#effyeahzimbits

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. That’ll make it worse. Shit. His heart was beating rapidly in his throat. He could feel the blood coursing through his body. Move on. Force different thoughts in. It’ll be fine. Calm down. Fuck. What time was it? How long had this been going on? It couldn’t have been that long. 5 minutes? Maybe 10 on the outside?

Bitty glanced down at the corner of his computer screen. Three hours. Where had the time gone? Oh shit. Nope, that didn’t make anything better. He heard the door to the apartment open. It had to be Jack. Jack was supposed to be home around now. Right? Bitty wanted to say something, to call attention to himself, but he couldn’t get it out. He couldn’t force the breath through his vocal chords to produce anything more than a small rasp. Lord, he wanted to cry, but it was like everything was frozen. His mind was fully there, but his body refused to cooperate.

“Bits? You in the bedroom, bud?”

Bitty wanted nothing more than to call out, to tell Jack he needed him, needed to be held. But nothing happened. He gripped the sheets between his fingers tight enough that he could feel his knuckles creak.

The door slowly opened inwards and Bitty could see Jack peering in quietly.

“Hey bud, you okay?”

Bitty wheezed and tried to force his throat to cooperate, but it felt like his heart was pressing against his vocal chords, preventing any sound from escaping.

“Is it okay if I sit next to you on the bed?”

It felt like the seconds stretched on before Bitty was able to get his head to nod. But Jack was quiet and patient. He waited for Bitty’s nod and gently sat next to him. Jack’s large physical presence loosened something in Bitty. He wasn’t sure what the exact reason for it was. Maybe it was because Jack equaled safety in his mind. Or maybe it was because he finally wasn’t alone. Bitty honestly had no clue why Jack sitting next to him let his pulse slide down his throat. He flexed his fingers that were tangled in the sheets and the resistance was significantly lessened.

“Can I hold your hand?”

This time, the nod came easier. He still had to fight for it, but he was able to dip his head further and more fluidly.

Jack’s massive hand gently pried his fingers loose and wound them again around his own.

Bitty’s breathing started to slow, the buzzing started to feel better and worse. It was like coming out of a nightmare, but he had been awake for all of it.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me? Just try to match mine.”

Jack moved close enough that Bitty could feel the rising and falling of his chest and he tried to follow along. It was hard. It was so, so hard. But the tightness was lifting. His muscles were responding to him again. He finally managed one full, deep breath.

“That’s it. Good job, Bits. You got it.”

Bitty felt his consciousness finally take full control of his body again. His muscles crumpled. He pressed his face into Jack’s chest and let the tears fall. Lord, he was sore all over. His muscles must have been tense for that whole time.

“I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

“Why? Why didn’t they say it was that? I don’t - they just needed to say.”

“Who needed to say what, bud?”

“The video. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have watched if I knew what it was going to be about. But no one said.” Bitty could feel his whole body shake as the adrenaline was being metabolized out. It left him feeling weak and woozy.

Jack tilted the computer screen towards him and saw the image Bitty had managed to stop on. It was clearly a PSA about bullying in school and was originally designed to warn people to be on the lookout for homophobic behavior. But all the good intentions in the world didn’t help when those that actually suffered it had it sprung on them with no warning. “I got you. And when you feel up to it, I’ll run us a bath and we can cuddle in the strawberry scented bubbles. How does that sound?”

Bitty’s breath was ragged, but stronger. “I love you so much, sweetpea. That sounds like heaven right about now.”

Jack pressed a kiss on the top of his head and closed out the window with the offending video. “Then maybe I can get some take out and we can have dinner in bed. Something from that restaurant on Exchange Street. They absolutely adore you there. I’m sure I can talk them into doing us a favor.”

Bitty nuzzled into Jack’s chest and curled up so that he could fit fully on his lap. “As long as they bring that Walnut Turtle Pie.”

Jack chuckled, “I will try. But, they may not be willing after the last time we went there and you suggested several improvements to their recipe.”

Bitty sniffled. “Their loss.”

“They’re just...always safe,” he explained loosely, slowly peeling the label off the bottle with his fingernail. He knew Bitty was aware of his anxiety difficulties by now - it was impossible not to know about them if you lived in the Haus. “If I’m having a bad day, they're something I can always eat.”

