasing each other. Before long it was time for the big game.

~

“Come on ref, what are you, blind?” Bia yelled, heckling and jeering for all she was worth. The Tiger’s boys’ team played even dirtier than their girls’ team, and there had been a few rough plays on the players instead of the ball that had resulted in injures. At this point, Bia was worried for her friends’ safety. 

“This game looks rougher than usual, right?” Sophie leaned into Bia, seemingly reading her mind.

“I was just thinking that.” Bia said, biting your lip. “I’m kind of worried.” Sophie nodded in agreement and the both of you turned your heads back to the game. 

Some time into the second quarter, a particularly big player decided to make a move. Calum had the ball and was looking towards Luke to pass when the opposing player slide tackled him, going directly for Calum’s ankles. Calum didn’t notice and couldn’t hear Bia’s and Sophie’s warnings, so he wasn’t able to defend himself. Bia watched in horror as Calum crumpled to the ground and felt her heart drop even further as she watched him fail to rise again. 

Without even thinking, Bia hopped the railing and sprinted onto the field. Since she was pre-med, Bia figured she’d be able to help out some. As she approached, Bia saw that some cheerleaders had gathered around him, crowding Calum and cooing over him, as if trying to heal him with the power of their asses.

“Back off!” Bia shouted at them, and practically shoved one off of Calum.

“Oof.” Cal groaned. “Motherfucker, you could have warned me.”

“Tried, my dude. I guess you couldn’t hear me.” Bia had already started unlacing Cal’s cleat as softly as she could. His ankle must have been pretty tender, though, because he groaned softly and Bia see in his face that he was in a lot of pain.

“Hey,” She said softly, trying to calm him a little, “I got you, it’s gonna be okay; you’re gonna be okay.” He locked eyes with her and reached over and squeezed her hand to let her know it had helped.  

“What’s the damage?” Luke jogged over and crouched next to Bia and Cal. “Ice and back in? Or worse?”

“Definitely worse,” Cal groaned, falling onto his back and covering his face with his hands. 

“I’ll have to agree with him on that. It’s already swelling way to much to just be rolled.” Bia said, softly prodding his ankle with her fingers in order to get a better sense of his injuries, which weren’t looking good. “I think this is a hospital-worthy injury, right here.”

“No way!” Now Luke groaned. “No fucking way!”

“Yeah. Help me get him up and I’ll take him.” Bia stood and she and Luke each took one of Cal’s hands, pulling him up. 

“Oh god,” Cal breathed. “Holy shit.”

“That bad, huh, bud?” Luke said, clearly not happy about the pain his best friend was in.

“Worse than anything else.” Cal said, grimacing. “Does anyone have any drugs?” 

“Why the fuck would we have drugs, Cal?” Bia squinted her eyes at him, trying her best to ignore the stupid that just came out of his mouth. 

“Luke, go back. The team needs you if we want a shot at winning.” Cal ordered Luke, not as a friend, but as a captain. Luke respected him and jogged back to the field. 

“Don’t try to put any weight on your foot, okay?” Bia told Cal, shifting his arm to support the weight Luke had been carrying. 

“Got it.” He said and together, he half-limped and Bia half carried him off the field and to her car. It was a bit of a walk to the parking lot, and Calum sagged more and more the farther they went. 

“Hey, guess what?” Bia told Calum, trying to cheer him up once he was seated in her car.

“What?” He sat there, eyes closed, hands in his face.

“Look.” Bia turned around and took off her jacket, revealing his jersey underneath. She couldn’t see him, but Bia knew he was smiling.

~

“Two months?!” Calum’s voice seemed to go up an octave. He was sitting up straight his back resting against Bia’s as the two of them sat on the medical examiner’s bench. Bia almost fell off because the change in his calm demeanor had shocked her so much. 

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor said, taking the ice off Calum’s foot to look at it again. “That does include rehab, though.” 

“Dear lord.” Calum slouched back against Bia once again. “How much longer are we gonna be here?” 

