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Shitty, Year 3
Sometimes, Jack forgets that he and Shitty aren’t going back to Samwell. Because immediately after graduation, it seems that nothing has changed. Shitty is still blowing up the group chat with his thoughts on intersectional feminism and Jack is still getting chirped for not knowing how to send moving pictures (gifs, he thinks they are called gifs and there is some debate over the pronunciation that has Holster and Ransom at each other’s throats for a few days). No new frogs have been added in the months of June or July and it’s easy and familiar.
In their private text, Shitty is still sending him the titles of the textbooks he needs for his classes and ranting about how they are all by old white men and, there is a difference in that Jack doesn’t have any assigned textbooks to send back to Shitty but he still enjoys reading history books in his time off. So he sends Shitty those. Gets praised when he picks the ones not written by old white men.
Sometimes Jack has to remind himself. His practices with the Falconers are not just camps that he’s going to. His apartment in Providence is not temporary. He won’t be going back to the Haus. He won’t get to go to Samwell once August rolls around.
But, still, he and Bitty are skyping every night and he and Shitty are texting everyday (skyping about every third day) and it’s different, but not too different and he’s sad when he thinks of Samwell but also happier than he’s ever been in his life.
Which is why he almost misses it.
He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself.
*^*^*^
Jack probably doesn’t notice right away because when August hits, practice starts up in earnest. For the Falconers and for Samwell and so suddenly the group chat is blowing up with the new frogs and Jack is too busy to read through all of it. So he assumes Shitty is still there.
Law school has started in earnest too, Jack reminds himself when he and Shitty don’t skype for a week. Everyone’s busy.
*^*^*^
Of course, he and Shitty still skype. Not quite as often so Shitty doesn’t know thedetails of every single day like Bitty does but Jack finds himself telling Shitty all the best stories from the Falconers, the ones that made Bitty laugh the hardest, when they manage to carve out some time to talk (Sunday afternoons usually work). He tells Shitty about Tater and Guy and everyone and Shitty nods along, smiling at all the right moments and laughing and–
“Anyway, how are you?” Jack asks, realizing abruptly that he’s been talking for the past half hour. That’s not usually how their conversations go but he appreciates that Shitty is letting him brag a little about his new team. And Jack wants Shitty to know everyone. Everything. Maybe not to the same extent that he wants Bitty to know everything but Shitty is… Shitty. Shitty has to know just about everything about him.
(It’s been a struggle not to tell him about Bitty. A struggle but fair- he and Bitty had agreed.)
“Oh, you know,” Shitty says, waving a hand. “Law School year 1- about what you’d expect. Now I heard there’s a poem I should be hearing? By a member of the Falconers?”
So Jack smiles and tells him that and Shitty laughs at that too.
*^*^*^
It becomes a pattern that Jack doesn’t recognize until late September.
He and Shitty talk on skype or on the phone while Jack drives home if Jack knows he’s going to be busy. Jack tells Shitty all about the Falconers. Shitty says something like “same old, same old” when asked about law school.
“Hey, seriously,” Jack tries. “What’s up with law school? I don’t think I even know who you’re living with?”
“Three other guys,” Shitty says. Jack is driving home from a Sunday morning workout session but he can picture Shitty’s shrug. “They’re cool but Jack, c’mon, your first game is coming up. Tell me the strategy. I miss talking hockey.”
*^*^*^
The Falconers win their first game.
Jack calls Bitty the moment he’s alone and then talk for almost an hour before he falls asleep but when he wakes up he sees he has a text from Shitty.
Fuckin’ beaut of a game, it says and something pings at the edge of Jack’s awareness, something about the way it is only one text and there is no capslock but he is sleepy and content to roll over and get more sleep so,
Thanks, he texts back. He’ll call Shitty later.
*^*^*^
“You saw the game!” Jack protests later that week when he and Shitty (finally) manage to connect.
“So? I want to hear it from you!” Shitty says. “Like, tell me how it felt, bro. I want to taste it!”
It’s such a Shitty thing to say that Jack almost gives in, almost tells his best friend all about how it was surreal and wonderful and everything he would imagine it to be but–
“No, man,” he says. “I don’t want to be that guy. How’s law school? You turn your whole class into feminists yet?”
“Uh, yeah,” Shitty says, voice going a bit strained. Jack wishes they weren’t on the phone again. Jack is an athlete, he’s used to reading people’s movements. Their faces. Not tone. Sometimes he misses things when it’s just tone. “Yeah, I’m working on it.”
He goes uncharacteristically silent and Jack is about to push for some details, some stories of Shitty’s epic fights (because he knows Shitty and there must be epic fights) but Shitty clears his throat.
“Hey, bro, I actually have to get going,” Shitty says. “But, I’ll talk to you again soon, okay? Good luck against the Flyers.”
