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I heard there's this #WIPitgood thing going around where we all post WIPs! This is a WIP I had from ages ago, based on a tumblr post. Cannot remember for the life of me who posted it, just that it had the idea of Jack being secretly in the Harry Potter fandom and writing this mammoth fic that's the my immortal of this universe. It's actually way longer than I thought it would be? Enjoy!
Tw: therapy, discussion of overdose, Bitty hasn't read Harry Potter.
****
âDo you ever think about, like, the Big Questions?â Shitty asked, staring at Jackâs ceiling with bloodshot eyes.Â
 âWhat questions?â Jack asked idly.Â
âThe big ones, yâknow? Where is God? Why-Why does the universe exist?" Shitty threw his arms out, reaching up. "Do pigeons have feelings? Who... the fuck⊠wrote Wizarding Sports: An Analytical Narrative?â
Jack paused. âExcuse me?â He turned.
âWho wrote⊠wait. Waaaaait." Shitty scrambled to prop himself up, squinting in Jack's direction. "You havenât heard of Wizarding Sports: An Analytical Narrative?â
Jack opened his mouth, then paused.Â
âBrah. Braaaah.â Shittyâs head tipped backwards, thudding against Jackâs comforter. âBut you are like. Obsessed with the Potter! You are so out of touch. Everyoneâs heard of Wsaan.â Jack had no idea how Shitty just pronounced that.Â
âEveryone?â Jackâs eyebrows creeped toward his hairline. Â
âYeah. Itâs like- This huuuuuge fic. Huuuuuuge, brah.â Shitty spread his arms, eyes wide, nodding slightly.âBut, get this, itâs about the history of sport. How Quidditch was invented and shit. How weird is that? Who wrote that? And itâs like, uber detailed and researched and- Who would care enough about sports, and- and history, and Harry Potter to....â
Shitty trailed off, staring at Jack. His eyes narrowed. Jack cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.
âNo fucking way.âÂ
****
It started like this.Â
Jack stared at the ceiling. His hands wanted to tremor, but he held them still.Â
The walls werenât padded. Maybe they should be.Â
âHow are you feeling today, Jack?â asked the therapist he had to talk to.Â
âFine,â said Jack, without a hint of inflection. âIâm feeling just fine.â
She sighed, softly. The sound carried.Â
Jack felt a bubble of anger and horror and grief rising through him, and viciously squashed it back down. He breathed, in and out, and stared at the ceiling.Â
He could still feel everything from that night, a week or a century or a second ago. It roiled in his gut, churning against his ribcage. Heâd been stupid to take so many so fast. He regretted it, in a dull sort of way. But heâd needed them.
If he took enough, they might work again, stop him feeling like this, feeling like shit-Â
âJack, I canât help you unless you work with me.â
Jack didnât move. That wasnât a question, so he didnât need to answer it. He could just trace the outlines of the ceiling tiles with his eyes.
âWhat do you want from these sessions, Jack? What are your goals?â
That was easy. âI want you to let me play again.âÂ
His therapistâs lips pressed together. She wrote something, the sound of pencil on paper grating against Jackâs ears. What did he want? He wanted her to shut up. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to get out of this stupid place. He wanted Kennyâs arm around his shoulders. He wanted more pills than they'd give him.
âAny other goals?â
Jackâs jaw flexed. He pushed everything down. His head was filled with steel wire, scraping against the insides of his temples.
âJack, Iâd like you to try something new. Read a book, or draw. Find something you enjoy. Could you do that for me?â
Jack flashed her an empty smile. âSure.â
****
Jack heard Ransom and Holster bellowing along to Hedwigâs theme from down the street. He smiled, steps lengthening, and Bittle scrambled after him.Â
âWhatâs got you in such a hurry?â Bittle huffed, kit bag bumping against his back.Â
Jack tilted his head towards the Haus. âI want to know which one theyâre watching.â He slowed, matching Bittleâs pace. Bittle was probably tired, not used to waking up early.
âWhich one?â Bittleâs nose scrunched up, and the corners of Jackâs eyes creased.Â
âYeah.â Jack fished his keys from his bag. âShits usually calls me if theyâre doing a marathon.â
âA marathon of what, exactly?â Bittle asked, eyebrow raising. His face was flushed from exertion, hair tostled. Jack blinked at him for a second, then the door creaked open.Â
âHey,â Lardo said, smirk curling her upper lip. âChamber of Secrets, get your ass in here.â
Jack grinned, dumped his kit by the door, and flopped onto the couch.Â
****
Read a book. Draw something. The only things Jack could draw were diagrams of pitches, player movements. The lead of his pencil kept snapping.
Jack looked blankly at the meagre shelf of books available to residents, hands shoved in his pockets. His hood was up.Â
It didnât really matter which one he picked. He thumbed down a paperback, one with a colorful spine. Trudged back to his room, book under his arm.Â
He tossed it on the bed, stared at it for a moment, then flopped facedown right next to it. He used one finger to hold up the first page.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
****
âWhat.â Jack said flatly, staring at Bittle. He blushed under the scrutiny, swiping at his hair. Heâd left a smear of flour on his forehead.Â
âYou canât judge me! You thought Rihanna was in Destinyâs Child!â Bittle snapped, arms crossing.Â
Shittyâs head lifted slowly off the table. A single page stuck to his cheek. âBitty, did you just say that-â
âYes! Thatâs way worse! Itâs not a big deal I havenât read Harry Potter! So what!â
Shitty hissed through his teeth. Jack stood, slowly. His eyes were fixed on Bittle. They narrowed, suddenly.
âHave you seen the films?â Jack asked urgently.Â
âI- No!â Bittle admitted, his chin jutting out.
Slowly, a smile spread across Jackâs face. Finally. He turned on his heel, abandoning his laptop, and thundered up the stairs. Where had he put it, he knew heâd bought- aha!
Prize clutched in one hand, Jack loped back to the kitchen. Bittle was fiercely rolling out his pastry, but he turned at Shittyâs indrawn breath.Â
Jack held up his battered, treasured copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. âRule 1. No flour stains.â Bittle rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to protest. âRule 2,â Jack continued, firmer. âNo folding the pages. Rule 3,â and Jack smiled like a shark. âNo watching the films. Not until youâve finished the series. Agreed?â
âYou boys.â Bittle huffed. He picked up his sheet of pastry, lining the pie tin with practiced motions. âLeave it by the side.â
****
Jack stepped out of the double doors. His skin prickled in the wind, the open air harsh against his skin. He turned his shoulder against the wind, and his fatherâs hand landed there.Â
âReady?â Papa asked, quietly.Â
Jack breathed, in and out, and didnât immediately respond. He took one step forward, away, and then another. He didnât look at Papa. It was easier to talk if he didnât look. âNo.â
Papa walked beside him, leading the way. âIf you need more timeâŠâ
âNo,â Jack said, fumbling, harsh. âItâs like- The first game. After an injury. Not going to be ready. Might as well.â
He could feel Papaâs gaze, feel the eyes on him. He wondered why there werenât any cameras, why there wasnât any reporters shouting for his attention. Baying for his blood.Â
âOK, Jack,â said Papa.Â
Jackâs fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. His therapist had given him the book, the first. There was a whole series, sheâd said, for once he got out.Â
****
Jack taped his stick in precise, calm motions, focusing on the feel of it, polished wood under his palms, the tug of the tape on his fingertips. He breathed, in and out.Â
Ransom and Holster yelled something in unison, part of their pre-game handshake, and Jackâs eyes snapped to the sound. He should be used to this by now, the thrill of adrenaline, the sharp smell of sweat. Everything hit him harder, before a game. But it still shook him, a little.Â
Breathe. In and out. Tuck in the last bit of tape. Put the roll away. In for seven, hold for five, out for seven.Â
Jackâs eyes scanned the room, and settled on Bittle. He was sitting in his stall, fully kitted out, squinting down at- Oh.Â
Jack was moving before he knew it, shoulder thumping into the stall.Â
âWhere are you?â he asked, and Bitty gave him an unsure smile.Â
âIn the locker room?â Bitty slipped a piece of paper- a receipt? -into the pages.