The both of them were exhausted at this point. After sitting in the waiting room for what felt like hours, they were finally moved back to a room, and the doctor took his sweet time getting there. Finally he ordered X-rays only to confirm Bia’s own suspicions: broken. 

“It’s a fracture, albeit a bad one. You’re going to have to keep off of this foot for the next few weeks.” The doctor had pulled out a clunky walking boot and was showing Bia and Calum how to put it on. After, he looked at Bia and said pointedly, “You’ll have someone to stay with, I presume?” 

Both of your cheeks flushed. Of course the doctor would assume they were a couple. Almost everyone did when the two of them hung out alone. The both of them coughed out simple ‘yeah’s and looked anywhere but at each other. 

“Good.” The doctor finished demonstrating how to put on the boot and left the room. 

“I think you should stay with me.” Bia told Calum, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“And why is that?” He asked leaning his head on Bia’s. 

“The boys care about you a lot, but I really doubt that they would be super helpful. I mean, you all tried to collectively take care of a plastic dog and it DIED. Also, you guys have a 2-story house and you live upstairs. You can barely walk up the stairs with two working feet, so I can’t imagine that it would go well with you on crutches. Plus I have a spare bedroom now that Sophie moved out.” Bia counted her reasons on her fingers, trying to think of any more. 

“You’re probably right.” Calum said, and he stood up, taking the crutches from the doctor who had reentered the room without her knowing. Without Calum supporting Bia, her back fell hard against the bench. Calum turned and giggled at her, always enjoying any moment Bia looked stupid. 

“Alright,” the doctor said, “You are free to go as soon as you can prove to me that you can use these crutches without any further injury.”

“Slight work.” Calum positioned the crutches under his arms and swung himself forward.

~

“I can NOT believe that we were there for an extra TWO hours.” Bia said on the way to her car.

“It’s harder than it looks!” He whined, trying to defend himself. 

“It’s really not. You guys always seem to forget the time I partially tore my ACL. I was on crutches for months. You guys called me Limpy, remember?” Bia turned around to look at Calum. 

“I’m drawing a blank,” Calum stopped in his tracks. Bia wondered why before she realized. 

Bia drove a Jeep: a LIFTED Jeep. They were hard enough into get to on their own, but this seemed like a mountain they had to climb. 

“It’ll be fine,” Calum assured her, swinging himself forward.

“Maybe I should just call an Uber.” Bia started to open the app up before Calum put his hand over her phone. 

“No need. I said it would be fine and it will be.” He gritted his teeth, leaned his crutches against the side of her car, and grabbed the dashboard in preparation.  

“How do you want me to help?” Bia stood next to Cal and placed a hand on his arm. 

“I guess catch me if I fall.”

~

Calum couldn’t believe his luck. He also couldn’t decide if it was good or bad luck. He may have broken his ankle and would be out for a while, but on the brighter side he got to stay with Bia. 

He couldn’t tell when or what, but something about her had changed recently – for the better, too, in his opinion. He just couldn’t figure out what. Now, though, he would have plenty of time to figure it out since they would be moving in together. Temporarily, he reminded himself. 

“Let’s go to my place first.” Calum said, peeling off his muddy shirt. After sitting in the dirt and sweat for hours, he needed to get the filthy material off his body. “I need a shower.” 

“Damn right you do.” Bia turned her blinker on, focusing on the road. “There’s no way you’re even getting within 100 feet of my house with that much mud caked on you.”

Calum chuckled. “I forgot how much of a clean freak you are.” 

She punched him playfully in return. “Why do you think we always hang at Sophie’s place? Your house is too messy for me to be in without throwing up and you idiots would dirty up my place in seconds.”

“Fair enough. So how are we gonna do this?” Calum dug in Bia’s back seat, finding a spare t-shirt under it. It was Bia’s. 

Calum knew it was huge on her, but that still meant it would be probably be tiny on him. He weighed his options and ended up putting on the shirt anyways. Bia didn’t have the top of her Jeep on and, since it was October, it was starting to get cold. 

Bia, of course, took one look at him and laughed. “You look so stupid.” She pulled over, brought out her phone, and took a picture before he could even protest. “Now take my shirt off before you bust the seams.”

