Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Share with me the sun
You forget sometimes it's yours
Can't you see you're not the only one
The doors all lead outside
Feel it soak into your mind
Can't you see you're not the only one
-Portugal. The Man

***

He’s got a skip in his step which he knows is probably annoying to nearly anyone who’s within a five mile radius, but it’s impossible to care since he’s been given a dream opportunity that most first-year teachers would kill for. Or well, a realistic dream opportunity, since the actual dream is a steady position with the possibility of tenure.

But this will do.

Fresh from grad school, with his teaching certification tucked neatly in his file, Eric Bittle has a long term subbing position. Long term, like the rest of the year, because the previous teacher went into early labour and plans to be out until next year. It means that Eric is going to have a full-time position teaching Language Arts and Foods—that one’s only a single class elective, but it’s his, like the Universe had specifically set up this school, this situation, just for him.

He’s nervous, of course. Not totally unexpected since he did his student-teaching hours at a high school in Atlanta so he got a taste of the chaos that was public school. This is different. It’s a prestigious private school, which probably meant a lot of helicopter parents who ‘paid good money’ for their kids to be there and get As, but Eric’s pretty sure he can deal with that easy enough.

After all, it’s temporary.

He hasn’t met much of the staff yet. Just the headmaster, Hall, and the deputy headmaster, Murray who were mustached jocks similar enough to his dad that Eric was able to bullshit his way through the interview and secure the job. He worried, of course, that he was coming off a little too gay, but they didn’t seem to either be able to care, or they just didn’t care, because he left the interview with a stack of new-hire papers and his start time for the following week.

Really, it didn’t get much better.

Unlike the public school he’d worked at prior, Eric was given the notification that he would be expected at the weekly staff morning meeting. It was new, but he supposed not entirely a bad idea, though it made him wonder exactly how much control he’d have over his own material. The absent teacher had left a basic outline for the curriculum and what she meant to accomplish by the end of the year, but it had only been partially finished since she hadn’t been expecting to leave so early.

He took it home and googled frantically, and somehow managed to create his first month’s lesson plan. A test-bed, he decided. I mean, if he was well and truly terrible at it, he’d probably be fired anyway, so he might as well take the risk.

Which is the attitude he’s bringing with him as he marched into the staff room that morning, starbucks in one hand, his bag slung over the opposite shoulder. It was only partially full—one of Eric’s coping methods for his ADD is to develop a system of compulsively arriving early for everything. It makes it less stressful anyway, as he steps in and immediately all eyes are on him.

The first two he takes notice of straight away, mostly because they’re two of the biggest men he’s ever set eyes on, and he’d been surrounded by football players most of his life. They’ve got on matching expression, too, which is vaguely alarming. Almost predatory—and not in the way that makes him shake on the inside, like the boys at his middle school—but like the town gossips who just spotted fresh meat. They’re wearing the uniform—the white shirt and blazer, and they look neat and put together like most of the staff Eric had seen prior, but somehow they managed to make it look like they’re seconds away from cutting their sleeves off and tipping upside down for a keg stand.

He swallows and looks over to see a man with hair that could rival any seventies film star with the layers, and the porn stache he’s sporting adds to the aesthetic. He’s also got on a pale blue shirt with pineapples, and khaki shorts with flip-flops which Eric is pretty damn sure is not part of the strict staff uniform. But the guy looks really at home, with one foot cocked up on the edge of the table. He offers Eric the friendliest smile of the room, and nods toward an empty chair.

“New dude, right?” he asks.

Eric shrugs his bag off and slides into the seat, feeling the gazes of the other two men behind him. He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m Eric Bittle. I’m subbing for…”

“Camilla,” the guy says, nodding sagely like he’s just solved world peace. “Yeah man, fuuuuucked.”

Eric blinks. “I hope she’s alright. Hope the baby is, too.”

“Oh they’re good. They’re great.” The guy clears his throat, then says, “I’m Shitty.”

Eric blinks at him, and blurts, “Like you’re drunk?”

The two behind him burst into laughter, and Eric flushes as the guy says, “No, brah. My name. Shitty Knight. Kids call me Mr Knight. I’m the counsellor.”

