Chapter Text
they say that true love hurts
well this could almost kill me
young love murder
that is what this must be
-ke$ha, the harold song
Kent hadn’t been expecting Jack to kiss him. One moment, he’d been waving his hands in the air, trying to get it through to Jack that the Aces would be good for him, because he missed him, damnit. And the next moment Jack had stumbled forward and pressed their lips together, warm and rough and flooding Kent with memories of lost summers and desperation.
Because it’s Jack, the kiss stops just as suddenly as it’d started. “Sorry, I—“ Jack’s voice cuts off, and he tries to step back.
Kent doesn’t let him. “C’mere, Zimms,” he mumbles, pulling his Aces cap off of his head and letting it fall to the floor. Jack steps closer again, and then all the boundaries disappear; it’s all mouths and tongues and hearts beating faster than when they’re dancing, competing on the ice. He finally allows himself to reach forward and touch, to feel Jack’s chest beneath his fingers, the lines of his muscles defined and familiar. He goes farther, slides a hand up under Jack’s t-shirt and Jack responds against his lips with a muffled groan.
But then the door opens, and everything shatters.
Kent becomes aware of three things very quickly. One, the person at the door is one of Jack’s teammates—Bittle, he’s pretty sure, and he’s holding a slice of pie. Two, Jack has most definitely stopped kissing him, wrenching himself away in a move that rips Kent’s heart very decidedly in half. And three, Jack is looking at Bittle like he used to look at Kent, back when they were young and sometimes even happy—concerned and like the sun is shining from Bittle’s eyes.
Jack is in love with Bittle, isn’t he? Fuck.
“Sorry, y’all, I—I was just checking on Jack, I’ll just—go now?” Bittle stammers, sliding the pie plate onto Jack’s desk with a thump-scratch of ceramic and retreating into the hallway.
Kent feels discombobulated, like the whole world’s been turned on its head. Because if Jack is in love with Bittle, he no longer has room for Kent.
And that means Kent shouldn’t be here.
He bends down and scoops up his hat, fitting it back onto his head with fingers that shake only slightly. Jack is staring at the floor, fist pressed to his mouth, and Kent chances a step forward. “Zimms? You okay?”
Three steady breaths, Jack’s shoulders rising and falling each time. Then, “I’m okay.” Kent takes another step, but Jack holds up his hand and looks away, and Kent’s heart falls. “But… you should probably leave,” Jack all but whispers.
Kent had expected as much, but that doesn’t stop the splintering pain in his chest from forming. “’Kay. See you around, Zimms.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jack nods, but his eyes are somewhere else and Kent gets the feeling that he won’t be seeing much of Jack anymore at all. On the ice, maybe, but not smiling next to him afterwards, and definitely not between his sheets. Fuck.
His legs feel numb as he leaves, the door clicking closed behind him, and he resists the urge to crumble right there in the hallway. Even so, he hears the unmistakable sound of a sob that he could swear comes from his own chest, until he hears it again and the rhythm of the breathing’s all wrong. It’s the room across the hall, and—that has to be Bittle, doesn’t it?
He could leave. But Bittle’s heart doesn’t need to be broken tonight, not when it’s so obvious that Jack has feelings for the guy, so Kent shoulders his crushing sense of despair and knocks on Bittle’s door.
He hears a stifled hiccup, then “Sorry, Shitty, I’m done for the night!” But Kent’s not Shitty, and he doubts Bittle would let him in even if he was, so he twists the door open and steps into Bittle’s darkened room.
“P-Parson! Hi!” Bittle squeaks, and the sight of Bittle sitting on his bed with his knees curled to his chest has Kent swallowing away a vague sense of nausea. Bittle shouldn’t be the one feeling like this.
“Hi,” Kent says, and it feels silly but also just right for the tentative thrumming of emotion in the air. He’s getting the chance to have a proper look at Bittle now, and despite the puffiness of Bittle’s eyes, he’s small and blond and cute and fuck, Jack certainly has a type, doesn’t he?
“I thought you were...” Bittle sniffles as he trails off, motioning toward Jack’s room with his head.
“Nah, he kicked me out,” Kent shrugs. It occurs to him that he should probably close the door, so he does, the click of the knob ringing loudly in his ears.
“Oh,” Bittle says. “Are you—I’m sorry, but are you and Jack…?”
“We’re not together,” Kent says bluntly, and fuck, that stings. “Not anymore.”
Surprisingly, Bittle’s lip starts trembling more, and he shakes his head. “I’ve gone and mucked it all up, haven’t I?”
“Don’t start blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault, okay? We’re—we’re not good for each other anymore, I guess,” Kent says, and then he has to stifle an inappropriate laugh from who knows where because it sounds like a clichéd break-up lead-in more than anything. Maybe the laughter means he’s in denial for now; the thought is comforting because maybe he really can hold off on breaking down until he’s home.
But Bittle just shakes his head and buries his face in his knees, so Kent has no choice except to stay. Just for now, he tells himself.
“You can sit if you want,” Bittle mumbles into his lap. Feeling less discomfort than he would have expected, Kent walks over and pushes aside the blue jacket that’s crumpled beside Bittle, perching on the edge of Bittle’s tiny bed. He guesses he came here to give advice, but it’s also really fucking weird to be advising one’s ex’s future boyfriend about starting a relationship with said ex, so instead he stalls and looks around Bittle’s room. It’s neater than Kent’s own, and he’s getting ready to ask about the figure skating photo on Bittle’s desk when Bittle looks at him.
“I didn’t even know he wasn’t straight, you know. I wasn’t going to say anything to him. But I must be obvious, since you already know how I feel, don’t you? Seems like we’re in the same boat.” Bittle’s tone is heavy but he’s stopped crying, and Kent swallows contemplatively.
“Look... I doubt Jack knows. He’s a little too oblivious for that, yeah?” Kent resists the urge to give a shaky sigh, wondering if he looks as crushed as he feels. He hopes he doesn’t, for Bittle’s sake. “And—and I wouldn’t say you and I are the same at all. Shit, I don’t think Zimms is ever going to want to be with me again. I remind him too much of before.”
Bittle’s obviously done his Googling (or maybe Jack has confided in him, which almost hurts worse than seeing Jack stare at Bittle does), because Kent’s vague wording doesn’t seem to confuse him. But then Bittle glares at him and Kent’s the one surprised; he’s never seen Bittle glare before. “Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?” Bittle sits up, dropping his legs so that they dangle over the edge of the bed.
“He kissed me?” Kent questions, not sure why Bittle’s asking, if it’s some weird, curious jealousy or what.
“So don’t take that for granted. Jack doesn’t just going around kissing people, you know,” Bittle says, and his eyes are intense even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. Kent has just enough time to wonder if that means Jack has kissed Bittle before when Bittle continues, “Not even me.”
And then Bittle’s shoulders are shaking and Kent is reaching forward to hug him before he even knows what he’s doing. Bittle molds against him, shuddering another sob, and he smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and in that moment Kent realizes that Bittle is fucking perfect.
For Jack. Perfect for Jack. Because Bittle is basically a ray of fucking sunshine; Kent could tell that from when they’d been down at the party, from when he’d seen Jack actually smiling at Bittle. Trying to take a selfie, for fuck’s sake.
And Kent wants to be angry, he really does—but he’s not. Because Bittle’s warm and soft in his arms, and God, this can’t be happening. Kent’s falling for Bittle just a little bit, isn’t he? This is how it’d happened with Jack, back in the day, Kent clinging to him and trying his best to keep them both together, and then Kent had realized that he cared.
The longer he sits there, the more apparent it becomes that it’s happening all over again.
Fuck.
Oh no, this is just too perfect, pining away after two men he can’t have all in one night. What is he doing? Bittle and Jack are probably going start dating each other soon—no, this is awful. This is probably the worst decision Kent’s ever made, and that includes all the nasty things he’s said to Jack but hasn’t truly meant. Not that this was actually a decision—it just happened, Bittle is warm and Kent wants to care about him. Goddamnit.
“Parse?” Bittle whispers, and Kent realizes that his whole body has tensed. Bittle lifts his head off of Kent’s shoulder, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even stop to think about how you were feelin’.”
“It’s fine,” Kent swallows thickly, only now Bittle’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face, and Kent’s thinking about kissing Bittle. But Bittle’s Jack’s—or he might as well be, and Kent’s in love with Jack anyway, and this is just really really fucked up.
He needs to look away, but he can’t; it’s like his vision has locked itself onto Bittle’s lips, his face. Tension stretches between them, sticky like taffy, as Kent stares at the dusting of freckles on Bittle’s reddened cheeks.
“Um… Parse?” Bittle says his name again, and Kent finally jerks his gaze away.
“Yeah?” Kent should pull away now. Except that he doesn’t really want to, because the warmth of Bittle’s body is destroying his resolve.
