Chapter Text
Bitty wasn’t sure what happened.
The barbecue had been relaxed and fun while Bitty cooked and the beer pong table was going. Then there was the usual bustle while everyone cleaned up and carried food to the table.
Shitty chirped him -- again -- for being a mother hen, like that joke wasn’t old four years ago, but Bitty just rolled his eyes and insisted Holster move his bag out of the hall before someone tripped.
But once they sat down, the golden bubble broke. Jack was on the bench between Bitty and Larissa, and his frown was mostly directed at Shitty. Which, fair, Shitty and the boys had reached the exuberant stage of drunk, and the food was flying. Bitty was glad to be out of spitting -- or kissing -- range.
Bitty noticed that Larissa (Lardo now?) had switched to water after the game, as had Bitty, and she really hadn’t had much to drink anyway, between the way she ran the table and having Shitty volunteer to chug any beers that their side had to down.
Maybe Jack wasn’t used to being around people who were drunk? Bitty knew Jack had a good reason to limit his own alcohol intake, but he was the captain of a hockey team. Surely he’d seen people under the influence before.
Then Larissa, God love her, told the boys they should take the time to taste the food Bitty had spent the last two days preparing.
Shitty acknowledged that the food, as always, was good, but then he went on to praise Larissa.
“Where were you when we were at school? With Lardo, queen of the pong table in the Haus, we would have eternal domination over the LAX bros,” he said. “M’dudes, let’s all raise a glass to Lardo!”
Shitty lifted his own cup in the air, followed by Holster and Ransom and Bitty. Larissa’s face pinked, but Bitty thought she looked more pleased-and-embarrassed than humiliated. Then she tried to turn the attention back to Bitty, even though he was more than happy to avoid it.
“Bro,” she said to Shitty. “Show a little love to your boy. He worked hard on this.”
Shitty said, “Bits knows I love him, but I see him every day. And he seriously cooks to relax.”
Bitty had never been as thankful for Ransom and Holster’s rowdiness, as they started slobbering over the corn and making sex noises at the steak, effectively deflecting the attention off him. Or at least he thought so, until he snuck a glance at Jack. Jack was looking at him, one side of his mouth still tugged down.
When everyone had their fill, they all cleared the table by dumping paper plates in the trash and carrying their utensils to the sink. Bitty was filling the basin with soapy water to let them soak when everyone else found seats around the fire pit. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack go past the chairs toward his own house.
Jack had been uncomfortable during dinner, but Bitty didn’t want him to leave yet. It went against the grain of everything he’d ever been taught to let a guest go away unsatisfied. Maybe it was a little awkward, with Shitty’s crush on Larissa, but Bitty didn’t think Shitty had gone too far overboard, at least for him. And Bitty was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to offend Jack, even if he’d been caught looking once or twice too often.
“Jack, wait,” Bitty said, “We haven’t even had pie yet. I’ll tell Shitty to leave Larissa alone.”
Jack turned and looked down at him, like he was trying to figure out what Bitty meant.
“She’s fine,” Jack said. “She’s having fun, and she can take care of herself. Let her stay and have a good time.”
“You’re sure?” Bitty asked. He didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble between Jack and Larissa, and even if Shitty was being Shitty, Bitty had invited them over. “Because I can tell Shitty he’s paying too much attention to your …”
“My what?” Jack said. “Larissa’s not my possession. She’s my friend.”
Right. His friend that he lived with for the whole off-season, toted loads of scrap metal for, looked at so fondly …
“If that’s what you’re calling it now,” Bitty said.
Jack’s frown deepened, and a furrow appeared between his eyebrows.
“No, really,” Jack said. “Larissa and I are friends. And even if she was my girlfriend or whatever, that wouldn’t give me the right to decide who she talked to and what she did. Or to act like what she did wasn’t important.”
Well, Bitty supposed, it was nice to know Jack intended to treat any future girlfriends like human beings. He wasn’t sure why it was his business. Unless … Jack seemed annoyed with Shitty for something. Maybe it was just that Shitty was a little too bombastic and loud for Jack’s taste. Or did he think not think Shitty was treating someone right? But Shitty didn’t have a girlfriend, hadn’t even hooked up recently as far as Bitty knew. Did he think Shitty wasn’t, what, showing enough deference to Bitty?
“What do you mean by that?” Bitty said.
Jack’s eyes shifted to the side, like he was plotting an escape. But he swallowed and said, “I don’t like how Shitty treats you. He’s all possessive one minute and dismissive the next, when all you do is take care of him and everyone else. You deserve better, and you should know that.”
Bitty threw his head back and laughed. He tried to catch his breath and wiped his eyes, and then he laughed again.
Finally, he said, “You think we’re dating? Good Lord, whatever gave you that idea? He’s not at all my type, and I’m surely not his, given that I’m, y’know, male. Shitty’s about as straight as a piece of uncooked spaghetti.”
“But you’re gay,” Jack said.