“You…your parents named you Shitty?” Eric asks, unable to help himself.

“The label my parents bestowed upon me at birth is an abomination, and I prefer my old college nickname. If it’s too offensive…”

“It’s not,” Eric defends a little weakly. “I went to college.”

Shitty smiles. “Then we’ll get along just fine. I know this place seems like it’s got one giant, proverbial stuck shoved up its proverbial ass, and it does. But everyone here is pretty chill. Mostly chill. I mean, chill-ish…”

“Good to know,” Eric says, feeling compelled to shut the guy up a little because it’s a bit overwhelming to say the least.

Luckily the door opens and a handful of other teachers walk in. A few women, but more men which is surprising, Eric thinks, considering most of his certification class had been women. They’re all friendly, though. Chatty, familiar and Eric can tell that Hall hadn’t been lying when he said the staff was like family. He feels suddenly out of his depth, even as he’s introduced to the gym teacher, the computer guy—whatever that meant—two other English teachers, and one history teacher.

Eric feels a sort of panic wave and mutters, “Should I be taking notes here?”

“You’ll get it brah, just fine. No need to look like you’ve just walked the plank,” Shitty tells him in a quiet voice.

Then a hush falls on the room because the door opens and an objectively gorgeous man walks in the room. He’s also one of the most objectively angry looking men Eric’s ever seen, his entire face dropped in a scowl. His shoulders are broad, his eyes ice-blue under sleepy lids, and his hair has a neat cut, but looks like he just rolled out of bed and forgot he was supposed to do something about it. His gaze rakes across the room and settles on a chair at Eric’s table, near Shitty, which happens to be directly across from Eric, and his mouth gets even thinner, and angrier.

Eric can’t help but shift in his seat, even as Shitty lights up like a menorah and he begins to wriggle in his seat like an over-excited puppy.

“Jack! Jackabelle! Jacques, my one true love and soulmate…”

“Shut up, Shits,” Jack says, his words lightly accented with something Eric doesn’t entirely recognise, but it almost sounds like German or Swedish.

Shitty pays exactly zero attention to what Jack says, and scoots his chair closer and nuzzles Jack’s arm like he’s a cat. “I missed you.”

Jack rolls his eyes, but there’s something slightly fond about the motion which puts Eric at ease. At least until Jack’s gaze finds him again, and he goes from looking exasperatedly fond to something close to utter disdain.

“Jack! This is Eric—he’s in for Camilla and…”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, his words cutting Shitty off.

Shitty clears his throat. “He’s nice. Sweet little southern belle, if you’d somehow find where your fucking manners have gone and…”

“Why bother?” Jack snaps, his eyes still glowering at Eric. “He’s a temp. Camilla will be back soon.”

Eric shrinks in his seat a little and feels a slight sting because although he knows Ms Collins is coming back, and although he knows this is a temporary position, he was also told by both Hall and Murray that if he did well and got on with the rest of the staff, there might be something open for him in the following year.

It was a tentative promise, but it was something.

Now he’s having serious second thoughts.

***

The first half of the day goes exactly as Eric expects it to. The students are aware of their teacher’s absence and a few of them play the swap identities game, but for the most part he gets through his first two lectures without any major tragedies. The third class he’s got—the one right before lunch—is foods, so he gets the class going on some brownies since they’re easy enough, and it’s a good way to break the ice when he gets down to the staff room to eat with the other teachers. Eric is more than willing to admit he has no plans to shy away from bribing his colleagues with baked goods to win their favour.

He also lets the students go five minutes early, not just to become their new favourite teacher, though it does help.

He has his own lunch packed, and he slips through the heavy metal door, and down the dimly lit hallway into the staff room where a handful of teachers are there. Shitty is, and he’s eating with a short woman who has splatters of paint all down her front, and what looks like gobs of dried clay clinging to her arms. He waves Eric over, and though Eric was kind of hoping to make less…eccentric acquaintances, he’ll take ally-ship wherever he can.

“How were they? How many did you have to send down to Murray?” Shitty demands.