It wasn’t a detailed explanation, but he knew Bitty would understand. During particularly bad episodes, eating was usually the last thing on his mind. And then when he did have to face eating, it suddenly turned into one of the most difficult things he’d ever have to do. Nausea would make just the mere thought of swallowing food something to throw up over. If he then managed to put something in his mouth the texture and the taste would all be wrong, and he’d just give up. But chicken tenders he could face. It didn’t matter if they were plain old frozen ones, or the fresh ones his maman would make for him from time to time. The taste and the texture were always just right, and never too overwhelming. Chicken tenders were always safe.

The answer seemed to appease Bitty, who suddenly looked thoughtful and considerate. He nodded, and turned back to crimping his pie crust, much to Jack’s relief. Finals were approaching, and naturally, instead of studying, Bitty had set up residence in the kitchen. No longer content with baking dozens of pies and ruining Jack’s strict diet plan, he was finding out the Haus residents’ favourite foods and redesigning them. Jack suddenly realised that chicken tenders were going to be the next item to be butchered.

For the most part, Bitty’s experiments were successful. Holster had declared he was never going to eat regular mac and cheese ever again, and Ransom had tearfully announced that Bitty’s attempt at yam porridge was almost as good as his mother’s. Shitty proposed to every dish Bitty created, despite the fact that he was strongly opposed to any institutional idea of marriage. Nobody mentioned the times he wasn’t successful of course, though none of them could ever look at burritos the same way again.

Jack hoped that Bitty wouldn’t play around with chicken tenders too much. He didn’t want to risk being put off them altogether, but he trusted Bitty enough to know that. So he continued with finishing off his thesis and preparing for his last exams and negotiating NHL deals without worrying too much about Bitty ruining his favourite food. A couple of weeks went by, and Jack genuinely thought Bitty had forgotten all about it.

That was, until Bitty shouted him down from his bedroom early one Thursday evening. It had been a good day. Jack had completed his thesis that morning, and he’d had a pleasant conversation with his mother at lunch, and he’d spent the afternoon reading in Lardo’s studio while she worked on her final project. He’d come back to the Haus covered in paint but he hadn’t minded at all. Bitty had noticed the smile he’d wore when he walked in a couple of hours ago, and the one Jack received in return had made his stomach do flip flops.

As soon as he opened his bedroom door he was hit with a scent that instantly made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. He couldn’t quite define what it was, something spicy perhaps, but it was definitely enticing, so he hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen. There was a plate of steaming, fried chicken on the table, and Bitty was standing over it with an inane grin on his face, like it was his firstborn child.

Jack hesitated at the door, but Bitty just grinned wider and pulled out a chair for him.

“Southern fried chicken tenders!” He announced needlessly, practically vibrating with excitement. “Now I know you don’t like anything too spicy, so I fiddled around with the ingredients a little. Lord knows Coach likes his chicken hotter than a Georgian summer, so don’t you ever tell my mama I changed our family recipe, you hear?” He giggled, giving him an exaggerated wink.

Jack nodded and took a seat, feeling like he was on some weird trial. He knew they would taste good, that wasn’t what he was worried about at all. He just didn’t want to hurt Bitty’s feelings if he still preferred his chicken tenders plain and boring. He took the fork and speared a piece, appreciating how perfectly golden they were.

He took a bite, burning his tongue a little, and chewed, trying to concentrate on the various flavours and how it felt in his mouth. It was good, really good in fact. It didn’t taste too spicy, there was a small kick, and the chicken was moist and the batter crunchy just how he liked it. He enjoyed it, and took another bite, savouring it just as much.

But he knew, deep down, he preferred his chicken tenders as plain as can be.

“Well?” Bitty asked eagerly when he’d swallowed his second bite.

Jack paused, not wanting to offend him, but his silence was enough to make Bitty’s excited grin falter.

“They taste amazing, Bittle, really,” Jack assured him, sounding so sincere that Bitty had to believe him. “It’s just…”

Bitty searched his face in the few second’s silence, and he must have found something there, because he softened and gave him a nod.

“But they’re not regular chicken tenders,” Bitty answered for him with a comforting smile. Bitty laughed quietly and patted his shoulder before turning to wash his dishes. “You’re a creature of habit, Mr. Zimmermann.” He teased lightly, starting to fill the sink with hot water.

“I’m sorry, Bittle,” Jack murmured, relieved that Bitty seemed to understand and wasn’t at all offended. “I do like them though.”

“I know you do, sweet pea. Don’t feel pressured into eating them if you don’t feel up to it.” Bitty told him fondly, throwing him a glance over his shoulder.

