Bitty had been running this blog - Bitty's Bakery: cooking 911 - for about a year now, and he had never read something this tragic before:
Anonymous asked - I tried to make lasagne and it turned into a block of charcoal. Everything I cook turns into charcoal, apparently, and my friend pleaded with me to ask you how to stop doing that
He let out a breath, trying to imagine this mystery person pulling their lasagne out of the oven only to find a horrible smell and a black mess. Bless their heart.
Honey, he typed out, what you need to do is start simple. Try cookies, or grilled sandwiches, or- heck, even out-of-the-packet cake! Start with the basics, follow the recipe, and I promise you'll be whipping up soufflé's in no time!
A small portion of Bitty's soul died when he encouraged out-of-the-packet cake, but if everything they cooked was burnt, then it sounded like they needed out-of-the-packet cake. Which was tragic and it made Bitty - not for the first time since making the blog - want to just go over to them and teach them, without the use of that store-bought nonsense.
Bitty still vlogged sometimes, just about his life at the Haus, or a new recipe he wanted to try out soon. Nothing particularly ground-breaking, but his subscriber count was rising every day - for some unknown reason - and someone had even recognised him in the street once.
He sighed, stretched and answered a few more questions (a recipe for marble cake, what to bring to a school fete, how to feed yourself on a student's budget) before crawling into bed, cuddling Señor Bunny close to his chest. He knew Ransom and Holster would start off the season with enthusiasm to spare, given their recently elected co-captain rank, and would burst into his room with an old air horn and a hockey stick or two.
He groaned into the pillow. These people were his friends.
—
Jack had never been more thankful for the anonymous option. It had taken him enough time to figure out how the damn website worked, he didn't need more stress over whether or not the guy knew his name. It was embarrassing for an NHL player - and grown man for fuck's sake - to resort to asking a blog but it had gotten out of hand, according to Shitty.
Shitty, who currently lived off canned food and beer.
The reply was almost instantaneous, and he read over it, nodding thoughtfully. Cookies are simple, right? Just buy the mix and put it into a pan - done. He could do that.
Knowing that there wouldn't be anything resembling cookie dough in his kitchen - his nutritionist would kill him - Jack closed his laptop and went to bed, trying to think of who he would give the cookies to. Maybe he would take a cheat day.
—
Anonymous asked: I bought a packet of cookie dough, like the pre-made stuff, and it came out as a black sludge.
Bitty giggled slightly, though more out of exasperation than amusement. "Bless their heart," he sighed.
Store-bought cookie dough.
It's… how can they… how can they fuck up something they literally only had to cut up and put in the oven?
Wait.
Oh Lord.
Hey, Charcoal Anon! Did you follow the instructions? - wait did that seem rude… oh well it was a necessary question - I don't understand why they burnt, if you did. Maybe try the boxed cake mix this time?
He posted the reply and sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and trying to think up a way to help this poor soul: cooking classes? Boiled eggs? Heavens - Microwave dinners?
A bubble popped up on his inbox icon.
Anonymous asked: … instructions? I kinda just unwrapped it and put it into the oven.
Bitty almost fell out of his chair. They did what?! You can't just- it was common fucking sense not to jam the entire roll of cookie dough into the oven.
Always look for instructions with store-bought, pre-made things, Charcoal Anon. Try again, but this time, cut it into cookie-thick (like, quarter of an inch) slices and set them out on a tray. Put baking paper on the tray before hand and check how long to bake them for. Don't forget to preheat the oven. Don't worry if you get stuff wrong, but for heaven's sake, don't be afraid to think about what you're doing.
Anonymous asked: don't you chirp me - how was I supposed to know you were meant to cut it up?
Oh honey, when have you ever seen a cookie that's that long? He typed back, smiling.
Anonymous asked: well if I ever make one, you'll be the first to know won't you?
If you make anything that's not burnt you mean.
There was no reply. Instead, what he got was three people asking him who "Charcoal Anon" was. He had no idea, but they were amusing, and… well… bless their heart, and he told them that.
"Bitty!" he heard Holster yell, voice muffled from the door. There was the sound of stifled grunting and the odd slam of limbs on wood or crumbling plaster. Bitty sighed and got up, heading towards the door.