And then Bittle opens his mouth and Kent’s drowning in his own desires. “You—you can kiss me. Umm. If you want to, I mean… Do you want to?”
Kent’s eyes snap up to meet Bittle’s, because what the fuck? “Fuck, Bittle, no, I can’t,” he mutters, but it sounds feeble even in his own ears. He wants to, God, he wants to.
“Oh,” Bittle says, and he actually looks disheartened.
Scrubbing at his face, Kent opens his mouth again, because he can’t keep it shut even though this is definitely going to fuck him up later. “Not—not that I don’t kinda want to,” he admits slowly.
“A—ah,” Bittle says, and then he flushes in the low light and Kent decides that fuck it all, he’s going for it.
“You’re—are you drunk?” he asks, but he’s already sliding his hand up Bittle’s spine until it rests at the nape of his neck. Bittle shakes his head, thank goodness.
“I was, but it’s wearin’ off, and then seein’ you and Jack together sobered me up a bit and—“
Kent cuts him off by leaning in and kissing him and shit, he’s actually doing this. His heart stutters double-time as his lips touch Bittle’s once and then again, again. It’s nothing like kissing Jack—Bittle’s face is smooth, for one, and his lips are plumper, pillowy against Kent’s own. And Bittle keeps squirming, making the smallest little noises at every press of their mouths together until Kent has to clamp his other hand onto Bittle’s shoulder to hold him still.
“Mmph,” Bittle sighs and melds his body against Kent’s, and Jack’s really going to enjoy this someday, when it’s him sitting here instead of Kent. When Jack is kissing Bittle, and Kent is kissing neither of them, sitting alone on the other side of the country.
Kent had never thought he’d be jealous of Jack kissing someone else.
Bittle pulls away suddenly, eyeing him with a sharp but playful glare. “Would you stop thinkin’ and kiss me properly?” he drawls, and Kent snorts despite himself.
“Someone’s a little sassy,” he chirps, then thoroughly kisses the laugh off of Bittle’s face.
And God, this is fun, tongues swiping into mouths and the thrumming of Bittle’s heart under Kent’s hands as he traces the lean muscle of his chest. He accidentally flicks his thumb against Bittle’s nipple through his thin undershirt and Bittle startles, then laughs into Kent’s mouth, and Kent can’t help but break away with a grin. “You’re really fucking cute, Bittle,” he mumbles, voice throaty with the slightest tinge of lust.
“Call me Bitty,” Bitty says, running his hand up and down Kent’s bicep. “Everyone does.”
Kent leans into him and presses a kiss to his jaw. “You’re really fucking cute, Bits.”
Bitty flushes violently, and Kent leans back to see that it extends all the way down to Bitty’s collarbones. “I like that. The nickname, I mean,” Bitty grins at him from underneath the blush, and Kent knows he’s gone on Bitty, far past the point of no return.
He wonders if Jack calls him ‘Bits’ as he leans in to kiss him again, and then a shock of pain hits him so strongly that he almost flinches. He really needs to get out of here, before his feelings bind him so tightly to Bitty that they snap him in half.
Bitty’s face falls as Kent pulls away (albeit reluctantly) and stands. “Sorry, Bits,” he sighs, even though everything in him is screaming that he wants to stay, to keep kissing Bittle until they both pass out.
Bitty’s lips twist, and he looks almost like he wants to protest, but eventually he sighs. “If it’s what you have to do, I guess.” At Kent’s reluctant nod, he whips out his phone, unlocking it without having to look. “Could I have your number, at least?”
“Sure,” Kent takes the proffered phone and puts his number in, because he doesn’t think it’s possible to make things any worse for himself than they already are. He hands Bitty his phone back, stooping to press a chaste kiss to his cheek (because Bitty is really cute, all right), and turns to leave.
“I’ll text you,” Bitty says, and Kent knows he will.
“Make Jack happy, okay, Bits? No—make him make you happy,” he murmurs, and he knows his voice is wistful but Bittle doesn’t react. Bitty looks a little stunned, almost just like how Kent feels.
“Okay,” Bitty says. And then Kent leaves, weaving through the party that’s still going full blast downstairs, stopping to take a selfie with a random Samwell girl and finally escaping outside. He tugs his coat tightly around him, glad to have snagged it from the stairway banister moments before, and is just about to give himself over to the bleakness of his love life when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He fishes his phone out of his pants, wishing he’d brought gloves as he heads toward the lot where he’d parked his rental car.
Unknown sender:
I said I’d text you, sooo… :)
Kent stifles a laugh as he adds Bitty to his contacts, wondering if Bitty’s really as okay as the text makes him sound.
Kent:
that you did. all right there, bits?
Bitty:
Peachy as cobbler! Don’t worry about me! you?
Kent:
better, now.
Kent:
:)
And rather than lying, he finds that he actually means it; the pulsing pain in his chest has dimmed to the point where it’s bearable. The longing and guilt are still there, rippling beneath the surface of his skin, but he texts Bitty all the way until Bitty falls asleep—basic things like “why hockey? i saw that figure skating pic” in Kent’s case and “What’s your favorite kind of pie? :)” from Bitty (apple, of course).
Hours later, just before bed, Kent gives in to the urge to search for Bitty on Twitter. It turns out that Bitty already has a hell of a following for a regular college kid, and Kent amuses himself for several minutes scrolling through the backlog of tweets.
But it’s the one at the top that he stares at until he drifts asleep—“Sometimes happiness finds you in the most unexpected places… night, y’all.”
He hopes Jack is okay.
xXx
Bitty’s heart is in his throat as he boots up his tablet, drumming his fingers listlessly on his desk as he waits for Skype’s auto-login. “Would you wanna skype sometime?” Parse’s text from just a few minutes ago had said, and Bitty had sent an eager “I can do now if you can :)” almost without thinking about it. After a month filled with winter break festivities and trying to orient himself in his new classes, he’s going to see Parse’s face again for the first time since they’d met (well, real-time, anyway. Bitty had done his fair share of Googling, even foraying into the famed Jack/Parse fanfiction section, and—Lord.)
Parse hasn’t logged in yet by the time Bitty’s set to go, and he spends a couple of frantic moments trying to decide where he should sit. Should he just stay at his desk? That’d probably be okay, but he prefers sitting on the bed if he’s going to be sitting still for more than a few hours. Assuming this will take more than a few hours. Who knows, maybe they won’t even find anything to talk about? And what if sitting in his bed gives Parse the wrong impression? Although they’d sat in his bed before, and it had been okay. (And by okay, he means that it had led to a few blissful moments of the warmest kisses that Bitty’s ever had. So, more than okay, if he’s being honest.)
In the end, he props himself up against his pillows, because the walls in the Haus are pretty thin and he really doesn’t want Jack to overhear him talking to Parse. Not that it’d be a bad thing, per se, but in his opinion neither Jack nor Parse are ready for that confrontation.
All that’s left to do is wait, so he spends his time thinking of that morning, when Jack had insisted for paying for his coffee for probably the third time this week. He still can’t tell whether it counts as going on a date or not, but Parse chirps him about it every time he mentions it and for goodness sakes, Jack needs to get a move on or Bitty’s going to have to do it for him.
But he knows that Jack probably needs to take his time (that is—if Parse is right and Jack actually does have feelings for him. Bitty’s been feeling a lot more cautiously optimistic about that lately though, mainly because Parse tells him it’s true whenever it comes up.)
He loves Jack. He’s in love with Jack. He’d found that out three months ago, had whispered it aloud to himself in bed late one night just so he couldn’t take it back any longer. But he truly, sincerely doubts that Jack knows that he’s in love with him, despite Parse’s chirping.
And then there’s this thing with Parse that’s another issue entirely, these new feelings swelling in his chest whenever his phone buzzes with a “good morning” or a kindhearted chirp or a “hey, i just found your vlog!” That last one had almost given him a heart attack for a good two and a half minutes, until another message from Parse had popped up that read “i won’t watch it if you don’t want me to tho.”
But Bitty had told him to go ahead. Parse already knows he’s in love with Jack; Bitty’d basically told Parse that when they’d sat together in his room. There’s not much more about Bitty for Parse to discover; his mama had always said that his emotions always write themselves right onto his face.
Bitty jumps when the icon next to Parse’s name suddenly goes green, and he answers the incoming call that pops up a moment later with shaky fingers. And there’s Parse, saying something, but Bitty’s heart’s pounding so loudly that he can’t hear it—
Oh, no, that’s just the audio fucking up. Bitty chuckles at himself, mouthing “hang on!” to Parse, who leans over to type something as Bitty messes with the settings.
Parse:
i can hear you, you know
Bitty flushes. “Hi,” he says, and then he presses a button and he hears the crackling of static that means the call’s working on his end now.