“I am,” Bitty said. “Doesn’t mean Shitty is. I guess I thought you got the memo that gay guys and straight guys can be friends. Since you’re here at our barbecue and all.”
“But he’s all over you all the time,” Jack said.
“He’s all over everybody all the time,” Bitty said. “Look.”
Jack looked over his shoulder to see Shitty reclined against Holster’s legs while Ransom tried to light a fire in the fire pit. Larissa was standing over him, clearly thinking how much better she could do, but enjoying the spectacle.
“That’s just Shitty,” Bitty said. “He really is straight, although he had enough queer friends at Samwell that I think maybe sometimes he felt a little left out. Anyway, sometime before I got there he decided to mount a one-man revolution against the social norms that say men can’t be affectionate with each other. Against wearing clothes, too, but Harvard has helped with that.”
Jack snorted.
“Thank God for small blessings,” he said.
Bitty nodded solemnly.
“Anyway, if you think he’s being too overbearing with Larissa, I really can say something. Sometimes he forgets social boundaries.”
“Only if you want her to bite your head off,” Jack said. “I wouldn’t try it. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll say so. I learned that lesson the hard way once.”
“So you were just upset because you thought my boyfriend wasn’t being nice enough to me?” Bitty said. “He’s my best friend, and it’s fine. What he said at dinner is true -- I do know he loves and appreciates me. Sometimes he just forgets to show it the way you might expect. It might not look like it to you, but he’s under a lot of pressure.”
“That’s not an excuse,” Jack said.
“Jack, I said it’s fine,” Bitty said. “Please show me the same courtesy you show Larissa and let me decide if it’s a problem, and if it is, let me decide how to handle it. I get so tired of people thinking I need some knight riding in to defend me or save me. It’s not like I’m weak just because I’m small.”
Bitty paused, but Jack didn’t say anything, so he continued.
“And I’m not really that small. It just looks that way when I’m with all you humongous hockey players. It’s just, I know when someone is being disrespectful or dismissive. That’s not Shitty. Sometimes he’s a bit oblivious, yes, and sometimes he likes to push just to get a reaction from people, but his heart is softer than ice cream in August, and he would never hurt me on purpose. He was the very first person I ever said the words ‘I’m gay’ to, and the way he reacted made it seem like it was okay. As far as I’m concerned, he’s family. And you would have known there wasn’t a problem if you had only asked me.”
Jack stood as the torrent of words washed over him. Bittle stopped himself from apologizing at the end. Maybe he had been a little more vehement than he needed to be, but he wasn’t in the wrong here.
Jack looked down at his hands, and then back at Bitty.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. It just seemed like, if Shitty and you were together, he was taking you for granted, and it rubbed me the wrong way.”
Jack paused like he wanted to say something, then stopped, then started again.
“Maybe it’s from hockey,” he said. “You know how it is -- you stand up for your teammates. And it doesn’t mean they’re small or weak or incapable of defending themselves. And they do it for you, too.”
“But Jack, it’s not like Shitty checked me into the boards or anything,” Bitty said. “He just failed to appreciate my cooking enough to meet your standard. But your standard really doesn’t count between me and Shitty."
“I know,” Jack said. “I overstepped, and I am sorry.”
“Well,” Bitty said. “I guess I can forgive you. You know, for caring too much.”
“Haha,” Jack said. “So, at the risk crossing more lines, are you dating anyone?”
He was looking at Holster when he said it.
“Me and Holster? No. Just no,” Bitty said. Why would Jack want to know that? Could he -- Was it possible that he was interested in Bitty? Bitty told himself he was jumping to conclusions again. Friends asked other friends about significant others, didn’t they?
But now that the idea that maybe Jack wasn’t as straight as Bitty assumed had been planted, it took root and refused to be brushed aside.
When Jack smiled at Bitty’s response, and Bitty giggled and put his hand on Jack’s arm, Jack didn’t pull away.
“Come on back?” Bitty said. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and I’d bet there’s some fireworks in Holster’s bag. You really don’t have to defend my honor from Shitty. If he gets too bothersome, I can always cut off his supply of baked goods. And don’t think I let him forget it.”
Jack followed Bitty back past the fire pit and into the kitchen.
“Need help with the pies?” he asked.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Bitty said. “There’s not that much.”
Jack look pointedly at the three pies -- blueberry, apple and strawberry -- as well as the stack of plates and utensils that sat on the counter next to them.
“Fine,” Bitty huffed, but smiled. “Grab those two? I was just going to set them on the table outside and let people serve themselves.”
“Really?” Jack said, his tone and face serious. “Are you sure there’s enough to let them do that? I mean, there’s six of us, and only three pies.”
“Chirp, chirp, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said. “I can cut you off too.”
Bitty watched Jack serve himself slivers of all three pies before encouraging everyone else to help themselves. Once they were done, he cut himself a wedge of the blueberry and took the last chair around the fire, next to Jack.
“So Shitty,” Bitty said. “Jack tells me that we were completely off-base. He and Larissa are not and never have been dating.”
