#epikegster

 Jack looked at the table, but no help came from them.

 ‘Bake? Like, huh, drugs baking or-’

 ‘I want to make a pie- I want to make a million pies! My mama sends me new recipes almost daily and I can’t use the dorm ovens at night because they close at eight, EIGHT PM! What kind of schedule is that? I have practice ‘till seven, I need to prepare everything the night before and run back so I can use it and most of the time they’re already in use! By people who don’t appreciate good cooking! I had to delay my new strawberry-rhubarb recipes for- for- for’

 A large hiccup.

 ‘-for PILLSBURY COOKIES!’ he shrieked.

 He took a large breath and started to fall sideways. Jack caught him and placed him next to the counter.

 ‘You are drunk,’ he said.

 ‘Yesss… yes I am. It was the green juice. I didn’t think…’

 ‘Tub juice would do that. How much did you drink?’

 ‘One cup? And a beer?’

 ‘...Is that all? Tub juice is strong, but you look on the verge of passing out. Here, stay.’

 He grabbed the glass of water he’d filled for himself and made the boy empty it.

 ‘Now another one.’

 ‘Noooooooo…’

 ‘If you don’t want to die of alcohol poisoning, drink more water.’

 ‘’told you I didn’t drink lots. Is just… practice. And school. M’tired.’

 His speech was getting slurred. Jack looked around, but the table guys had gone back to their argument.

 ‘Are you going to throw up? Because I’d rather you don’t do it in the kitchen.’

 ‘I’d NEVER disrespect a kitchen like that, Mister Hockey- Hockey Captain!’

 ‘You look like you’re going to throw up. Come, I’ll help you reach the bathroom.’

 Jack steered him through the crowd, sometimes having to fight his way through and pull the boy behind him. His face fell when he saw the door : there was a ten person lineup.

 ‘Okay. Come, we’re going upstairs.’

 He pulled a bit on the boy’s arm, but met resistance.

 ‘Upstairs?’ repeated the guy.

 ‘Yes. There’s another bathroom you can use.’

 ‘I- I’m not sure…’

 ‘If you want to.’

 ‘But I really need to pee…’

 He glanced up, then around.

 ‘I was with friends, earlier? But- I lost them when I found the kitchen and… And I’m not sure-’

 He blinked and pulled his phone out of his pockets.

 ‘I gotta call… huh, Cam. Cam will be sober enough.’

 Jack waited patiently.

 ‘Hello- Cam! Where are you? … What- I was looking for you, guys! I want froyo too! … Well he’d better be REALLY cute! … Oh yeah, that was a cute one- alright! … Huh Cam- I’m SO DRUNK, and there’s this guy- Mister hockey, he wants me to go upstairs with him…’

 There was some yelling that even Jack could hear through the music.

 ‘Noooo not like that! He’s super hot but noooo! I just need to pee! There’s a line, so he’s helping me- the bathroom upstairs- Cami, please listen-’

 There was more yelling. Then, the boy gave the phone to Jack.

 ‘She wants to speak to you.’

 Jack took the offered phone with a twinge of fear in his heart.

 ‘...Hello?’

 ‘You listen, you piece of shit- you better not touch my friend while he’s drunk or you’ll face my wrath. You a hockey bro? I know your Captain- you touch my friend and he’ll make sure you won’t be able to set foot on the ice- or even approach an ICE CUBE TRAY-’

 ‘Camilla?’

 ‘WHat- Jack?’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘Oh thank god it’s you- You’re the only hockey douche I could trust with Eric.’

 ‘Your friend is very drunk. He was talking to the oven.’

 ‘He does that.’

 ‘... Alright. I gave him water and was about to show him where the upstairs bathroom are- but not- not like that.’

 ‘Oh, I know, Jack, you’re a gentleman. Thanks for helping. Now gimme Eric.’

 He gave the phone back and waited some more. Eric hung up with a drunken smile.

 ‘Apparently you’re a sweetheart. She says I can trust you.’

 ‘Oh, that’s good.’

 ‘Can we go now? I REALLY need to pee.’

 Jack had to practically drag him up the stairs, each step wobblier than the last. At some point he wondered if he could just throw him over his shoulder, but he really didn’t fancy ending the night covered in vomit.

 After he showed the boy - Eric- the bathroom, he waited awkwardly in the hallway. The safety and calm of his own room called to him. On the other hand, if Eric slipped and broke his head, Camilla would castrate him with a tennis racket.