“Oh,” Jack says, startled. They’ve only been talking for ten minutes. “Tha–”
Shitty has already hung up.
*^*^*^
The season is crazy. It’s a lot more hockey than college teams play and Jack is tired and sore and, they’re doing okay, the Falconers, but still, he’s starting to feel off-balance. Anxious, almost and he can’t put his finger on why until he realizes that he and Shitty haven’t spoken for almost two weeks. Sure, he’s gotten texts from Shitty after every game but Shitty was the one that taught him the summer after their Freshmen year that “texts don’t count, bro, not really. So figure out skype, Jacky-boy!”
It has been four years since he and Shitty have gone without speaking for two weeks.
He calls immediately and Shitty answers and, again, their conversation is… off. Jack talks a little bit about what it’s like travelling with the Falconers and Shitty says something like “yeah, remember the debates we used to have on the bus? TEAM ATTIC!” and that leads to a trip down memory lane but it’s still…
Jack hangs up feeling like he’s forgotten something important.
*^*^*^
Jack is on the group chat for Halloween (because good lord he cannot believe that Bitty is wearing that, he cannot believe Bitty looks like that, he cannot believe he is stuck in Providence for this) and he has the time so he scrolls up a little and… there is no Shitty.
He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought to check that Shitty was still there, he doesn’t really know why it’s striking him as so alarmingly strange that Shitty isn’tthere at all, not even when Samwell introduced gender-neutral bathrooms, and he doesn’t even think about it before calling Shitty.
“Hey,” Shitty answers. He sounds tired.
“Hey!” Jack says, too brightly, he thinks. He sounds forced. He’s never felt forced around Shitty before. “What are you up to for Halloween?”
“Eh, nothing much,” Shitty says. “Studying mostly, maybe going to a party later with my roommates.”
“You dressing up?” Jack says. Shitty always dresses up for Halloween. Shitty is passionate about Halloween. Shitty is passionate about everything.
“Um, maybe,” Shitty replies. “I mean, yeah, I’ll probably throw something together.”
“Oh,” Jack says. “Well, that will be fun.”
“Mhmm,” Shitty says, He sounds distracted. Maybe he is studying. Jack should let him focus. Jack says as much but–
“No, no!” Shitty says and it almost sounds like he’s desperate. “No, tell me about Tater and the others.”
So Jack does. But Shitty doesn’t laugh in the right places and–
“Are you okay?” Jack asks.
“Yeah, bro, sure,” Shitty says. “Just a little tired. Don’t worry.”
*^*^*^
Jack would worry less if Shitty didn’t once again seem to drop off the face of the planet. He would worry less if Shitty went on a rant when Jack sent him an article about the NWHL wage gap. He would worry less if Bitty hadn’t sort of frowned at his question and then said “Uh, Jack, I don’t think that Shitty and Lardo are talking right now.”
It’s the last one that does it. Jack knows more than most that Shitty and Lardo’s relationship is complicated but Jack knows Shitty better than anyone. And the day Shitty lets feelings get in the way of friendship is the day hell freezes over. Especially his friendship with Lardo.
If he’s being honest with himself, Jack was jealous of Lardo when she first started hanging out with Shitty. Because Shitty was his best friend and suddenly Lardo was there and Jack never claimed to not be a little possessive and then suddenly Lardo was going to be the manager and–
Well, it seems silly now. But the point stands. Shitty would never let romantic feelings get in the way of Lardo.
So, Bitty tells him this ridiculous fact on Wednesday and all Thursday and Friday Jack has trouble focusing.
The nagging feeling at the back of his mind has turned into something similar to panic and–
Something’s wrong, he thinks. Something is wrong.
So he gets out of practice on Friday afternoon and drives.
It’s only an hour from Providence to Harvard. Why has he not seen Shitty in 4 months?
Wrong, his gut sings as he pushes the pedal down more. Wrong, wrong wrong.
*^*^*^
“Holy shit!” the guy says as he opens the door. He is blond and wearing a polo shirt and sporting a haircut that includes way too much gel. “You’re Jack Zimmermann!”
“Yes,” Jack grunts and he is unreasonably annoyed that this boy is blocking his entrance to the door. “I’m here to see Shitty.”
“Yeah, no, he’s here,” the guy says and Jack realizes he has no idea what his name is. That Shitty has never mentioned any of his roommates’ names. “But, wait, oh my god, this is so cool. Can I have-?”
Jack doesn’t know if the next word is going to be autograph or photograph but suddenly he doesn’t much care. He lowers his shoulder and steps through the guy and heads up the stairs. Country music is blaring out of the first door so he skips that one and the second has an almost nude poster of a girl so that one is out, but the third is bare and silent and–
Jack doesn’t bother knocking before he opens it.
