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“Fuck off, Zimms,” laughs Kent, attempting evasive maneuvers with their whale of a shopping cart as Jack throws bags of chopped frozen spinach at his head. Kent had promised that adding the stuff to stir fry was a great hack. Jack admitted that they can tick off nutrients with no disgusting spinach flavor, but he hates how the little flecks get everywhere so much that he ruthlessly torments Kent every time they buy it.
Turning around to pick up the bag that fell on the floor, Kent sees Eric Fucking Bittle at the end of the frozen foods aisle. Kent always forgets that Bittle never moved out of Providence because Kent forgets about Bittle whenever possible. Bittle looks like he was considering avoiding them and hoping they didn’t notice. He’s not getting away with that after totally sapping Kent’s good mood.
Kent stands back up, checking that no one else is in the aisle. “Hi Bittle,” he says, friendly and light, because apparently Jack thinks it’s important to retain good relationships with his exes now.
Jack starts, smile sliding off his face. “Bitty,” he says, too loud.
By the time Jack’s awkwardly turned around, Bittle has his southern hospitality face on. “Jack!” he says, like he’s introducing a guest on his vlog, “Kent! So good to see y’all.”
“Likewise,” says Kent. Jack's eyes are worriedly tracking between them. Kent wonders if he can get through this interaction in less than ten words. “Well—” he starts, trying to get this show on the road.
“How are you doing?” Jack asks politely.
“I’m doing well,” says Bittle. “Thank you, Jack.” Is Kent being scolded? “I’m actually helping organize this fundraiser—” and he’s off.
Jack practices active listening as Bittle keeps up the nervous chatter. Kent checks his watch without even trying to be discreet; Jack looks annoyedly amused when they make eye contact. Bittle’s jaw tenses, but he just keeps going about all those gay kids or at-risk bakers or homeless hockey players or whatever. One of the most inconvenient things Jack picked up from Bittle is a collection of smalltalk questions to cycle through when he’s nervous. Sure, it helps at events, but now he traps himself in conversations he hates. Kent kinda misses when Jack would just wander off and let Kent smooth things over. Kent’s great at escaping conversations. Case in point:
“That’s cool,” Kent says earnestly as soon as Bittle takes a breath. “We should really get going, though.” He checks his watch again for emphasis.
Bittle laughs fakely. “Right,” he says. “I know those busy offseasons,” which might be a dig about like three different things at once. Jack doesn't seem to notice, discomfort level unwavering. Kent went up to twelve words, which is probably why Bittle didn't just let them go.
“Yeah,” says Kent neutrally, “We’re pretty busy.” Then he winks, because he can't help himself. Jack does notice that, opens his mouth like he’s gonna step in, but Bittle gets there first.
“I can see that,” he says, leaning sideways to size up the cart that’s still behind Kent. “Lots of protein in there.” Jack snorts at that for some reason, which doesn't help. Bittle eyes their prominent stack of frozen dinners—approved by Jack’s nutritionist, thank you very much—and says directly to Jack with wide-eyed innocence, “I can send you a list of quick and healthy recipes if you want. You shouldn't have to get by on store brand TV dinners.”
“Ha,” says Kent flatly, actually thrown a little. Rich bitch. He leans into Jack’s space; Jack instinctively leans back.
The thing about Kent is that he doesn't give up. He pursues a goal with almost single-minded determination. It’s what got him by on TV dinners and discount equipment before the Q. It’s what makes him the best fucking player in the NHL now, plus or minus Zimms. It’s what made him pathetic and alone for years before making him the luckiest guy in the world. Now, when he sees the discomfort behind Bittle’s mask of a face, the tenseness of his shoulders, it’s what makes Kent's blood thrum with the excitement of impending victory.
It’s what makes him say, “You’d know all about being the store brand version of a superior product, eh?” He says ‘eh’ in exactly the same way Jack does.
Bittle flinches. He’s really good at covering it up, but he does. Goal.
“Kent,” barks Jack. At some point, he must've angled his body between them. “Lay off.”
“Seriously?” asks Kent, the adrenaline rush taking him past righteousness and straight to anger. “You’re defending him?”
“Kenny,” starts Jack, in that stupid placating voice that Kent hates, both because Jack picked it up from Bittle and because Kent usually deserves it.
“Fuck off, Jack,” says Kent, and leaves.
“Oh!” comes Bittle’s voice from behind him. Guy probably never told Jack to fuck off in his life. And then, quieter, Bittle asks, “Jack?”
