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Lardo pulled her sunglasses down just enough so her vision was unobstructed. Was that…? A brow slowly rose at the sight of one Jack Zimmermann at a Kegster, holding a red Solo cup. Whether it held beer, soda, water, or a sneak peek of tub juice, Lardo couldn't say, but she'd never seen him so relaxed around so many people. Perhaps it had something to do with the shortest member of the Samwell men's hockey team standing next to him. Jack was practically animated and Bitty was completely absorbed in whatever Jack was saying. Bitty was obviously smitten and Jack… Well, Jack had never been like this with Camilla. She grinned to herself, and sipped her beer. It was about damn time in her decidedly biased opinion. Bitty and Jack had been tiptoeing around one another for months. There were so many people here, it was entirely possible for them to slip upstairs unnoticed. She would make sure of it.
'I wouldn't believe it if I weren't seeing it myself. Jack Zimmermann. At a party. Taking a selfie.'
Jack's entire demeanor changed to one of tense wariness. 'Kent.'
Kent Parson stood in the middle of the Kegster. 'Hey, Zimms. Didja miss me?'
In the ensuring commotion, Jack managed to escape to his bedroom. He hoped no one realized he'd left the party.
Lardo stepped in front of Kent. 'Heeeeyyyyy,' she said brightly. 'How's your beer pong game?' She hoped it would be enough to distract him. She vividly recalled the last time Kent Parson had sauntered into a Haus party. It had sent Jack into a funk that lasted for days.
Kent smirked at her. 'You're on.'
*****
Jack sat in the armchair in his bedroom, staring sightlessly at the page of of the book in his lap. Why was he here? he thought to himself angrily. He really hoped Kent wouldn't venture upstairs. Raucous cheers drifted up from the party. Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. It was going to be a long night.
*****
Jack's shoulders hunched. Even after six years, conversations with Kent were fraught. Kent pushing, probing into areas Jack didn't want to share with anybody. He slammed the book down. 'You can't… You don't come to my fucking school unannounced,' he growled.
'Because you shut me out,' Kent retorted.
'And corner me in my room!' Jack continued, as if Kent hadn't said a word.
'I'm trying to help,' Kent said in exasperation.
'And expect me to do whatever you want.'
'Fuck Jack!' Kent shouted. He took a deep breath, then dropped gracefully into Jack's lap, a place he'd spent many hours of their time in the Q. Jack stiffened. Kent slid his hands up Jack's chest to his shoulders. 'What do you want me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay?' Kent nuzzled the line of Jack's jaw. 'I miss you.'
Jack turned his head. 'You always say that,' he muttered. He knew the routine. It was how Kent got his way back in the Q.
Kent had the sense to frown. 'Huh. Well. Shit. Okay.'
Jack shoved Kent off his lap. He needed some air. He needed to get out of the Haus and away from the party.
'You know what, Zimmermann? You think you're too fucked up to care about? That you're not good enough?' Kent snarled. 'Everyone already knows what you are, but it's people like me to still care.'
Jack's hands clenched into fists. 'Shutup,' he mumbled, tongue thick with shame and hurt.
'You're scared everyone else is going to find out you're worthless, right?' Kent sneered. 'Oh, don't worry, just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me.'
A muscle in Jack's jaw jumped. 'G-get out of my room,' he stammered. 'And stay… stay away from my team.'
'Why? Afraid I'll tell them something?' Kent taunted.
Jack whirled around. ' Leave, Parse !' he yelled.
Kent yanked the door of Jack's bedroom open, and the sight of Bitty kneeling in the hallway, his key clutched in his fingers made Jack stop short. His pulse was racing, and he barely heard Kent's final mocking words, as he headed down the stairs and presumably back to Boston. How much did Bittle hear? Jack wondered, feeling his pulse skyrocket.
Bitty glanced at Jack. He was starting to shake. Bitty was well-acquainted with the signs of a panic attack. It seemed as if Jack was already working up to a doozy of one. 'Ja--.' But Jack darted back into his room and slammed the door closed.