He should feel relief that Shitty is sitting at his desk. That his friend is right there, hunched over a book, hair looking a little shaggy as if he is thinking about growing his flow out again. He should be relieved that everything is fine, that Shitty is aware enough to twist his head to look towards the noise, that he is still rocking his mustache but–
He’s not relieved.
Because when Shitty sees him, his eyes show a flash of panic, like an animal that’s been caught before shuttering away to nothing and the smile he pulls up to his face is tired and wary and there is no world that Jack wants to live in where he surprises Shitty Knight by visiting him unannounced and he doesn’t get tackled on sight.
“Jack!” Shitty says, sounding shocked. He puts down his pen and turns towards him completely and– “What are you doing here?”
He finally stands then, five seconds after he should have and he’s thin, Jack realizes. He’s too thin. He’s face is jagged and he’s wearing clothes that sort of hang off him and, sure, some guys get thinner when they stop playing hockey and working out but this is not a lack of muscle. This is a lack of everything.
Shitty looks sick. His face is pale and there are bags under his eyes and Jack has still not been hugged.
“Brian!” A voice yells and Jack abruptly remembers that there are other people in the house. “Brian- Jack Zimmermann is here!!”
“C’mon,” he says, turning on captain voice and reaching for Shitty. “We’re leaving.”
They aren’t doing whatever it is they have to do in front of Brian and whatever-his-name-is.
“Umm, okay?” Shitty still sounds a little stunned. “Like for dinner? Alright.”
Sure, dinner. Let Shitty think it’s for dinner.
“Get a coat,” Jack orders. He leans over to grab Shitty’s old hat from where it’s sitting on the floor. “I got your hat.”
Shitty’s coat looks too big on him now too.
“Let’s go,” Jack tells him and then he’s grabbing Shitty by the shoulder and they are moving. They ignore Brian and Door-Opener - at least, Jack does. Shitty might mumble something about being back in a little bit and Jack should feel ridiculous opening his passenger door and all but dumping Shitty inside but he doesn’t.
He also doesn’t feel ridiculous when he gets in and speeds away as if putting physical distance between Shitty and Harvard will instantly make him better. They sit in silence for a beat and then Shitty tries,
“Hey, man, super pumped to see you but is something wrong? You’ve got your murder face on.”
That sounds about right. Jack feels like he wants to murder someone. Maybe himself for not realizing this sooner. Maybe Shitty for not telling him something was wrong. Maybe all of Harvard law for doing this to his friend.
“Shitty,” Jack says. “How’s law school?”
Shitty jerks at that, surprised.
“It’s… c’mon man, you didn’t drive all the way up here to ask me about law school.”
“Yes, I did,” Jack says. “Because you’ve never told me. How is law school?”
“It’s fine,” Shitty says, shrugging. “You know… law school. A lot of work. Professors who think making their classes ridiculously hard is teaching.”
“Okay,” Jack says. “But how is law school?”
He can’t look over because he is merging onto the highway but he senses Shitty tense.
“It’s fine.”
“So you like it?” Jack says. He’s pushing and he knows it and he can’t bring himself to care. Sometimes people need a push.
Shitty shrugs again and doesn’t say anything, looking out the window.
“Shitty,” Jack tries. This isn’t right. Something is wrong.
“Jack,” Shitty replies. “Stop– don’t worry, okay. Just–”
Shitty’s head tilts back then, so that it’s pressed to the back of his seat and his eyes are on the ceiling of Jack’s car and he takes a breath that Jack thinks is supposed to be steadying but–
“I hate it,” Shitty says. It’s soft, a quiet admission that Jack can barely hear over the sound of the engine. “I- I can’t fucking stand it. It’s just… it’s boring and stupid and everyone there is boring and stupid and–”
To Jack’s horror, Shitty’s voice catches then. He turns his head further so that he’s looking out the window again and Jack can barely see but Jack knows with a terrifying certainty that Shitty is crying.
“So fucking stupid,” Shitty says, hands coming up to press against his eyes. Jack can’t tell if he means himself or Harvard Law. “Sorry, sorry, I just– god, I just hateit. I keep waking up at 4 o’clock in the morning and then I just have to lay there and think about how much I’m going to hate going to these fucking stupid classes and the people- it’s like… it’s like fucking high school all over again and I fuckinghated high school and–”
He stops again to take a breath and this time when the first one doesn’t work, he takes another.
“Sorry,” he says again. His hand is shaking as he runs it across his eyes one more time and then balls it into a fist. “Sorry. Fucking rich boy complaining about Harvard law. Fucking privileged fucker. I’m fine. I’m just exhausted. It’s just the beginning of the year. Fuck it.”
It’s a strange thing, to have your worst fears said aloud and have no idea what to say in reply. Because, dammit, Jack wanted to be wrong about this. He wanted Shitty to be too busy having fun to call him and he wanted Shitty to be fucking dominating law school because Shitty is the best and he wanted Shitty to be as happy as he is.