“You know, I’ll admit that I haven’t been going to the gym as much lately, but there’s no reason to call me out like that.” Calum put a hand over his heart and feigned hurt, but Bia just rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever, nerd. We’re here.” Bia parked the car and got her backpack out of the back seat. 

Calum figured that since he had gotten in mostly on his own, he could probably get out, too. He was wrong. 

“What part of wait for me did you not understand?” Bia pushed him off of her and looked at her ruined clothes. “Seriously, tell me which word and I’ll explain it to you. Surely it would cost me less than the $80 I paid for this bag.” Bia pushed her fingertips tightly against her temples, a sure sign she was pissed. 

“I’m pretty sure you never said that. And besides, I got in the car just fine by myself!” Calum brushed himself off, still in the gutter. The fall had made his foot ache, but the heavy painkillers the doctor had prescribed him were working really well. 

“Well, clearly you couldn’t get out by yourself, huh?!” Bia’s shouting had apparently alerted the rest of their friend group that they were back because all of them came streaming out the door and sprinting over to Calum. 

‘Whoa, dude. That looks serious,” Michael pulled Cal off the ground and slung Cal’s arm over his shoulders. Ashton then appeared on his other side, helping him keep his balance. Sophie chose to help Bia, and Cal was grateful for that. He knew that if anyone could calm her down, it would be Sophie. 

“It is,” Bia grumbled and stalked into the house, Sophie trailing close behind.

“Well? What’s the damage?” Luke picked up Cal’s crutches and followed behind them into the house. 

“Broken.” Cal was dumped onto the couch by his supposed mates, and he propped his foot up on the ottoman in front of him. “I’m out for at least two months.”

“Oof.” Ashton, who already had a beer open, grimaced. “That’ll be rough without you.”

“Yeah, but we technically haven’t started the season yet. You’re cutting it really close, though.” Luke was dumping the remains of a bag of chips into his mouth. “It’s gonna suck, but we’ll make it. 

“Cal, you either shower now or you’re sleeping on floor outside my apartment!” Bia called from the bathroom where she already had the shower running. She stepped in and rinsed off, barely spending 5 minutes in the stream. 

She got out, dried off, and stalked down the hall to Cal’s room. She knew he wouldn’t be in there because, well, stairs, and that she had a change of clothes in there. Everyone in the group had, at one point or another, left clothes at the others’ houses. She quickly found her pair of skin-tight black ripped jeans and all black old-skool vans, but couldn’t find her shirt. 

She dug around for a while, occasionally throwing stuff in a pile for Cal to pack, but gave up and threw on one of his hoodies instead. She also put on one of his beanies because she didn’t want to get sick from the whole ‘wet hair, October night’ combo. 

After packing Cal’s bag for him, she jogged back downstairs happily finding him showered and clean. 

“Let’s roll.” Bia gathered her belongings and slung Cal’s bag over her shoulder. 

“Is that my hoodie?” Cal accused her, pushing himself off the couch. 

“Maybe,” Bia said and cocked an eyebrow. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“You’re taking me home. I’ll get my revenge.” Cal smirked and limped after you. 

~

“Alright, you know the rules. No sex on my bed, tell me if you have sex anywhere other than your bed, no shoes, no smoking, and no going in my office.” Bia locked the door after Cal and dropped her keys in the little dish in the foyer. 

“Whoa, that last one is new. Why can’t I be in your office?” Cal took a seat on Bia’s couch, slipping his shoe off. Bia took it from him and put it on the mat set out by her front door. 

“Because it’s my house and I said so, that’s why.” Bia sighed and rubbed her eyes. It was already 2:00 a.m. and she had shit to do tomorrow. “I’ll put your stuff in your room and then I’m going to bed. If you need me, speak now or fall on your face.” 

Cal just laughed and slung his arm over Bia’s shoulders which she slid out from under him. He looked hurt for a second, confused. 