“Hey,” Parse says, and he’s smirking a little bit and Bitty’s heart thumps faster and Lord, this is dangerous.
Parse must see something on Bitty’s face that he doesn’t like, because his smirk disappears and his eyebrows scrunch together. “Listen, Bits, I should probably put this out there,” he says, and Bitty’s heart drops into his stomach with a ‘thunk’ that he swears he can hear.
“W-what?” he says, trying to ground himself, because deep in his mind he knows that the words he desperately doesn’t want to hear are “I can’t do this with you,” except that doesn’t make any sense because Bitty’s in love with Jack and his whole head is so messed up right now and—
“Bits? Don’t freak out,” Parse gives him a strange look, and Bitty tries his best to let his nervousness seep out and away.
“Oh. Right,” he says, and Parse gives him a little smile and that almost makes up for what he thinks he’s about to hear.
“There’s nothing wrong on your end, it’s just. Well. There are some things I’ve needed to set straight for you, okay?”
Bitty nods, and now he’s even more worried because this sounds more serious than he’d first thought.
“Okay, so,” Parse starts, and Bitty can tell he’s stalling. He lets his eyes wander around the screen for a second—and he can tell that Parse is sitting in bed too, so he’s glad his own decision wasn’t weird or anything. “I think you deserve to know some things about Zimms and I, because it seems like you’re close with both of us now, and I really don’t wanna feel like I’m lying to you,” Parse expels the words with a whoosh of air, and Bitty bites his lip.
“Fair,” he says, then, “Go on.”
“I’m not… I haven’t been a great guy around Zimms. I’ve been pretty shitty, actually, and I was worried that you’ve been getting this great impression of me, but I’ve said some pretty awful things,” Parse says, and his eyes are avoiding the camera. He’s taken his hat off and is toying with it, bunching it up in his fists, and Bitty lets out a sigh.
“Oh, Parse,” he says, and Parse’s eyes snap up.
“I’m not joking. I’m not that great of a guy, and—Zimms should be your first priority, okay? He needs someone like you in his life. So don’t worry about me. I saw you looking at me earlier like you—I don’t know, I might be completely wrong and I’m probably fucking this up, but you looked like you were really happy to see me. You know, more than usual. And that can’t happen, all right?”
And he’s saying he doesn’t want Bitty to like him too much, but his eyes are sad and his voice has gone all rough. Bitty’s heart breaks for this boy (this boy!), because Parse’s guilt is laid out right in front of him, in the line of his shoulders and the stubborn set of his jaw.
But—seriously, who is Parse to tell Bitty what to think? Because despite what Parse is saying, Bitty doesn’t believe for a moment that Parse is as terrible as he considers himself to be.
“All righty. First of all, Kent Parson, you’re not allowed to tell me who I can or can’t care about, okay? That’s my decision, and I’ve already decided I like you, so you can suck it up,” he crosses his arms. Parse blanches at him, but Bitty doesn’t give him time to speak, moving straight along. “Second of all, I forgive you, because good people can have really bad moments, you know? Just—just don’t keep hurting Jack, please—I mean, I know you don’t mean to, but you obviously don’t like it, so…” Bitty realizes he’s rambling and clamps his mouth shut.
Parse looks surprised, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. “Of course I don’t like it. It’s…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair, and his stubborn cowlick springs right back up despite his efforts. “It really sucks. Because I lo—I like Zimms a lot,” and Bitty swears that Parse’s voice just cracked. “And I want to see him happy. Like, really happy, not just happy sometimes and miserable when he doesn’t think anyone else is looking. Which is where you come in.”
“You think I could make him happy—why?” Bitty’s voice gets trapped in his throat, lost behind the thoughts spiraling around in his head, because Parse is looking at him like he’s fond of him even through the sadness in his eyes.
“Because you’re something special,” Parse whispers so softly that Bitty almost doubts he’d heard it. But then Parse is leaning back and flashing a shit-eating grin at him and Bitty knows he’s not going to own up to it even if Bitty asks. “You said earlier that Zimms keeps stealing your lattes?”
Bitty crosses his arms and frowns, because he does not approve of this change in conversation. “Hold on a sec, Parse. We are not done talking—“
“Bits,” Parse says, and there’s a flash of sorrow in his face that Bitty’s doesn’t quite understand.
But he relents, because he’s sure that Parse isn’t feeling very comfortable at all, not when they’ve just talked about the possibility of Bitty dating the boy Parse is in love with, Jesus. “Fine. But we’re going to talk about this later, just so you know.”
Parse sighs, but he looks lighter, reinforced by the soft smile growing on his face. “All right, mom.”
“Kent Parson!” Bitty protests, his eyebrows flying up, and Parse laughs.
“Tell me about Zimms and coffee,” Parse says, leaning over to rest his chin on his hand. He looks sort of content, and Bitty has to admit that it warms his heart.
“So he buys me coffee, but he gets his own black and then steals sips of mine anyway! It’s infuriating, I tell ya,” he shakes his head and Parse honest-to-goodness laughs, and this is okay.
Then Parse’s cat jumps up into his lap and Bitty gives an excited squeal that he hopes isn’t too loud. “Is that who I think it is, now?”
“Kit Purrson, in the flesh,” Parse grins. The view on Bitty’s screen is interrupted as Parse moves his laptop so the cat can curl up comfortably, purring so loudly Bitty can hear it.
They spend a while on a conversation that starts with childhood pets and then branches out into so many other things that Bitty loses track. At some point, Parse stifles a yawn, and Bitty realizes that it’s two in the morning and he has class tomorrow, Lord.
“It’s late for you, isn’t it?” Parse says, still chuckling at the tail end of a terrible hockey pun.
“Yeah,” Bitty admits, scrubbing at his eyes. “I should probably sleep. You know, classes and stuff.”
“I’ll text you,” Parse promises, and again there’s an expression in his eyes that’s too strange for Bitty to analyze.
“I’ll text back,” Bitty says, and it’s when he finds himself smiling coyly that he realizes—holy shit, he’s flirting with Parse and—he means it, doesn’t he? He likes Parse, in a way that’s different with his friendship with Shitty or Lardo or even Jack, and it’s not just because he’s kissed Parse either (although he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t part of it). It’s been really easy to talk to Parse, even when Jack’s not involved, and—Parse had said he was cute, for goodness sake! So it’s absolutely normal to be feeling like this, to be sad that their conversation is over, to want to be near Parse almost as intensely as he wants to hug Jack.
And Parse must know Bitty’s flirting because there’s that fondness in Parse’s smile again, and Bitty gets the distinct impression that if Parse were here he’d be ruffling Bitty’s hair. “Bits,” Parse says, and Bitty’s heart flips at the happiness in his tone.
“I-I should go,” Bitty says, and Parse gives him a lazy wave.
“See ya.”
And Bitty should sleep, but even after he’s put his tablet away, he can’t help but replay their conversation over and over in his mind. Mostly he thinks about Parse’s face, Parse’s laugh, and wonders what in the world he’s gotten himself into.
xXx
“Bittle, your coffee’s ready,” Jack says, and Bitty’s head jerks up from where he’d been staring at his phone.
“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty smiles at him, and there’s that inexplicable fluttering in Jack’s chest, the kind he’s slowly become accustomed to feeling when he’s around Bitty.
They bring their coffees over to the usual corner table. Jack’s eyes follow Bitty as he pauses to unwind the long scarf from around his neck, and Jack would chirp him about his aversion to cold if he hadn’t already done so earlier this morning. Instead he sits still, watching Bitty laugh at something on his phone and snagging Bitty’s latte for a quick sip while he’s not looking.
“I saw that,” Bitty mutters, and Jack grins at him because he likes the taste of the too-sweet-not-quite-coffee-drink, but more than that he likes the way Bitty laughs when Jack takes a stolen sip.
Normally at this point, Bitty would put his phone (mostly) away and chatter about his classes or hockey or a new recipe his mother had sent him. And Bitty does put his phone away today, but he’s mostly silent, and Jack decides not to press even though it’s a change from the norm. Bitty probably has a test that he’s worried about or something.
It’s not until later that night, when he’s in his room watching a video for his history class when he learns that school wasn’t what Bitty was preoccupied with at all.
A knock sounds on his door, even though it’s half open. “Hey, Jack? Can we talk?” Bitty says, peeking around the edge of the door frame.
“Yeah, of course,” Jack pauses his video and swings his desk chair around to face Bitty, wondering if Bitty’s going to ask about their upcoming game. “You can, uh, sit on the bed if you want.”
Bitty hops up on top of Jack’s comforter, looking smaller than normal, and Jack is slightly worried because he’s not always the best at offering emotional support (even though that’s something he needs to improve at, as captain and all).