 He hesitated until the door opened up once again. Eric smiled at him.

 ‘You’re still there! Do you need…?’

 ‘Hum, no, I was making sure you were okay?’

 ‘Oh, you’re lovely. I’m… okay?’ he said, leaning on the doorway. ‘Everything is turning, I think I need to lie down… and I’ll be okay after that.’

 He took two steps and leaned on the opposite wall.

 ‘I don’t think I can go back to my dorm right now,’ he admitted in a mumble. ‘You guys have a couch?’

 ‘There were three couples making out on it when we walked by. And it’s- not pretty. Old and moldy.’

 ‘EEEEwwwww ugly couch. No way. Nope. Nuh-uh.’

 ‘There’s my room right over there, if you, huh…’

 ‘Aw Mister Hockey, are you trying to be all smooth?’

 ‘...I have a bean bag?’

 Eric burst out laughing.

 ‘It’s Shitty’s. I mean, it belongs to my friend, Shitty. He complained that- well, he tends to sit on my bed, naked, so when I told him to stop he brought his own beanbag and, huh, I’ll put a sheet on it- huh…’

 ‘Guh. I need that beanbag. I need to have a sit. And think. About my life.’

 Jack led him back to his room, covered the bean bag and sat Eric on top of it. The music was still too loud for his tastes, but he left the door open. He didn’t want anyone to think… He also didn’t want Eric to be scared. Being endorsed by Camilla was one thing, but anyone would be scared to find themselves completely drunk, in a closed room with a bigger stranger.

‘Are you okay, Eric?’

‘Yeeessss… Tell your friend with the weird name that his bean bag is the BEST. Oh my god, I need one. I don’t have enough space in my dorm. But I can change my bed. Yes. I can sleep on the bean bag.’

Jack frowned. Eric was spread-eagled, his head thrown back. It looked like it would hurt.

‘There’s another bathroom, right next to you. If you need water…’

 ‘Nooo… You’re an angel. A hockey angel. A handsome, fit, nice, sweet angel. And your eyes are stupid blue. It’s unfair.’

 Jack blinked, and slowly sat on his desk chair.

 ‘...unfair?’

 ‘That men like you exist,’ said Eric with a vague wavy motion. ‘Prince Charming. But for girls.’

 ‘I’m no prince charming…?’

 ‘Girls get everything. The best boys, the best fairy tales, the best sequins!’

 ‘Sequins?’

 ‘I asked my coach! I wanted sequins too! Well, I already have some, but I wanted more, MORE SEQUINS! She said it wouldn’t look too manly. I don’t WANT to look manly, I want to be a living disco ball!’

 ‘...what… what kind of sport do you…’

 ‘Skate. I skate. And I twirl, and I jump, and I dance on this amazing classical cover of Halo, and I would have won first place at that stupid regional if I had more sequins on my suit. This is stupid. And unfair. Like your eyes.’

 People had said everything about Jack’s physique over the years, but no one had ever told him his eyes were unfair. He wasn’t sure how to take it.

 ‘So, you’re a figure skater,’ he said, trying to get the conversations back to sports.

 ‘I’m the BEST figure skater. They found me all the way down in Georgia and they gave me money to skate here. Which is good, because GEORGIA SUCKS BALLS!’

 Jack snorted despite himself.

 ‘I’m sorry, darling, but some things deserve to be sweared- sworn- deserve to be said bad things about. And I liked my Madison? But Madison didn’t like me. Too much sequins.’

 ‘Oh.’

 ‘Yeaaaaaah. I like it here. I can tell a handsome boy he’s handsome and be almost sure he won’t beat me up.’

 ‘I wouldn’t-!’

 ‘Nah I know, sugar, I know, you’re one of the good apples. M’lucky you found me tonight, or I’d still be crying over poor Betsy downstairs.’

 ‘Bet- Oh, the oven.’

 ‘She’s a beauty. I miss baking.’

 ‘I know. Maybe you can, I don’t know, come over, and bake?’

 Suddenly, it was as if the sun parted the clouds. Eric’s smile blinded him.

 ‘You would let me bake? In your oven?’

 ‘Not really my oven, but, yeah. If you want to- Are you crying again? Please don’t cry.’

 ‘I’m so sorry- I’m just- so tired. And drunk. Can I bake now?’

 ‘You just told me you were tired and drunk.’