“You need to learn how to use them.” Bia said, giving a pointed look at the crutches. She knew full and well what he was trying to pull, and she sympathized – really, she did – but he had to learn sometime. 

~

9 a.m. was too early for anything. Bia hated everything and everyone in the mornings, but her professor only had a 9:30 time slot open for a meeting so sometimes it sucked to suck. She sighed and whipped up some pancakes for herself and Cal, when he got up, and placed the chocolate chips to form a smile in the pancake. 

She was a little worried about leaving him here alone his second day being injured, but she figured he wouldn’t be up until at least 12:00. It was a Saturday, so the group would probably go do something later, but she let him sleep for now. Bia quickly scribbled out a note as to where she had gone and walked out the door.

~

“UGH,” Bia screamed and slammed her front door shut. She threw her shoes off and stomped all the way to her room to put her stuff away. She was surprised a little to see Calum on the couch when she stalked back into the living room. 

“Upsetting meeting?” Cal asked casually, not wanting to poke the bear. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” Bia said, pouring herself and knocking back a shot. 

“What’s wrong?” Cal patted the seat next to him, signaling for her to sit next to him. 

“I have to make a 95 on my exam in order to get an A in the class.” Bia collapsed sideways onto the couch, her legs hanging off the end and head resting in Cal’s lap. 

He started running his fingers through her hair – more for him than for her. He loved playing with her hair, the fibers soft on his callused skin. She wasn’t a huge fan of it – something he wasn’t aware of – but she knew he loved it, so she let him continue. 

“Oh, I thought it was something big,” Cal said, earning himself a glare from Bia.

“It is, Calum. This is literally my worst subject.” Bia flopped onto her side and turned on Netflix to her and Cal’s favorite show to watch together. “We need to be icing your ankle.” Bia sighed and rose to her feet.

“No, no, no,” Cal whined. He hated icing injuries, but Bia wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was already undoing the velcro straps on his boot and placing the ice on his ankle. “I hate you.” Cal pouted. 

“Hate you, too, nerd.” Bia was already back in the kitchen, popping popcorn for their marathon.

“Will you make hot cocoa, too?” Cal begged, reaching for some blankets and pillows out of the basket at the end of the couch. 

“Asking for a bit much now, aren’t we?” Bia put the popcorn into a bowl and sat it on Cal’s lap. She also reached over and slipped a pillow under his ankle before starting on the hot chocolate. 

It only took her a couple minutes to make it and she gave both of them a healthy amount of whipped cream. Finally, she plopped down on the couch next to him, her head back in his lap. 

“Do you think everyone else is gonna come over later?” Cal thought out loud, his fingers already back in her hair. 

“Maybe? We did make plans to go out tonight earlier this week, so…” Bia just kind of trailed of not finishing her thought. 

“Yeah, guess I ruined that, huh?” Cal pulled his fingers out of her hair and crossed his arms. 

“Cal, come on, we both know I didn’t mean it like that.” Bia tried to touch his cheek, but accidentally missed and slapped his forehead instead. 

Cal smiled and put his fingers back in her hair. 

“Stop hogging the blanket.” Bia grabbed a fistful and pulled it back over to herself. Cal found himself smiling, despite being exposed to the cold air. 

They watched the show together for a few hours, Cal stewing over his injury and Bia stressing about her test, before the rest of the squad came over. Bia stood and stretched, her back a little sore. 

“How you feeling, Bud?” Sophie came and sat next to Cal, roughing up his hair a little. 

“Fine. I can’t feel my ankle, though.” Cal swatted Sophie’s hands away before he heard Bia. 

“That would be the point.” She shouted, walking over to remove the ice. She took his ankle into her hands and started gently rubbing it to get the blood flowing again.

“It’s cool.” Cal shrugged it off, finding himself liking the feeling of her hands on his skin. 

“Well, your ankle is,” Luke did finger guns at Michael and had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I fucking hate you,” Ashton said, but the giggle gave him away. 

“So what are we doing tonight?” Sophie said shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth. 

“I say we just have a chill movie night. There’s a new horror movie out.” Luke said, trying to make sure they could include Cal. 