But again, he’s wrong. “So—I just thought you should know that… um. I’ve been talking to Parse lately?” Bitty’s voice squeaks upwards at the end of his sentence, and Jack’s hands involuntarily go to grip the edges of his chair.
“Oh,” he says.
Bitty flushes. “That’s it, really. I didn’t want you to find out that we’d become friends some other way, cuz I know it’s a lil shocking at first.”
‘We’d become friends.’ Bitty and Kent are… friends.
Jack is surprised, but he lets the thought carefully sink in before he can jump to conclusions—it obviously means a lot to Bitty that he approve of this. It’s after he’s mulled it over for a few moments that it becomes apparent that he’s actually not against it, despite his initial instinct to recoil from any mention of Kent. It’s strange, but—but if it makes Bitty happy, then Jack supposes he’s okay with it.
And the deeper truth, buried beneath his thoughts about hockey and Bitty and grades, is that he wants Kent to be happy too. It’s something he focuses on a lot more often than he should, if he’s being honest with himself, especially now that he’s basically set on accepting the Falconers contract. Not everything has to be a competition anymore (though it’s taken him longer than it rightly should have to realize that).
Flashes of the Epikegster scroll through his head, when everything had gone wrong and he’d felt so, so miserable, but he isn’t letting himself think about that yet. It’s still too raw.
“Okay,” Jack says, because it’s not like he could stop Bitty from talking to Kent anyway.
Bitty’s jaw drops. “You’re… okay with it?”
“Yeah,” Jack says, and then smiles at him because Bitty looks like he needs the reassurance.
“O-oh, that’s great,” Bitty says, and gives a cautious smile back. “I sort of thought you’d be mad.”
Jack doesn’t blame Bitty; he had almost expected to be mad himself. “No, I’m not. As long as he’s not treating you badly, eh?”
Bitty chuckles. “No, not at all, darl—Jack.”
The warmth in Bitty’s voice makes Jack feel whole. It’s why he likes hanging around Bitty so much—likes Bitty, because sometimes being around Bitty makes him feel like he can do nothing wrong, even when he’s flubbed a shot or feels like he’s breaking under the pressure that endlessly hovers over him.
Bitty’s looking at him strangely—he should probably make an effort to continue their conversation. “So… what do you guys talk about?”
He’s not expecting the bright flush that blooms on Bitty’s face. “H-hockey, mostly,” and though Bitty’s obviously hiding something, hockey is a reasonable enough answer that Jack lets it slide.
xXx
“What do you guys talk about?” Jack had asked. Bitty still gets the urge to blush when he thinks about it, because even though he and Parse do talk about hockey and Bitty’s classes and crack jokes, mostly they talk about… well, Jack.
Bitty’s wondered more than once if Parse is using him to fulfill some sort of weird obsession with Jack. But then there are the times where Bitty’s talking and he catches Parse looking at him like Jack looks at him after he’s given Jack a compliment, and obviously that doesn’t mean anything because he’s still not sure Jack likes him anyhow, but… But. There’s that. And besides, Bitty is usually the one to bring up Jack, not Parse, because he loves Shitty and Lardo and Chowder but it feels so nice to be able to chatter about Jack without someone wondering whether there’s something more there (because Parse already knows). So he natters on about Jack freely, and Parse never looks bored, and it’s really nice.
“Bits?” Parse says, and Bitty jumps.
“Oh! Sorry, just got lost in my head, I guess,” Bitty scratches at his ear. “What was I sayin’?”
“You weren’t saying anything,” Parse chirps with a smirk, and Bitty pouts.
“You know what I mean!” he protests, but he’s laughing and so is Parse.
“Hold on, I’m gonna go get a beer. Do you want—uh, oops, that’s silly, what am I saying?” Parse rolls his eyes, and even though he’s still smiling it hits Bitty that Parse wouldn’t mind him being there, that he’s so comfortable talking to Bitty that he could disregard the distance between them on accident like that.
“You’re fine, sweetheart,” Bitty says off-handedly, then realizes that Parse is probably not someone he should be calling ‘sweetheart’ of all things.
Parse just laughs, low and warm. “Thanks, babe,” he says, and winks, and Bitty is sure he’s literally on fire right now because his whole body is burning.
“I-I’ll get one too, um, yeah. Be right back!” he says very quickly, ducking out of view of his screen to the sound of Parse’s continued laughter.
Once Bitty has crept back into his room and seated himself with his beer, he puts his headphones in and Parse is humming something. Bitty vaguely recognizes it as something classical—Beethoven, maybe? It’s not something he’d expected Parse to like, but Parse just keeps humming even when he sees that Bitty’s seated, so Bitty cracks open his beer and listens.
“Your voice is nice,” he says when Parse finishes, and Parse shrugs.
“I used to take lessons in high school. And anyway, yours is nice too,” Parse takes a long sip of his beer. “I heard you at the party,” he continues, and Bitty gets the distinct sense that Parse is chirping him.
“Shut up,” Bitty grumbles, hiding his smile behind his hand.
“No thanks. You’re cute when you’re dancing,” Parse grins, and dear Lord Parse is flirting up a storm right now.
And Bitty likes it. It makes him nervous, because he’s still not sure where his feelings about Parse fit in with his feelings about Jack, but he really really likes it. “You should have danced with me,” he murmurs, and bites his lip.
“Maybe someday. If you and Zimms don’t—“ Parse stops and shrugs, uncertainty growing in his brow.
“Yeah,” Bitty says softly. Oh, Parse.
“What’re you thinking, Bits?” Parse mumbles, and Bitty starts to open his mouth but he’s not sure he can put his feelings into the proper words at the moment.
“I dunno if I can put it to words,” he says eventually. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”
Parse averts his eyes with a slight laugh. “It’s sexual. I’m not sure you’d want to hear about it.”
“O-oh,” Bitty says, and he can see the brilliant flush forming on the small picture of himself, mirrored in the corner of his screen. Heart beating faster than the clicking of his kitchen timer, he makes a decision, because Parse is lovely and he—he doesn’t mind talking about sex with Parse, even though he has the sneaking suspicion that this might lead to something more. “Y-you can say it,” he whispers.
“You sure?” Parse raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” At Bitty’s quick nod, Parse tilts his head back and downs the rest of his beer. Bitty can see his throat moving with every swallow, and shit, he’s half-hard before he’s even heard what Parse wants to say.
“I’m thinking about—about you thinking about Zimms while you touch yourself,” Parse mumbles, and his voice is low and raspy and Bitty wants. “That is—I don’t know if you think about Zimms while you do that—uh, I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” Parse interjects.
Slowly, Bitty shakes his head. “No, it—it doesn’t. Make me uncomfortable, I mean. I do think about Jack when I do—that.” Then he takes a gulp of air, because he needs it—“Do you?”
“Yeah,” Parse says, without a hint of reluctance, and Bitty’s feeling a little faint from all the butterflies in his chest. “Sometimes it’s other people, but usually—he’s the only guy I’ve been with more than once, y’know,” he admits, and Bitty has to close his eyes for a minute because now all he can think of is Parse and Jack, naked together, maybe fucking, God.
“Was it—good?” Bitty asks, and part of him thinks that this is really weird, to be talking about Parse and Jack’s sex life, but the other part of him thinks that this is really, really hot.
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Parse gives a small, sentimental smile, which morphs into a look of contemplation after a moment. “If you want, I can tell you about it.”
Lord, Bitty’s sure his cheeks are going to be permanently stained red after tonight. “Oh goodness. Um, yes.”
“Yeah?” The corner of Parse’s mouth lifts in the way it always does when he’s chirping Bitty, and Bitty glares at him.
“You heard me, Kent Parson,” he murmurs, and he swears that Parse shivers at the sound of his name coming from Bitty’s mouth.
“Y’know, if you wanted, you could touch yourself right now,” Parse says, and this boy is going to kill him.
“I—I’ll think on it,” Bitty says, and his voice is doing the annoying thing where it squeaks when he’s nervous but he doesn’t really care. Parse can’t actually see his lap, since his tablet is resting on its stand on his stomach, so maybe… maybe he will. “Are you gonna?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Parse’s mouth twists. “Unless you want me to?”
“Yes,” Bitty blurts out, then covers his mouth with his hand. He’s barely had half of his drink, so the energy racing in his veins isn’t from that; it’s just Parse’s voice and his little smiles that are tearing at Bitty’s self-control like this.
“Okay,” Parse whispers, and the webcam is only pointed at his face and shoulders but Bitty can still hear the distinct noise of a zipper being pulled. “You can close your eyes if you’d rather think about Zimms instead, by the way,” Parse murmurs, looking self-conscious.
Bitty shakes his head. “I like your face too, you know,” he says, and the look Parse gives him is worth the courage it took to say it.