Shitty, who had moved so he was next to Larissa, turned to look at her.
“Is that so, Lardo? Do I owe you an apology for thinking you might be?”
Larissa snorted. “Jack’s a good guy,” she said. “But way too moody for me. I’m a free agent.”
Shitty inched his chair closer to Larissa’s.
“Hey, Larissa,” Jack said. “Did you know Shitty’s not dating Bittle?”
That made Shitty spit out his beer.
“You thought me and Bitty?” he said. “I mean, I’d be honored, if that was something that I could do. But the door just doesn’t swing that way for me.”
Ransom and Holster were watching, wide-eyed.
“You really thought Bits and Shitty were dating?” Ransom said.
“I mean, bro, he can do so much better than that,” Holster said.
Bitty giggled. “You’d better be talking about me,” he said.
“Of course,” Ransom said. “No one ever had to persuade you that it was good idea to wear clothes in the kitchen. Or to have a sense of style.”
“I resent that,” Shitty said. “I have style. Or I had style, when I had the flow. Besides, you’ll give Lardo and Jack here the wrong idea.”
“What, that you’re loud, can be abrasive in pursuit of social justice and like to flout convention wherever possible?” Jack said, grinning just a bit.
“Fine,” Shitty mock grumbled. “And an extra point for using flout correctly.”
When the rest of the group was distracted by Ransom and Holster pulling out a meager collection of fireworks, Jack scooted his chair a little closer to where Bitty sat, wrapping his unzipped hoodie around his knees.
“So, Bittle,” he said, his voice low. “You said Shitty’s not your type, or Holster. What is your type?”
Bitty looked at Jack, the firelight dancing across his cheekbones, and he wanted to borrow a move from a romance novel and say, “You,” and leap into his arms.
The truth was, he was a little disappointed in himself. If Jack wasn’t straight after all -- and that seemed to be the case, with his adorably awkward flirting -- Bitty had a chance with him. Well, maybe more than a chance, given the way the Jack was looking at him. But until a few minutes ago, Bitty had never seriously considered the possibility.
“My type --” is tall, muscular, hockey-playing, history-loving dorks, who are generous to their friends even if social interaction is sometimes a bit of a mystery to them, is what he wanted to say. He wanted to see how Jack would react.
Bitty didn’t get a chance to find out, because Shitty was suddenly right there, lying on the ground between them.
“So, Jack, trying to get to know Bits here?” he said. “Because he’s a fucking prince among men. He’s more than his cooking, y’know?”
“I know that,” Jack said. “Bittle’s a great guy. I’m really glad you guys brought that pie over and introduced yourselves.”
“It’s nice of you to give him rides to work, too,” Shitty said. “You think you can keep that up all summer? Because it would be cruel to create expectations you can’t meet.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Jack said, using what must have been his face-off glare.
“Shitty, cut it out,” Bitty said. “Jack driving me to work is none of your business.”
“It’s not just rides to work,” Shitty started, but Bitty cut him off.
“That’s enough, Shitty,” Bitty said. “I can handle my own life.”
“Fine, brah,” Shitty said. “I believe you. Just be careful.”
Shitty could be overprotective. But so could Jack. Really, they were more alike than either of them would probably admit.
Lardo flipped an empty cup at Shitty’s head. “Listen to Bits, dude,” she said. “If he needs help, I’m sure he’ll ask.”
“Fine, I know when I’m not wanted,” Shitty harrumphed and went back to his chair on the other side of the fire.
Bitty turned to Jack again.
“Sorry about him,” Bitty said. “My type is … basically you.”
Jack reached out and took his hand, and Bitty almost missed what Jack said next, he was so distracted by the size of Jack’s hand, the calluses on his palm, the warmth that enveloped Bitty’s hand.
When he caught up, Jack was saying, “I’m just going to say it: I have the worst crush on you. You’re smart and funny and kind and you do kind of take care of everyone, and you’re gorgeous too.”
Bitty took a breath and tried to commit this moment to memory before he responded.
“That’s good,” he finally said. “Because I have the worst crush on you too.”
Jack let out a breath and grinned, a new smile that Bitty hadn’t seen before.
“What do you say we leave the cleanup to Shitty and get out of here?”
Bitty hoped the firelight covered his blush and he said, “Give it a minute. Rans has the bottle rockets set up.”
As soon as Ransom had the first fuse lit, Bitty and Jack pushed their chairs back into the shadows and got up. With everyone else’s attention on trying to make sure nothing caught fire or exploded, Bitty reached for Jack’s hand and they ran into the darkness.
One they reached the corner of the house, Jack tugged on Bitty’s hand to stop him. He pulled Bitty close and cupped his face before he said, “Bitty? Can I kiss you now?”
Bitty responded by pushing onto his tiptoes and bringing his lips to Jack’s, seeing the colors of the bottle rocket wash across Jack’s face.
“Anytime, Mr. Zimmermann,” “Bitty said. “Any time at all.”