Eric laughs as he unearths a travel container of left over pasta and peels the lid back. “None, actually. They gave me a little hard time, but I think they went easy on me.”

“It’s the accent,” Shitty says, poking his fork in Eric’s direction. “Don’t you think? The accent is disarming.”

The woman gives him a calculating look, then shrugs. “We’d have eaten you alive, but I’m also a public school kid so…” She trails off with a shrug.

“Well this is my new best friend, Eric Bittle. Bits, this is Larissa Duan—goes by Lardo. Art and ceramics.”

Their hands are full of food, so they don’t shake a hello, but she gives him a pleasant enough smile with a nod. “You seem alright,” she says, almost like it’s a prophesy. “The dickhead they had in here before you was…”

When she stops, Shitty gives a little shudder. “Fucking Chads.”

She hums, and Eric figures it’s yet more of the Private School Language he’s not fluent in yet. He just shoves a huge forkful of noodles in his mouth so he has the excuse of not responding to anything they say.

The two giants—Adam and Justin—join them, and it’s as if Adam is part blood-hound or something, because he sniffs, then half dives under the table and roots round until he produces the large tray Eric had shoved under his chair.

“Are these brownies?” he demands.

Eric feels his face flush, but he shrugs. “Just my way of sayin’ thanks for y’all making me feel welcome.”

Eric immediately has flash-backs of college stoners all-but attacking him every time he set foot in the kitchen, because the teachers act like they haven’t had sweets in years. The tray’s nearly gone, and Eric manages to steal it back before the last one can be scraped out.

“Er,” he says, holding the tray protectively as he looks at Shitty. “The teacher from this morning? Jack?”

“Mm,” Shitty says, humming through sticky chocolate. “He probably won’t be in here today.”

Eric nods. “Right but would he…I mean, I’m not sure if he…”

“Things are,” Larissa says, and she glances at Shitty. “He’s kind of having a rough time right now.”

“So a bit of chocolate should help,” Eric says decidedly. No one stops him, so he thinks maybe it’s a good idea.

It turns out that it wasn’t a good idea, and it was either the utter look of determination on his face, or the fact that the others just wanted to see him get verbally reamed, which kept them from stopping Eric. Jack’s got French for his next period after lunch, so Eric finds the language hall, then finds Jack’s room a moment later. The door’s cracked open, and Jack is at his desk, glowering down at what looks like a bowl of soup, and he looks up with a frown when Eric knocks on the wall beside him.

“Hi there,” he says, a tone almost like he’s trying to soothe some wild beast in the woods.

“What do you want.” It’s not a question. Jack’s tone is flat, not angry, but definitely not happy to see Eric or the brownie he’s got on the napkin.

“I thought I’d bring this by,” Eric says. He creeps in, and doesn’t really take time to look around as he drops the brownie on the edge of Jack’s desk. “I made some for everyone, but Sh-Shitty,” he stutters over the name because Lord, he’s not used to that yet, “said that you weren’t going to eat with us.”

Jack says nothing, just raises a brow at him.

Eric clears his throat. “It was a th-thanks, for making me feel welcome and…”

“Did I make you feel welcome?” Jack asks.

Eric freezes, eyes wide. “Well I…”

“That wasn’t my intention to make you feel comfortable. You won’t be here long.” Jack looks down at the brownie, then uses the back of his hand to knock it off the desk, right into the little bin like he’d almost planned the entire thing. Which would be impossible, but still…

“I should go,” Eric manages, his throat tight with frustration and embarrassment, and other emotions he can’t quite name.

“You do that,” Jack says, but he’s not even looking at Eric again. His eyes are fixed back on his soup, like he’s waiting for it to spill all the secrets of the universe.

Maybe if it does, Eric thinks, Jack will stop being such a miserable bastard.

Of course Eric can’t please them all, and he should take that to heart. It’s something his momma taught him years ago. But Eric’s still a stubborn little shit, and he knows himself. Knows that rather than giving up on getting Jack to like him, he’s going to die trying.