Kent ducks into the next aisle and hyperventilates against the boxed mashed potatoes. As soon as he’s out of their line of sight, it’s like his wires are cut. Luckily it’s not very crowded, so he can squat down for a second and scream really loud in his head. Fuck, he did deserve the placating voice, and now Jack and Bittle are probably crying and hugging while the frozen veggies get everything else all soggy. Now that he's calmed down, Kent is kind of mortified that he lost his cool like that. Jack won’t leave him for it, not when Kent’s said much worse, but someone could've filmed it. At the very least, Bittle knows one of his weak points now. Rationally, Kent knows that Bittle probably wasn't insulting his upbringing, but it sure felt like it. If he starts sending Jack recipes, Kent will lose it. Jack. Jack hates the grocery store when he’s anxious; sometimes in the Q he’d hunch in the car while Kent ran in to get chips and jerky. Kent doesn’t want to face Bittle, but he’ll do it to save Jack from going through the checkout line alone.
He puts on his best apology face and heads back into the fray.
“You know I just want you to be happy,” Bittle is saying as Kent walks back to them, like Bittle knows anything about what makes Jack happy. Both of them look stressed and uncomfortable; Jack in the same way he does in any unwanted social situation, and Bittle like he’s at the end of a customer service shift. Kent makes eye contact with Jack and gets a tight smile in return. If Kent wraps this up quickly, they can all go home and never go to this store again.
“Sorry about all that,” Kent says, smiling disarmingly. Jack nods in encouragement. “I shouldn't have insulted you, that wasn't fair.”
Bittle studies him. Kent tries to look as genuine as possible. He is sorry, if only for upsetting Jack, but he’s also kinda proud that he deescalated the situation instead of yelling. Leaving counts as deescalation.
“Well,” says Bittle eventually. “I’ve been compared to worse people.”
Kent actually laughs in surprise. “Me too,” he says, and holds out his right hand. Bittle shakes it with a firm grip. “See you around, Bittle.”
“Bye, Kent,” says Bittle, mercifully agreeing to finally end this nightmare. And then he ruins it again by hugging Jack goodbye, the little homewrecker.
At Jack's apartment, they wordlessly put away groceries while the cat yells at them; Jack’s upset enough to stew for a while, but not upset enough to avoid Kent. Progress for both of them.
After his customary hour or so of processing time, Jack finds Kent trapped on the couch by a Purrs who is living up to the name. It’s good, probably, that they talk after having fights now instead of ignoring them. Kent’s been to therapy too, and Kent really knows that Jack’s not a mind reader. But it’s also exhausting, and so obviously a Bittle thing, and right now it just feels unnecessary.
Kent knows that Jack and Bittle are sensitive about Bittle being a younger, smaller, less baggage-laden Kent. Kent’s sensitive about it too! He shouldn't have brought it up, but seeing Bittle makes him feel insane sometimes. All those years Bittle got to be there while Jack avoided Kent’s calls.
“Look,” says Kent, heading it off before Jack sits down. “I know I was out of line, it wasn't fair to either of you, I won't do it again, yada yada. Can we not go through all that right now?”
Jack looks down at him. “It wasn't that bad,” he says. It’s still weird that Jack can look at a conflict without catastrophizing now. He really grew up when Kent wasn't there.
“You’re so mature,” says Kent, flirty, deflecting. And then, because he’s allowed to: “I’m proud of you.”
Jack does the little bashful smile that makes Kent’s heart melt. “You too,” he says. “For apologizing. For not, uh.”
“Not yelling?” asks Kent. Jack looks sheepish, but Kent genuinely appreciates his efforts being noticed. Emotional regulation is fucking hard. “Not whipping out my dick and a ruler in the middle of the store?”
Jack laughs, then sobers. “Look Kenny,” he starts, but stops again, getting settled next to Kent and scratching Purrs on the head. Picking out words. Kent pops his eyes wide to show he’s listening and sincere.
“I’m with you,” Jack says eventually, like he’s laying out a play. “I want to be with you. You won, I don’t get why you have to be so mean to him.”
“You're not over him,” sulks Kent. Come on, Jack, that's kind of a no-brainer. He’s not even gonna address the winning thing, because a relationship isn’t a won-and-done deal. Obviously.
“I wasn't over you when I dated him,” says Jack, both matter-of-fact and defensive. Kent’s known that for a while, before Jack told him. His heart still inflates like a balloon at every reassurance that Jack was thinking about him even when he wouldn't talk with to him. It's also gratifying when Jack confirms that Bittle was a cheap substitute, but Kent can keep that to himself.
“I love you,” he says instead.
The corner of Jack’s mouth twitches up. He doesn't always say it back, but Kent doesn’t need him to. Kent told him up front not to say it out of obligation.
“I’ll try to be nice to Bittle next time,” Kent adds, sighing.
“I guess that’s all I can ask for,” Jack says, and leans over for a kiss.