Jack frowned. âNo, the book. What part have you got to?â Jack clarified, tilting his head in question.Â
Bitty laughed nervously. âWell, theyâre having a flying lesson. Nevilleâs fallen off, poor thing.â
Jack leaned against the side of Bittleâs stall. âTell me what you think.â
****
Jackâs shoulder thudded against Bittyâs pads, and he yelped, crashing to the floor.
âGet back up, skate through it,â Jack urged, but Bitty just shook, leaning hard against the boards.Â
Jack squatted, then reached out, hand resting on Bittyâs shoulder.Â
âI can't do it,â Bitty gasped, hugging himself. âI-â
âYou can.â Jack tightened his grip, ducking to look Bitty in the eye. âI know you can.â
âNot everyoneâs a Gryffindor, Jack! I can't- I'm not-â
âHey,â Jack tried to make his voice soft. âYou're right.â
âWhat?â Bitty looked up, and Jack's heart twinged at the look on his face.Â
âNot everyoneâs a Gryffindor. Not everyone can beat their problems on the first try. But do you know what I thought, soon as I saw you bringing pie into that first meeting?â
âWhat an idiot?â
âNo. I thought, there's a Hufflepuff.â Jack smiled at the memory.Â
Bitty laughed, bitter. âThe useless ones.â
Jack nudged Bitty's shoulder again. âThe ones who work hard. The ones who don't give up, who welcome anyone, no matter what. The ones who can give a frat house yellow lacy curtains.â
Bitty snorted, eyes suspiciously shiny.
âYou can do it, Bittle. Just gotta get back up.â Jack stood, offering Bitty his hand.Â
Bitty took a deep breath. He took Jack's hand, pulling himself to his feet.Â
âThanks.â
Jack shrugged. âReady to go again?â
Bitty rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowing. âCome at me.â
Jackâs eyes crinkled. âOh, and by the way?â he said, smirk flitting to his lips. âI'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindorâ
Bitty gave him a Look. "I can believe that, Mr. Lets-Get-Up-At-4AM."
Iâve been in the fandom for almost four years already. That was right before a major fandom surge, and through that Iâve gotten to know a lot of people, many of whom I still consider good friends (even if our interactions are limited these days). Weâve had a lot of good times, but Iâve already noticed that at least my circle of the fandom has quieted down quite a bit. I can only imagine how it will be once the comic finishes.
I was doing some PC housekeeping, and I started to dig through my WIP folders. Just scraps of writings, drawings, and music I did for multiple fandoms over the years, loving named New Text Document (1).txt, New Text Document (1).txt, and aasd.txt.
Itâs all stuff I never finished for one reason or another. Maybe itâs something I started but never finished. Maybe itâs only part of an idea. Maybe itâs just a single line that I thought was good but never had a place to use it.
So I had an idea. Well, I had an idea like 6 months ago and then forgot about until now. I just thought it was kind of a shame that I never shared a lot of this stuff, and came up with a âgameâ that could be a fun way to share some of that stuff under the pretense that itâs all unfinished work. I even came up with a dumb name for it!
#WipItGood
Rules:
Find something that youâve worked on but didnât finish. This could be a unfinished fic, an outline, a sketch, a bunch of references you threw together in a document, your research notes. Anything youâve done as part of a fanwork.Â
DO NOT edit, modify, or otherwise work on the project. This is important.
Post It. Like right now. Do it. You can post as much or as little of it as you feel comfortable. You could post the whole thing (including your writers notes and partial outlines) or you can post just a paragraph. Or maybe you just want to post a single line you really like, or just the good part of a sketch you did. Just get it out there.
Optional: Now you can edit, modify, or build on your work. You can just edit your post, or reblog and add onto it. Or donât! The point isnât really to trick yourself into finishing stuff, but just to share stuff that isnât finished.
Anyway, good chance Iâll be posting a few things under the #wipitgood tag, and anyone can join in if they want. Thereâs no deadlines, no obligations, no pressure. Itâs all about sharing and appreciating something thatâs unfinished and may never be finished.
they all teach at samwell prep, a new england magnet school (bitty moved up from georgia the year before and absolutely abhors the cold). he and shitty bond over their college hockey days and shitty introduces him to ransom and holster, his college teammates, and lardo, their ex-manager. jack comes back about two months into the school year after he has surgery to repair the damage in his knee from the NHL damage, just in time for the hockey season to start (jack, along with ransom and holster, coach the hockey team because itâs a magnet school in new england of COURSE theyâd have hockey).
bitty teaches home ec. this is completely expected. but then he also ends up teaching some shit like multivariable calculus through some strange turn of events and all his former home ec students feel like theyâve got whiplash
jack is a history teacher. heâs very good at his job. but heâs also the teacher who, if you ask him the right questions, will most definitely go on an hour-long ramble on how actually the plague was in part caused by the romans andâ
shitty is also a history teacher. probably something modern and most definitely something concerned with class structure. he also sponsors the debate team. people have mistaken him for a student multiple times
lardo teaches art and petitions for the principal to allow her to use chainsaws in school for her lessons
nobody is sure what ransom and holster teach. they both do something STEM-y but the name plates outside their classrooms have fallen off and sometimes theyâll just switch classes. no one dares say anything. anyways, they all end up actually learning.
johnson teaches philosophy. everyone sleeps in his class. he doesnât give a shit. âiâm just here perfunctorily,â he says every year in the yearbook.
the frogs are all TAsâ jack and shitty share nursey, ransom and holster have dex, and bitty takes chowder. lardo refuses a TA on principle but she lets nursey come in and help unofficially sometimes.
