Plzzzzzz pt3 of zimbits football!!!!! I love your writing!! It's soOOOOO GOOOOD!
“Y’all go on and get now, I have orientation in the morning,” Eric scolded the lumbering football players clogging up his teeny dorm room. His roommate, a perfectly nice seeming boy from Oregon, had disappeared shortly after the team’s arrival, and Eric couldn’t blame him.
“Fuck orientation,” Holster dismissed. “You’ve been chilling with us for a year, what more do you need to know about the college experience?” Eric put his hands on his hips.
“Maybe some people from my actual class?”
“Pft, whatever. Rans and Shitty are gonna be in school forever with their majors; you’ll have plenty of people to do senior year with.” Ransom made himself comfortable with Shitty on Eric’s bed.
“That’s right, brah,” Shitty agreed, welcoming the snuggles. “You’ll never be rid of us.”
“Graduation is a myth,” Ransom added gravely. “And bro, you can make all the friends you want. You’re a freshman with invites already lined up for the sickest kegsters of the year.”
“If you do say so yourself,” Eric huffed. “I admit, you boys make a strong argument, but I shudder to think what your fearless leader has to say about y’all encouraging me to shirk responsibility like this.” He turned to the man in question only to find him twisting back and forth in the desk chair, nibbling on one of the peanut butter cookies Mrs. Bittle had sent to thank the boys for carrying all of “Dicky’s” boxes.
“Um.” Jack looked between his friends, who were watching him expectantly. He swallowed. “Well, I mean, I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out tomorrow since it’s the last day before classes.”
“Jack!” Eric cried over the boys’ boisterous cheers. “You’re supposed to be the responsible adult here!” Jack shrugged, tiny smile playing at his lips and winning Eric over easily.
“Well…they really don’t teach you anything useful…”
“So you figure you can talk me into another day of nonsense with this lot?”
“Well I suppose I could be persuaded to give up an afternoon of icebreakers and forced socialization.”
“Good. I hear Annie’s has their Pumpkin Spice Lattes out early this year. And the art theater is screening Goonies, so we were thinking of hitting that too.”
“How can I say no to that then?”
“Just meet us at the Haus at eleven tomorrow.”
“I’ll come at ten and we’ll make breakfast.”
“Deal.” Eric nodded. “Alright boys,” Jack said to the room at large, “let’s clear out, we scared Bittle’s roommate out long enough.” The boys all stood and followed Jack to the door, leaving Eric with hair ruffles and back pats. Jack held his hand in a wave as he followed the end of the parade into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Eric sat down hard on the bed, grinning broadly.
“Eric Richard Bittle, what on Earth do you mean you don’t know what happened at orientation?” Mrs. Bittle demanded over dinner - she’d made her son’s favorites to lure him home for a meal to extract details. Eric stopped picking at his mashed potatoes and exchanged a panicked glance with his father over the rim of the sweet tea glass Coach was using to avoid having to chime in.
“Uh…Jack said it’s stupid? And the guys were going to see Goonies?”
“Jack said, hmm? And I suppose if Jack Zimmermann jumped off a bridge you might think that sounds mighty fine too?” Coach put his glass down.
“Suzie,” he said, laying a gentle hand over hers and giving her a significant look. Eric saw the realization dawn on his mother’s face, could practically hear the unspoken “breakdown” that hung in the air, but what was actually said was, “Jack is a responsible young man. I think he and Junior’s other friends will see to it that he isn’t completely lost.” Suzanne sighed.
“I suppose. But Dicky, don’t you dare make a habit of skipping out on your responsibilities.”
“I promise, Mama, I will stay right on top of everything.”
And he did. Between the Haus study group and the relative simplicity of his first semester classes, Eric was able to keep up with his studies. Until the Midterms Kool-down Kegster, when, happily situated on top of one of the hockey players in the frat next door to the Haus, he remembered.
“Oh fuck!” he sat up abruptly, hair askew and shirt rucked up.
“Dude, already?” the hockey bro asked, eyebrow raised.
“I have a paper due tomorrow,” Eric explained, already starting to extricate himself from the bed.
“Oh dude, that sucks the big one.”
“Sorry. I uh, had fun?” Eric patted at the tuft of hair sticking up on the back of his head.
“Yeah, was good for me too,” the guy said blandly, already reaching into his pants. By the time Eric was across the room pulling the door shut, hockey bro’s dick was out, his head flopped back against the pillow, as if Eric had never been there at all. Well then, glad he’s not too heartbroken, he thought to himself and trudged down the stairs.
He stood outside the hockey house, staring at the Haus and feeling the street vibrate beneath his sneakers. The party ball hastily duct taped to the living room ceiling lit the windows in a flashing array of rainbow. The only light from upstairs came from Jack’s room. His fingers slid across his phone screen before the decision was fully formed.