“Oh. That’s—thanks, Bits. I think you’re really fucking cute, but you already knew that,” Parse smirks at him a little, and Bitty feels an odd sense of safety even though his heart is beating through the roof.
“I believe you were going to talk dirty to me, Kent Parson?” Bitty says Parse’s full name just so he can see the flush in Parse’s cheeks that appears in response.
“Oh, is that what we were doing?” Parse murmurs with a grin, but he shifts into a more comfortable position (and Bitty can only see one of his hands, because the other is—oh gosh.) “Okay. Imagine… you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, and Zimms—Jack is leaning down in front of you, kissing you until your head spins.”
“I thought you were going to tell me a memory of you and Jack,” Bitty muses, and Parse chuckles.
“I am. You’re me,” he explains coolly.
Bitty bites his lip, because the thought of it is really sexy—but it’s missing something. “Where are you?”
“I’m—“ Parse says, and he looks startled. “I’m right here.”
And Bitty can hear the unspoken thought behind those words—I’m not anywhere. “I’d like it if you were with me, though. With—with me and Jack, um,” he stumbles on his words, because this is definitely the dirtiest thing he’s ever sat down and discussed with someone else.
“Bits,” Parse says, only it’s more of a moan, and Bitty remembers that Parse is probably touching himself right now.
Feeling warm all the way to his toes, Bitty reaches down and pulls at his own sleep shorts until they’re out of the way. He isn’t able to keep himself from gasping a little when he finally wraps a hand around himself, and Parse obviously hears it because he groans too.
“If you really want me there—“ Parse starts, and Bitty nods emphatically so he continues. “Okay, so. I’m behind you, then, reaching around to touch you—not too fast, because Jack and I don’t want you to come yet. I start kissing your neck, and then Jack bends over—hmm, I’d guess he’d have to be on the floor since he’s tall, yeah? So he kneels down and—well, you’d probably stop him so you could put a pillow under his knees, wouldn’t you?”
Bitty gives a surprised giggle, because he definitely would, and Parse smirks a little.
“Anyway, Jack would still be a little too tall for you, so I’d help you get up onto your knees and—do you like being fingered, Bits?”
And Bitty’s head rolls back, because God. “Yes,” he chokes out, even though he’s only ever done it to himself. Then he closes his eyes (not because he doesn’t want to look at Parse, but because he wants Parse and Jack to be here, and cutting off his vision makes it feel more real.)
He lets Parse’s voice wash over him, letting his hand find its usual rhythm as he strokes his cock. “Jack kisses you everywhere, your stomach and your hipbones, until you look down at him and tell him to get on with it already. So then he starts sucking you—he sucks cock like a god, Bits, I can’t even describe it to you. It’s overwhelming. And I’m behind you, lubing my fingers, and you spread your legs a little more for me so I can reach. So while Jack keeps sucking you, I hold you still with one hand and use a finger from the other to push up into you really slowly—“
At this point Bitty can’t stop himself from letting out a low whine, and his eyes fly open at the sound of Parse’s chuckle.
“This okay, Bits?”
“Hell yes, I’m—I’m real close,” Bitty admits, and Parse shudders.
“Yeah, me too.” Parse stares at him with a little smile, and Bitty can hear the heaviness of Parse’s breathing, similar to his own. “Want me to keep going?”
“If you want,” Bitty breathes.
“Okay. Jack—Jack is touching himself while he sucks you off, and he lets you put your hands in his hair cuz he likes the feeling of it. He looks up at you every once in a while—he has the prettiest eyes, doesn’t he? You’ve gotten nice and relaxed for me, so I pull my finger out almost all the way and then push in with two fingers instead, and—“
“Pars—mmph!” Bitty lets go, biting down on his fist to stifle his groans. Distantly, he’s aware of the sound of Parse’s breathing growing faster, faster, then Parse lets out a long, low groan, and Bitty watches his eyes snap shut.
“Lord,” Bitty says breathily, once his voice has come back to him.
Parse grins at him sleepily. “’S’not my name,” he chirps, and Bitty laughs and rolls his eyes.
There’s semen all over his hand now, and yuck, probably on the back of his tablet too. “I’m gonna go clean up real quick,” he motions with his head.
“Same,” Parse nods, and then there’s a quiet moment as Bitty rights himself.
Parse is staring at him when he returns. “Bits… do you want to, y’know. Talk about that?”
Bitty flushes, because he does want to talk about it but his thoughts are feeling very scrambled. “I liked it,” he says first of all.
“So did I,” Parse says, looking relieved, and Bitty sighs at that.
“Parse… You know I think you’re lovely, right?” And it’s not a confession or anything, but it’s the truth.
Parse looks away, and by gosh, Bitty swears he’s embarrassed. “Thanks—I kind of thought—maybe you might… thank you,” he smiles weakly.
“I wanted to make sure you knew,” Bitty says, because Parse seems to think that he’s not good enough, and Bitty wonders if it’s because of the guilt he carries or because Jack kicked him out the night Bitty had met him—probably a little bit of both.
And Bitty thinks he might be slightly in love with him. Which quite frankly scares him, because he knows he loves Jack, and that hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s never been in love with more than one person before and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
And then the realization dawns on him—Parse can never ever know. Because Parse is more fragile than he looks, like hiding deep cuts under a Band-Aid, and if Parse is right and this thing between Bitty and Jack is actually real, then Bitty can’t tell ever tell Parse how he feels because it might very well destroy him.
It hurts. It really really hurts, and more than anything he wants to just love both of them without this all ending up a huge fucking mess.
“Hey, Bits?” Parse says, wetting his lips.
“Yeah?”
“What’s the catch?”
Bitty’s stomach turns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—well. Aren’t you in love with Zimms?” Parse asks, and his face is neutral but his eyes are sad.
“Yeah,” Bitty says, and his voice is raspy so he clears his throat. His chest hurts. “Yes. I am.”
Parse doesn’t look surprised, and Bitty hadn’t expected him to. “Thought so,” he mumbles, and he closes his eyes with a sigh.
“Sorry,” Bitty whispers, the pain in his chest radiating down to his fingertips, and Parse looks back at him and shakes his head.
“Don’t be. I just happen to be really good at fall—“ he stops mid-sentence.
Bitty furrows his brow. “At what?”
“Nothing,” Parse says too quickly, and before Bitty can protest he says “I don’t want to mess this up more than it already is.”
Bitty wants to say that it’s not messed up, but that wouldn’t be the truth, would it? So instead he leans forward so that he’s as close to eye to eye with Parse as he can get. “You’re amazing, okay?” He whispers, and then the part that’s going to hurt worse—“If you need to—to not talk to me, or to talk less—if that’ll help—“
“No, no! I mean, you don’t need to do that,” Parse waves the suggestion away with his hand. “I’m fine, Bits. Really.”
And Bitty doesn’t believe him at all, but for both of their sakes, he pretends he does.
xXx
Jack has always liked routines. They keep everything stable, keep him focused—it’s harder to worry about things when they’re the same every day.
He thinks that if he can make it a routine to get coffee with Bitty every day, then maybe it will be easier to tell Bitty he loves him.
Not that he’d start out with that—he doesn’t want to scare Bitty away. But times like this, where they’re cozy in the coffee shop on a cloudy day, and Bitty’s leaning on the table and laughing—times like this it’s all he can do to keep from reaching forward and taking his hand.
Except when Bitty inevitably pulls his phone out, that is.
“And that’s why I really like learning about World War Two, you know—Bittle, are you tweeting this?” Jack grumbles.
Bitty flushes, and Jack feels a little bad for nagging at him (even though this happens every time). But then he says, “I’m not,” and that’s new.
“Oh,” Jack says, then sips his coffee so he doesn’t have to say anything more—Bitty could have just as easily been reading an email, so Jack really should stop—
“I’m texting Parse,” Bitty murmurs, looking away.
Kent.
Even now, even with over a month between now and the last time Jack had seen him, the name sends a jolt of unidentifiable emotion down his spine. Lately he’s been letting himself think more about Kent instead of pushing those thoughts into the shadowy corners of his mind, bundled safe and hidden away.
He’s had to stay away from his Kent-feelings for a while, because the look on Kent’s face when Jack had made him leave had made Jack feel miserable, because fuck—Kent used to be his best friend. And Jack had kissed him.
He’s been trying so hard to be forward with his feelings lately, and that’s mostly because of Bitty—he wants to someday be able to say what he really wants to without having to worry about it all. But that night he’d been too forward, he’d slipped (because he’d been trying so hard to think about not kissing Kent—it almost felt like cheating on his thoughts of Bitty, which is ridiculous but he couldn’t help it). And Kent had responded, and then Bitty had walked in—
He’s gone over this all a million times in his head. It won’t help to rehash it all again.