bitty nearly has an aneurysm when he tries to teach his class how to make pecan pie and all of his students pronounce it the new englander way. jack is passing by and bitty asks him how he pronounces it. âpecan,â jack says. âwhy do youâ wait why is your face so red?â
he is very displeased that this new âmr. bittleâ keeps giving his players frosting-laden treats before practiceâ doesnât he know that none of these kids wash their hands and get smears of frosting all over the locker room and then jack has to clean it up (not really but he feels guilty having the custodial staff do it). the treats get messier and messier until one day the freshman goalie drips the contents of an entire lava cake onto the floor and he has to confront bitty about it.
bitty looks at him for ten seconds before bursting out into laughter. jack immediately transforms into a tomato
bitty reassures him that theyâre about to go into the sewing unit, and any treats heâll bring in will be âstrictly of the mess-less variety, donât you worryâ
jack thanks bitty very awkwardly (he hadnât thought this far ahead)
bitty invites him to try some of the pecan pie (âbut only if you donât butcher the pronunciationââ âiâm just saying pecan! wait bittle your face is really red again are you okayââ âNOâ) and after the whole pecan-pecan thing they actually have a really good time and end up talking until the school shuts the lights off
shitty chirps them endlessly, as do ransom and holster
jokeâs on them though because when jack and bitty move in together jack gets an endless supply of treats
the next year bitty arranges it so that he teaches his multivariable calc class or whatever last (e.g. he is not giving the hockey players incredibly messy food right before practice)
he gets chirped for that too
he withholds treats for two days and the chirping stops
three years later some of their wedding favors are lava cakes
jack suggested mini pecan pies but bitty shot that down (âi will NOT have the guests at my wedding saying âpecanâ the whole timeâ)
âIs there anything that scares you about being in Vegas?â
Kent stared at the woman for a moment, trying to think of the best way to answer the question. He looked away when he finally figured it out. âTumbleweeds.â
âEx-excuse me?â
âTumbleweeds. I donât know why, but I did my research and some of them are like the size of dumpsters or small cars. And I just imagine like⊠going for a run and then getting taken out by a rogue tumbleweed. And they donât have breaks like cars do, right? So itâd just take me out, then continue looking for itâs next victim.â
âOh. Okay,â the interviewer said with a smile. That was definitely an answer sheâd never heard before. âWell, how about when it comes to hockey?â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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four score and many a year ago, i wrote this. a fun, one-off ficlet about the start of dexâs tryst with a lax bro. since then, it has continued to be a hc of mine that dex is one of two people on the team, prior to whiskey, who has in fact fucked a lax bro (the other is holster, that is Another Story).
until now, that has been the whole story. BUT NOW i will be posting the beginning of the Canonical Sean the LAX Bro fic that i started a long time ago and never got the inspiration to finish. it is not as cracky/playful as the original, but every time iâve read it over iâve really liked it and as a part of the WIPitgood thing going around the fandom, iâve decided to post what i have
some warnings for homophobia and age difference in a relationship (my oc Luke is back yâall) but otherwise itâs p tame
i hope yâall like it :)
     It happens because of a frat party, surprisingly not a Haus one. Instead, itâs a party at one of the nerdier frats, a street over from the road where the Haus sits. Itâs not a terrible partyâitâs got pretty good music, efficient booze, enough people attending to shake the floorsâbut, after a kegster, a regular old party just wonât hold up anymore.
     Dex is not having a good time. Aside from the fact that he misses the bone-deep thrum of a kegster like a physical ache, the only person he knows at the party is some guy from his comp-sci class, John or Jake or whatever, and he left Dex alone within ten minutes of arriving. Now Dex is stuck wandering aimlessly through the house looking for something to do. He finds an uptight game of pong in one room (too many physics majors calculating trajectories instead of just going off skill) and, in the next, he finds either a body shot competition or an orgy, so he hurries to get through there real quick before he gets sucked in.
     The door he finds lets out into a quieter but still full room ofâsurpriseâ even more people he doesnât know. He takes a long sip of his drink, which doesnât take the edge off like tub juice but does the job well enough. When he pulls his cup from his mouth, it reveals a pretty boy with a big smile standing right in front of him.
     âHi,â the pretty boy says. God, heâs gorgeous. Big blue eyes that twinkle with his pristine white smile, perfectly clear skin and angular features, soft in just the right places. Dex feels his fingers tighten around his cup. He vaguely wonders if his reaction is due to his generally little experience talking to pretty boys with the potential of actually doing something about it, or if Dex would be this Shook no matter what. Pretty Boy says, âIâm Sean.â
     âDex,â he responds, a second too late, his voice rough. Seanâs grin impossibly widens.
     âYou look about as lost as I did at my first frat party,â Sean says, leaning in closer, as if heâs sharing a secret only Dex gets to know. Breathe, Dex, breathe.
     âSânot my first, actually,â Dex says, rubbing at the back of his head. Did Seanâs eyes track the movement? Dex must be hallucinating. âThe ones Iâm used to just usually have more people I know.â
     Sean hums, and Dex can hear it over the music only because of their proximity. âWell,â he says, a thoughtful look on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. âYou know me now, right?â He knocks his cup lightly against Dexâs, his smile wide and enticing, and Dex finds himself listing forwards as if heâs being physically pulled.
     Within minutes, Sean has Dex snorting unattractively into his cup, laughing so hard his chest aches. Dex has no idea why Sean is still talking to him, as Dex is making an absolute ass of himself, staring blankly into Seanâs face like a middle-schooler with a crush. Still, Sean talks and jokes andâflirts? Dex doesnât exactly have experience with flirting with men, but heâs pretty sure all of thisâthe soft teasing, Sean finding a reason to reach out and touch Dexâs hand, arm, chest, Seanâs eyes filled with heatâit has to mean something, right?
     They talk for an hour or so, slowly filtering into other areas of their lives. Dex talks about how heâs adjusting to being away from home for the first time and Sean shares tips heâs learned since being here for a year. They talk about their families, a little, Dex mentions his asshole of a brother and how he misses him anyway, and Sean shares a story about when his sister shaved off one of his eyebrows in his sleep. Dex finds himself sharing fears about college that he hasnât even told the team or his family back home. Sean is funny and kind and easy to talk toânot to mention heâs fucking hot.
     Sean finishes his drink and knocks his empty cup against Dexâs matching one. His has been empty for the past twenty minutes but he hadnât wanted to stop talking to Sean. He leans in closer and, his voice soft, he asks, âWould you like to get out of here?â
     Dex may have little experience with the flirting thing, but this, at least, is familiar territory. He grins. âDefinitely.â
     Itâs just starting to get cold out, so they make the walk back to Seanâs place pressed together, shoulder to shoulder. Dex is tipsy but not drunk, just a pleasant buzz under his skin, anticipation building in his chest. They cut through the backyard towards a frat house, as Sean apparently lives in one. They go in through the backdoor and climb the stairs, trying to be quiet so they donât wake up Seanâs housemates. Finally they reach his bedroom and Dex follows him inside only to be pushed up against the inside of the closed door.
     âYou okay with this?â Sean asks, already a little breathless, and in the semi-darkness of the room, the only thing Dex can see is the moonlight reflecting off of Seanâs wide smile. He presses his hands into Seanâs tense abdominals and thereâs little to no give.