Chapter Text

Eric doesn’t try with Jack again. At least, not straight away. He’s plunged deep into a semester that’s already in full-swing, and it takes a good week for him to get his students to recognise his authority and understand he’s not a short-term sub. That he’s going to be responsible for getting them ready for their midterms and their finals, and that he’ll be with them until the end of the year.

For the most part, they don’t seem to mind. Eric is friendly enough, and a reasonable teacher, and for all that he’s still fairly inexperienced, he still wants to make things fun. So he does. He has the kids writing ridiculous stories and having a say in their reading-list, and he gets a few student-led discussions going.

The module focus then is banned books in the US, and there’s a nice debate going over the book Athletic Shorts which surprised Eric at how popular it was amongst his students. The debate stays friendly enough, even with some of the more conservative opinions being flung round, and in spite of Eric’s anxiety that it’s going to devolve into something ugly and get parents involved, he’s willing to encourage them.

And then one student says, “Mr Zimmermann would totally flunk you if he knew your opinion was such crap.” A young girl—Eric isn’t sure about her name yet, but she’s one of the more vocal students he’s got.

She’s talking to a tall boy—bulky, obviously athletic, who is scowling at her. “Whatever,” he starts.

But she’s not having it. “You know he would. This shit is important to him, and I think he’d be pretty disgusted to know what a piece of crap you are. I mean you know he’s…”

“Alright,” Eric says, startled that Jack was suddenly dragged into this conversation. Jack, of the Eternally Grumpy Face. Jack, the Perpetually Angry. It’s hard to imagine him getting up in arms about a book like this. “As Mr Zimmermann isn’t here to state his opinion…”

“Well I happen to know stuff like this is important to him. Diversity in sport,” she says, crossing her arms tightly. “It’s important here.”

“Be that as it may, that’s not what we’re discussing,” Eric says.

The topic gets back on track, but he can’t stop thinking about Jack after that, and what she said.

***

He doesn’t see Jack at lunch, and when he just so happens to wander by the French classroom, Jack’s not there. Another woman is, who looks up and smiles, but Eric doesn’t say hi. He just waves and hurries along.

He mentions it to Adam during his free period as he’s refreshing his coffee in the staff room. “Is everything okay with Jack?”

Adam raises a brow. “I mean, apart from the perpetual stick up his ass?” he offers.

Eric snorts, but feels strangely bad about that. But then again, he’s noticed that the staff either loves Jack, or doesn’t, and Adam seems in the latter category. “He’s just…not in today.”

Adam shrugs. “Probably at the hospital.”

Eric blinks. “Oh my…is he okay?”

“Bro, he’s fine. They’re both fine.”

“Both…”

“Camilla and the baby,” Adam clarifies.

Eric’s cheeks pink. “Oh. They’re close, then? I mean, I know y’all are like family but…”

“It’s Jack’s baby,” Adam says.

For whatever reason, that seems to floor Eric, and he takes a step back, grateful there’s a table there to prevent him from falling directly on his ass. “I didn’t know.”

Adam shrugs. “I mean, everyone knows, but it’s not a thing. He and Camilla were on and off for pretty much ever. She got him this job, you know? When things went to shit with the NHL and…”

Eric held up his hand, confused because he didn’t know much about Jack and it was just a waterfall of information.

Adam doesn’t stop though. “…they were off again, but I guess they hooked up. Whatever. She had broken up with her girlfriend and you know. Comfort sex.”

Eric flushes again and says, “Right,” even though he has an extremely small amount of experience in that area.

“Anyway, boom. Baby. They both seemed hella chill about it.”

“Until the whole unexpected birth,” Eric says.

Adam nods. “It was fucked, you know? But latest update is the baby will probably be fine. It’s freaky tiny though, dude. Like…I have never seem something so small. Maybe like a newborn puppy or some shit, but humans should not be that tiny. It’s…” He shudders.

Eric’s getting lost in the information again, but he nods and accepts what’s happening. Jack is the father to a small baby whose survival isn’t guaranteed right now. And Eric is now standing in the place where the mother of Jack’s child should be standing.

And it doesn’t excuse Jack being an absolute ass to him, but it does explain a few things. And Eric is definitely someone who understand that trauma can be responsible for a lot of things—including unfriendly manners. So…

“I hope everything turns out alright,” Eric says.