“Allo?” The distracted greeting said Jack probably hadn’t checked his caller I.D.
“Hi Jack.” Eric paused. “It’s Eric.”
“Are you okay? Need me to come get you?”
“I’m okay. Except I just remembered I forgot to write my paper for American History.”
“I am aware. Jack, I just left mid-hookup for this, if you know anything at all about U.S. history, please come help me, otherwise fuck my grade I’m going back upstairs.” The exasperated sigh was a protracted burst of static in his ear, but Jack relented.
“Okay, give me five to find my notebooks and some pants. And know that you definitely owe me a batch of those homemade granola bars.”
“Five minutes,” Jack promised, then promptly hung up.
When he saw the light in Jack’s room go out, Eric stood up from the porch steps where he had been waiting. It took another few minutes before the front door of the Haus opened to reveal Jack, backpack slung over his shoulder. They met in the middle of the street and Jack gave a tired but fond grin in response to Eric’s grateful smile, and in mutual silent agreement, they made for Eric’s dorm.
The room was empty, so Eric texted his roommate that he’d gotten home okay and wished him a fun night when the roommate said, “Enjoy, see you after breakfast ;)”
“Well, looks like we got the place to ourselves for the duration,” Eric told Jack, trying not to sound like he could think of much better reasons than this stupid paper for him to want Jack alone.
“Good.” Jack made himself comfortable on Eric’s bed, kicking off his shoes and getting his notes and laptop set up. “I brought reading to do while you’re writing, but I’ll help you outline and edit.”
“I am an insomniac. Believe me, this is going to be just as good for my sanity as yours.”
“Well alrighty, I guess I won’t feel too bad.”
“I still expect granola bars.” Jack winked. Eric’s face burned, but he just focused on getting a blank document ready to go. “So what’s this paper on, eh?”
“I have to write a few pages on a New Deal program and its immediate and long-term effects.”
As luck would have it, Jack knew a lot about the New Deal. And he had more than enough feelings about it for Eric to pick a thesis. Jack flipped his notebook open to a page covered in messy, blocky print, turned it towards Eric, and laughed at his horrified expression.
“This is completely illegible,” Eric complained.
“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Really Jack, is this how your brain works? Because if so, I have to say, I’m a mite concerned.”
“At least I have notes, Bittle.” Jack gestured at the blank document on the screen. “Is this how your brain works? Because if so, I have to say, I’m a mite concerned,” he mimicked.
“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, let me live,” he huffed, flopping over onto the comforter, taking the laptop with him. Curled on his side with the computer, Eric started filling in the heading and basic title of his paper and jotting down a few of the points Jack had made into a quick outline. He’d started sorting through JSTOR to find the shortest relevant articles possible, figuring Jack had disappeared into his own corner of peer-reviewed purgatory, when the bed shifted under him and a warm weight pressed along his back. It was Jack, and Eric almost jumped out of his damn skin because Jack had spooned up right behind him, chin hooked over his shoulder and arm flopping down over his abdomen.
“How’s it going?” Jack’s breath tickled as it blew over Eric’s skin, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through Eric’s ribs.
“It’s…happening. Slowly. But I don’t think I’ll flunk.” Jack nodded, chin digging a little uncomfortably into Eric’s shoulder.
“Yeah, this is looking pretty good.” He figured Jack would let go and return to his reading, but he stayed wrapped around Eric.
“How’s your reading coming there?” he asked teasingly.
“I did start it at a decent hour. That is possible.”
“Hmmm…sounds fake.” Eric could feel gentle laughter at his back. Well…looks like this is just his life right now. He went back to writing, struggling to get all of the bullet-points in his outline put into coherent sentences. For a minute, he blanked out, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. He was tired and warm, and he could feel his eyelids drooping. And then Jack spoke up.
“Created the infrastructure necessary for the rapid development of industry during the war boom of the early forties?” Eric physically shook off his exhaustion.
“Oh, just…where you were going with that sentence. You could say ‘In addition to the immediate economic relief and placation of the anxious, unemployed masses, the formation of the WPA created the infrastructure necessary for the rapid development of industry during the war boom of the early forties.’”
“Oh. Thanks, that’s really good.”
“Not my first rodeo.” Eric typed in the end of the sentence, and getting past that block gave him the burst he needed to get the rest of the paper out, Jack proofreading as he went, keeping himself tucked close throughout. At some point, he caught part of Eric’s hoodie in his fingers, idly rubbing at the soft fabric. Eric didn’t realize that there was such a soft side to Jack. He knew he was kind, one of the most loyal and dedicated friends he’d ever had, but compared to the rest of the group they hung out with, he’d never been up for all of the casual cuddling (aside from Shitty trapping him in a bear hug). This gentle, sleepy Jack was incredibly endearing, and Eric’s chest felt warm and tight.