“I don’t know, I heard it was pretty scary. I’m not sure SOME people in this room could handle it.” Bia said, giving a pointed look at Cal. 

“Are we still going out?” Michael asked as he adjusted his glasses. “Because I don’t want to leave Cal out, but I really want to go out. We need to celebrate.”

“I could still go out with you guys. I mean, I could hold a table and stuff.” Cal defended himself, trying not be the wet blanket. 

“I see no reason to cancel. Let’s get ready and get our drink on.” Bia said decidedly, already cleaning up the popcorn and hot chocolate. 

“Alright, then. Let’s meet back here in an hour and a half.” Ashton giggled again. “This is gonna be fuckin’ awesome!”

~

“Is it ok if I shower first?” Cal asked as he leaned on the doorway of the bathroom. “It won’t take me long.” 

“Yeah that’s fine especially since I’m not gonna shower.” Cal looked at her like she suddenly grew another head. “Bud, I showered this morning. I’m not trying to do my hair like that.” 

“Whatever.” Cal spun around and shut the door. 

Bia walked to her room and begun getting ready. Her long, chocolate hair was already in loose waves because she had curled it earlier in the day, so she focused on her makeup, which didn’t take her long – all she did was put on cat eye liner, mascara, highlighter, and bright red lipstick. Foundation was too heavy and didn’t even cover all the freckles dotting her skin anyways. Plus it was sort of hard to find. color that matched her pale skin tone. Then she got dressed in a sheer skin tight long sleeve crop top with a cute bralette under, a black mini skirt and heeled combat boots. 

By then it was almost time to go, so she went to check on Calum and found him just sitting on the edge of his bed. He didn’t have a shirt on so Bia could see all the muscles in his golden skin and got a little distracted for a second. She didn’t like to admit it, but her best friend gave her feelings she wasn’t quite ready to deal with. Not just because of the way he looked – which was delicious – but also because of who he was. He was so soft and cute, but Bia didn’t feel like of being that cliched. Also, Cassidy. His girlfriend. They always kind of seemed to forget about her. 

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” Bia said, pushing those thoughts out of her head. “It’s almost time to go.” 

“Couldn’t figure out how to work this stupid boot.” Cal said flopping back onto his bed. 

“How long have you been sitting here doing nothing, though?” Bia reached into Cal’s bag, pulled out his sensation t-shirt and leather jacket, and then tossed them onto his chest. Then she bent over and finished strapping on his boot for him while he pulled on his clothes. “We good?” Bia asked picking up Cal’s crutches and handing them to him. 

“Yeah. Let’s go meet up with everyone.” 

~

The group walked into the bar and made a beeline to the back and their usual table. Calum was pretty anxious to sit. By walking to the back, the group had to walk through all the dancing people and drunks who weren’t exactly conscientious of his injury. His ankle was radiating flares of pain up his shin, and he all but collapsed into the chair. 

“I’ll get drinks!” Bia shouted over the music which was pounding. “Usual for everyone?” Everyone agreed and Bia and Sophie went over to the bar, the latter having volunteered to help carry everything. 

“How’s living with her going, man?” Ashton shouted over the music. Everyone knew a conversation would be a little difficult – but hey, that’s just how it was in clubs. They knew and all didn’t care. 

“Fuck, man. It’s the best.” Calum said shaking his head slightly. 

“Yeah? Did, uh, something happen between you two?” Luke said. 

Cal’s head snapped around so fast he heard his neck pop. “The fuck you mean?” 

“Oy, mate, don’t act like you’re not pining over her. Everyone knows except her and you apparently.” Ashton gave him a look that said everything. 

“We see you staring at her when she can’t see you, tensing up when she flirts with other guys. My god, Cal, grow a pair.” Michael chimed in with his opinion, slightly buzzed from his pre-gaming. 

“Oh, fuck off the lot of you. Cassidy, remember?” Cal squinted his eyes and shook his head, denying as hard as could. 

He was spared from further talking about it because Bia and Sophie returned with their drinks. All of them had beer except Bia and Sophie themselves, the former with whiskey and the latter with a cranberry vodka.