Adam laughs, and claps Eric on the shoulder. “No worries, dude. We’re resilient here.”

The conversation ends, but Eric’s planning does not.

***

He spends the next two hours after work googling things that are best to eat for post-partum mothers. He focusses on what would be best for her, and makes a list. Then he starts baking.

It’s two in the morning by the time he finishes, but he’s got lactation cookies in case she’s trying to pump and save for the baby. He’s got three different types of protein bars with various nut-butters, grains, and dark chocolate. He makes a couple of casseroles with chicken and veg, and bangs them in the freezer because he’s pretty sure the last thing she’s going to want to do is cook. And he’s not foolish enough to think that she hasn’t got help. Jack’s probably there with her every second he’s not at the school. But he thinks Jack deserves the break too. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to have that sort of worry, and Jack might have been an ass, but Eric is not a monster, and he just wants to do something to help.

Again, stubborn little shit. He’s not ashamed of it.

So he goes to bed with only a few hours to sleep, and hopes Jack is in the next day.

***

As it turns out, he is. He skilfully avoids Eric though, even as Eric tries to catch him in the morning, so Eric stores everything in the foods classroom freezers until lunch, then skips the staffroom altogether and finds Jack at his desk looking exhausted and only slightly less annoyed than he looked that first day Eric had brought him sweets.

When Eric knocks, Jack’s face falls into a scowl, then looks resigned as Eric steps in. “Can I help you.”

“I brought some…”

“I don’t want your food, Bittle,” Jack snaps.

“Well luckily it’s not for you,” Eric snaps right back, and he feels internally pleased when Jack’s mouth opens in surprise. “It’s for Ms Collins.”

Jack’s eyebrows raise a tiny bit. “Why?” he demands, his tone clouded with suspicion.

“Because what she’s going through can’t be easy, and I’m good at this,” he says, and walks over to plonk the entire buffet of stuff on Jack’s desk. He leans over it and makes sure he has Jack’s full attention. “I don’t think anyone close to her is real keen on cooking proper food right now. At least, I’m willing to bet.”

Jack shrugs, but there’s something in his face that’s cracking, giving way to…maybe not softness, but something less hostile. “I…guess,” he mutters.

“Casseroles,” Eric says, tapping the side of the three containers. “Chicken and cheese, vegetables. I looked up what postpartum mothers should have and cobbled something together for her.”

“Oh,” Jack says. This time his tone is just quiet.

Eric taps the vacuum sealed cookies. “Lactation cookies. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to pump. I read online that a lot of moms who have preemies will pump and freeze? This should help with milk flow.” He flushes at that, but Jack doesn’t seem wary now. Just confused. “Also protein bars. With honey and dark chocolate and nut butters. For um. Energy.”

Jack swallows, then after what feels like an eternity, he nods. “This will help.”

Eric breathes out, then steps back and crosses his arms. “Least I can do. If she needs anything else—if you need anything else, you know where I am.”

Jack doesn’t say thanks, and Eric doesn’t expect it. But it is progress. He turns on his heel and heads out to eat as fast as he can before the next class comes in, and even after the bell rings, he’s still got a small grin on his face.

***

Eric doesn’t see much of Jack for the rest of the week, and when he does, they don’t exchange anything more than a polite head-nod in the hallway. Eric feels slightly disappointed, but he’s going to take that over open hostility any day.

With Thursday night comes the night out with some of the staff, and Justin insists Eric joins them. It’s flattering, and kind of terrifying considering how close the staff is with each other. But Eric gets a ride with Justin and Adam, and the bar they head to is just down the street. They have their regular booth and Thursday nights are pub quiz nights, so they’ve all got their drinks and their little sheets of paper and those tiny little golf pencils. Their team is called the Wellies, which Eric thinks must be some sort of inside joke, but he doesn’t ask.