He knew from experience to not be in the way when he opened the door, and so he stepped back as Holster and Ransom tumbled onto the floor in a heap.
"Hello, nice of y'all to drop in," he said dryly. The two sported matching grins as they untangled themselves.
"Have you got a date to winter screw?" Holster asked immediately and Bitty groaned, rolling his eyes.
"Winter screw is ages away!"
"Never too soon to be looking for a prospective screw Bits," Holster replied, looking him straight in the eye.
"Besides, you came to Samwell because of the dudes, right?"
"Wha- I- no!"
"So it's our duty, as bros," Ransom continued as if Bitty hadn't said anything, "to get you a boyfriend while you're in college. A date even- I'd be satisfied with a drunk make-out at this point bruh."
Bitty sighed, again. "And exactly how well did it turn out with the guys you've set me up with before?"
Ransom gulped. "Admittedly, disastrous, but-"
"So what makes you think you can do it again this year?"
"Come on Bits!" Holster pushed, "you've gotta get laid, like, at least once in your life. Please. For us."
"We're here to help!"
"No."
And that was that. Over the next couple of days, Bitty knew he wouldn't see much of Ransom and Holster because they would be too busy ignoring everything he just said to find him a guy to not-so-subtly to set him up with.
To reiterate. These people were his friends.
Bitty moved to close the door, but stopped himself. The problem with running a baking advice blog is that every time he answered a question he wanted to bake, and Lardo had warned him earlier that the fridge could only hold so much.
Talking to Charcoal Anon had made his fingers itch. He needed to bake a batch of cookies just to exorcise the very thought of store-bought, pre-made cookie mix. Bitty shuddered to himself before making his way downstairs to make some real food.
—
Jack couldn't help but blush in embarrassment as he re-read the teasing replies he had gotten. He really was an idiot sometimes - of course you're meant to cut the damn thing up!
He placed the rolls of cookie dough in his basket, as well as some milk. Chuckling to himself - "well if I ever make one, you'll be the first to know won't you?" - Jack paid at the self service checkout (he was buying one thing. One single roll off cookie dough. He's not going to a server for that) and headed home.
This time he was definitely not going to burn it.
Well… he was half-right.
Some of them turned out just like everything else he had tried to make - black, crumbling, looks like something an artist could use - but there were a few he could actually eat. A few that actually tasted… not terrible.
It was a miracle.
I baked cookies today. He texted Shitty.
For real bruh?! Like, actual, edible cookies?
Yea
I'm gonna find that Bitty guy and kiss him
Jack laughed again and put his phone away, munching thoughtfully on a slightly over-done (but not burnt!) cookie. He wondered what advice Bitty would have for him this time, and he only hoped it wouldn't be too hard.
He brushed the steaming black lumps into the trash can and made his way upstairs, sitting down at his computer and - because he really only used it to talk to Bitty - only had to refresh the page to ask another question.
From experience, Jack knew that he would spend at least ten minutes writing and re-writing his initial comment, but he never knew what to say.
He finally decided on: Today was my cheat day, so I tried the cookies again and four came out alright so thanks.
But wait - will Bitty know it's him? It's not specific enough to be obvious - what was that nickname he had called him before? Charcoal Anon?
Charcoal Anon. Today was my cheat day, so I tried the cookies again and four came out alright so thanks.
He sent it before he had a chance to second- triple-guess himself, and then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes refreshing the page to see if he had replied yet. What if he didn't care? Or didn't want to know? Would he laugh at him? Is Jack annoying him? Is he going to- oh never mind he replied.
Yaay! Nice one - and don't thank me; you're the one who made them! Any idea of what you want to make next? I'm not suggesting a banquet, but it's good to get a streak going :)
Jack smiled. I might try the cake mix next - any flavour recommendations? It's a while until my next cheat day though.
As soon as Jack pressed send, however, he realised - with a horrible sinking feeling that went all the way down to the pit of his stomach - that he forgot to press anonymous. Shit.