He didn’t want this. And he has no idea what to say.
So he reaches a hand over and grips the back of Shitty’s neck and squeezes gently, a move that he vaguely remembers his father doing when he lost games when he was younger and–
“Why don’t you take a nap,” he suggests. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
Shitty scoffs. “Man, I’m fucking shit at taking naps these days.”
“At least try,” Jack says. He leaves his hand where it is. “Close your eyes. I’ll let you pick the music.”
“Maybe you should pick,” Shitty mumbles. “Your shitty music will put me right to sleep.”
Jack releases Shitty just as long as it takes him to find a classic rock station and put it on low. Then he’s back and he can feel Shitty’s heart pounding a bit too fast against the tips of his fingers and Shitty goes quiet again and looks out the window, but it only takes him five minutes to fall asleep.
Jack still doesn’t let go.
*^*^*^
He pulls up to his house and it’s five o’clock now and Shitty is passed out next to him. Jack realizes abruptly that he hasn’t told Bitty any of this, hadn’t even told Bitty his concerns (to say them aloud would make it too real, to say them aloud would be to worry Bitty and this is something he needed to handle alone, at least at first because Shitty is not just his best friend, he is supposed to be Shitty’s and–).
I’m sorry, he texts. I can’t skype tonight. I went and picked up Shitty.
It seems like a poor explanation and he should say something else, he knows but he can’t quite imagine what to say. It’s all still raw and private and Jack trusts Bitty but this is Shitty and he doesn’t know how much Shitty wants people to know and he is still wondering how much is too much to explains or if he even knows whatto explain when,
I am sending pie, Bitty replies. It will be there by Sunday morning
Jack has no idea how Bitty manages to do that to him so often. To just take his breath away because suddenly he realizes he is sitting in a car with his best friend who looks like a skeleton and Shitty is unhappy and Jack doesn’t really know how to fix it, has no idea what to even do or how to handle the fact that it had taken him months to figure out something was wrong and he had told Bitty exactly nothing. Nothing at all but Bitty is sending pie as if somehow he already knew.
His throat closes and he grips his phone until the plastic creaks under his hands and he has to breathe for a while until he remembers it’s okay. It’s okay. Bitty is sending pies. He can do this.
I love you, Jack texts
You tell me right away if you need anything else. Anything.
Jack nods even though Bitty can’t see him and takes a breath and okay, he can do this.
*^*^*^
“Shitty,” he says a few minutes later. He’d taken the time to go unlock the front door (which he knows is a bit ridiculous because it’s not like Shitty is sick, it’s not like he is going to lean on Jack on their way to the door, it’s not like Jack’s hands aren’t going to be free to unlock it) but now he’s back at the passenger door, ready to catch Shitty should he fall. “Shits.”
“Mhmm,” Shitty says, waking up slowly.
“C’mon,” Jack says. “You passed out.”
“Oh,” Shitty says, blinking. He stretches a little, throwing one thin arm over his head and then the other, looking around. Then, “Jack, where are we?”
“Providence,” Jack says. “My house to be more specific.”
That wakes Shitty up the rest of the way.
“We’re– Jack!” Shitty says. “You- you can’t just kidnap me to Providence!”
“Yes I can,” Jack says, smiling. “You once kidnapped me. Fair is fair.”
“I took you to a bar for your birthday,” Shitty grumbles. “You didn’t even let me pack a bag!”
“Like we both don’t know you would just steal my clothes anyway,” Jack replies.
“I usually have my own underwear,” Shitty says but he is getting out of the car anyway and there’s a smile hovering around the corners of his mouth that tells Jack he did the right thing. “And a toothbrush. I’m not a monster.”
“I have an extra,” Jack promises.
“Alright, alright, give me the tour then,” Shitty says. “So fucking needy, bro.”
Jack hits him on the shoulder and does.
*^*^*^
They spend the night eating pizza, playing video games, and talking about anything except what Shitty had said in the car. Jack tells him a thousand stories about the Falconers and doesn’t ask any further questions and doesn’t say anything when Shitty eats only one slice of pizza before putting it down.
When Shitty’s eyes start drooping, Jack claims to be tired and they put on The Matrix because it’s playing on FX and Jack sort of makes it a joke, when he says “C’mon man, I know you missed the cuddling” but he thinks they both know it is for Shitty’s benefit that they wind up curled together on the couch.
Or maybe not. Jack feels better when he can feel Shitty’s shoulder pressed into his own even if Shitty’s does seem too bony. Same with the way Shitty’s leg curls over his casually.
“I haven’t talked to Lardo in five weeks,” Shitty says during a commercial break. Jack had no idea why he didn’t just buy the damn movie from Amazon. “Longer than that if we are counting… real stuff.”