     âMore than okay,â Dex says, and leans down to finally get a taste of that wide, enticing smile. It hasnât been a ridiculously long time but kissing Sean reminds Dex of how fucking good kissing can be, even when itâs like this, a bit tipsy and messy but hot. Dex feels like heâs being consumed and heâs completely fine with it, wants it, wants to disappear under Seanâs lips and teeth and hands.
     Dex throws his head back to try and suck in a breath, and Sean takes this as invitation to drift lower and suck pretty bruises into Dexâs skin. âFuck,â Dex exhales, shaky, and feels Seanâs mouth spread into a grin against his neck. âDonât get cocky,â Dex says, digging his nails into Seanâs shoulder, realizing then that he wants Seanâs shirt off more than anything else.
     âThought that was the point?â Sean says into Dexâs collarbone, stifling his giggles, and Dex groans because how the fuck. How can Sean be hot and seductive and delicious, while also being ridiculously endearing? It isnât fair.
     âOh God, shut up.â Dex pushes his hands up under the edge of Seanâs t-shirt, rucking it up until Sean gets the message and pulls back to tug it over his head and throw it somewhere behind him. Dex sighs at the sight he makes, skin gone soft in the moonlight, muscles tight and defined, slightly crooked grin on his face.
     Oh yes, Dex thinks, stepping forwards to push Sean back towards the bed, tonight is going to be good.
 *~*~*
      Dex wakes up with the sun in his face, a heavy arm around his waist, and a satisfied warmth running throughout his whole body. He stretches, sitting up, and Sean grumbles, pushing his face into Dexâs hip. Dex smiles faintly, brushing his fingers through Seanâs hair as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. It tells him that he has practice within the hour, so he pulls himself from Seanâs bed and clinging limbs to try and collect his clothes.
    He finds his briefs hanging from Seanâs desk lamp and puts them on, hopping around to find his t-shirt on the ground. He scratches at his stomach, where cum has dried to his skin and left it hard and flaky. He grimaces, pulling his shirt on over it. Heâll definitely have to go home and take a shower before practice and or heâll never make it through the chirping. Then he looks up, in search of his pants, and sees himself in the mirror, neck covered in marks that drift down under his collar and most definitely spread even further. Guess the chirping is a sure thing no matter what, then.
     âMm, whereâre you goinâ?â Sean says, muffled, into his pillow, and Dex huffs.
     âProbably to be teased to death by my teammates for all the marks you left on me, dude.â Dex spots his pants on Seanâs bookshelf and grabs them, bending over to pull them on. They apparently make his ass look great, or at least Bitty says so. Heâs right, if the way Seanâs eyeing him as he pulls them on fully is any indication.
     âTeammates?â Sean asks, dragging his eyes back up to Dexâs face, where heâs grinning knowingly. Despite his blush, Sean asks, âWhat dâyou play?â
     âIâm on the hockey team,â Dex says, searching idly for his socks and shoes. When he looks back at Sean in the bed, heâs lost all the mugginess of sleep and is staring, wide-eyed and horrified, back at Dex. âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â
     âYouâre on the hockey team?â he asks, voice much higher than before.
     Dex nods slowly. Hadnât that come up last night? Maybe not. âYeah. Why?â Sean groans and buries his face in the pillow in front of him. Dex shifts in his spot. âDude, câmon. Whyâs that a big deal?â Sean says something into the pillow that just sounds like a series of anxious grunts to Dex. âWhatâs that?â
     Sean sighs and turns his head, staring up at Dex with something half-sad, half-terrified. âIâm on the lacrosse team.â
     Dex freezes in place. He can feel as his face mirrors Seanâs worried expression. Fuck. âIâm in the LAX frat right now?â Sean nods gravely. âFuck.â
     âYeah.â
     Dex takes a seat at Seanâs desk chair and puts his face in his hands. âFuck. Fuck. I fucked a LAX bro. Shittyâs gonna kill me.â
     âChad R. is going to kill me. So is Chad S.â
     âYou have two guys on your team named Chad?â Dex looks up to give Sean an incredulous expression.
     Sean says, âThree, actually.â
     Dex groans. âWhat have I done?â He shakes his head. He thinks back to last night, talking with Sean, opening up, laughing. God. It had been good, okay, the talking and the banter and the everything. Dex liked Sean. Still does, if heâs honest, but heâs a LAX bro. Even if Dex didnât agree that they were all kind of assholesâwhich he does, the LAX team is a petri dish of toxic masculinity and misogyny and theyâre also just huge dicksâtrying to date a LAX bro would never work.
     He looks up from the floor and stares back at Sean. He can feel the weight of all the dead possibilities between them, heavy and suffocating. Dex swallows roughly and takes a deep breath. âOkay,â he says, and he shouldnât be this sad, they havenât even known each other for a day. But they couldâve beenâno, it doesnât matter. Not anymore. âOkay,â Dex repeats, âthisâll be fine. No one has to know. I wonât tell anyone, you wonât tell anyone. Iâll leave now and itâll be fine.â
     âYeah,â Sean says, and his lips quirk up at the corners, the horror in his expression draining, leaving behind a soft melancholy that Dex wants to kiss away. He says, âItâs been fun, Dex.â
     Dex grabs his socks and shoes and offers something like a smile back. âIt couldâve been,â he says, and turns towards the door.
     Suddenly, thereâs a knock. âSean, brah, get the fuck up! Weâve got practice!â Dex jumps, turning to share a panicked look with Sean, and then they both simultaneously look at the window.
     This is how Dex finds himself shimmying down the drain pipe on the side of the LAX frat without his shoes on. He makes it to the bottom and hops down, the cold dew of the grass freezing his toes. Sean sticks his head out of the window and grins down at him. âIâll see you around.â
     âProbably not,â Dex calls back up at him, and then runs to the other side of the street, pulling on his shoes. He makes it back to his dorm and showers, changes, and then leaves for practice. The whole while he tells himself that this is fine, it was a one-off, good time and thatâs it.
     It should be it. Itâs not.
 *~*~*
      Team breakfasts are loud. Dex doesnât really know what to do with them, sometimes, so he tries to keep to himself at the end of the table. The hickies on his neck still havenât disappeared, though theyâre now nearly gone. Still, whenever any of the guys see them, they make a face like theyâre proud, or want details or something, and Dex doesnât know how to say it was a guy let alone it was a lax bro so he ducks them whenever he can.
     Bitty takes a seat on Dexâs left, talking a mile a minute about something back home that his mother told him about, and Dex listens to his voice, if not the words. Something about Bittyâs lilted and slow tone is comforting to Dex, and he lets that cover him like a blanket as he tries not to fall asleep into his cereal.
     Vaguely, Dex hears someone call, âShut up, already!â from one table over and he doesnât think much of it until Holster and Ransom are standing from their seats and yelling back.
     âWhatâd you say to him?â Holster asks, his usual playful expression gone with a second. For a 6â4 dude, Holster almost never looks intimidating, but right now Dex wouldnât even get near him.