 ‘Pish-posh, I can make my moomaw’s prize-winning apple pie with my eyes closed and completely shitfaced.’

 ‘I completely believe you, but I don’t want to set the Haus on fire. Not during a kegster.’

 ‘Alriiiiight, spoilsport.’

 He flopped back on the bean bag, muttering something like “pretty spoilsport”. During the following silence, Jack started his laptop and went back to reading the article on depression era rationing he’d found earlier in the evening. Once in a while, Eric muttered to himself, pointed at shapes in the ceiling and huffed the words “sequins”. After a moment of silence, Jack lifted his head and saw that Eric was asleep.

 Hm.

 He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He could wake Eric and walk him to his dorm. After some rest, maybe he would be able to walk on his own.

 Jack set his alarm an hour later and concentrated on his thesis. The music and yelling were annoying, but he wouldn’t have survived in a frat house if he weren’t able to ignore loud noises.

 He was in the middle of typing a very good paragraph when a knock on his doorframe got him out of his focus. At first he thought it was Eric, but the boy still slept on his bean bag, head thrown backwards.

 He turned around, and froze.

 ‘Hey Zimms. Didja miss me?’

 ‘...Kent. What are you doing here?’

 ‘What, not even an hello? Talk about rude, Jack, I know your mom raised you better than that.’

 Kent entered the room with a fake bravado that almost convinced Jack.

 ‘I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d come say hello.’

 ‘Oh. Hello, then.’

 Kent raised his eyebrows, went to close the door behind him.

 ‘No- Don’t,’ said Jack, motioning to Eric.

 ‘Huh. What’s up with him?’

 ‘Tub Juice. He definitely needs to eat more, probably protein. What are you really doing here, Kenny?’

 ‘I- well. I WAS coming to say hello- for real, hoping you’d be less of a dick this time, but it seems you haven’t changed much.’

 Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming. The noise downstairs didn’t help.

 ‘Alright, I get it. So, what’s up with you? Playing the Falcs?’

 ‘Yeah. We won, but that Mashkov brute got me solid,’ he said, pointing to his side. ‘I’m probably all black and blue under there, hurts like a bitch.’

 ‘Mashkov’s a good player.’

‘He’s a barbarian, that’s what he is. But enough about my war wounds, what about you? Heard you were shopping teams?’

Jack frowned, shifted on his seat.

‘Is that what you’re doing?’ he asked. ‘Did your manager sent you?’

‘Fuck Jack, can’t I just want to know where my friend is playing? Or whatever we’re supposed to be, lately? I just want news, alright? You shut me out for YEARS, Jack, and you act like a bitch whenever I come around. I tried calling your parents but they just stare at me sadly- like at the poor boy, can’t deal with rejection, can’t get over -’

 ‘KENNY. Alright- I get it. I get it. Whatever you say.’

 A long silence stretched between them. Eric snored. They both looked at him distractedly, to avoid staring at each other.

 ‘So,’ tried Kent.

 ‘I don’t know.’

 ‘You have no clue?’

 ‘I mean… It could be Montréal, it could be L.A. okay? I don’t know.’

 Kent bit his lip.

 ‘... What about Las Vegas?’

 Jack stopped looking at him. It was too complicated. Las Vegas had Kent, and how was he supposed to play with Kent if they couldn’t even hold a decent conversation? How could he, if just looking at him brought back this whirlwind of want and jealousy and anxiety that once had led him to overdose on a bathroom floor.

 ‘I… I don’t know, okay?’ he repeated. He didn’t have an answer now, he needed time to THINK…

 But Kent stepped forward, and braced himself on Jack’s armrests.

 They just looked at each other. Jack wanted. To kiss and fight and hide and cry. It was unfair that only one person could have so many ties to the things he tried to keep locked inside.

 ‘Parse…’

 A kiss. Soft, heartbreaking. Jack wanted this to be easy. He wanted to forget everything else. This was easy at some point, right? This had been fun.

 ‘Kenny... I can’t do this,’ he whispers.

 Another kiss. Oh, how he wanted.

 ‘Jack, come on…’

 It would be so easy- so easy to lose himself again. Kent was there, with his lips, those eyes, the skin underneath his clothes- He could try to get it all back, he missed this so much-

 He placed a hand on Kent’s chest and pushed back, soft as a feather. Kent retreated, his eyes closed, frowning.

