Help me these hockey dorks have taken over my liFE.
Summary: Jacks' POV of the kiss at the end of graduation. "He hasn't said goodbye. To who? To what? He thinks back to the people he's hugged, all the people who have tearfully wished him well, all the people he'll miss the most, and for some reason his mind jumps straight to Bittle.
Oh.
Bittle."
Word count:
Props to cool banana trxylerhxwellter who beta'd this ;)
Enjoy!
—
"Those alumni events get longer every year," Jack hears his father say, "ready to head back to the hotel?"
Is he?
It's strange. He's not. It might be just attachment to Samwell - which is understandable. He spent four years of his life here, and now he's just supposed to leave?
That's it. He doesn't want to leave.
Why? He's finally achieved his lifelong dream. He's playing for the Falcons. NHL. What's wrong with him?
"Ah yeah, almost," he replies, the words not passing through whatever confusion was clogging his brain, "I just feel like, uh…"
What does he feel like?
"I.. haven't really said goodbye to everyone."
It's true. He hasn't. But.. he has said goodbye, hasn't he? He must've hugged half the university by now.
But… he doesn't-
He can't-
Leave. He can't leave.
Why?
He's so confused, but he doesn't know why. Maybe he's scared of the future. Maybe he wants to stay in the safety of Samwell and the Haus.
His father chuckles. "Too late for another lap around the rink."
"Ah, no… it's not that."
It has nothing to do with the rink. Jack crosses it off his list of what's missing. Because something is. Something's missing or wrong or slipping through his fingertips and he has to find it.
His father places a hand on his shoulder. Tells him to go, but Jack doesn't know where he's going.
He hasn't said goodbye. To who? To what? He thinks back to the people he's hugged, all the people who have tearfully wished him well, all the people he'll miss the most, and for some reason his mind jumps straight to Bittle.
Oh.
Bittle.
In that moment - and it only takes a moment - it's like floodgates burst open in Jack's chest. Something warm and desperate fills his ribcage and makes his heart swell. His pulse jumps and his fingers twitch.
Bittle.
He was so stupid. Of course it was Bittle. It's always been Bittle, right from the first early-morning check practice.
So he runs, tie flying in his face and coat flapping out behind him and he must look utterly ridiculous - sweat slowly beading down his face, breathlessly gasping for air as he goes faster and faster and the thing is he doesn't even care. He needs to get back to the Haus. To Bittle.
He needs to say goodbye. Properly.
Suddenly it's that word. Goodbye. It's so final and absolute and Jack feels like punching himself for not realising it sooner.
He turns the corner and there it is, it all it's chipped, decaying glory. Without missing a beat, Jack throws open the door and climbs the stairs, two at a time. He makes a beeline to Bittle's door.
"Bittle!" he exclaims, chest heaving.
He's not in there.
"Lord."
He turns, and he sees Bittle's shaking figure facing the cork board in his- in Chowder's room.
He's crying. Something burns in Jack's chest, and the wild flurry of emotions settle down a bit. He gulps
"I can feel your-"
"Bittle"
"-Hello!"
Bittle tugs one of the headphones out of his ears and whips around to stare Jack straight in the eye, surprised etched over his features.
"Jack?" his eyes scan over Jack's body, taking in his current state of distress - the line of sweat down his temples, the haggard breathing, tie askew and coat ruffles - before gasping, "oh my goodness! Why are- is everything alright? You're outta breath! You could have texted-"
"Bitty," Jack interrupts, the word spilling from his lips like a deep sigh. There's a million things he wants to say, and each sentence is playing in his mind at the same time and he just can't seem to pick one. He needs to say all of them.
He needs to apologise for being so goddamn slow. For all those months where Bitty thought Jack hated him. He needs to tell him what an amazing player, person, baker, teammate he is and how much he means to him. He wants to tell him how Jack took just that one extra pill and landed himself in rehab, he wants to bare his soul and say I love you and hope to hell and back Bitty says something - anything - back.
But he doesn't- can't. He can't because every time his mouth tries to form the half-constructed mess of a sentence a hundred thousand things rise up in his throat and he just- he can't.
He stares into Bitty's eyes, wide and unblinking. His cheeks are dusted with a blush and he's not moving away even though Jack is so close and- oh.
Oh.
Jack really wants to punch himself now.
Instead, he leans down and presses his lips to Bitty's. Jack feels his lips part as he gasps in surprise and for a terrifying moment Jack swears he's read it wrong but then Bitty's hands are clutching at his perfectly ironed shirt and he's leaning into him and Jack brings a hand up to brush Bitty's jaw and the flood in his chest turns into a tsunami that threatens to drown him.
He pulls away, eyes fluttering open to find Bitty's still shut, chin angled upwards and Jack just. He can't believe. He's. Beautiful.
Jack leans down and kisses him again. Because he can. Because he wants to. Because Bitty will kiss him back.
His phone is buzzing in his pocket. He doesn't want to let go, but he does. He wonders how long he's been gone.
"That's uh, my phone I should…" he trails off as Bitty's eyes open sleepily, reluctantly.
"Oh," Bitty mumbles.
Their faces are still so close together, and Jack thinks he could get used to the view of Bitty two inches away. He'd like to.
"I gotta go," he says after checking his phone.
"Okay."
Jack takes hold of Bitty's elbows and they're staring at each other again. His mind is blank and he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest.
"I gotta go," he repeats, "but I'll text you, okay?"
"Okay."
He steps away. They're holding hands, not breaking eye contact. He takes two steps forward without thinking twice and then they're kissing again. He's finally achieved his lifelong dream and all he wants to do is kiss Bitty for quite possibly forever.
"I'll text you," he says, again, because all he can think of is gotta go and stay in touch, stay here.
"Okay," Bitty says, again, with that same wide-eyed, awed expression.
And then he does it. He leaves, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to run back up the stairs and hold Bitty close and kiss the top of his head and-
He leaves.
But this time it's okay. He's said goodbye, but without the finality. He kissed Bitty. Who kissed back.
Nothing about that is goodbye.
—
It's my first time writing zimbits but I have s o man y pent up feelings
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