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Eric stood in line, nervously clicking the cap of a black sharpie on and off. He was sure there was no need for him to bring his own. This was a scheduled event where fans could meet the Jack Zimmermann after a Falcs game, along with a few other players who had much shorter lines in front of them. Plenty of people would come with jerseys and hockey sticks and other things to be signed, Zimmermann surely had his own markers or pens to do so with. But once Shitty told Bitty in front of half the team that he should get his forehead signed, they were all quick to pressure him into it, making him promise to have the sharpie with him when he asked.
“I am not doing that,” he insisted in the moment, handing the sharpie back after Shitty had forced it into his hands.
“Come on, Bitty, if you don’t we will pick on you forever for it,” Ransom said.
“Y’all already pick on me.”
“How ‘bout this?” Shitty said, handing the sharpie back. “I’ll bet you 20 bucks you won’t do it.”
“You’re trying to bribe me into makin’ a fool of myself in front of Jack Zimmermann?”
“Is it working?”
“No!” Bitty tried handing the sharpie back one last time, but Shitty moved his hands away.
“Alright, how’s 40 then? Holster will pay 20.”
“Hey, I didn’t agree to that!” Holster said.
“I’ll add some, too,” Ransom added, and soon enough, there was $100 waiting for Bitty if he could just get Jack Zimmermann to sign his forehead.
He couldn’t just let $100 go down the drain.
But there was more than one reason for not wanting Jack’s signature on his skin for who-knows-how-long. Sure, he was going to feel completely ridiculous requesting it. Bitty had admired Jack for as long as he’d been into hockey, wished to be as talented as him on the ice ever since he first saw him play. And Bitty didn’t exactly want his first time seeing Jack on the ice in person, actually talking with him, to make Bitty seem like some overly-enthusiastic superfan. Not that the description wasn’t accurate.
On top of this though, there was the issue of his soulmate. Ever since Bittle’s 18th birthday, he’d been able to write messages back and forth with his soulmate on his skin. It’d been just under two and a half years of writing to each other, but Bitty already knew he loved his soulmate. He didn’t know his name, or where he lived, or even what he did for a living, but he still knew him. He knew he spoke French (he would never shut up to his friends about how his soulmate spoke French). He knew he woke up far too early for Bitty to believe him when he said he got a good night’s sleep. He knew how to tell when his soulmate was especially anxious and how to get him to let some of that out to him. His soulmate had become an expert at ranting about his anxieties without revealing anything that might cue Bitty in on his identity.
As much as he would love to just tell his soulmate who he was and where to find him, Bitty couldn’t. Everyone knew it was bad luck to write to your soulmate letting them know who you are or where to meet you before you met naturally. There were countless stories of soulmates who broke this rule and ended up not liking each other when they met, never being able to cross paths no matter how they tried, even stories of soulmates dying soon after planning to find each other. His soulmate said it was all a myth, but Bitty believed it and his soulmate was willing to wait if it was what Bitty wanted.
He wished he could just tell his soulmate what he was about to do. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the writing suddenly appearing on his forehead in a few minutes. What if he was in some sort of meeting? What if he was in the middle of a serious family dinner? What if he was at a funeral? All that Bitty had been able to convince himself to write to his soulmate the night before was
sorry if somethin weird shows up on your skin tomorrow
He didn’t want to risk anything more specific that might clue his soulmate in on where Bitty would be the following day, especially since the whole thing was being livestreamed (something Bitty’s teammates were using to make sure Bitty actually followed through if he wanted that 100 bucks). If his soulmate figured it out and watched the livestream, found out what he looked like, and used that to find out who he has, it could ruin everything.
While not warning his soulmate was for the best, it only added to the nerves Bitty felt now, with only a few people in line ahead of him. He quickly uncapped the sharpie and tested it on the back of his hand. It was working just as well as the last time he tested it. He’d tested it that morning. After he drew a line on the back of his hand, he’d received a question mark from his soulmate.
just testin it
Bitty wrote. And then he tested it again a couple times during the game, once when he first got in line, and again now. No question mark this time, nor the past few. That made sense though. His soulmate probably assumed he was still just testing the marker after the first time he did so.
Checking his phone, Bitty was greeted by a plethora of messages from his teammates, unsurprisingly, mostly from Shitty. They were blowing up the group chat with texts about the game, questioning when Bitty would be at the front of the line and show up on the livestream, and threatening to hold Bitty’s baking supplies hostage until he followed through and got his forehead signed.
Bitty texted back insisting that it was cruel to bring his kitchen into this when he was already being bribed, but Shitty insisted it was a necessary precaution. He pocketed his phone again.
Bitty tested the sharpie one more time, less to make sure it was still working, and more to do something to distract himself from just how nervous he was. He ran over what he was going to say in his head for what must have been the millionth time.