 ‘No, I, ….huh”

 Kent stood back, his expression closed. Jack got up, trying to explain- It wasn’t against Kent, it was everything else. It wasn’t a rejection- because he wanted, he wanted so many things in life, and Kent was among them- but he just couldn’t. Not like this.

 ‘Kenny-’ he tried to explain.

 But it was too late, Kent had recovered.

 ‘ - Zimms, just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be DONE with this shitty team-’

 ‘Get out.’

 The words were out before he even thought of them. Kent saw that he made a tactical error.

 ‘-- Jack,’ he tried, apologetic.

 But it was enough, there were too many emotions battling inside of Jack and he just couldn’t deal with the maelstrom- he felt it approach, and knew it was only a matter of time before drowning- and he didn’t want Kent to see it and see how pathetic Jack still was-

 Parse needed to leave.

 ‘You can’t- You don’t come to my fucking school unannounced-’

 ‘Because you shut me out!’

 ‘-- And corner me in my room-’

 ‘I’m trying to help--’

 ‘--And expect me to do whatever you want--’

 ‘FUCK-- JACK!! What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, ok?’

 Fuck, Jack couldn’t think about this. If he thought about the pain he caused Kent, he was going to break, he was-

 ‘...I miss you.’

 It took a gigantic effort, but Jack kept it together for a couple moments more. He closed his expression. He erased his heart. He looked at Kent square in the face and thought of the meanest thing he could- to make him leave.

 ‘You always say that.’

 Kent stepped back, as if hit by a silent bullet.

 ‘...huh. Well shit. Okay.’

 A beat. Maybe Jack didn’t fuck it up again, maybe there’s a chance-

 ‘... You know what, Zimmermann? You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough? Everybody already KNOWS what you are- but it’s people like me who still CARE-’

 ‘...shut up…’

 ‘You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? OH- DON’T WORRY, JUST GIVE IT A FEW SEASONS, JACK- TRUST ME-’

 ‘That’s mean.’

 Kent stopped shouting. Both turned back and looked at the corner of the room, where Eric was slowly getting up from the bean bag.

 ‘You’re being RUDE!’

 ‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Kent.

 ‘I’m the one telling you you have no manners! Didn’t your mama teach you not to be rude to people?’

 ‘Eric?’ asked Jack, shaking. ‘How much did you hear?’

 ‘Well I was trying NOT TO EAVESDROP, because it’s impolite, but y’all started yelling, and that one here was mean to you and you don’t deserve it because you’re an angel sent from above!’

 Kent scoffed, ready to answer, but Eric lifted a finger.

 ‘I don’t care what’s your problem, I don’t even care who’s right and who’s wrong- but this man here is a SWEETHEART and he let me crash on his beanbag and he didn’t even beat me up and he’s going to let me use his OVEN- so I’m telling you, sir, that if you want to tell him a single mean thing, you’re going to have to get THROUGH ME!’

 ‘Huh, Eric, you don’t have to-’ tried Jack.

 ‘You know what-’, started Kent, ‘ I’m outta here. Call me if you reconsider, or whatever.’

 He looked back, ready to throw a last jibe but saw Bittle’s glare and thought better of it. He put his hat back on and left towards the loud music downstairs.

 Jack closed the door behind him, locked it, and slowly sat on the ground, his back on the wood. He was shaking. He was going to drown, but at least Kent wouldn’t be there to see it.

 ‘Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry if I overstepped,’ mumbled Eric, sitting next to him. ‘I just didn’t like the look on your face- You didn’t look like you were enjoying his company.’

 ‘No- it’s- you’re right, I… I wanted him gone. I… I should get back up and let you leave- I’m sorry…’

 ‘Hey, it’s alright, I’m not leaving you alone like this, you’re shaking like a leaf in a storm. You- you know you can talk to me? I’m telling no one. I’ll probably forget all of this in the morning-’

 ‘How much did you see?’

 Eric sighed.

 ‘Honey, I’ve spent my life hiding. Liking boys is a complicate business in Georgia. I’m not telling a soul about you and that jerk.’

 Jack nodded. He took a long moment to get his bearings back. He looked at his bedside alarm clock. Five minutes. Seven. Ten. Eric stayed next to him, waiting.

 At twelve minutes, Jack broke the silence.

 ‘He’s not mean,’ he whispered. ‘Parse. He’s sometimes a dick but he’s not evil.’

 ‘Just rude,’ scoffed Eric. ‘But I get it. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to go making out with evil boys. He must have something worth the trouble, I mean, despite being ridiculously pretty.’

