Bitty didnât learn Dexâs real name for weeks.
Nursey walked into the Haus kitchen with Shittyâs arm around his neck, laughing and smiling and accepting a slice of pie with a charming smile and a, âIâm Derek, but you can call me Nursey,â making Bitty swoon justifiably. Chowder followed, eyes wide as he took in everything the Haus had to offer, which wasnât much but had definitely improved since Bittyâs Haus Tour. He beamed at Bitty when he suggested pie and said, âIâm Chris!â in response to Bitty introducing himself, which he promptly followed with speculations at to what his nickname would be.
Dex slouched in last, his head down, his shoulders up near his ears, and he squinted suspiciously when Bitty asked him what his favorite kind of pie was. âYou bake?â he had asked, surprise mixed with that tinge of judgement, and Bitty had frozen in his spot. Itâd been so long since heâd recognized that look on someoneâs face, the tightness, the disgust, and, okay, maybe he exaggerated it a bit, but it was every bully he had ever faced looking back at him from Dexâs eyes.
Still, Bitty offered him pie, talked to him as much as the other two, even took him up on his offer to help clean up afterwards. That made it better, Dex offering to wash the dishes, made him remember those wholesome boys back home whose mamas taught them right, and then it suddenly made it all worse, because wasnât it those same boys who locked Bitty in the locker room with his bloody, crying face to be found by Coach hours later?
They didnât talk much. Bitty was kind, amiable, did his best to make Dex feel welcome because he had a duty as a Samwell Menâs Hockey member to keep up the community the upperclassmen before him had made, but. But sometimes Dex said things, tensed up when the other boys got too close, looked caged whenever two boys kissed on the Quad, and he kept to himself. It wasnât like Bitty had other things to counteract what he saw. Dex went to practices, games, and mandatory team breakfasts, and otherwise Bitty didnât see him.
Bitty hated it, but he didnât like Dex. He didnât like how Dex made him feel like he was in high school again, didnât like how Dex made him second guess the things heâd long-since learned to accept and love, didnât like how Dex looked like a bully. He wanted to like Dex so badly, it kept him up at night, and he talked to the other guys about it and theyâd said âGive him time,â but they didnât understand how Bitty had grown up with Dex and time did nothing but give people the room to get angry.
One day, Bittyâs professor who taught his second lecture on Wednesdays had a baby, so she cancelled class to get to her wife at the hospital. Bitty was pleased, stopped by Annieâs for a seasonal coffee before heading back to the Haus. He knew no one would be home around this time and was pleased to know he could blast Bey to his heartâs content.
That was why he was surprised when he walked in the door and heard voices. He heard someone say, âYou getting any down there?â The voice was tinny, unfamiliar, and something in the edge to it made Bitty tense, his hand against the kitchen door, ready to open it.
âJ, donât.â Bitty took a second to place the second voice as Dexâs, and another to wonder as to why Dex was here in the middle of the day when no one else was.
âWhat? All the fags down there, you must be rolling in it.â Even after all the times Bitty had heard that word, his blood still went cold as quickly as it had every other time. It was almost an instinct at this point; hear the word, freeze and hope no one looked at you after.
âChill, Little Bro.â The other voice laughed, almost cruelly, definitely just like any other bully Bitty had met in his life. âItâs just a joke.â
âItâs not funny anymore, okay? Itâs-itâs just not.â It was quiet for a few long moments after that, and Bitty instantly felt like his aunties, eavesdropping at parties on things they definitely shouldnât be listening to, and moved to push open the door.
âWill, câmon, you know I donât care that youâre-â
Dexâs eyes widened as he realized that Bitty had entered the room, and he ended the Skype call with a click, cutting off his friend (brother?) from finishing his sentence, but really, how many ways could that have ended? Dex stared at Bitty, panic and fear plain in his eyes, and Bitty stared back, dumbfounded for a moment.
In that moment, Bitty saw the Dex who laughed at his friendsâ shitty jokes to keep eyes from settling on him, the Dex who ducked his head at family dinners when his uncle started ranting about gay marriage, the Dex who looked at boys and loved them in the secret, quiet places in his heart, too scared to even think it too long for fear of being found out. Bitty looked at Dex and saw himself in that moment, saw little Eric Bittle being shoved into lockers for being too small, too feminine, too faggy. Bitty looked at Dex and saw Will, everything Dex fought not to be.
Bitty smiled. âHi, honey. Would you like to help me make a pie?â
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