     âHe wonât shut up and itâs fucking early, man,â the same guy says, and Dex turns to see heâs sitting at the LAX table. Sean isnât there, which Dex canât help but be grateful for.
     âThen fucking plug your ears and leave us the fuck alone,â Ransom yells back, and the surrounding tables do not seem pleased with all the commotion and Dex would be embarrassed but these dicks are harassing Bitty. Bitty. The embodiment of everything good in the world.
     âJust tell your girlfriend to keep her mouth closed,â the guy says, smirking all shittily, and Dex knows that kind of grin well, knows the kind of taunts that come from between those lips, and his blood boils before he can help himself and heâs going to hit something, he knows itâ
     âThe fact that you use gender as an insult just reinforces the lack of confidence in your own masculinity,â Shitty says, using his matter-of-fact asshole voice that Lardo says is the closest he can sound to his father. He only uses it when he wants to piss people off.
     âWhatâd you say to me?â
     âHe said youâre just a part of a broken machine aimed to eviscerate the emotional capacity of masculine people,â Ransom says, catching Shittyâs condescending tone.
     Holster continues in the same vein, âYeah, youâre just part of the problem, man. Donât you get tired having to assert your dominance over every fucking situation? Just take a seat, dude, let your emotions out.â
     The LAX bro mutters something that sounds like, âFucking hockey team,â and turns back around to his table. Bitty is now completely pink and hiding his face in his breakfast, but his lips are upturned in the corners.
     âYâall didnât have to do that,â he says, quiet, and Holster ruffles his hair softly, softer than he usually is.
     âOf course we did, Bits,â Ransom says with a wide, handsome grin.
     âGot your back,â Shitty says, resolute, and they all go back to their breakfasts.
     After a minute, Dex prompts, âSo what did Mrs. Henderson do about her missing begonias?â and Bitty starts talking again, not even a degree softer than heâd been before.
     Walking home from the dining hall, Dex tries not to make comparisons to his old team, how theyâd wait until he turned his back before they called him any number of slurs that cut at his skin, how that had been the most respect they couldâve held for him. There are an endless number of comparisons to makeâthe difference between chirping and insulting, how having your back on and off ice is more than just a means to a win, the way Dex smiles more than he ever thought he couldâand Dex could tire himself with trying to evaluate them all, but still.
    Itâs nice to have the difference.
 *~*~*
      The next time it happens, Dex really canât be blamed.
     Samwell is very big on making sure there are an infinite number of spaces for someone to acquaint themselves with. Only a month into the school year, Dex is a part of a program for first-generation college attendees, athletic scholarship awardees, financial aid awardees, STEM oriented students, and student athletes. And those are only the ones sponsored specifically by the college. Dex is in a handful of other clubs and organizations meant to aid his transition to college.
     Mostly, Dex hangs out with the team, some friends he made from class, and people from the tech club heâs in. People from the other organizations are mostly acquaintances. If he sees them on campus or in class, heâll give them a nod, but they arenât planning any kegsters together or anything. Still, Dex attends the soirees they invite him to, standing scratchy and uncomfortable in a suit that doesnât fit quite rightââYou should get something tailored,â Nurse would say, infuriatinglyâand sips at his sparkling cider and counts down the seconds until he can leave.
     Heâs having a particularly boring conversation with a trustee or an alumni or a donor or whatever when Dex sees Sean from across the room. Itâs been a few weeks since Dex climbed out his bedroom window and he hasnât thought about him constantly or anything, heâs not obsessed, but. Well, sometimes heâll pass the LAX frat on the way to the Haus or heâll see a couple of guys tossing a ball around on the Quad or heâll be trying to fall asleep to no avail, and heâll think of Sean, of his laughter and his hands, and heâll miss him, just a little. A tiny, manageable amount.
     Now, now Sean is talking to his own donor/trustee/alumni, throwing his head back slightly in a beautiful laugh, and Dex wants way more than a manageable amount. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads for the bathroom to cool down and get ahold of himself. He grabs a paper towel and soaks it in some cool water, dabbing lightly at his face to try and stave off his blush. He huffs as it doesnât go down at all and throws away the towel. He looks at his reflection, tugs his collar straight, stares himself down.
     âYou will be normal,â he says, firmly, just as a man leaves a stall. Dexâs flush gets deeper as the man gives him a short look before washing his hands and leaving. Great. The being normal thing is going just grâ
     âDex?â Dex looks up and thereâs Sean, standing half in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at Dexâs reflection with an open-mouthed, soft expression that Dex wants to touch.
     âSean.â Dex swallows. âHey.â
     After a few loaded moments, Dex realizes that he hasnât turned around yet, so he steels himself and does it. Sean cleans up nice. Like, really nice. His suit looks tailored, if the way it fits him is any indication, and he might not have a hockey ass but damn is it a good one. His tie is a soft blue that complements his eyes. Thereâs one stray curl at his collar that Dex wants to smooth out but he doesnât. They just stand there staring at one another until Dex canât handle it anymore and coughs.
     âIâd betterââ
     âYeah, I donât want toââ
     ââget back to theââ
     ââkeep you.â
     ââparty.â
     They seem to have only managed to gotten closer, as Dex tried to leave and Sean tried to move towards a stall. Now theyâre so close that Dex can see a spot where Sean missed when he was shaving and all Dex wants to do is brush his thumb against it. âFuck,â he hears himself say, and in the next second Sean is kissing him.
     (See, Dex really canât be blamed.)
     âFuck, fuck, fuck.â Dex manages to get them behind a stall door before he lets himself melt into it. It still is a school sponsored function and he really doesnât want an alumni/donor/trustee walking in to find Dex shoving his hands up the back of another studentâs button down.
     âGod, youâre fucking huge,â Sean mumbles against Dexâs mouth, his hands curling around Dexâs shoulders. Dex hums and surges even closer, wrapping his arms around the small of Seanâs back, pulling him tight against Dexâs body. âCouldnât stop thinking about your arms,â Sean says, pushing his hands inside Dexâs jacket to scratch at his chest through his shirt. âBet you could hold me up against the wall and justâunngh.â
     Sean trails off as Dex finds a spot on the hinge of his jaw to focus his attention on. He really does have great skinâfucking LAX brosâand Dex has no reservations about staying there and working on making a deep pink-purple bruise like itâs his job, but he hears the door to the bathroom open and realizes that two pairs of feet in a stall are very suspicious. Looks like Seanâs going to have his fantasy come true.
     âJump,â Dex mutters into Seanâs cheek, and then picks him up, pinning him against the wall, in one fluid movement. It knocks the breath out of Sean, but apparently in a good way, because he immediately rolls his hips against Dexâs.
     âGod,â Sean says on a breath, and Dex kisses him to keep him quiet. He pulls back after a second or two to muffle his hiss into Seanâs shoulder as Sean reaches down and cups Dex through his slacks.
     âThereâs someone in here,â he whispers, furious, into Seanâs ear.