Jack held his eyes and obstinately took another bite as he did so, causing Bitty to laugh loudly. Jack’s stomach did another flip flop, but he assumed it was hunger and continued to eat. Bitty had failed in his attempt to redefine Jack’s favourite food, but Jack definitely wouldn’t mind enjoying southern fried chicken tenders every once in a while.

Time passed, and he had been officially dating Bitty for four months now, and most of the time, Jack felt like he was on cloud nine. His anxiety was still a sore spot in more ways than one, but his medication and therapy along with a few coping strategies hed’d developed were controlling it well. He’d had a couple of episodes, but on the whole a lot of weight had been lifted from his shoulders since graduating and signing with the Falconers.

There were different weights now though, and sometimes they were no less heavy. He felt it keenly today, crushed under what ifs and should I’s and if only’s. He’d lost a game last night, and though logic told him that the loss wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t quite shake the blame. The pressure of being Bad Bob’s son stung deep, and it wasn’t the first time he that he fretted about living up to the legacy. The last thing he wanted was for the Falconers to think they’d made a mistake in believing in him.

The night had been restless. Bitty had travelled from Samwell to watch the game and spend the weekend, and he’d been nothing but supportive, like he always was. Jack woke up feeling like there was a block on his chest and he slipped out of bed for his usual run, guiltily wondering how many times he’d woken Bitty up with his tossing and turning throughout the night.

Bitty was awake and cooking breakfast by the time he returned, and if either of them mentioned he’d ran harder and for longer than normal, they didn’t mention it. He didn’t feel much like talking, and Bitty had understood, allowing him to shower and eat his toast in relative peace. Jack tried to power through the rest of the day, helping Bitty with his flashcards, a short walk to the grocery store together, a small lunch spent in front of the TV. It was difficult, with the anxiety spiking at every nerve, but he managed it.

The panic attack came in the late afternoon.

Feeling slightly better after lunch spent in Bitty’s calming company, he’d decided to watch tape. It was a familiar activity, one he’d done thousands of times before, and he’d hoped it would help ease some of his doubts. Except it had the opposite effect, and they began raining down once more.

Bitty had been invaluable. He’d witnessed these attacks before, having lived at the Haus together, and he’d learned the best ways to help from Shitty. It was hard work, but together they fought through it, leaving Jack drained and worn paper thin a short while later. He’d tried apologising, his voice weak and exhausted, but Bitty was having none of it. He all but ordered Jack to bed for a nap, and didn’t stop stroking his dark hair until he’d fallen asleep curled up in bed.

It was Bitty who woke him a couple of hours later. There was a tension headache leftover, but when Jack breathed in, he breathed deep. His nerves felt frayed still, but it was manageable. He peered up at Bitty, whose smile made him feel warmer than the sun.

“Hey, sorry to wake you honey, but I think you should eat some dinner,” he murmured gently, his voice a soothing balm.

Jack pulled a face, not so sure about that. He wasn’t hungry, and all he felt like doing was lying with his head in Bitty’s lap and watching bad television until he fell asleep again. Bitty must have noticed his expression, because he clicked his tongue and gave him a firm look.

“Just a little something, Jack. I’ve already prepared it. Please.” Bitty said sternly in a tone that couldn’t be argued with.

Jack sighed and sat up only because he knew Bitty was right. He couldn’t neglect his basic needs just because he was feeling shitty. Nausea pooled in his gut already though at the thought of chewing and swallowing whatever it was that Bitty had made. He knew that Bitty’s cooking, though it always tasted amazing, would be far too overwhelming right now. He hoped that he could manage a few bites without throwing up.

He stood, and Bitty took his hand and led him to the kitchen, their socked feet padding on the hallway carpet. Jack took a deep breath as they entered the kitchen, his stomach already churning violently. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he was stunned to silence for a few moments as he saw two plates of very plain and very boring chicken tenders. The empty bag on the counter showed they were the same ones he had stockpiles of in his freezer.

“Thanks, Bits.” Jack smiled, sinking tiredly into his chair. Bitty laughed quietly at the awed smile Jack gave him, and dipped down to lovingly peck his temple before sitting opposite him.

“Of course, sweetie.”

The first bite was a relief, and he savoured the taste and touch of it on his tongue. The nausea pooling in his gut dissipated as he swallowed, and he started to feel tons better. He looked across the table, listening with only half an ear as Bitty chattered away about something insignificant. He watched his boyfriend’s face as he tucked into his own plate of equally plain and boring chicken tenders. Jack ducked his head and smiled to himself as a thought occurred to him.