Rationally, Jack knew that it was really, really unlikely that Bitty would know him just from a blog with a record-breaking seventeen posts on it (he had no idea how to use the damn website, much to the chagrin of literally everyone he knows), but there was still something niggling at the back of his mind: what if you're recognised? What will he say? "Oh! you're that hockey player that overdosed! Are you suicidal? Is the reason why you can't cook because you spent so long having other people do everything for you?"
No. It wasn't fair to assume the very worst of someone just because they can now find his seventeen-post-long blog. He had spent too much time around the media.
Despite what he was expecting (dreading), the message was exactly the same as if Bitty had answered it on his blog;
What kind of crazy diet are you on? Most have cheat days once every two weeks or so. Also all the cake in a box flavours taste like sawdust so really pick any you like.
Again, Jack breathed out a chuckle. He didn't know how Bitty managed to have this much patience with him, but exude annoyance at the things he was trying to make.
He went back to his ask box;
I'll keep that in mind. Wish me luck, I guess.
Good luck! :)
—
The cake turned out alright.
—
Bitty hadn't realised it, but it had soon become the highlight of his day to get back to a bubble in his inbox, detailing the almost-sucesses of a man he knew very little about, but also quite a bit at the same time. Over the month or so they had been talking, Bitty had learned that his name was Jack, the reason for his stupidly bland diet was that he was getting back into work (whatever work was) and he had black hair (he knew this from the constant complaints about how much flour he could see in it after he tried to back from scratch once).
Not much, he supposes, but Bitty also knew his favourite flavour of ice cream, what his mother used to make for him when he was sick, how far he was willing to step out of his comfort zone, that he was Canadian (from the maple syrup accident that they don't speak of. Ever.) and how Jack fit him a lot better than Charcoal Anon, and he's glad for the mishap that lead them to be where they are today.
Bitty wouldn't describe himself as a greedy person, but there was something about Jack that made knowing only this much about him so frustrating. It didn't matter though. This, these messages, the occasional chirp, the baking advice, it was…. nice.
Until now, that is.
JJJJJJJJ asked: Bitty my oven exploded.
The message didn't fully register for a moment. He read it, sat back in his chair, and read it again before-
"What?!"
Jack, how the hell did you manage that?! I thought we were past black sludge and explosions?
JJJJJJJJ asked: I don't know! I was trying to bake potatoes like you told me to and it exploded!
That's the last straw. What's your skype?
JJJJJJJJ asked: what's a skype?
Bitty put his head in his hands and sighed in exasperation. This boy. Bless his heart and all but oh lord.
It was only after he had typed out an explanation - long and simple and full of chirps about Grandpa Jack - that he realised just exactly what he had done. They might actually see each other. Is that something Jack would want? Has he thought about it before? There's no going back now.
It didn't seem like it bothered Jack at all, however, and within minutes Bitty was staring at the empty message log on skype, suddenly feeling a lot closer to Jack then he was before. It was like something was vibrating under his skin, and he wondered why he was so nervous. It's not a big deal.
Jack_Zimmermann33: so what now? Why did my oven explode?
Jack Zimmermann… the name sounded familiar- Bad Bob's son! The one who- oh. Of course he has anxiety. A spike of an unnamable emotion stabbed his stomach, and he gulped. Jack Zimmermann probably knows all too well what happened to him, and wouldn't want someone like him crowding him about it. So he wouldn't mention it.
Eric: can I video call you?
Eric: it's just easer to show you that way
Eric: I mean I can tell you over here if you want
Eric: also it wasn't your oven that exploded
Jack_Zimmermann33: sure
Jack_Zimmermann33: Who's Eric?
Eric: Eric's my name. Bitty is just a nickname, but only coach calls me that.
Eric: Coach as in dad not coach as in sports
Eric: well I mean he is a coach
Eric: but not my coach
Eric: I mean
Eric: you know what imma just stop
Jack_Zimmermann33 - video call
—
Jack was conflicted. He didn't know why the idea of Bitty (Eric, his mind half-corrected) seeing his face was so nerve-wracking - if he knew who he was, surely he would have said something by now? It had been a while since his latest public breakdown, and he knew for certain that there had been no word to the media about him going back to work.