“Oh,” Jack says. It’s an invitation to keep talking more than anything.
“I- she would know,” Shitty says. In the background, a man is talking about how his car insurance offers new-car replacement. “She doesn’t… she doesn’t talk as much as you and she’s always been able to… see me. I just… stopped calling. She’s probably furious.”
“She’ll forgive you,” Jack says, confident.
Shitty grunts something that could be agreement and then the movie comes back on.
Jack doesn’t push.
*^*^*^
Jack doesn’t think anyone in the world knows the extent to which Shitty put him together during freshmen year of college.
Sure, he had already hit his lowest point and, yes, he’d already been to therapy and obviously his parents deserve credit - so much credit - for getting him to Samwell at all but…
But Shitty met him their first day of hockey practice and somehow saw the person that Jack was supposed to be and while Jack was still fumbling just to hold the pieces, Shitty waltzed in and snapped them together to form a picture Jack couldn’t have even recognized.
Shitty had been the first person at Samwell to grin at Jack when he entered a room, he was the first person to make Jack laugh on the ice again, he was the first person to calm him down after a panic attack, and the first person Jack considered a friend. A best friend even, nothing more and nothing less.
Shitty is Jack’s best friend. And Jack knows that means different things to different people, but to him it means that Shitty is the strongest person he’s ever known. Shitty holds him together, and, even though Jack knows he doesn’t need it anymore, there is still a part of him that Shitty knows better than anyone. Even Bitty.
Maybe that’s why this is so terrifying.
Maybe that’s why when Jack woke up to get an early run in at 5:30 in the morning and he’d pushed Shitty’s door open to see that Shitty was already awake, sitting up in Jack’s guest bed, head in his hands, Jack feels nothing but raw fear.
“Shitty?” he asks, a part of him hoping that this is a nightmare.
“Yeah?” Shitty says, turning to look at him. “Hey, sorry, just… have gotten used to waking up early to study, I guess. You going running?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. He wants to tell Shitty that there isn’t any studying he can do here. That he should go back to sleep. “Wanna come?”
“Okay,” Shitty says, which is also wrong because Shitty hates mornings and had often told Jack that morning practice was a form of evil but Jack doesn’t complain.
He runs slow so Shitty can keep up and doesn’t ask what Shitty wants when they swing into a coffee shop on their way back to his house, just buys him a hot chocolate because that used to be Shitty’s favorite and tries not to feel inordinately pleased when Shitty drinks the whole thing.
*^*^*^
Jack calls a few people and gets them ice time at the Falconer’s stadium on Saturday afternoon. Shitty complains the whole way there about not having his own skates and how Jack should have warned a boy before kidnapping him but helights up when they get there and after a few minutes, Shitty is almost like his old self.
He’s flying around the ice, laughing, coming up with ridiculous things for he and Jack to try, trick shots that they perfected in practice but never got to do in any games because he and Jack never played on the same line for too long (and most of them are ridiculous and/or illegal). He’s Shitty, more Shitty than he’s been in months, Jack thinks, and okay, yes. He can do this.
They eat dinner at home - Chinese takeout this time - and Jack can’t bring himself to feel bad for cheating on his diet plan because Shitty is talking between huge bites of Sesame chicken, eating like it’s the first time in a while, and it’s still mostly about hockey - ideas Shitty has for the Falconers and notes on the old Samwell team, but he’s using curse words and sexual terms and it’s Shitty. Shitty is in Jack’s apartment and he’s happy.
Jack knows from experience how hard it is to talk about things when you are feeling low so as much as he wants this to last, he forces himself to ask.
“So,” he starts. “What are you gonna do?”
“Do?” Shitty looks confused.
“Yeah, do,” Jack repeats. “About law school?”
Shitty blinks at him. “What about it?”
“Well,” Jack tries. “When are you gonna quit?”
“Quit? I can’t quit,” Shitty’s voice has gone hard.
“Yes, you can,” Jack says. “Shitty, you hate it.”
“So?” Shitty says, fist tightening on his chopsticks. “So, I hate it. That’s… that’s okay. It’s the first year. Tons of people hate law school their first year.”
Jack doesn’t think that’s true. At least, he doesn’t think tons of people lose weight and sleep and then get that upset when talking about it. Jack Zimmermann knows stress. This isn’t just stress. Not a healthy amount at least.
“You’ve lost weight,” he says.
“I’m not working out anymore,” Shitty says, hunching his shoulders.
“You don’t sleep.”
“I’m- there’s studying,” Shitty says. “To do. Lots of it.”
Shitty has never had to study before. Shitty isn’t Ransom. He gets high on the roof the day before his exams and gets As anyway. Shitty is a secret genius.
“Shitty, you’re unhappy,” Jack says. He needs Shitty to realize how unacceptable that is.