     Sean simply grins. âYouâd better be quiet, then.â
     About ten or so minutes later, they leave the stall, both thoroughly flustered. Dexâs flush is a complete lost cause and Sean canât seem to get the stupid, smug grin off his face, so itâs very obvious what heâs just been doing. God, theyâre hopeless.
     âOkay, so, that happened.â
     âYeah it didââ
     âSean.â
     Seanâs smug grin softens into something sheepish, kind. âYeah. Sorry. Iâve just, kinda, been thinking about you.â
     God, thatâs gay. Why does Dex like it so much? âIâI guess I have too.â He shakes his head. âBut this would never work. We couldnât tell our teammates, we couldnât be seen together, IâIâŠâ
     âHey, hey, itâs alright.â Sean steps forwards and puts his hand on Dexâs hip, comforting. âI donât want to force you into anything. We donât have to do this again, we can control ourselves.â He smirks a little. âI hope, at least.â
     Dex looks at him for a few moments, thinking about the possibility of it all. He likes Sean, for his looks, sure, but more than that, heâs a nice person, kind and funny and interesting. Dex could see himself dating Sean, like actual, out-in-public, playing-footsie-under-the-table dates. He never thought he could have that with a guy. He wants it so much it aches.
     But the idea of sneaking around, like he had to back home, not telling any of the guys, his friendsâŠ. Dex doesnât want that.
     âWe can,â Dex says, and he must be imagining the fall in Seanâs expression. âWe have to.â
     Sean smiles, but itâs heavy. âYeah,â he says, leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Dexâs mouth. He leaves the bathroom with a lingering look and Dex is left alone, wanting.
 *~*~*
      Being alone in the halls of an unknown rink is creepy. Dex is half-exhausted and half-keyed up from their win tonight, and he finished showering and redressing faster than most of the guys in his pseudo-state, leaving him to walk the path back to the parking lot alone. Itâs quiet, so the only thing he can hear are his footsteps echoing around the halls, and heâs got nothing to focus on except his thoughts, which are worrying enough that he wants to actually run from them. But that would just be weird so he walks, contained, tense, and hopes more than anything that no oneâespecially one no oneâ will find him.
     His prayers must fall on deaf ears.
     âDex!â Jogging casually down the hall comes Luke Rossi. Heâs got on the same grin he always wore back in high school, wearing a tight, soft-looking t-shirt that reads Cornell across the chest. Dex swallows down whatever feeling has lodged itself in his throat. âHey,â Luke says, slowing to a stop in front of Dex. His brown eyes look a shade softer in the fluorescent lights, deceiving. âLong time no see.â
     Long time is a bit of a stretch. They saw each other over the summer. It was similar to every time theyâve seen each other over the summer for the past four years. Dark car, quiet beach, hands over mouths to stifle whatever sounds came out. At once, it feels both like itâs a million years away and as if Dex is still living that same moment. Luke has that effect on him.
     âYeah,â Dex says anyway. He shifts his weight, nervous. âHow have you been?â
     Luke laughs, bright, cheerful. Dex wonders if it always looked that fake or if heâs learned Luke too well by now. âOh, you know. Hockey, school, the works. You actually know now! Finally in real school.â He claps Dex on the arm. âSamwell, whoa. I always knew youâd go somewhere smart.â
     Despite himself, the praise warms Dex. âYeah, itâs been nice.â
     âI bet the folks back home lost their shit,â Luke says, with another laugh, this one shorter, more pointed. He knows better than most the rumors that clung to Dexâs back all through school, and going off to the Gay Ivy did nothing to alleviate them.
     âYeah,â Dex says, and looks down.
     âBut hey, you played a good game tonight. An assist and everything. We should go out and celebrate, I know this great placeââ
     âDex?â Dex looks up and over to see Ransom and Holster coming down the hall, both of them frowning. Dex shrinks down without thinking. âIs everything okay?â
     âWhoâs this?â Ransom asks, coming up on Dexâs right. Holster takes his left. Dex feels even smaller between them.
     âThis is Luke,â Dex says, half-gesturing towards him. âHe was my old captain back home.â Luke grins, charming, at the introduction. He sticks his hand out.
     Holster hesitates. âI thought you were your teamâs captain,â he says, frowning.
     âHe was captain when I was a freshman.â Dex fidgets, pulling at the material of his sweatpants. âI took over when he left.â
     âOh,â Holster says, nodding exaggeratedly. He takes Lukeâs hand and Dex sighs out his relief. âSo you just want to catch up?â Holster directs to Luke.
     Luke grins wider, more charming, more plastic. âYeah, man. Just thought Iâd take him out with some of the guys, talk the game, stuff back home.â He shakes Ransomâs hand next, who returns his grin with a flat stare. Luke falters and looks back to Holster. âYou know how it is, old teammates, Iâm sure.â
     âOh, I knowââ
     Dex cuts Holster off. âIâll see you guys later, okay?â He takes a step forwards and turns so heâs facing Ransom and Holster and standing next to Luke. They both shoot him downturned-lip-furrowed-brow worried expressions. âTell Chowder Iâll be back at the room a bit late.â
     âYou sure?â Ransom frowns, staring unflinchingly at Dex.
     Dexâhe doesnât know what to do with this. The protectiveness. The care. It makes him fidgety, nervous, almost itchy. He doesnât know if he likes it or not yet, and though he doesnât really know how to describe the way he feels about Luke either, that pit in his stomach is at least familiar.
     âYeah,â Dex says, and Luke throws a casual arm over his shoulders. Itâs uncomfortably heavy, but itâs a weight Dex knows how to deal with.
     âIâll have him back by midnight, boys,â Luke says, joking, though the looks on Ransom and Holsterâs faces seem to imply they would appreciate just that. Luke nods. âAlright then.â He turns and starts walking them down the hallway towards the exit Dex had been looking for earlier. âYour teammates are a bit strange, Dex,â Luke says with a laugh, as they make their way out.
     âTheyâre just big on taking care of each other, at Samwell,â Dex says, and identifies the curl in his chest as guilt for not defending them.
     Luke laughs. Dex can see the exit clearly from where they are now. âOf course the sissy school is big on caring shit.â Lukeâs arm tightens around his shoulders. âYou must hate it there.â
     Theyâve reached the exit to the stadium. Itâs too late to turn back, so Dex just says nothing and follows. Luke always liked it best that way, anyway.
 *~*~*
      Within half an hour, theyâve reached a secluded field. Luke turns off the car. He gets out and flattens the backseats so thereâs one big opening in the back. Dex joins him, quiet, and begins taking off his shirt.
     They say nothing for the next twenty minutes. Luke keeps his fingers pressed tightly over Dexâs lips even though heâs long since trained himself to be silent. The soft sounds of skin against skin and choked-off breathing fill the humid air. Itâs cold outside but itâs boiling inside the car. It was always like that, too, back in Maine, the car so hot it almost felt like he couldnât breathe. At one point, Dex convinced himself it was probably the closest heâd ever been to Hell.