Bitty stood on the other side of Jack's door. He knocked softly. 'Jack?' There was no answer, but he could hear Jack's ragged breathing on the other side of the door. He considered going down to fetch Shitty, but he'd have to tell Shitty what he'd overheard. And Bitty did not want to ruin Shitty's Epikegster. Bitty slid down to the floor and slipped his fingers under the door. 'Jack, we've got your back. It's not something we just say… You know that…'
One of Jack's hands landed heavily on Bitty's fingers. It was cold, damp with sweat, and Bitty could feel it trembling. Jack's fingers tightened around his. 'G-go to b-bed, Bittle.' He released Bitty's hand. Bitty could hear Jack murmuring to himself in French. Bitty pulled his hand back and sat with his cheek pressed against the door for a moment before he got to his feet and went into his bedroom.
Jack clung to the words Bitty had said through the door. The team had his back. He managed to push himself to his feet and stumble to his bed. He crawled onto it, fully clothed and pulled the blanket folded at the foot over himself. The team knew about the overdose. How could they not? It had been major news in the hockey world. Save for Shits, and now Bittle, they didn't know about the anxiety that still kept him awake at night from time to time. Coming to Samwell had helped. Lectures, papers, research… It gave him something else to think about besides hockey. Something else to care about besides hockey. His English lit professor couldn't care less if they won or lost. She just cared that he turned in his response essay to Jane Austen's Persuasion on time. He took a deep shuddering breath. My name is Jack Laurent Zimmermann. I'm a senior at Samwell University. My major is history. My parents are Bob and Alicia Zimmermann. I grew up in Montreal, but lived in Pittsburgh when I was small. I play hockey. I'm the captain of Samwell's men's hockey team. I live in the Haus with Bitty, Shits, Rans, and Holtzy. Bitty bakes pies. He makes apple pie with maple sugar on the top crust. It's my favorite. Those were all things he knew were true, and Jack repeated them to himself until Kent's words faded enough to stop crowding out everything else.
Bitty toed off his shoes and flopped onto his bed, picking up Señor Bun. He stared at the ceiling for several minutes -- or was it hours? -- before he gave up and opened his laptop, started to record a video, and stared at the key he still held in his hand. 'Have you ever overheard something you weren't supposed to hear?' he said. He trailed off, then stopped the recording and closed his laptop. He glanced at his desk, where the pile of books for next semester sat on the corner. He heaved a sigh and grabbed one of the novels for his English class. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least get a head start on some of his reading for next term. Give Jack one less thing to chirp him about.
Jack glanced at his alarm clock. It was nearly four in the morning. He wasn't going to get any sleep, so he pushed the blanket aside and carefully opened the his bedroom door. Bitty's door was partially open, dim light spilling out into the hallway. Jack rapped lightly on the doorframe. 'Hey, Bittle…' Jack's eyes widened at the sight of Bitty engrossed in something that wasn't a combination of butter, flour, sugar, and fruit. 'Are you doing homework?'
'Shut up,' Bittle said grumpily.
'Get your coat. Let's go.'
'You're seriously gonna do checking practice today?'
'I'll help you clean the kitchen when we get back.'
'Help me make brunch for the boys, too, and it's a deal,' Bitty shot back.
Jack exhaled. Normalcy. 'Okay.'
Bittle put on his shoes and grabbed his coat, following Jack down the stairs and into the cold Massachusetts morning. It was dark and crisp, stars shining brightly in the sky. Jack crammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. 'How much did you hear?' he asked quietly.
Bitty frowned. 'Enough to delete all my Tweets about him. And the selfie.' Their shoes crunched through the light dusting of snow on the sidewalks. 'He's wrong, you know.'
Jack didn't say anything until they reached Farber. 'Thanks, Bitty…' he murmured as he pulled out the keys and unlocked the loading dock door. He went into the locker room and sat in his stall lacing up his skates. 'Y'know, Bitty, on second thought, don't bother with pads.'
Bitty snorted. 'Is this some sort of Canadian torture? Check unsuspecting teammates without pads?'
Jack leaned against the side of his stall. 'Nah. Let's just skate, eh? Pass the puck around.' He bent to lace up the other skate. 'Miss having you on my line.'
Bitty felt the flush spread over his face. 'Thanks.'