“So what?” Shitty says and he snaps. “Jack, I- I’ve got to be a lawyer. That was the deal! Business school or law school and I- I was supposed to at least like being a lawyer. Helping people against corporate America and arguing and– I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer! I’m smart and I got into Harvard Law School which most people would kill for and you don’t just drop out of Harvard Law School! I- it won’t be this bad the whole time.”
“But you’re unhappy,” Jack says again. That’s the only point he cares about. And he doesn’t think Shitty is just unhappy. He thinks Shitty- his Shitty - might be depressed.
“It’ll get better,” Shitty says. He doesn’t sound like he believes it. Jack doesn’t.
Still, “Okay,” he says. “Okay, if you still want to be a lawyer.”
“Of course I want to be a lawyer,” Shitty says. This statement is even more hollow than the last. “I mean… what else would I be?”
“Anything,” Jack says, trying not to sound desperate. “A professor or a doctor or, honestly, Shitty, you are the smartest person I know. There’s nothing you couldn’t do.”
Shitty doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his food and picks at it. Like he doesn’t believe it. His hand is trembling again and his breathing has gone carefully measured and one time after a panic attack, Shitty had stayed up with him and quoted the entire Zoolander movie to him, even though Jack had never seen it so,
“C’mon,” Jack says, forcing his voice to go light again. “Surprise me, do… competitive fucking horticulture.”
Shitty snorts a laugh at that and Jack can almost see him imagining it. His eyes sort of glaze and at one point a small smile rises to his face and–
How’s Shitty, Bitty texts him later that night, after they have resumed eating and talking about nothing and Shitty is asleep on the couch, which may or may not have been exactly what Jack was planning when he put on a history documentary about Jacques Cousteau’s exploration of the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.
Better, Jack replies, careful not to move his right arm lest it knock Shitty’s head off his shoulder. Getting there.
*^*^*^
The next morning, Shitty begs off of running with Jack (“Brah, I’m sore as fuck, like holy shit I’m out of shape”) but Bitty’s pies arrive as promised by 11am and so they sit and eat without bothering to actually cut it into slices.
It’s comfortable, familiar, sliding the pan back and forth and taking turns digging their fork into the pies without thought. Comfortable that Jack doesn’t think anything more is going to be said until later, until Shitty tries to get him to drive him back to Boston and Jack refuses, but for once Shitty starts it:
“I’ve never quit anything before,” Shitty admits. “Never failed at anything. I’m– I’m the smart one, you know? I should be able to do this.”
“You could do it,” Jack says. “If you wanted to do it. Do you?”
Shitty takes his time selecting his next bite of pie.
“I- no,” he says. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Okay,” Jack says. “Then don’t.”
Shitty snorts. “It’s not that easy, man. I- my dad paid for all of Samwell under the assumption I would go to law school and he’s paying for that and my housing and I… I looked into it a little at one point but I haven’t even taken the GRE so even if Iwanted to apply to PhD programs it’s not like I could so–”
He finally pauses for breath and Jack jumps in.
“So, you take a year,” he says. “You take a year and then apply next year.”
Shitty blinks as if the thought had never occurred to him.
“A gap year?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. He’s parroting what everyone had told him after his overdose. “Take some time and figure out what you really want to do. You- you’re twenty two, Shits, you don’t have to have it all figured out.”
“I just- I thought I did,” Shitty says, voice dropping. He sounds more than disappointed. “I was going to become a lawyer and then piss my dad off by going to work for like the fucking DA or some activist and I was going to be the best and help people and now it’s all…” he waves his hand. “Fucked up. I- I just wish I liked it, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. In a way, he does. He used to have a plan. It didn’t include Samwell. Or Shitty. Or Bitty. So he feels confident when he adds, “But your new plan is going to be better.”
“Psh, I don’t even know where to start, bro,” Shitty says. “How to tell my dad or the school or my mom or, fuck, where I’m going to live or do or–”
“Move in with me,” Jack says. It’s not something he’s thought about, but only because he doesn’t need to think about it. He has an extra room. Shitty is his best friend. It makes sense. He takes a bite of pie. “Worry about the rest after.”
“Jack,” Shitty says, rolling his eyes fondly. “I can’t just move in with you.”
“Why not?” Jack says, shrugging. He doesn’t get people sometimes. It’s not that big a deal to live with someone. Hell, he has had to have random roommates on the Q since he was 14 and it’s not like he got a say in who he stays with on Away games. And they had to share a room. He already has lived with Shitty. He likes Shitty. He wants Shitty to be here. “I have the room. You’d even have your own bathroom this time.”
Shitty has turned his head to stare at him.
“You’re serious,” he says. “You would just let me move in. And stay here. Until I figure out what I am going to do with my life.”