 Jack snorted.

 ‘Yeah. We were good friends but… huh, it turned sour. Bad things.’

 ‘Bad things,’ echoed Eric with a nod. ‘Yeah, we all have those. It sucks.’

 ‘It sucks.’

 Jack stretched his legs, closed his fists. The anxiety still ran through them, not as strong as before, but he could feel them weaker, he could feel the adrenalin in his veins. The thought of leaving his room was too much to consider.

 ‘Eric? I wanted to walk you back to your dorm, but I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I can anymore…’

 ‘It’s alright, sugar, I’m a little bit better, I can find my own way.’

 ‘I- huh, I’d rather know you’re safe? If you leave I’ll just panic some more…’

 ‘Oh don’t use those big blue eyes on me, Mister! They’re unfair!’

 ‘...You already told me that.’

 ‘Well they ARE. They can make a boy do anything.’

 A silence, a thought between them. Eric flushed a bit.

 ‘I don’t mean it like that! Well- maybe, you’re stupid handsome- but- but- you have horrible taste in men!’

 ‘Haha, maybe. But I mean, you can stay? Not in any sketchy way, I swear.’

 ‘Oh, I’m sure you’re a perfect gentleman. Are you sure there’s enough space?’

 ‘My friend Shitty often spends the night over, it fits two big hockey players. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit a tiny figure skater.’

 ‘Don’t sass me, Mister Hockey Captain, or I won’t make you muffins tomorrow.’

 They slowly climbed back to their feet, Eric still a little bit unsteady. He texted his whereabouts to Camilla and left the cell phone on the desk, before taking a pillow and snuggling under the covers, head at the foot of the bed. Jack was still too weak to change, so he took his usual place, jeans and all. Eric’s feet were grazing his shoulder. His own probably were near Eric’s face.

 ‘Are my feet squashing your face?’

 ‘A bit. I don’t mind, this bed is comfy. And comfier than mine. Is it weird if I ask to come back to sleep here?’

 ‘A bit. Maybe after the third date?’

 ‘You better keep your word, Mister Hockey, or I’ll take the beanbag to soothe my broken heart.’

 ‘No, please, or my friend will be back to sleep naked on my bed.’

 ‘And here I thought you might like this sort of thing,’ snorted Eric.

 A beat. Jack didn’t know how to answer.

‘I didn’t mean it like- I’m sorry if I went to far!’ said Eric.

 ‘No, it’s alright- I’m not used to be chirped about this. It was surprising, that’s all.’

 ‘...Are you feeling better?’

 ‘A bit. It takes time to come back to normal. You help.’

 ‘M’glad. I’ll cuddle your stinky feet all night and bake you muffins in the morning. Anything you like?’

 ‘...Pecan?’

 ‘...Silly Canadian, it’s pronounced pecan,’ mumbled Eric, before falling asleep.

 Jack took a while to fall asleep, but for once, it wasn’t so bad.

    Jack still woke up early, a little bit surprised to find Eric holding his leg like a stuffed animal. He disentangled himself and went for a run. He’d need to finish packing soon, his plane left at two PM and airports were insane during the holidays. He didn’t know what to do about Kent, he didn’t know what to do about Eric, he still didn’t know what team he’d go for next year-

 But when he stepped back into the Haus, he was greeted by a divine smell.

 The other partygoers seemed to have left the premises, but the other inhabitants of the Haus were sitting at the kitchen table, staring openmouthed at Eric, who was happily making pancakes.

 ‘Oh, hi!’ said Eric with a cheerful smile. ‘You’re just in time for the first batch of blueberry pancakes!’

 ‘I didn’t even know we had blueberries,’ mumbled Ransom.

 ‘Why does Jack get first pick?’ shouted Holster. ‘We helped clean the kitchen and shit!’

 ‘Because this lovely gentleman let me crash on a beanbag while I was drunkenly making a fool of myself, and he didn’t even gawk at me, unlike what y’all are doing right now.’

 ‘Bro, whatever you’re making smells insane,’ said Lardo. ‘Nothing in this Haus ever smells that good, it’s almost creepy.’

 ‘It’s my moomaw’s pecan muffin recipe, they’ll be ready soon. The pancakes are almost done- Mister Hockey, sweetheart, please sit down, yours are ready. I want to try my hand at oatmeal chocolate chip cookies but I don’t want to impose-’

 ‘YES,’ shouted at the same time Holster, Shitty and Ransom.