“Could you have a more white-girl drink?” Bia started ragging on Sophie, but within good reason in Cal’s opinion. 

“Seriously, you’re embarrassing the rest of us. I don’t know if we can even be seen with you.” Cal high-fived Bia and found himself grinning hard. After a pointed look from Ashton, he suddenly knew what the other guys had been talking about. 

Maybe he did have a thing for his best friend, but there’s no way either of them would be that cliched. Plus, he had Cassidy, and he wasn’t quite ready to give her up over some school-girl crush. Cal took a long draw of his beer and tried to push the thought from his mind. It was hard, thought, because she looked damn fine in that outfit. 

“Let’s dance!” Bia shouted and downed half her drink. Calum wanted nothing more than to jump up and follow her onto the dance floor, fuck his ankle. 

She was already jumping to the music and flirting with all the guys around her. She didn’t realize they were flirting, though. Cal figured she probably just thought they were being friendly, having fun. He shook his head and took another long sip of his beer. 

He was left alone at the table with only his friends’ drinks for company, but he didn’t really mind. Cal was content sipping beers provided by friends – mainly Bia; she came to check on him the most often – and listening to the music. 

Before he knew it, it was a little past 12:00 and about half of their group was drunk. Cal, Bia, and Ash were only slightly buzzed but Luke, Sophie, and Michael were totally hammered. 

Right as they were getting ready to exit the club, Cal realized they had lost Bia. He scanned the club but wasn’t too worried seeing as she hadn’t had too much. Cal and Ash had almost finished corralling the rest of their friends out the door when she caught up with them. 

“Alright. I’ll see you guys later.” Bia said, breathing in the fresh air. The night was really pretty, the weather absolutely perfect. “I’m gonna walk home. Try and head off the hangover, you know?” 

“Are you sure?” Cal could feel the concern creeping into his voice, the desperation – stupid as he knew it was. “Frat boy, especially drunk ones, aren’t exactly known for their chivalry.”

“Actually, I think I’ll join you.” Ash linked his arm with hers. “Tonight is really pretty.” Cal just nodded his head and climbed into the Uber. 

For whatever reason, he felt jealousy thick in his throat. He knew, of course, it was misplaced. Nothing would ever happen between Bia and Ash. Right? It was moments like these he had never hated his injury more. Hell, he’d break both his ankles to be able to be the one walking her home.

~

“Ash, not that I’m not grateful or anything, but you know I can take care of myself, right?” It’s not that she didn’t want his company, but Bia knew – and wanted the boys to know – she didn’t need some big, strong man to come save her. 

“Oh, I know good and well that you didn’t need me here ‘protecting you’.” Ash did air quotes around protecting, since he really wasn’t doing much but talking. “However, I think we can agree that, had I not volunteered, then Cal would have tried to walk with you. So, really, I did this more for Cal than for you.”

Bia giggled and breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice to have some one on one time with Ash, something they hadn’t had in a while. 

“I, uh, did, however, have an ulterior motive.” Ash lowered his voice to almost a whisper, his serious demeanor a sudden change. “It’s about Cal.”

“What? Is he okay? Is there something I don’t know about going on?” Bia stopped and looked Ash square in the eyes. 

“Yes and no. Listen, Cassidy is going to give Cal an ultimatum when she gets back from her trip in three days.” Ash was looking pretty pissed at that point. 

“That bitch. What for?” Bia made a face, felt her heart beating faster. 

She had never liked Cassidy – always thought she was jealous of Cal and Bia’s friendship. Bia had always tried to be polite, but whenever Cal tried to bring Cassidy along to a group hangout, Bia would always find some excuse not to be there. 

“Her or you; Cal has to choose.” Ash barely got the words off his lips before Bia felt her blood run cold. 

No matter what Bia had with Cal, Cassidy would come first. Hell, Cal had even brought Bia along ring shopping once. He said he wasn’t anywhere near ready, thought he just wanted to have an idea. She couldn’t let him throw away his future, but what was she supposed to do, lose her best friend? 