He put the finishing touches on the essay around three thirty. After saving the document about five times and promptly sending it to the print queue, he closed the laptop with a satisfying “slap,” and turned to look over his shoulder at Jack, only to find him fast asleep. Exhausted and resigned, Eric just wiggled carefully out of Jack’s arms and trudged off to the bathroom to brush his teeth. While tugging on his pajamas, he briefly contemplated sleeping in his roommate’s bed, but upon realizing he didn’t really know how clean the guy was and feeling like it would be…cold - a rejection of this intimacy Jack offered, he lay back down and pulled a blanket over them both.
Eric expected to sleep terribly, to lie awake staring at the ceiling until the sun came up, Jack woke, and he was inevitably left with the uncomfortable silence and an empty bed. Instead, he slept the best he had since coming to college. The bed was warm and, completely relaxed, Jack was actually very soft to snuggle against. Eric’s breaths unconsciously synched with Jack’s, his eyes got heavy, and the next thing he knew, the sun was streaming in from the single window.
He stretched, joints popping pleasantly. And then his foot brushed a leg, and all of a sudden, he snapped back to the moment and felt fully Jack pressed up behind him. He startled just enough to jostle the bed, and his heart skittered in his chest as Jack stirred. The arm around his waist tightened momentarily, and a soft groan escaped Jack as he woke fully. The sound shocked down Eric’s spine and oh god, he was actually going to die. In some twist of cosmic mercy, Jack wasn’t sporting morning wood - that would be the actual death of him.
“Oh. Hey.” Jack’s breath ghosted over Eric’s neck, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut so he could compose his voice enough to get out,
“Morning.” Jack stretched again, and the movement pushed them closer.
“Morning. I didn’t ruin your sleep, did I?” He looked so genuinely concerned Eric couldn’t let him be uncomfortable.
“You didn’t make a peep,” he said, because he couldn’t quite admit just how much Jack didn’t ruin his sleep.
“Okay.” They lay in silence for another minute, unsure of how to act normally now that they were both lucid. Eric was about to roll over and see if Jack just passed back out when their phones buzzed simultaneously, the group chat lighting up with all the dirt and surreptitiously taken pictures of shame. It gave them something appropriate to do with their hands and something safe to talk about. Lying next to each other, they made fun of their friends’ questionable-at-best choices - Holster making out with his ex, Esther (again), Ransom instigating body shots, Shitty’s general personality. The best chirps got sent to the group chat, but mostly they were just giggling to themselves and speaking in broken sentences as they realized they were nowhere near the losers of this week’s morning after. Jack even went as far as to say,
“I think I definitely chose the best place to wake up today.” And even though Eric knew how Jack really meant that, his brain couldn’t really switch off the nagging curiosity of what could be if Jack thought differently - was different.
The chat died back down after a while, everyone either going out in search of food or back to sleep. Jack locked his phone back up, let out a final stretch-and-groan, and asked,
“Wanna hit Commons? I’m getting pretty hungry.” Eric took the out and agreed, hopping out of bed and shucking out of his pajamas. He tried not to imagine Jack’s eyes on him as he dressed. When he turned around, Jack was idly thumbing through his textbook.
“You ready?” Jack looked back up.
At Commons, Jack and Eric split up - Jack to the omelette bar, Eric to the buffet. He loaded his plate with a pile of french toast sticks and homefries, drowning the whole thing in the watered-down fake syrup in the vat at the end of the line. Jack sidled up behind him, and in lieu of greeting said,
“You should eat more protein.” Eric jumped, flushed, and finally defended his breakfast.
“I am a figure skater, I need energy. If I become some muscle-brained jock-head I won’t be able to get any lift to my jumps.”
“Hey, a muscle-brained jock-head just saved your grade.”
“I’m just sayin’, don’t go mocking my diet plan - I get results.”
Jack conceded the point then, and sat down with his heap of egg whites and spinach, tucking in with one last glance at Eric’s plate that fell between longing and dismay. Looking at the man himself, Eric could relate. Jack was sweet and smart and handsome, and whenever Eric had brought Philip to hang out with the guys, he hadn’t batted an eye, just chatted as politely as Jack ever managed about college plans and books they were reading. He was exactly the kind of friend he’d dreamed of having in Georgia. If he was being completely honest with himself, Jack was the kind of boyfriend he’d dreamed of. But there be dragons.
Because for all that he went to a super-queer liberal arts college and might accidentally minor in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, Jack Zimmermann seemed as straight as an arrow shaft. And even if he did like men, he was older and played football and drank horrific concoctions that contained lots of kale and protein powder. There was no way Eric would be remotely his type. Eric could feel himself getting maudlin, so he shook himself and took a sip of coffee to ground himself.
“Falling asleep there Bittle?” Jack asked, smirking over his orange juice.
“I don’t know how in the hell you’re even awake right now,” he covered.