 ‘Bro,’ added Lardo.

 ‘I don’t think I’ll have enough butter, though? And I don’t know if y’all have chocolate chips?’

 In one smooth move, Ransom got up, stole a pancake from Jack’s plate, stuffed it into his mouth and walked outside without even taking his coat.

 ‘GO TO MURDER STOP AND SHOP- I SAW THEY GOT CHOCO CHIPS LAST WEEK!’ shouted Holster after him.

 ‘Tiny bro, tell the lady what else you need so you never leave this kitchen again,’ said Shitty, pointing at Lardo, who was busy texting Ransom.

 ‘Oh! Huh, the usual? Milk, eggs, butter, sugar… I’d like some fresh fruits for pies? But if you don’t know how to pick them, canned can make do, for this time, I mean-’

 Lardo was busy typing all this up. Holster, seeing that it would probably be too much for Ransom, stole another pancake, rolled it up, bit it like a cigar and stepped out from the Haus, holding both his coat and Ransom’s.

 ‘But- don’t they want to eat breakfast first? The pancakes are right there!’

 ‘Little bro, we need to think big picture. I don’t know where Jack found you, but we’re keeping you. You’re now part of the Samwell Hockey team forever, you get free access to this kitchen and whatever you need to make art like this happen.’

 Eric put a hand in front of his mouth, eyes threatening to water again.

 ‘Y’all- this is so sweet! I won’t disappoint you!’

 ‘We need to find you a jersey and a nickname,’ said Shitty, looking at the ceiling. ‘What did you say your name was?’

 ‘Eric Bittle.’

 ‘Hum-’

 ‘Bitty,’ said Lardo without lifting her eyes from the cell. ‘Because he’s so small.’

 ‘Excuse me? I think I’m bigger than you are!’

 ‘Nope, too late, you’re Bitty!’ shouted Shitty with glee. ‘Welcome to the team!’

 Eric rolled his eyes and set plates of pancakes in front of Shitty and Lardo, who instantly covered them with fake syrup. Jack scrunched his nose. He’d rather eat them dry instead of that fake shit. He needed to bring back some real syrup from Montréal, something deserving of Eric’s cooking.

 ‘So, Mister Hockey?’ asked Eric, taking the chair next to his. ‘How is it?’

 Jack nodded, his mouth too full to answer.

 ‘That’s the best compliment a boy could ask for,’ Eric smiled.

   After breakfast, Jack had to leave and pack, even if he’d rather stay in the lively atmosphere of the kitchen. Ransom and Holster had brought back the entire baking aisle of the Murder Stop and Shop, and Eric hadn’t stopped baking all morning. Somewhere around noon, he knocked on Jack’s door, a tupperware of muffins in hand.

 ‘These are for you. I wanted to thank you for last night, and for letting me use old Betsy. It’s been a while since anyone was so nice to me.’

Jack took the muffins. They looked delicious.

 ‘I want to thank you too, for huh. You know.’

 ‘I know, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret next to mine, they can keep each other company,’ he added with a self-depreciating smile.

 Something in that smile broke Jack’s heart.

 ‘Are you going back home for the holidays?’ he asked.

 ‘Yes, back to Georgia.’

 ‘They don’t like sequins?’

 Bitty smiled, sadly.

 ‘No, they don’t like sequins.’

 ...‘Eric? Would you like to, huh, keep in touch? During the holidays?’

 Suddenly, Bittle’s full smile was back. Jack knew he’d said the right thing.

 ‘Nothing could make me happier. Here, give me your phone.’

 While he was putting his own number, he looked at the hallway. There was no one, everyone was still downstairs devouring the cookies and commenting loudly on how delicious they were.

 ‘Huh… Maybe I’m too forward,’ Eric mumbled, without lifting his eyes from the cell, ‘...but…’

 ‘Would you like to go out?’ asked Jack. ‘On a date? With me? When we come back?’

 Eric smiled, raised himself on his toes and kissed his cheek. Yes, Jack had definitely done something right.

 ‘I’d be glad too. Have a nice holiday, Jack.’

***

When Lardo came home after class that evening she was greeted to the sight of several grown hockey players reading comics and diagramming potential layouts for their “Epikegster” themed snowman diorama. She had brought Ford over to start showing her the ropes in what she had hoped to be a fairly normal fashion, but instead they had been greeted with chaos strewn all over the living room.