Bia knew her face gave away no emotion, but inside she felt the hot tears rising up. Her palms went clammy and she swiftly walked over to the nearest bench and sat. 

Ash noticed she and taken a seat and settled himself next to her. “Bia, this is really up to Cal. I mean, what are you going to do, kick him out of your life?” 

And with that, she made up her mind. “I guess so.”

“Whoa, hey, I was definitely being sarcastic. I – in no way, shape, or form – meant that you should actually kick him out.” 

Bia was already walking away, though. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it. From now on, Calum Hood was no longer her friend. 

~

As soon as she got home, Bia ran to the bathroom, shut the door, and promptly bent over the toilet to throw up. 

“Hey, listen, do you think I should get Cassidy something?” Cal opened the door but didn’t notice she was throwing up yet since he was texting Cassidy on his phone. “I mean, I haven’t seen- Oh my god, are you ok?”

Cal reached to rub Bia’s back, but she arched her spine away from him, avoiding his touch. “Go away.” 

Bia didn’t say anything else, and she really didn’t want to either. She was afraid that if she did, she’d tell him everything. 

“Um, alright.” Cal furrowed his brow, confused. Had he done something to make her mad at him? He really didn’t think so, but then why would she have pulled away from him like that. Trying to shake the paranoia, he chalked it up to her being sick. “I’ll just go make grilled cheese and tomato soup then.” 

“Don’t bother, Calum. Just leave me alone.” Bia turned around and pushed Calum out of the bathroom, a final, symbolic act to solidify her shutting him out of her life. 

Cal was stunned. She had only said seven words and yet, he felt his blood pulsing faster in his veins, almost like he couldn’t breathe. 

For starters, grilled cheese and tomato soup was their tradition. Starting when they were six, the other had made the soup and sandwich for the sick friend. To reject that felt a little like she was rejecting him, rejecting his friendship. 

Second, she called him Calum. She never called him Calum, hadn’t called called him by his full name in about eight years. The last time she had called him Calum was when he had tried to prank her, but instead had embarrassed her in front of the whole school and caused her boyfriend to break up with her. She had cried for weeks, and it had taken a awhile for them to be okay again. Cal hoped to God it was nothing like that because, although it seemed strange because he wasn’t at the receiving end, that prank-gone-wrong had almost killed him inside. 

He leaned his back against the bathroom door and slid to the floor so that he was sitting, setting his crutches on the floor beside him. He really just didn’t understand, one hot tear running down his flushed cheeks as he sat there, waiting in vain that Bia would say something – anything – to him.

~

The next morning, after not seeing her again, Cal got up and immediately went to look for Bia. His ankle was hurting more than it ever had and he was dying for a smoke, but all he really wanted was to find Bia, to talk to her. 

He looked around her house for awhile, finding her no where. It did confuse him a little because he knew she was still here since her keys were still in dish by the front door. Then it dawned on him that she must be in her office. 

Cal definitely wasn’t about to go in there, especially after last night. Still, he did really want to talk to her. He figured he’d knock – at least try. At best, she’d be feeling all better and they would laugh and make up over yesterday. At worst, he’d see her later at the mall when they would meet up with the rest of the group. 

He wouldn’t try empty-handed, though. Since it was nearing lunchtime, he made grilled cheese and tomato soup again, even though she had rejected it yesterday. He set it on the counter, wishing he could bring it to her. Once again cursing his crutches, he limped to the back of the house where her office was and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer, but he heard soft music filtering in from under the door – Buddy by Willie Nelson – her go-to sad song. 

“Bia?” Cal rested his head against the door, losing hope quicker and quicker that she would respond. “I, uh, I hope your, um, feeling better. I made you lunch, it’s waiting on the, uh, counter for you. Grilled cheese and tomato. I know... I know, you said that, uh, you didn’t want it last night, but it just didn’t feel right, to um, to not have it. I mean, I even washed all the dishes and cleaned the counter tops, too.” Bia didn’t answer, and Cal was left disoriented by what was happening. 