     They dress in silence. During, Dex usually thinks of nothing except guilty, horrible pleasure. After, thereâs nothing else to focus on but the adjectives. He sits in the passenger seat in rumpled clothes that stick to his sweaty skin, quickly cooling into something uncomfortable.
     Dex thinks of Sean, ridiculously. Of walking back to his dorm with cum drying on his stomach and going through a school function with slightly dirtied underpants. Both times he was dirtier, physically, than he is now, and still right now heâs the most uncomfortable.
     Sean didnât make him uncomfortable. Sean made him giddy, made him smile, made him happy. Dex forgot, somehow, the desperation of being with Luke, the guilt and the fear. Now Dex remembers the way he used to pray, afterwards, ask God forgiveness for his sins, his inability to stop making them. His tongue tastes like communion wine gone sour and his body feels stiff with disgrace. Even now, all he can think of is how wrong he is.
     Twice he was with Sean and both times Dex had forgotten to repent.
     It wasnât guilty with Sean. It wasnât dirty or something to hide. Even when they had to be quiet, it was fun. There was laughter in his fingertips, a smile tucked under his tongue for Dex to find, to enjoy. Enjoy.
     Dex had never found joy in having sex with a man before.
     The weight of the aftermath with Luke lifts, then. Because it doesnât have to be like this. Dex isnât bad when heâs with a boy, heâs just bad when heâs with Luke. Maybe thatâs unfair. Maybe he just tied all his childhood fears up in Luke and he canât separate them now. Either way, Luke isnât good for him, not anymore. Maybe he never was.
     âSee you,â Luke says, when they pull up in front of the motel the team is staying in for the night.
     âGoodbye, Luke,â Dex says, and means it. He gets out of the car.
     Dex can like a boy. He can like a boy without his tongue curling itself into knots out of self-preservation. He can like a boy without looking over his shoulder for the godly reprimand he canât help but anticipate coming. He can like a boy without hating himself for it.
     The lightness in his chest carries him up the walkway. He can like a boy. He can like a boy.
     The lightness fades, decently, when Dex remembers that he can like any boy but Sean. Then again, he thinks as Luke pulls away before Dex reaches the front door, he was never really destined for happiness anyway.
 *~*~*
      Itâs too fucking cold to be lugging a laundry basket back from the Haus, but Dexâll be damned before he coughs up cash for the dorm washers when thereâs a perfectly shitty washer and dryer at the Haus. Poindexters are nothing if not stubborn to the point of physical injury. Which heâs dangerously close to accomplishing, at this very moment, as he attempts to get his dorm key out of his bag while squishing the laundry basket between his hip and the door.
     He gets the key out right before the basket slips and he triumphantly shoves it in the lock. Letting himself in, he drops the basket on his bed and turns around to shut the door only to see Sean standing in the open doorway.
     What.
     âDex,â he says, breathless. âHi.â
     âUh, hi?â Dex is still kind of stuck at what. âWhat, uh, what are youâwhy are you here?â
     âYeah, um.â Sean swallows. âAbout that.â
     âSean?â
     âOkay, this is going to sound really creepy, but remember Iâm cute, okay?â
     âWhat?â
     âOkay, so, uh. I saw you leaving the hockey frat with your laundry and I sort of, followed you and, fuck. I canât stop thinking about you?â He winces at himself. âThis is sounding so much creepier than itâs meant to. I just, I really like you, okay? I think we can get past the team thing. Itâll be kind of like Romeo and Juliet, right?â
     âThey killed themselves at the end,â Dex points out.
     âWell, as long as you donât take drugs from any priests and I donât kill your cousin, I think weâll be pretty okay.â
     âSean,â Dex tries to say firmly, but heâs smiling.
     Sean half-smiles back. âI think we can do it. I really do.â
     âSeanâŠâ
     âAnd remember how cute I am,â Sean adds quickly. âAlso remember that I just ran up three flights of stairs because the elevator was full just for you.â
     âHow did you even get in the building?â
     Sean grins. âI am very cute.â Dex gives him a flat look. Sean relents. âOkay, I pretended like I lived here and went in behind someone who opened the door.â He points at Dex. âBut I am cute.â
     âI feel like youâre searching for validation here.â
     âAnd the polite thing to do would be to give it to me, wouldnât it?â Dex looks at him, standing there a little short of breath with a small, crooked smile. Dex thinks about destiny and bad decisions and how it feels to like a boy.
     Dex takes half a step closer to Sean, and then two quick full steps until theyâre kissing, soft, smiling. Fuck destiny. Dex is going to be happy if it kills him.
Itâs christmas season now so let me give you an au to chew over:
Eric Bittle is Santa.Â
Like think about it: Eric Bittle: Goody Bag King. He would run around year after year tirelessly making sure that everyone has at least one gift. (well, the ones that are deserving. But Bitty isnât super judgemental, so thereâs not a lot of people on his naughty list)Â Â
He also encourages people to leave whatever baked good out for him. Most people do the traditional milk and cookies. Bitty just wants to see more people baking, itâs one of his favorite things to do in his little spare time.Â
Thereâs also no elves. Instead there is...an entire workforce of semi-living toys? That doesnât sound much better in terms of labor, but I swear Bitty never overworks them. Senor bun is in charge.Â
Bitty adores his job so much, which is why it broke his heart a couple decades ago when he noticed an extreme change in christmas spirit. Itâs not that people are becoming ungrateful, itâs that he doesnât really know how christmas is celebrated now a days. The last time he actually observed christmas firsthand was 1913. It definitely has changed. People donât sing as many carols, and they ask for increasingly complicated gifts. What is wrong with a stuffed animal? What are oreos and why arenât people baking anymore?Â
So Bitty decides to do what he always does when he feels a disconnect with the world, he joins it for a couple years (âa couple yearsâ being something like, 30 or so years). Suzanne Bittle and her Husband from Madison, Georgia believe that they are adopting a 12 year old boy. And Bitty absolutely adores them.