But Bitty had mentioned Kent, and since then Jack’s been poking and prodding at his thoughts and fears, trying to figure out what he actually wants and what it all means. He’s still not sure. He’d known Bitty and Kent were talking, but having it happen right in front of him feels different than just knowing about it—now it seems a lot more real. The two of them really are friends—they do things like text during the middle of the day, while Bitty’s out for coffee.
And he’s not jealous, because he could text Bitty if he wanted to. Hell, he could text Kent if he wanted to. Maybe. On second thought, he’s not sure Kent’s too happy with him right now, so maybe not. But Bitty had been smiling at his phone before Jack had interrupted him, and he wishes—
He feels strange voicing it, even in his thoughts, but he wishes he could be a part of that silent conversation, that he could smile at Kent’s words like Bitty had just now.
“Is he—how is he?” Jack asks slowly, and Bitty gives him a pensive look.
“Will it—would it bother you if I talked about him?”
“No,” Jack says, then shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about him. I haven’t actually talked to him in a really long time, so it’d be nice—I guess I just want to know if he’s okay.”
And even though he feels a little awkward, there’s a sudden relief at saying those words because it’s like he’s given himself permission to let Kent back into his own life. Maybe someday he’ll get to talk to Kent again and things won’t be so bad, and Bitty will be there and maybe Jack will be holding Bitty’s hand.
Bitty smiles at him, and the world gets just a little warmer. “He’s doing fine. I’m sure you knew, but the Aces won their game last night and he stayed up really late celebrating.”
Jack snorts. “Is he hungover?”
Bitty smirks. “I’ll ask, hang on.” He types something, fingers speeding over the keyboard, and within a minute his phone buzzes. His eyes skim the screen and he bursts out laughing.
“What?”
“He just said ‘Tell Jack that yes, I’m hungover, and yes, I am fully aware that ‘heavy drinking impedes my playability’ so he better not start chirping me.’”
“Is he imitating me? I don’t sound like that,” Jack’s brow wrinkles.
“Puh-lease, Mr. ‘Eat more protein, Bittle!’” Bitty retorts with a grin, and Jack shakes his head.
“Well now that you’ve mentioned it—“
“Don’t you dare, Jack,” Bitty threatens, but laughter shines in his eyes.
Bitty’s phone buzzes again, and he looks down at it, chuckling. “He wants to know how you’re doing.”
“He’s not that polite. What did he actually say?”
“Uhh,” Bitty flushes. “I’m not saying.”
“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Bitty’s lips twist. “He said ‘How is that lovable fucker doing, anyway?’”
“Oh,” Jack says. “Loveable?”
Bitty shrugs. “You know. It’s just Parse being Parse.”
A lump forms in Jack’s throat, because he does know—he’s got so many memories of Kent and his cheeky grin, ruffling Jack’s hair and chirping him mercilessly, and he feels like he could burst with the way they’re assaulting him right now.
He’s allowing Kent to live in his thoughts again, and he feels so much lighter because of it—but he didn’t expect steadfast proof that Kent might still be thinking of him too.
He’s not sure what to do. He needs to think about it more.
“Tell him he needs to drink water,” Jack says eventually, and Bitty laughs.
“I will.”
They sit while Bitty finishes his coffee, lingering longer than usual because now Bitty’s relaying Kent’s messages and Jack’s sort-of replying back. It gives him the strangest sense of nostalgia mixed with happiness, like something has clicked even though he wasn’t even trying to fit the pieces together.
He looks outside as the rain begins to trickle from the sky. Without warning, it starts to pour.
Bitty groans indignantly. “I forgot my umbrella. I swear, the one day it’s above freezing!”
“We can share,” Jack says, and the relieved smile in Bitty’s eyes knocks the breath out of him. They collect their things, huddling close together on the walk home, and Jack wants nothing more than to kiss Bitty.
Not just yet. But maybe soon, he’ll reach over and he’ll hold Bitty’s hand.
xXx
Wednesdays are Kent and Bitty’s usual Skype night, but Kent gets out of practice right beforehand and so normally doesn’t have time to carry a conversation until just before their call. He’s surprised to see several texts from Bitty when he steps out of the shower, but then a teammate yells something about leaving his equipment in the middle of the floor, and then distractions pile on top of each other one by one.
It isn’t until he gets home that he gets a chance to read them.
Bitty:
Hey, are we still gonna Skype tonight?
Bitty:
Um, so I may have accidentally agreed to something that I shouldn’t have.
Bitty:
It’s not bad! Well, it’s not good either, but I wouldn’t be freaking out if I were you.
Bitty:
Except I sort of am. Oops. Sorry.
Wary, Parse feeds Kit, changes into more comfortable clothes and climbs into bed with his laptop nonetheless.
Kent:
what’s up?
Bitty:
It might be easier to explain if you call me, if that’s okay.
Kent:
sure thing
He presses the button to call Bitty, a strange nervousness skittering beneath his skin. Bitty picks up within seconds. He looks normal, and there’s pop music playing in the background just like always, so there’s nothing weird that Kent can see immediately. “Is something wrong?”
“H-hi! Um. Okay, so,” Bitty squeezes his eyes shut. “I told Jack that you and I had been Skyping.”
At the mention of Jack’s name, Kent’s senses are on high alert, but he clamps down on them for now—there’s no use getting upset over something that’s possibly not that bad. “I—all right, that’s understandable. He knew we were texting anyway, right? Don’t sweat it, bro.”
Bitty bites his lip. “Um, there’s more.”
Ah, fuck. Jack’s probably reacted badly, and Bitty will want to stop because Jack has been important in Bitty’s life for much much longer than Kent—Bitty’s in love with Jack, for fuck’s sake. And Jack’s going to be mad at Kent again too, which is exactly the opposite of what he’d wanted from the beginning. Fuck.
Feeling raw inside, Kent starts preparing himself to let go. “It’s… it’s okay, Bits.”
Bitty’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? I mean, it’d be real nice if you two were able to be friends again, so—“
“Wait. What are you talking about?” Kent squints at him, because it’s clear that he’d jumped to an entirely different conclusion.
“Jack wants to—uh, he’s right here. H-he wanted to join us,” Bitty stammers, and his gaze jumps to the side and then Jack’s face is there next to him.
Jack.
“That’s fine,” Kent says, even though he’s so nervous his palms are sweating as Jack sits on the bed next to Bitty. He’s spent the last month chatting up Jack’s crush, of all people, and Bitty is fucking wonderful but sometimes he wonders what it’d be like if he could have Jack again, just for a little while.
And he knows that’s selfish. He can’t help but want it anyway.
He’s resolved that if Bitty wants Jack, he’ll let them be, because Bitty’s somehow wormed his way into Kent’s head, rearranging all of his mental furniture to boot—and even though it’ll probably fucking kill him to see them together, he wants this for them.
But then Jack says “Hi, Kenny,” and Kent thinks he’s going to explode. He wishes he had a beer, but leaving to go get one now would feel too much like defeat, so he stays.
“Hey Zimms,” he does his best to flash a grin. “How’s it going?” Because they hadn’t really talked that last time, but he’s not going to bring that up if he can help it.
The conversation is stilted at first, but then Bitty chimes in and he and Kent chat like normal for a while. And then there’s a shift—Bitty says something that reminds Jack of a tidbit he’d learned in his history class, and then Jack starts telling him about it—telling Kent—because it seems like Bitty’s already heard this story. Jack keeps going, shooting off on a tangent, but Kent doesn’t mind because it’s interesting stuff even though history’s never really been his thing.
Oh, who is he kidding—he doesn’t mind because Jack is talking to him and smiling, and for the first time in a long time Kent feels like he’s finally asking all the right questions. He glances over at Bitty’s face at one point to see Bitty grinning softly, and Kent is happy.
Jack runs out of steam shortly after, but that’s okay.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re kind of a dweeb, Zimms,” Kent chirps.
Jack laughs. “I’ve heard that one before,” he says, and Bitty laughs too and they’re all right.
Bitty starts talking about his newest baking project, and Kent wonders if maybe Jack will join them every time. Sure, that probably means he’ll get to watch his ex-lover and his—friend? Friend seems like too small of a word for what Bitty is to him—fall in love and all that shit, but maybe it won’t be so bad.
This probably means he can’t talk about sex with Bitty anymore though. And he’s not gonna lie, that sucks.
Just as that thought crosses his mind, Jack opens his mouth. “Hey, this was really fun, but I should go to bed now,” Jack says, and Kent perks up. He’d forgotten that Jack goes to bed early, but now that he thinks about it, he remembers Jack getting up at the crack of dawn to work out, way back when they’d been friends the first time around.
“We should do this again, yeah?” Kent goes ahead and puts it out there, and Bitty and Jack share a look (fuck, they’re already at the look-sharing stage) and nod at him.
“I’d like that,” Jack smiles.
Kent’s heart thuds in his chest. “Night, Zimms,” he murmurs.