Of course he would. Jack has lost count of how many times Shitty has put him back together, how many panic attacks Shitty has sat through, how many times Shitty has thrown his arm over Jack’s shoulder after a lost game, how many days he was certain he was in a bad mood until Shitty tackled him.
“Yes,” Jack says.
He’s still not the greatest with words and he usually feels completely out of his depth with how to help people and he’s never been able to really keep up with Shitty intellectually but this?
This he can do.
*^*^*^
However, there is a problem with the plan. Which Jack remembers when he realizes he can’t take another day of not Skyping Bitty and risks it even though Shitty is in the next room.
“Shitty is moving in,” he tells Bitty immediately. He barely waits for Bitty to say hello. His stomach already filled with nerves. He might be talking too fast. “Uh, I invited him and… Well, I think I have to tell him about us.”
It’s not the plan. The plan is for Bitty and him to keep their relationship a secret so that no one gets too excited and leaks it to the press and it was decided to make sure their crazy friends from Samwell didn’t find out because none of those boys have an ounce of discretion between them. In the interest of fairness, Jack didn’t tell Shitty either.
So this is not fair and Bitty is going to be so mad and Jack should have talked to him before telling Shitty he could move in because the weekends Bitty gets to sneak away to visit him are few and far between and Shitty being here does change things (no more sex in the kitchen) and, god, Bitty is going to be so mad.
“Okay,” Bitty says and Jack almost misses it because he blurts “I’m so sorry” at the same time.
“Okay?” he asks. Bitty is still smiling. He doesn’t look ready to yell at Jack.
“Of course, darlin’, if he’s living with you, he’s going to find out eventually. You can’t sneak around in your own house!”
“But- that’s exactly what you are doing!” Jack says, feeling panic flare in his gut. It seemed fair before- Jack doesn’t tell the Falconers, Bitty doesn’t tell Samwell but now it’s–
“Well, I live with four other people,” Bitty says, waving a hand. “It’s always madness here. No one notices if I sneak away for a bit. Totally different. Oh, gosh, you gotta send me a picture of his face when you tell him.”
“You… you’re really not mad?” Jack asks. It doesn’t seem to make sense. Bitty squints at him.
“No. Why would I be?”
“Because I asked Shitty to move in without checking with you,” Jack says. “I didn’t even think about how it would affect us and it’s against the rules for him to know and it changes things and–”
“Jack, sweetie, stop,” Bitty says and his voice drops into something warm and thick and Jack hadn’t realized it but he had been panicking. “You wanna know what I know?”
Jack nods mutely.
“I know that your best friend, who is also my very good friend, hasn’t been speaking to anyone for almost a month,” he sticks up one finger as he starts. Another pops up. “I know that you went to go pick him up without warning and had him stay with you.”
Jack nods.
“I know that now, two days later, you have asked Shitty to move in with you. Which means I also know that Shitty is no longer going to attend Harvard Law School.”
Oh god, Jack hadn’t even explained that part. And that was the most important part.
“That means that I know something was wrong and it means I know you are taking care of him and it means I do not care if you did not ask me first because I trust you. You always do the right thing.”
“Oh,” Jack says, feeling a bit stunned. Oh.
“And, also, well…” Bitty’s nose scrunches up like it does right before he’s going to laugh. “It is your house, honey. I think you are allowed to invite whoever you want to live with you.”
“Well,” Jack starts but Bitty interrupts.
“This also one hundred percent means I get to tell Lardo everything, though,” he says and Jack hurries to nod but Bitty continues– “And I do mean everything.”
His grin goes wicked and Jack flushes red just thinking about it and–
He tells Shitty on Thursday, when they are driving back from Boston because Jack got back from his roadie with time to go pick up Shitty’s things. Shitty makes an inhuman noise and then almost makes Jack crash the car because he tries to tackle him and in the end they have to pull over so Jack can tell him the whole story.
Shitty’s face is still too thin and there are circles under his eyes but he’d left all his law books with a friend who was going to give them away for free next year and he hits Jack no less than 14 times while Jack tells him the story.
*^*^*^
Of course, the first two weeks, Jack worries he made it worse.
Practice starts up again so he is gone for huge chunks of the morning and he returns only to find Shitty still sleeping. He seems just as tired and listless as he did before and still gets full after four bites of food most meals and Jack frets enough that Bitty starts sending not only pies but casseroles and lasagnas and biscuits that he claims are “designed to put meat on bones, Jack. He just has to eat one a day.”
So Jack worries and drags Shitty out to the rink two more times and it’s a relief when Shitty meets his team and springs to life to ask a thousand questions and answer almost as many about Jack when he was in college, but then Shitty returns home and is quiet and goes into his room at ten and Jack can’t help but think that the outing was too much for him.
He’s positive it was when he wakes up the next morning at 5am to get to practice and he sees Shitty’s light is already on.