He spends the next 6 years working hard from his new home, and relays the information to Senor Bun whenever he can. He absolutely loves Georgia with its heat and itâs peaches and its rustic way of life. Itâs definitely a big change from...well...the north pole. It actually gives him a bit too much of a culture shock at first. He practically begs his parents to let him do SOMETHING with ice. Bitty takes to skating like he took to baking and toy making: like a motherfucking champ.Â
Along the way, he learns a lot of things about Christmas. For many, itâs lost the heavily religious undertones in exchange for images of himself...or what everyone down south thinks he looks like. Jolly? yes. Wears lots of red? Yes. Rosy cheeks? Yes. Full laugh? yes. Enjoys Coke? Eh sure why not. Large old man with a big ass beard? uh... no. never. He looks more like those elf depictions than anything else.Â
Some of the traditions heâll miss. Thereâs a lot less horse-drawn sleds and a lot more, âtie an inflatible inner tube to the back of a 4 wheel drive and drag someone behind it in the mud/snowâ. And thereâs a lot more collectible ornaments and less fruitcake. Thereâs hallmark movies that tug at Bittyâs desire to someday find some sort of love for himself, even though thatâs impossible. And perhaps his favorite thing that has changed with this century of Christmas:Â
Mariah Carey
Holy moly. After hearing that song Bitty made sure to look at Mariahâs biggest desire for that year and get Senor Bun on that stat. She deserveâs the very best. Michael Buble is definitely strong in his heart too. Bitty wishes that he could send an endorsement to those folks. âSantaâs favorite musicâ it would say.Â
If he slipped a note in Beyonceâs present one year saying âChristmas Album maybe??? :DDâ, she kept it to herself. But a boy can dream.Â
So the years pass and he getâs this âlive like a humanâ thing more or less in the bag. Until he is trapped in a closet by a couple of assholes on the football team. Bitty has to spend the night in there, no one able to hear him. Whatâs worse is that he knows where everyone is, and what they are doing. The football douches are currently sitting in the parking lot of a wal mart drinking shitty beer and laughing about how they hope Bitty doesnât ever get found.Â
He sees his dad telling Suzanne not to worry, because the team called him to tell him they were gonna bond with Bitty tonight. Suzanne is so thrilled that Bittyâs âfinally getting some friends at schoolâ. And Bitty curls in closer to himself and wonders what will break her heart more: seeing Bitty like this or knowing that he still hasnât found his place. Probably both, he thinks.Â
With no one around him, he decides the best thing he can do is rest. He plants thoughts of sugar plums and pecans and jam into the minds of those he loves.Â
Heâs saved by a janitor named Rudy. Bitty knows his full name is Rudolph, but he refuses to acknowledge this. Not at a time like this, and probably not ever.Â
And his parents, of course, move him to a new school. That was that, he was supposed to start new and âput the past behind himâ. Itâs not that easy, though. In all his years, he has never felt more helpless. Bitty canât understand how there are people in the world like that, but now he canât stop seeing them in the eyes of far too many people.Â
He canât bring himself to be so exceptionally cheerful after that, so he sort of switches to autopilot for a while. While he seems fine on the outside, nothing is getting to him. He has basically shut down. The toys that he chooses to make are a lot less personal, he doesnât bother checking the naughty and nice list. It doesnât change the first time, or even the second time usually. So what does it matter? The gifts will get to where they go.Â
And during the following christmas, he doesnât even bother to eat the cookies left out for him. He just chucks the presents with sub-par wrapping under the tree and moves on to the 300 millionth house that night.Â
When he gets to the homes of the football team, however, he might have buried their entire tree in coal and set their alarms to blast nickelback. Bitty can have spite.
Itâs Christmas morning and people are...confused. Not ungrateful, just confused and worried. Did everyone truly ask for a deck of playing cards for christmas? Or a stuffed rabbit? Or a tiny polar bear toy with a candy cane striped sweater? Â Because thatâs really it as far as gifts go. It lacked any type of personal touch. Children might have cried. Bitty feels like a failure and is refusing to get himself out of bed.Â
âDonât you want to open the presents under the tree?â, Suzanne asks.Â
âI donât really feel like I deserve presents this year.âÂ
âEric Richard Bittle, you are the boy that deserves the most in the whole worldâ
Bitty doesnât respond to her, and buries himself deeper into his blankets. He hopes that he can just sleep until the next year.Â
So thereâs this thing going around to post omgcp WIPs that never went anywhere. I looked around and found this oldie I never figured out where to go with.Â
Readheaded Boys
Derek Nurse has always had a thing for redheads.Â
He can wax poetic on the concept of redheads in literature for hours but the simple fact of the matter is that when he was 7 he made a new best friend for one day. His name was Billy and he was a redhead. And he was the kindest boy Derek had ever met.
He had tried to join a game on the playground and been turned away. He didnât know why, this time, but it was probably just because he was weird. That was usually the reason.Â
Derek liked to read and talk to grown-ups and drew âgirlyâ things in his notebooks.Â
Billy didnât care. He played with him that day on the playground and for that day, they were best friends.Â
Then Billyâs mom called him to leave and Derek had never seen him again.Â
He had hoped Billy was a new kid at school who would be in his class come September, but he wasnât. He never saw him at the playground again, either.Â
So instead of having a new best friend, he just had the terrible kids in his classes who called him names and excluded him from games.Â
He dealt with it.
When he went away to Andover for high school, it was a different dynamic. The kids there didnât make fun of his interests or his smarts, they were all pretty smart and had strange interests. But they were almost all white, which made him feel left out in different ways.Â
He perfected his chill exterior there. Nothing could get to him if he didnât let himself feel anything.
When Derek realized he was gay, his obsession with redheaded boys suddenly became a lot clearer. He didnât come out at Andover, though. There were already too many things different with him there.Â
So he pined after Aidan Fitzpatrick in secret.Â
It was only when he gets to Samwell that he allows himself to say it out loud.Â
Sure, heâs still in the racial minority, but there are some non-white players on the team and there are some non-straight players and all-in-all he feels safe.Â
Even if Dex is a stupid, straight, white boy who wonât listen when he explains that his life is never going to be âeasyâ just because he has wealthy parents.Â
Whatever. Itâs fine.
At least heâs cute.Â
Especially when Derek gets him riled up and makes him blush.
Itâs not until they get paired up to room together on roadies that it happens.Â
The nightmares.Â
âHey, hey, calm down. They canât hurt you anymore.âÂ
Heâs awoken in a strange bed with William Poindexter hovering over him, hand on his shoulder, and worry in his eyes.Â
âSorry,â Derek croaks.Â
âDonât apologize. Do you need anything? Water?â Dex is frowning but in a way that belies his concern, not anger.Â
âWater is good.â
It hadnât been an unusual nightmare, he just didnât get them that much anymore. The boys in his elementary school teasing him and not letting him escape their surrounding circle.Â
He wasnât sure if they had ever actually surrounded him like that or if it was something his subconscious had created from media consumption, but the dreams were still terrifying.Â
Dex came back with a glass of water and he downed it gratefully.Â
âDo you want to talk about it?â
His face was open and Derek knew he could say anything and have the answer be respected.Â
But he didnât want to talk about it, so he shook his head.Â
âOkay.â
Things were different after that. Not very different, but just enough.Â
He never asked what he had said in his sleep but Dex seemed to respect his space more now, so it canât have been nice things.Â
He even got a few smiles out of him at Hausgiving.Â
He started to wonder what his lips tasted like.Â
They still fought, of course.Â
Derek was certain they always would. But it was good-natured these days. Bickering.Â
They chirped each other and when Chowder whined at them not to fight, please, they just exchanged a sigh. They werenât really fighting.Â
It was kind of nice.Â
When they arrived back at Samwell for sophomore year, Derek realized he had even missed Dexâs grumpy face.Â
Heâs pretty sure thatâs when the crush really began.Â
It was inconvenient, really. Quite rude. But his subconscious had always had a preference for redheaded boys so he figured it was only a matter of time.
He was out at Samwell, but he wasnât about to come out about a crush on a teammate. A white, republican, grumpy teammate.Â