“Night, Kenny, Bitty,” Jack looks down at Bitty for a second, and Bitty’s looking up and Kent swears they’re going to kiss.
They don’t. But they do sit there for enough time that Kent rolls his eyes. “Would you guys hug it out already?”
Bitty turns his head to look at Kent in surprise, but Jack is already leaning forward so Kent can see the exact moment they touch, can hear the little sigh that Bitty probably doesn’t know he’s made. Bitty’s hands don’t know what to do with themselves for a moment, but then they come around to rest on Jack’s back, and—Kent’s been there. He’s hugged both of them like that.
It hurts less than he thought it would, if only because he can see Bitty’s face and Bitty looks ecstatic. And then it’s over, and Jack is pulling away with a smile, and if it had been Kent he’d have kissed Bitty’s forehead or something. But Jack’s not Kent, and Jack and Bitty haven’t kissed yet anyway—he thinks Bitty probably would have told Kent if they had.
Jack bids them both goodnight again, and Kent can hear the click of Bitty’s door. Then it’s just him and Bitty, who’s looking at Kent with a hint of caution in his eyes.
Kent clears his throat. “You’re allowed to be happy, you know.”
Bitty stares at him. Slowly, a grin spreads on his face, and he squeezes his hands into fists and lets out a quiet squealing noise. Kent pretends to cover his ears, even though it wasn’t that loud, and Bitty laughs.
“Sorry,” Bitty whispers. “I am really happy. Thanks, Kenn—Parse.”
Kent arches a brow at him. “You were just about to call me Kenny, weren’t you?”
“Maybe. Shush,” Bitty says, putting a finger to his mouth.
“You can call me that if you want to,” Kent says, and then adds, “But only because you’re so damn cute.”
And what is he doing? He’s never given anyone permission to call him that except Jack.
Then again, he’s never really fallen for anyone else as hard as he’s fallen for Jack either.
“We’ll see,” Bitty says, but happiness radiates from his face and Kent lets out a content sigh. “You know, you always call me cute,” Bitty changes topics.
“Well, yeah? You are.”
“You saw me dancin’ at that party and you still said I was cute. I wanna be more than cute,” Bitty crosses his arms, and Kent’s not sure where this is leading.
“Are you going to dance for me?” he smirks anyway, and Bitty shakes his head, looking determined.
“I’m going to strip for you.”
If Kent had been drinking anything right then, he would’ve choked. As it is, he’s struck momentarily breathless. “Bits—you and Jack—“
“We aren’t dating yet. So until then, I don’t mind… um, unless it bothers you?” Bitty’s face turns solemn in realization.
Kent’s first instinct is to deny it immediately, but he holds his mouth in check while he thinks about it. “Not enough that I’d say no to seeing you,” he murmurs a moment later.
“If it ever gets to be too much, tell me?” Bitty says. “Just in general. I don’t—I really don’t want to hurt you.”
Hurt isn’t really the verb for ‘pulling Kent’s heart out of his chest, breaking it into three separate pieces, and then sewing it back in,’ but it’s close enough. “Kay. I’ll let you know. Stop worrying, Bits,” he chides, and Bitty rolls his eyes.
“Always chirping me, aren’t you?” he says, and then Kent watches him slide out of the bed and his heart flies into his throat. “I’m gonna turn the music up. Umm, I won’t be able to put headphones in if I wanna hear you, so just be a lil quiet?” he hears Bitty say from off-screen.
The music grows louder, then changes mid-song to Beyoncé’s ‘Formation’. Then the view of his camera shifts from Bitty’s headboard until it’s facing Bitty himself, standing by his bed.
Bitty backs up. “Can you see?” he asks.
Kent looks him up and down; he’s slightly blurry at that distance. “You can come a little closer—not that close, hang on—there, yeah, that’s good.” Now he can see Bitty in his too-short red shorts and loose tank top, hand on a cocked hip, smirking.
“You ready, honey?” Bitty drawls, and Kent suddenly realizes that he’s in for more than he’d bargained for. He nods mutely, and Bitty starts moving, mouthing the words along with the song—and where the fuck did he learn to move his hips like that? Kent’s half-hard in a second.
Bitty swings back and forth, closing his eyes as he gets into the rhythm, and then he opens them and bites his lip. His hands slide down his waist, then he drops low and rolls himself back up—shit. “Bits,” Kent groans, and Bitty winks at him.
“You should touch yourself,” Bitty says, his tone slightly commanding (and, not gonna lie, that’s really hot). Kent hastens to obey, leaning down to pull off his shorts as quickly as he can, hard before they hit the floor.
Bitty’s eyes are on Kent’s face as Kent sighs, stroking himself off-screen. “You can keep going now,” he smiles lazily, and Bitty raises his eyebrows.
“I’m just gettin’ started, sweetheart.” Bitty runs his hands down his chest, then crosses his arms so they rest at the hem of his tank. He bunches the hem in his fingers, swaying his hips from side to side, and then in one smooth movement he pulls off the shirt entirely.
Kent stares at Bitty’s chest, his stomach, as Bitty throws his tank off to the side. He’s all lean muscle, freckles smattered over his shoulders, not a hair in sight and just the slightest curve of hipbones visible. Bitty loops a thumb into the band of his shorts, pulling it down slightly and—holy fuck, Bitty’s not wearing underwear, is he? Kent lets out a long, sighing groan at that, hand unconsciously moving faster on his cock.
Bitty winks at him, then turns around, and Kent’s eyes are glued to the screen. Bitty drops down again, rolls back up, and this time his ass is in full view and Kent wants those shorts off.
And a few moments later, as if Bitty had heard that thought, he slides the shorts down and away, stepping out of them with a grace that Kent didn’t think was possible. Bitty’s ass is pert and small, and Kent would do anything to get his hands on it right now, to fit himself up against Bitty’s body and sway in time with those hips.
“Want me to turn around?” Bitty asks, stilling.
“Fuck, yes,” Kent mumbles, and then Bitty’s turning and Kent can see all of him.
Bitty’s hard. That fact alone has Kent’s hips making an unconscious thrust off the bed. Bitty’s hard and lovely and he’s wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking slowly. “Like what you see?” he murmurs, and Kent nods.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, and Bitty gives a startled laugh.
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say! You’re supposed to call me sexy,” Bitty flushes.
“Oh, that?” Kent raises an eyebrow. “I’ve always thought that, babe.”
“I didn’t know,” Bitty says, then shivers slightly.
“I want to eat you up,” Kent murmurs, and Bitty licks his lips.
“I’d let you.”
“I know.” Kent closes his eyes for just a moment, imagining what it’d be like if he was really there, kissing Bitty, touching him. He’s pining so much that it burns.
“You okay?” Bitty asks, stepping closer to the camera until Kent can only see his chest and shoulders.
“I’m fine,” Kent assures him. “Uh, hey. Can I watch you?”
Bitty shivers. “Okay. Just let me—“ He starts shifting things around off-screen, then the camera angle dips and turns and Bitty’s leaning against the pillows, earbuds in, legs loosely crossed and casually stroking himself like he does this all the time. “Like that, honey?”
“Yeah, just like that,” Kent says, making a conscious effort to breathe. Where Jack is smolderingly hot in the brooding kind of way that makes Kent want to take him apart, to make him relax, Bitty is relaxed, all warm and lazy smiles and Kent wants to take him apart in an entirely different kind of way. “Want me to talk dirty to you?”
“Hmm… not tonight,” Bitty says, and that’s a first. Kent wonders why. “Just—could you maybe take your shirt off?”
Kent gives him the half-smile he uses when he’s flirting because he knows it makes him look sexy. “I guess if it’s for you,” he winks, and Bitty laughs. Kent shrugs out of his shirt, but he must reveal more of his body than he’d meant to when he leans over to toss the shirt in the floor because Bitty stifles a gasp.
“Jesus, Parse, you’re not wearing clothes!”
Kent bursts into laughter. “Why is that surprising? Neither are you,” he chirps.
“I didn’t know! You shush, Kent Parson,” and fuck, Kent wishes he could hear his name in Bitty’s honeyed drawl every day of his life.
“My lips are sealed,” he breathes, and Bitty must hear the wanting in his voice because his gaze turns affectionate, and isn’t that something? Kent’s happy that Bitty cares enough to look at him like that, even if it’s only because the sex is fucking fantastic. He’ll take lust over nothing at all.
“Can I watch, too?” Bitty asks, and Kent hums his assent and pushes his laptop further away so that Bitty can see.
And suddenly it feels more real, to have both of them bare and vulnerable for each other. Kent hasn’t felt guilty over Bitty basically being Jack’s for a while (okay, he knows that’s a lie, but the guilt hasn’t been nearly as bad lately, all right?) and suddenly it’s coming back full force. He has to remind himself that he’s not actually touching Bitty—and that he probably never will—and then the uneasiness finally starts to subside.