But like any good team manager (or potential team manager) they each took it in stride and lended their talents.

By the end of the night they had a plan of action that included Ford, Dex, and Tango setting up a tall barrier of cloth around the Haus to cover their creation until the day of judging. Ransom, Holster, and Chowder would be the ones hauling around the snow, while Lardo, Bitty, and Nursey shaped and decorated. Whiskey was given the duty of lookout, but as soon as Shitty caught wind of their plan he volunteered himself for additional security and sent a photo of a hockey stick with nails through the end.

“He binged all of Stranger Things over Thanksgiving break and think’s that Harrington had a good idea” Lardo sighed, looking a bit apologetic.

***

The team spent the entire two days before the competition working on their setup. The centerpiece was the beer pong table where Snow-ardo was single handedly defeating two obvious Chads. Around the scene were a variety of snowpeople in drunken states, including a Snow-rsey passed out on a table, a Blizz-tty dancing, and such props as a tub juice cooler and snow pies. Holster wanted to bring the green couch out to make a sleeping Chowder, but Bitty spent the better part of an hour explaining the dangers of mold and dampened fabric, all while passing out the fourth round of coffee and cocoa.

In the end their entry spanned the entirety of the front lawn and porch.

Holster heads for Jack’s room. Jack is usually OK with his floor being a haven for the sexiled, but tonight he doesn’t reply at all to Holster’s knock.

Fuck.

There’s quiet music coming from Bitty’s room, and the light is on. Worth a try.

Bitty, answering Holster’s quiet knock in pyjamas, is red-eyed and miserable.

“Dude,” breathes Holster. “You okay?”

“Oh, yes,” says Bitty sadly. “I’m fine. A weird night, you know.”

“Yeah.” Holster waves his pillow awkwardly. “Can I borrow a patch of floor, man? Ransom’s getting busy in the attic.”

“Of course.” Bitty lets him in and honest to God, looks around as if he expects to be able to make a cup of tea or produce a pie out of thin air. “Are you hungry? I don’t have anything in but I could pop downstairs…”

Holster laughs. “It’s cool, bro. I won’t tweet Martha Stewart that you left me hanging for a snack.”

They sprawl on Bitty’s bed and watch a couple of episodes of 30 Rock, which is in Holster’s opinion the best possible way to wind down after a shit night. Bitty relaxes eventually, letting out the occasional wistful sigh.

“Dude, I’m not Shitty or anything, but if you ever need to talk,” Holster offers. His itty bitty bro looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Bitty’s head slides down on Holster’s arm. “I get a little lonely, you know? Not that — I mean y’all are great, I’ve never had friends like I have on this team. It’s wonderful. But…”

“You need a boyfriend,” Holster says wisely.

Bitty laughs hollowly. “That requires someone to actually, you know. Like me.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re a fucking catch, Bits. The problem is seriously finding someone worthy of you.” Holster is speaking from the heart here. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Bitty.

“I know I shouldn’t complain,” Bitty sighs. “But I’m nearly twenty, and I’ve barely even kissed anyone. High school was — hard, and now I’m finally at college and out but it feels like I’m never gonna catch up.”

There’s something else there, some deeper sadness haunting Bitty, but Holster’s not going to push him tonight. Instead, he focuses on the one problem that he can fix.

“Practice on me,” he offers.

Bitty’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “WHAT?”

“Hey, way to let a bro down gently,” Holster laughs, but not for long because Bitty looks terrified. “Relax. I’m not gonna jump you if you’re not into it. But if the lack of smooching XP is stressing you out, me and my lips can help you level up.”

“But you’re — why would you do that?”

Holster rolls his eyes. “Bits. You’re super cute and my friend, and I happen to be a fucking expert at lowkey making out. My high school years were kinda slutty, and don’t even get me started on Juniors.” Huh. Hang on. “You know I’m hella bi, right? I mean, someone must have mentioned it.”

“No,” says Bitty slowly. “No, no one mentioned that at all. I didn’t know.”

“Huh.” Holster thinks about that. “I guess I forgot to come out again after frog year. Sorry, is this awkward? Want me to go crash with Shitty?”

“No,” says Bitty steadily. “No, I think we should practice lowkey making out. Like, right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

“Swawesome.”

If Jack kisses like an angel, Bitty kisses like a dream, all shy and sweet and a little bit salty. This kid is gonna break hearts.