Their friendship seemed to be dissolving all around him and Cal didn’t know what to do. He had to talk to everyone else – maybe he was just being paranoid. They’d help him, and even if their advice didn’t work, then Cassidy would be home in just three days. Cal stood there and waited for a few more minutes before limping back into the kitchen to eat the food he had made for Bia.

~

Bia sat on the floor of her office with her knees pulled up to her chest, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t really the type to cry, and yet here she was bawling her eyes out. 

It was the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. She was basically cutting out the happiest memories of her life, and the worst part was that she couldn’t even give him an explanation. They’d been best friends for 21 years and she was cutting him out of her life with seemingly no explanation. 

It was only because she wanted the best for him, though. Cassidy would make him happy for the rest of his life, and for that, the sacrifice would be worth it. 

It took her a while to stop crying, but she held onto that little scrap of comfort, knowing she would be securing his happiness. Besides, she needed to give her eyes time to de-puff before their group met up at the mall later. 

Her plan was just to avoid him as much as possible. Originally, she had planned on canceling, but she figured she’d need them after she was through with her self-given task. She found it quite ironic – the fact that he had moved in so she could help him out and yet here they were, not even speaking.

[youknowwhatelseyouare]

All aboard the Juffy headcanons train choo choo

•They help each other practice their respective sport wow we love a supportive couple

•They turn everything into a competition??? But like in a fun way??? It’s not uncommon to see them arm wrestling for the last baby tater at The Spoon while everyone else watches on nervously.

•They get jerseys with each other’s name on the back.

•They have starting contests all the time, and it just seems like another way to compete but it’s really an excuse for them to stare into each other’s eyes.

•Jonah doesn’t realize he likes Buffy until Cyrus and Andi point out to him that his latest song is literally???about how much he likes Buffy??? And then he gets it.

•Buffy catches on to her feelings faster, but refuses to acknowledge it. Eventually Cyrus and Andi wear her down and she admits that she likes Jonah, but that she doesn’t want them to do anything about it. This leads to Andi and Cyrus doing everything in their power to make Jonah notice Buffy.

•Their “confession” happens at a dance. Buffy shows up wearing a jumpsuit (we love a fashion queen) and she and Jonah end up next to each other as a slow dance starts. Jonah asks her to dance and she accepts. After that they’re a couple.

•They run against TJ and Cyrus for Prom King and Queen, but lose. Buffy pretends to be upset but is secretly thrilled for her best friend.

•Their idea of PDA is arm wrestling, and playing footsie under the table. One time Andi caught them holding hands underneath the booth and never let Buffy live it down.

•They go to the same college and keep with their respective sports. They quickly become the power couple on campus, and wherever someone sees Buffy, Jonah is bound to be nearby, and vice versa.

•Jonah takes Buffy’s last name when they get married.

•They have two kids, twin boys. Jonah jokes that he wants to name them docious and magocious and Buffy threatens to throw him out of the room.

•They each try to get their kids to play their favorite sports but both of them turn out to be super artsy. One plays the piano, often dueting with Jonah, and the other has a knack for theatre. Uncle Cyrus is thrilled and has him visit him in New York to see shows.

•They try to have more kids for years, to no avail, and then finally they have another child, a girl who is every bit as fierce as her mother. She takes up soccer and Buffy is the parent who ends up getting kicked out of the game for yelling at the ref, Jonah hot on her heels.

•They’re totally the family who go on bike rides and runs together.

•They also have a weekly game night, although Buffy forbids them from playing Property.

•Buffy never lets her kids win she always slaughters them at games, but eventually they get old enough to hold their own, much to Jonah’s amusement.

•Buffy and Jonah still having their spark after being married for 60+ years, and are held as goals by their grandkids.

•Buffy dying the day after Jonah does because she can’t bear to live without him? I’m emotional.

[wheeloffortune-design]

Ransom went from being paralysed with fear at the idea of exams to be chill during the last ones. He went from being unable to even be in the same room as Tater to just sitting next to him, wearing his jersey. 

Suggestion: Ransom is finally taking anxiety medication.