“Parse, you’re—“ Bitty drops off, staring, and Kent feels a little bit of triumph at managing to render Bitty speechless.
“Gorgeous? Sexy? Absolutely devastating?” Kent provides, and he expects Bitty to chirp him but Bitty flushes instead.
“All of the above,” Bitty says quietly.
“Oh, Bits,” Kent says, and then he leans back and lets himself bask in the warm haze of lust and happiness and Bitty. They probably don’t have much time left, after all, so he might as well enjoy it.
Almost without thinking, he palms himself, timing his own strokes with Bitty’s. It’s slower than he usually goes, but nice, and if he closes his eyes and listens to Bitty’s little whimpers he can imagine that they’re actually sitting side to side instead of so many miles away.
It’s too much. His heart’s beating too fast, and Bitty’s too perfect, and fuck, he kind of wants to just stay in this moment forever. “Bits, I—“ he starts, and then has to clamp his mouth shut, because what the fuck? He’d been about to tell Bitty he loved him. It’d been on the tip of his tongue, because he’d yearned for Bitty so much in that moment—and fuck, that would’ve ruined everything. Not only would Bits have had to turn him down, and probably feel awful about it, Kent would be hurting Jack and he doesn’t think he can bear the thought of losing the friendship that’s only just started to repair itself.
He can’t do this. Bitty can’t know.
And just like that, he makes himself a promise that he’ll never say the words to Bitty, no matter how fucked he ends up. It’s a promise reminiscent of long ago, just like when Jack had disappeared from his life and he’d wanted him back so much he’d cried—it’d been an emotional catastrophe. He’d only been able to recover by telling himself that he was never going to tell Jack about being in love with him at all, and that worked—it made all of the bad thoughts in his head finally shut up.
He’s made good on that first promise so far, and two can’t be much harder than one, right?
“You what?” Bitty says, and it’s only when the flow of time starts moving normally again that Kent realizes it had nearly stopped.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he says, instead of I love you, instead of I want to be with you maybe kind of forever, and Bitty’s hand stutters mid-stroke.
Keeping this promise isn’t so bad.
“You are too, Kenny,” Bitty murmurs, and Kent wants to take this moment and hide it away so he can remember it forever.
He spends a few precious minutes watching Bitty, staring at his flushed, freckled skin and imagining what it’d be like to suck a hickey onto his neck, to suck his cock, even.
“Close, Parse,” Bitty mumbles, and then he leans his head back and shudders a gasp. Kent watches his hand speed, watches the thrust of his hips into the air and the fluttering of his eyelashes as he comes.
When Bitty’s done, a content smile on his lips, Kent closes his eyes and finally lets himself go. He finishes to the thought of Bitty’s release moments prior, and normally he thinks about Jack too but for just this time he doesn’t. Just Bitty, small and sassy and perfect.
Things are back to normal the next time they Skype. Except Jack sits with them until his bedtime again and Kent has to focus on not loving both of them, and now it’s so much harder than before.
xXx
Weeks pass. Bitty and Jack chat with Parse, Jack and Bitty go for coffee, and Jack starts leaving his door open when he doesn’t have work to do, which Bitty takes to mean he can go in if he wants.
Bitty’s standing in Jack’s room on one such night, idly chatting about one of his classes, when Jack leans forward in his chair and takes his hand.
Jack’s palm is callused and large against his own. Bitty’s heart goes into overdrive because what is Jack doing? Does he mean it? Is this just some move he thinks will be comforting as a captain? Bitty’s about to blurt out any one of the above questions when Jack speaks up instead.
“Um. Is this okay?” Jack asks, brow creasing with worry,
“Y-yes! It’s definitely okay,” Bitty assures him, feeling fluttery.
Jack smiles at him, and then there’s no doubt in Bitty’s mind that this is a romantic thing. Wow.
Squeezing his hand, Jack pulls Bitty a step closer. “I’m glad. I was thinking about kissing you, but I thought it might be too forward, so I figured this would be better—“
“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, if you don’t kiss me right now, I ain’t baking you pie for a month,” Bitty threatens, because oh God oh God kissing Jack.
And Jack laughs, leans forward, and kisses him. It’s—Lord, there aren’t words, because Bitty’s wanted this for so long and happiness is flowing through his veins as fierce as a waterfall. Their lips press together all slow and smooth—Bitty’s so elated he’s shaking. Jack pulls away but stays close, and Bitty chases after him, letting his hands thread into the short waves of Jack’s hair and kissing him again, again. He slips his tongue into Jack’s mouth and Jack groans and goodness, he could die happy right now if he wanted to.
When they pull away, Bitty hides his face in Jack’s shoulder, because he’s pretty sure he’s about to start crying and that’s stupidly embarrassing. Jack hugs him close, and his hands are big and warm as they rub over Bitty’s back—it feels so good he’s almost not sure it’s not a dream.
“I take it—that was all right?” Jack asks, and Bitty is definitely not tearing up as he laughs into Jack’s shirt.
“More than all right,” he mumbles. “I like you rather a lot, Jack.”
Jack sits back, looks straight into Bitty’s eyes. “Could you say that again?”
Bitty can feel himself flushing, and goodness, he’s probably a wreck right now. “I like you, Jack Zimmermann.”
And Jack breaks into an uninhibited, dazzling smile. “I—I’m glad, Bittle. I like you too.”
Bitty sniffles, laughing at himself for getting so darn emotional. “I’m really—really happy, Jack. Does this—are we—?”
“I want to be with you, Bitty.” But then Jack’s eyes turn sad. “You should know—it wouldn’t be easy for you, and if you don’t want to deal with that, I’d understand.”
“What do you mean?” Bitty asks, but he thinks he already knows.
“I’m graduating soon, and—“ Jack scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not out yet. And I’m not sure I want to be, but I don’t want to ask you to hide, because that’s not really fair to you.” He looks wary, as if Bitty would actually say no just because of that.
“Oh, Jack,” Bitty sighs, putting his hand on Jack’s cheek (because he can, he can touch Jack and Jack likes it). “Honey, don’t worry about me. It’s gonna be okay. And if I do get sad, I’m going to let you know, and we’re going to talk about it. Does that sound okay?”
“Okay,” Jack says, and the smile is back, more brilliant than before. He pulls Bitty in his lap and Bitty yelps, scrambling for a handhold, and his hands slip themselves around Jack’s neck and it’s perfect.
They kiss for a very long time.
Bitty wakes up in the morning after the best sleep in his life, curled innocently in Jack’s arms. It’s then that he remembers—Parse.
He has to act normal, act happy for Jack—and he is happy, he’s ecstatic beyond belief. But deep in his gut is a swirling guilt, because Parse deserves to know about last night more than anyone.
Should Bitty text him? He doesn’t want to wait until their next Skype conversation, because they’d just talked three nights ago and that would basically be another half week. And Parse would know something was up if Bitty asked to Skype now, and besides, he might want to be alone when he finds out anyway?
So Bitty settles for texting, when he’s downstairs safe in the kitchen because Jack’s gone on his early run. He starts making pancakes and debates over the wording of his text until he realizes he’s being silly and he should just do it already. He pulls out his phone.
Bitty:
I thought you should know tah
He’s shaking, and he accidentally hits the ‘enter’ button when he tries to correct his typo, so he has to try again.
Bitty:
*that Jack and I kissed last night.
He hits send, and he should feel relieved now but instead he just feels worse. He’s mid-pancake-flip when he realizes that he shouldn’t leave it at that—what’s Parse going to think?—and he almost drops the pancake in his haste to grab at his phone.
Bitty:
Are you gonna be okay?
Parse doesn’t reply, and Bitty worries so much that he burns a pancake and jumps in surprise when Jack walks in from his run.
Finally, an hour later, his phone buzzes while he’s working on a research assignment and his heart-rate speeds through the roof. He grabs for his phone, drops and subsequently catches it before it can hit the floor, and opens the text.
Parse:
i’m ok. happy for you
Bitty lets out a shaky sigh, glad Jack is in his room working on a paper. He hopes Parse isn’t lying. He doesn’t even care if Parse feels bitter towards he and Jack, because he just wants Parse to be happy.
But he realizes as soon as he thinks that thought that he’s lying to himself. He does care if Parse hates him. He really really doesn’t want Parse to hate him, because if he’s being honest, he wants to hug Parse close like he’d hugged Jack all last night.
Bitty:
You’re a saint, Parse.
He thunks his head on his desk, desperately hoping to himself that he’s just being a worrywart and that everything is actually okay.
xXx
Nothing is okay. Many miles away, Kent Parson is sitting on his bed with the blinds shut, crying for the first time in the six years since Jack’s overdose.