“Hey Jack, it’s so nice to be able to meet you. This is an odd request, but would you mind signin’ my forehead?” “Hey Zimmermann , it’s wonderful to be able to meet you. Sorry if this is an odd request, but would you be alright signin’ my forehead?” “Hey Mr. Jack Zimmermann, meeting you is an absolute delight . Sorry if this is an odd request, but would you please sign my forehead?”
“I think you’re next in line.”
Bitty turned to the woman behind him, who was pointing back towards the table Jack sat behind. Sure enough, no one was ahead of him now.
Bitty shook his head a bit before rushing up to the table. Jack Zimmermann. Right there. Just a few feet away.
“Hey,” Jack said as Bitty arrived at the table, shaking his head again like this was all some illusion that needed to be shaken from his brain.
“Hi,” Bitty finally replied, feeling his smile growing larger each moment. The Jack Zimmermann. Right here! He felt everything else in his sight sort of melting away, getting lost in the background as his focus was overtaken by the man in front of him.
“Um.” Something about standing this close to Jack felt so off . Not off. Different. Unique . Like he was being pulled toward him just barely. Like the world around them was spinning as he searched for more words to say.
Bitty held out his sharpie. “Sign my forehead?”
That was not the plan. Why on earth did he say that? Oh lord, this was all going south so quickly and-
Jack chuckled. Gosh, what a lovely laugh, Bittle couldn’t help but think to himself.
“Sure thing.”
Jack reached out to grab the sharpie, his fingers brushing against Bitty’s as he did. He pulled the cap off, quickly testing it on the back of his hand, adding another black line to a small collection. Something nagged at Bitty from the back of his head, but he was too overcome with nerves to really think about anything at all.
Jack stood up and leaned over the table, and Bitty shut his eyes as he did, tilting his head down just a bit.
“Sorry,” Bitty said.
Jack chuckled again. “You think you’re the first person to ask me to sign their face?”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess not,” Bitty felt Jack start his signature.
“It’s not the worst thing I’ve been asked to sign. Not by a lot.”
“Oh.”
“Alright, you’re good to go.”
Even when Bitty opened his eyes again he couldn’t bring himself to look at Jack, so he settled for staring down at the table in front of them.
“Thank you.”
Bitty could tell his face was beet red as he turned and rushed away from the table. Gosh, that was a disaster. But it was wonderful. But still a disaster. Jack was so friendly though, maybe it was worth it for more than just the cash.
His phone buzzed away in his pocket. An incoming call greeted him as he pulled it out. Not now, Shitty. But almost immediately after he declined, his phone was buzzing again. Come on.
“Shitty, I’m still-”
“BITTLE! TURN AROUND!”
“What’re you on about? I got the signature! You saw didn’t you?”
Bitty could hear a collection of voices all yelling at him from the background, making it near impossible to hear Shitty.
“What’s going on with y’all?”
“Hey!” Someone was calling out to him. Jack was.
“I gotta go,” Bitty said, hanging up before Shitty could protest.
Bitty turned around, just as Jack reached him.
“You forgot your marker.”
Jack extended the sharpie to him, but Bitty couldn’t take it. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t say anything, do anything. Do anything but stare at Jack’s forehead, where his own signature was written out.
“Are you alright?” Jack asked.
Finally, Bitty snapped himself out of it, blinking a few times before reaching out to grab his sharpie.
“Yes! Fine. Great! I’m doing great, I’m- uh, you’ve…” Bitty pointed at his own forehead, but the confusion on Jack’s face made it clear he wasn’t getting much across.
“Uh, here.” Bitty pulled his phone back out, ignoring the texts that were flooding in faster than he could even attempt to read them. He instead went to the camera, flipping it so he was looking at his own face, a swarm of butterflies hitting him as he saw the same signature on Jack’s face written on his own. He also saw the red spread across his cheeks as he turned the phone around so Jack could see himself.
Jack squinted at the screen before his eyes widened and his expression told Bitty it had clicked in his head.
“Oh. Oh .”
“Yeah.”
Jack went to hand Bitty his phone, before hesitating a moment, pulling it back and spending a moment typing something, a loose smile settling onto his face.
“Here,” Jack said, finally returning the phone. “Call me.”
Staring at Bitty now was the contacts app, where a new name and number had been added. Jack Zimmerman.
“Yeah. I will. I will! Later tonight?”
Jack nodded, taking a couple steps back. “Later tonight.”
And then he was back at his table, his own signature still written in permanent marker across his forehead. Bitty glanced back down at his phone. At his soulmate’s contact.
Before he knew it, a call from Shitty was back on the screen, and he had no doubt the entire team was on the other end with a million things to say to him. He declined the call, though, deciding he could tell them everything back at the Haus. They were going to lose their minds.