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They don’t fight often. Eric’s too understanding, and Jack regularly says sorry for things that don’t require an apology. Plus neither one of them wants to trigger a panic attack for Jack, though at this point he’s learned enough techniques from therapy that he can fight with Eric and not be left gasping on the bathroom floor that night. It’s important, they’ve agreed, that couples fight occasionally in order to work out issues. But it’s not something they want to do regularly.
It lasts a night, maybe, of Jack sleeping on the couch. But in the morning Eric is in the kitchen whipping up scrambled eggs, bags under his eyes, and Jack walks over and wraps him in his arms. They talk over breakfast, hands linked across the table. Jack’s better with gestures than words, so sometimes he comes home that night with flowers or kitchen appliances or mix tapes. Bittle bakes anything with maple sugar and they cuddle and feed each other and have great sex. Sometimes the forgiveness is so sweet, they have no regrets.
If only they could skip ahead to that part and not fight at all.
Sunset: the room is bathed in golden light from the window behind him, splashing orange across his own blond hair. Eric stares at his reflection on the black TV screen, scowling. He’s hugging the pillow in his lap. It was too embarrassing to bring Señor Bunny to his shared bed with Jack, so he left him in Madison, but now he wants his raggedy friend for comfort. He hits the power button on the remote and switches channels: SVU, Grey’s Anatomy, the weather channel. He keeps it there at “65 degrees in Providence today, sunny skies.” The mindless drone of the meteorologist is suitably irritating, a convoluted kind of pathetic fallacy.
He’s horrible at confrontation, and so is Jack. Eric sulks and bottles up his feelings until he reaches a boiling point. Jack’s anger is usually stress-related, and he locks it down until he breaks, unleashing a torrent of frustration that often has nothing to do with Eric. When they allow themselves to fight, it’s rarely nasty, but it’s intensely emotional. Last night’s fight left him drained.
Waking up in the morning and realizing that Jack was gone left him devastated.
The front door opens and shuts softly with a click. He doesn’t allow himself to look. Normally he is ready with a kiss and a slice of pie, but normally he’s not avoiding those convincing baby blues.
“Eric. Look at me.” Eric fixes his outraged glower on Jack, who flinches. “Please. Can we…”
“Fine.” Eric switches off the TV, and Jack walks over, sitting down on the other end of the couch. The sunset colors light half of his face. He’s in a T-shirt, Eric’s favorite shade of cerulean. His hands are trembling. Eric’s first instinct is to hold them, to kiss Jack and tell him it’s okay, it’s going to be alright, that he loves him to the end of the earth and back. He bites his lip and resists the urge.
“You’re still…” Jack trails off. “I wasn’t here for breakfast.”
“Yes.” Eric’s tone could freeze over a Georgia summer.
“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you that I’d be leaving early. I wasn’t avoiding you.”
Eric tries not to let himself soften. “It’s a Saturday.”
“I was at a thing.” He gestures lamely at the air between them. “Um. A press. Thing. Training.”
“You could’ve texted. Left a note.”
“I – I thought I should say it all in person.”
Eric realizes his own hands are shaking and stuffs them into the pocket of his worn Samwell Hockey sweatshirt. “Then say it.”
“We fought about a lot of stuff, but I – I didn’t mean the last thing. I didn’t.” Jack reaches out for Eric’s knee; Eric wills himself to stay perfectly still, not reacting. “It’s not your fault that I’m out of the closet.”
Tears well up in Eric’s eyes. “I know that, because I never told you to make that decision. Not once. I never pressured you to do anything you didn’t want to do. I went back into the closet for you, Jack, and I signed up for that, but you can’t tell me that I ever made you—“
“You’re right. I made that decision. And I don’t regret it. Honestly. I – I was being stupid. Lately the pressure has been so, well, and with the media attention on us, I just – I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
"…You really don’t?”
“Don’t regret it? No, I don’t.”
“You said you wished you never came out because then you could live your life in peace.” Followed by rapid, unintelligible Québécois, peppered with a few recognizable swears, but the point had been made.
Jack winces at the quote. “I didn’t mean that, promise.”
Eric speaks rapid-fire, the way he always does when he’s worried. “I didn’t want to pressure you but I wanted to be out of the closet with you, and maybe I made you do something you weren’t ready for. I mean you just told your parents and I got so excited about it and I pushed you—“
“Eric. Eric. Listen to me. I’ve been stressed, ouais, but these have been the happiest months of my life. I didn’t come out because of you. I came out because I’m not ashamed of who I am anymore.”
“You’re not lying.”
“No.” He reaches out, and Eric slips his hands out of his pocket, places them in Jack’s wide palms. “But I’m glad the world knows about us. I have the most wonderful boyfriend and I don’t want to hide that. I’m sorry I made you hide it.”
Eric’s eyes widen. “No, Jack, you had to wait until you were ready. Plus the media spotlight…that’s something I never had to deal with when I came out. It’s nice to tell people about us, but really, I just want you to be happy.”
Jack’s smile is filled with relief and gratitude. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Hush," Eric scolds. "Don’t say that.” He leans in to kiss Jack tenderly. “I’m the lucky one.” They let go of each other’s hands, and Eric curls into Jack’s embrace, burying his face in his shoulder. He breathes in deeply. “I was so worried when you weren’t there this morning.”
“I’m sorry I never texted. I couldn’t decide if I should include an apology or not, so… But I still should have sent something.”
“It’s okay.” Eric hiccup-laughs and wipes his eyes. “Gracious. Um, but I did stress-bake six pies.”
Jack pulls back and frowns. “I love your pies, Eric, but six is a bit…”
“Don’t worry, one’s being saved for next weekend. I’m giving it to Shitty as a reward for driving down. And I can bring a couple to work.”
“If I bring any more pies to the team, the coaches will kill me.”
“The neighbors?”
“You gave them all mini-pies at the block party.”
“Right. We’ll figure it out.” Eric stands up off the couch and holds his hand out to Jack. The pale yellow of the sky makes him glow. “Anyway, come eat your slice.”
“Of angry pie?”
“Even angry pie has my love in it. It’s making-up pie now.”
Jack grins and takes the outstretched hand. “My favorite.”