He pressed 'accept call.'
….And promptly forgot how to breathe.
The first thing he registered was how blond Bitty's hair was. The last sunlight of the afternoon trickled in through his window, bouncing off his hair and skin and making his eyes sparkle and crisse. He was not prepared.
"Jack?"
He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. "Y-yes?"
Bitty smiled. "Hey! So you know it wasn't actually the oven that exploded? It was the potatoes!" his accent fuck.
—
Bitty was finding it hard to talk about cooking. Bitty never finds it hard to talk about cooking, and really he's lucky he can ramble about piercing the skin in potatoes and making gravy and all the complications in baking potatoes - no Jack, you don't just shove them in the oven - because good lord that face was illegal.
His voice was about ten octaves higher than it usually was and he couldn't look Jack in the eye. they were both flustered; Jack was fumbling a sieve between his fingers, turning over and describing what he did to the potatoes while Bitty just sat and stared and smiled, in awe of the man in front of him.
"H-hey," Bitty said, interrupting Jack's awkward monologue, "why don't I go down to the kitchen and I can… I'll walk you through it?"
Jack paused. "Sure, thanks."
Bitty smiled, took his computer in one hand, and got up from his chair - flushing as he felt how his shorts brushed his upper thigh - before heading downstairs.
"Don't mind the crap everywhere," Bitty told him, slightly bashful, "I live in a frat house."
"Breaking stereotypes at every turn, eh?"
"You shut your mouth, Zimmermann!" he laughed, before raising his voice slightly, "y'all I'm cooking so watch the kitchen!"
There was a general murmur of agreement from the remaining haus members.
"What'cha baking Bitty?" Chowder asked, popping his head around the corner, "and why have you got your laptop?"
"Don't you worry Chowder, and I haven't decided in the flavour yet."
"Flavour?" Jack echoed, "potatoes have different flavours?"
Bitty giggled. "First of all, yes they do but more importantly - I didn't invite you into my kitchen just to bake potatoes, Jack Zimmermann."
"I thought you lived in a frat house?"
"It's my kitchen," Bitty repeated, placing the computer down in the counter, "now, I sure hope you've got the ingredients because we're making this thing from scratch."
He did.
They fell into an easy rhythm - Bitty explaining slowly and carefully, yelling when Jack was about to do something stupid with the knife and both of then chirping the other into next week at the first opportunity.
Bitty looked over to the computer, only to catch Jack mid-laugh. God, I love this boy, he thought to himself, before immediately dropping the bag of icing sugar he was holding.
Shit.
"Bitty?" Jack asked, but it sounded hollow, and far away, "you okay?"
Rule No.1: Never fall for a straight boy.
"Y-yea, I'm fine!" he brushed off awkwardly, bending down to get the sugar, "just remembered the essay that's due tomorrow - I haven't finished it."
"To busy baking, eh? I thought you were a grade-a student?" Jack chirped. He hadn't noticed.
Bitty just shrugged, and Jack sobered up.
"You should probably finish it, you know."
"Yea I know," he smiled thinly.
"I mean now, Bittle," Jack clarified, "I'm not having you fail just to attempt to show me how to bake a pie."
"A pie is a perfectly good excuse!"
"Bittle," he warned. There was a slight smile on his face.
"Last names are scary," Bitty pouted, but waved anyway, "next time then?"
Jack looked surprised, as if he expected this to be a one-time-only thing. He waved jerkily and Bitty ended the call, closing his laptop and sinking to the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest and covered his face with his hands.
Rule No.1.
Fuck.
—
After how awkward the call was, Bitty was surprised that Jack wanted to do it again. For the sake of Jack's oven, he agreed. Just Jack's oven. And to make sure he didn't burn the pie. It was all very professional and he did not stare at Jack's ass every time he turned around thankyouverymuch.
So they set up times and dates and soon enough Bitty was seeing Jack Zimmermann's unfairly handsome face twice a week.
Bitty was in his kitchen, elbow propped up on the flour-covered counter, watching Jack fumble around with thin strips of pastry and giggling to himself.
"You wouldn't be laughing if you had to deal with this," Jack hissed.