“I did get a little extra sleep,” Jack reminded him, and god did he not need to be reminded of Jack falling asleep spooned up against him.
“That’s right, you abandoned me,” Eric teased.
“I did not,” he objected. “I was there the whole time.”
“And what’s your alibi, the drool patch on the back of my shirt?”
“I do not drool!” This came out louder than Jack had probably meant for and they got a couple of looks. “Do not!” Jack whispered forcefully, leaning across the table.
“Do too!” Eric whispered back, leaning in as well. Their faces were inches apart, and Eric had to fight to keep his face from softening. In the end he couldn’t quite manage it after Jack reached up to wipe a smear of syrup from his cheek, the pad of it rough and warm on Eric’s face, and then licked the syrup off like it was nothing. And then made an exaggeratedly offended expression at how ludicrously fake it tasted.
Eric hated his life. Before he could do anything stupid, he leaned back into his own space and returned to his breakfast.
The dining hall offerings were meager enough that Eric texted his mother to say he was coming over for dinner and did she need anything from the store. She told him to grab eggs and some greens for a salad and “I’m thinking I’ll do brownies for dessert. Maybe you can pick up some ice cream to put on top.” Eric didn’t miss what a loaded statement that was. His mama thought brownies were just about the lowest a baked good could sink. Tiny batches, an inelegant slop of batter waiting in a pan, and finicky to make to boot. But they were Coach’s favorite comfort food, hot and sticky fresh out of the oven, a scoop of ice cream melting over top.
“What’s wrong with Coach?” he asked. Mama sighed.
“I don’t know, baby. He was just in a rotten mood when he came home from practice. He was real quiet, just took a beer and a puddin’ cup back to his study.”
“I wonder what happened,” Eric murmured, thinking briefly of Jack and wondering if he was upset too. He clicked away from the call to his messaging window and sent off a quick text to Jack. Coach is in a mood. You alright? There was no reply bubbles, but he hadn’t expected a prompt reply. Instead of waiting to hear back, he wrapped up the call with Mama and headed off to the Stop & Shop.
Back at the house, he set the bags of groceries down on the kitchen table and started rifling through for the greens to get started on the salad.
“Thank you, baby,” Mama said, brushing a hand across his back as she passed behind. “I know you’re just on the other side of town, but I do miss having you around.” He laughs, but tucks his chin over her shoulder on his way to get tongs, promising,
They had everything set out on the table in a few minutes, and Suzanne hollered “Riiiichard! Diiiiner!” towards the back of the house. Coach joined them a moment later, dropping into his seat at the head of the table with a grunt that sounded more pained than ill-tempered. He complimented Suzanne on dinner and asked “Junior” how his classes were going as always, and between bites, Eric and his mama traded glances.
Neither of them dared ask about practice until the brownies were cut and ice cream scooped. Only then did Suzanne clear her throat and and ask, “So sweetheart, how was practice?” Eric shoved a large spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, anticipating a long-winded speech about whatever the boys had done to piss him off. Instead, Coach looked a little awkward and addressed Eric.
“Well, funny enough, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Oh?” Eric’s ind raced, frantically trying to recall if he’d played a part in any activities that could’ve affected the boys’ game. “Well fire away.”
“It’s - it’s a favor - a biggun, and you can say no.”
“Okay…Daddy, you’re makin me nervous.”
“Sorry, sorry. Uh, well, you know how our backup kicker has been on leave with mono?”
“Well, it seems our starting kicker busted his ankle playing soccer.”
“I know. I said it was big. And I can see about pulling one of the boys from fourth string, but you’ve got a good leg and you know the team.”
“Richard,” Suzanne warned.
“And kickers hardly ever get tackled,” he promised.
“Richard, that’s enough,” Suzanne said again, firmer. Eric was silent for a moment, staring at his father. Things were different now than they were in Georgia, he knew this. He had his father’s support, the boys knew he was gay and didn’t make an ordeal of it - a few of them were even queer too. The only thing that really bothered him still was the idea of being tackled, but the fact that Ransom and Holster would be his defense…
“You will?” Both his parents sounded shocked, but a grin was breaking out from under Coach’s moustache. Meanwhile ama looked like she’d swallowed a frog.
“Dicky, you know you don’t have to, right? Not if this is gonna bring your problem back.”
“I’m not gonna faint, Mama,” he told her, trying not to sound irritated. “You’re not supposed to even touch the kicker, and besides…” Eric looked at his father. “I wanna help the team.” Coach nodded, beaming.
“Practice is at 3:30 tomorrow. We’ll get you out there and see if you’re comfortable, and if all goes well, we’ll play you Friday.”
“I’ll be there,” Eric promised.
“Thank you,” Coach said. “I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re even willing to try.” Eric nods at his father, but when he stands to clear the table, he’s engulfed in a bear hug. He squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that his father is already proud of him. This is just icing on the cake.