“–sorry,” Shitty is saying and Jack freezes because usually when Shitty is awake, he is just laying there and– “I didn’t think you’d answer this early. I just– I was just awake and thinking about you and I-I’m really sorry, Lards. I don’t know why I didn’t just–”
A pause. A sound that could be a chuckle.
“Yeah, okay, I will do that. I promise.”
There’s another pause but Jack moves away when Shitty’s voice filters through the door again. He knows more than most that some conversations are private.
I love you, he texts Bitty even though he knows Bitty won’t get it for hours.
*^*^*^
“Lardo says I have to tell you to punch me in the face,” Shitty tells him that afternoon, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “And then I have to take a picture and send it to her.”
“Okay,” Jack says, calmly putting his glass down. Shitty stands and Jack slowly lines up his shot, making a big deal of tapping his hand gently on Shitty’s face to pick the perfect spot, muttering the whole time about how he has to make Lardo proud and then he pulls his arm back and–
He tackles Shitty hard and Shitty’s surprised oof as he falls to the floor, Jack on top of him, turns into a shout of laughter. He struggles and squirms and Jack has always been stronger than him, even before he became a professional hockey player, so it’s muscle memory that has him loosening his grip at the right moments so Shitty has a fighting chance but eventually he gets him into a headlock and he doesn’t punch him in the face but he does make a point to mess up his hair is much as possible.
He snaps a picture of both of them. Shitty still in a headlock, hair in disarray, Jack grinning above him and it’s blurry because they are both out of breath and Jack is still laughing but Jack sends it to the entire Samwell Men’s Hockey Team group chat because why not?
I’m still going to punch him when I see him, Lardo writes back.
I am not going to send pies if you two are just going to roughhouse all the time,Bitty says.
Bros, Holster says, i can’t believe you two get to live together again!!! Not cool. NOT cool.
Wait, you’re the ones Bitty has been sending all the pies to?? Ransom writes. What the hellllll??
Is that Jack Zimmermann? Someone named Tango asks. Seriously, guys, was that Jack Zimmermann? Who is the guy with the mustache? Guys, what is happening??
Jack laughs and puts down his phone and muses aloud as to how long he should wait before letting Shitty escape.
*^*^*^
Shitty gets better.
He starts staying up til all hours of the night again, which might make Jack worry, except Shitty has always loved staying up til all hours of the night and one day when Jack wakes up to go to practice and Shitty’s light is still on, he pops his head in to see Shitty Skyping Lardo and judging from their surprised faces, neither of them have slept at all and neither realize how late (early?) it is.
After another month or so, he gets a job at a bookstore. He studies for the GREs. He researches which Women’s Studies PhD programs are the best, he researches a few more which are close by. Jack knows this because he leaves brochures all over the apartment. Jack doesn’t mind at all. He comes to Jack’s games and almost gets kicked out for violent behavior and so the next one, Jack gets him a seat up with the WAGs and it takes Shitty all of ten minutes to get all of them to fall a little bit in love with him. (Seriously. Jack looks up while he’s sitting on the bench mid-way through the first period. Ten minutes.) Shitty joins their book club.
He gains weight. Enough that he starts running again and then drags Jack to the public rink to skate with him even though that always causes a stir. It’s a fun stir though and Shitty proves himself to be just as capable of getting people to back off of him as he was in college.
They also cause a stir when they go back to Samwell. There’s a kegster and Shitty teaches Dex and Tango how to make the perfect tub juice and Jack has to take selfies for a chunk of the night but that just means he has a valid excuse to hide out in the kitchen so…
Jack is jealous when Shitty decides to stay for a few extra days with Lardo and he has to go back to Providence because of practice but then Bitty pops into the passenger seat and “Oh, did I forget to tell you that it’s our Fall break this week?”
It’s slow and it’s not perfect and there are angry phone calls and fumbled explanations that Jack overhears and stresses over but–
“Hey, Jack,” Shitty mock-whispers one night as he comes into the room. Jack opens one eye. Grabs his phone and hits it. It’s 3 o’clock in the morning.
“What?” he grunts. This had better be a freakin’ emergency.
“I just realized,” Shitty says, coming closer. “I gotta say thank you.”
“Thank you?” Jack repeats. Maybe this is a very strange dream.
“For everything,” Shitty says and, yup, he’s climbing into bed with Jack. “It’s time for Thank You snuggles.”
Jack doesn’t have the time or energy to fight this and he knows from years of experience that fighting it usually won’t do anything so he grumbles something that could be a “you’re welcome” and closes his eyes and Shitty curls up behind him and–
“Shitty?” he says, waking up a little more.
“Yes, dear Jack?”
“Are you naked?”
“Of course. Now, stop asking ridiculous questions. You have practice in the morning.”
*^*^*^