Bitty just laughed again and gestured to his pie, perfect and waiting to go in the oven.
Jack looked up and out of the window, placing the dough down. The rain outside made patterns on his face, bending at his cheekbones and his nose. A blue illumination brought out the sharp angles of his face, matching his eyes perfectly and there was a tranquility in the upturn of his lips and Bitty didn't mean to but it just came out and in retrospect he should have just looked away from the perfect scene rather than stared and gaped and struggled for breath and said I love you.
But he did.
He slammed the computer shut as soon as he got over the shock enough to move his fingers. There was a sickening quiet to the Haus as he ran up the stairs, laptop under his arm and tears in his eyes. Bitty closed his door, breaking the horrible, horrible silence once more before plugging in his headphones and burying under his covers, determined to ignore the world for a while forever.
—
"I love you."
The unexpected words echoed in his mind, even after he saw Bitty's face blush deep red and the call cut off.
Breathe, he reminded himself.
Jack took a deep breath, and a tentative smile unconsciously stretched across his lips.
Bitty loved him.
Bitty, the southern baker with an obsession for Beyonce larger than Tater and his patience for Jack was just as big-
Loved him.
The thought made something bubbly and glowing expand in his chest. It made him happy.
Did this mean Jack loved him as well?
Yes.
He had never thought about it, but god, yes. He loved Bitty.
Jack turned back to the dark computer screen, and wondered what he should do. He didn't know why Bitty ran away- wait no that was a lie. He knew better than most people how the things you regret could keep you up at night, stupid things you said or did can haunt you, and he's determined to not make this one of those things.
He sat down, put his computer in front of him, and tried to type out a message to Bitty. A message that would tell him how he feels, tell him he wants to see him and tell him the complications now that they both know because he's a starting player in the NHL in a few months and he doesn't want to force Bitty back into the closet but he also doesn't want to let him go just like that, but he can't- he just can't be out in his first year (let alone beyond that) because then all anyone will focus on is his sexuality rather than how he plays and- fuck.
Jack tries, and not for the first time, he wishes he could speak English like he speaks Québécois.
Not that he had a way with words in Québécois. Jack had always preferred actions to words. It was less complicated that way. Usually.
He groaned, placing his forehead down on the hard marble of the counter. You can't use anything but words over the internet.
Then just do it in person. The thought came from somewhere unexpected, and it brought an uneasy clarity to the situation.
Do it in person.
Bitty said that the frat house he lived in was for the Samwell Men's Hockey Team. Samwell….
Jack took out his phone.
What university does your girlfriend go to again? he texted Shitty.
Samwell, why?
Does she know the hockey team?
KNOW it? She manages it! They would fall apart w/o her!
Can you give me her phone number?
Why?
I'll tell you later. It's an emergency.
…o…k…..
Ur so spilling later bro
Im taking screenshots u r not getting away from this
—
Jack gulped. Was this too extreme? Probably. Too late to go back now.
He was standing outside a ramshackle house that looked like it was barely holding together. Jack could relate.
Larissa ("call me Lardo" she had said, "and if you break his heart I'll break your face") had assured him that there would be no one in the Haus except for Bitty, and he's torn between racing up to his bedroom and holding him close and telling him he loves him because he does- and running away. Far away. Back to Providence, back to his house, back to the safety of the computer screen.
He takes a step forward. Then another. And another. He's running- through the hallway, up the stairs, going over the directions Lardo sent him like a mantra. He knock on Bitty's door.
Mumble. Shuffle. Bang-ouch. "Lardo, I told you I'm fine," comes his voice - his actual voice I'm actually here - muffled by the door. Jack can hear him walking towards the door. He sees the doorknob turning, "I just don't want to-"
Bitty gasps. There are puffy red circles under his eyes and he looks like he hasn't slept in a while, but the bubbly, glowing feeling rises up again and just when it feels like his heart his going to burst out of his chest, he cups Bitty's jaw and presses their lips together.
"I love you too," he whispers between shared kisses and Bitty laughs and everything's good.
He wakes up next to Bitty the next morning, soft sunlight creeping in through the blinds and he presses his lips to Bitty's forehead and everything's good.