He just joins them and gets a little tipsy after his second glass of wine, and gives a lot of wrong answers. But he’s having fun, and feeling like he actually belongs. They lose spectacularly, but no one seems in a hurry to go home, and a half an hour later, as Shitty is swaying in front of the juke box as he’s trying to decide between Sia and Fleetwood Mac, and as Larissa is leant over the bar trying to argue with the bartender about the right way to make a manhattan, and as Adam and Justin are arguing with the guys they keep calling the Chads—the door swings open and Eric almost chokes on the dredges left in his glass.

Because Jack Zimmermann walks in. His eyes scan the room, and he gives a sigh which is visible in the slump of his shoulders. Then he sees Eric, and Eric’s pretty sure Jack’s going to find a seat anywhere in the room except next to Eric.

Which is why the second most surprising thing is that Jack walks across the room and plops down next to him. Shitty’s Tom Collins is still sat on the little, water-logged coaster, and Jack steals it, taking a sip and grimacing a little. “Jake’s working?” he says.

Eric nods, in spite of having no idea who Jake is. But Jack’s talking to him in a normal tone—if not a little flat, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to unmake Eric’s existence which is…nice. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Jack sighs. “Camilla kicked me out.”

Eric blinks, then says, “Oh hun,” before he can stop himself. “Oh Jack, I’m…”

Jack stares, then surprises Eric again by laughing. Loudly. “Bittle… no. She didn’t…we’re not together. She kicked me out of her house because she said I was hovering. Her mom’s there so she told me to go out and have a drink and get my head out of my ass.”

Eric’s tipsy, which he’s blaming the giggle that escapes him on all the alcohol. He feels his cheeks burning, but Jack’s still kind of smiling at him, so he feels like the embodiment of Nike. Victorious and proud. “Well you missed the quiz. We lost. By a lot.”

Jack snorts. “We always lose when Adam’s team captain.” He sips on Shitty’s drink again, still grimacing, but he doesn’t make a move to get anything else. “I uh…wanted to say thanks? For the stuff you made Camilla. I didn’t…deserve it.”

Eric snorts. “Well it wasn’t for you. I don’t treat rude people who throw away brownies, Jack Zimmermann.”

At that, the tips of Jack’s ears go pink, and he looks down at his hands. “That was a really bad day.”

“Jack, it’s…” Eric starts.

But Jack shakes his head. “I’m not saying…I’m not saying it’s okay. It’s just…I didn’t expect any of this.” He looks up at Eric and his face is kind of drawn, eyes sadder looking than usual. “Seeing you here reminded me that Camilla’s not. And it reminded me why she’s not and it’s…I mean. It’s hard enough preparing for your entire life to change because there’s a surprise baby. It’s another thing to sit around and wait to see if this baby you could barely accept was real, is actually going to…you know. Be real.”

Eric swallows thickly, and against better judgement, he reaches over and lays his hand over the back of Jack’s. When Jack doesn’t tense or pull away, Eric squeezes. “I don’t get it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand. But I do know that fear is pretty controlling, and for what it’s worth, I forgive you.”

Jack’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile, and he shrugs after Eric pulls his hand away. “Do you…do you want to see a picture of her?”

Eric’s eyes widen, and he says very quietly, “Of course I do.”

“She looks ah…” Jack clears his throat as he lifts his backside up off the booth and pulls his phone out. He toys with the screen, flicking it on and off as he frowns. “It’s kind of…she’s hooked up to a lot of machines, and she’s so small and it’s…”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” Eric says.

Jack snorts, and shakes his head, but he finally flicks the screen on and goes to his gallery. Eric can see what’s probably a hundred thumbnails of what has to be the baby, and he gets a much clearer picture when Jack touches one, and it floods the entire screen.

Eric leans over, cheek almost pressed to Jack’s shoulder as he takes the image in. The baby’s small, but it’s hard to judge just how small from this photo. She’s very red, and her limbs are matchstick thin, and there’s tubes everywhere.

He hears the click in Jack’s throat as he swallows. “Two pounds, seven ounces as of yesterday,” he says, his voice very small. “She’s breathing okay on the vent. She’s…” He clears his throat when his voice goes thick. “They’re optimistic.”

“What’s her name?” Eric asks.

Jack startles at that, and then says, “Nina. It was my grandmother’s name, and Camilla always like it so…”

After a long pause, Eric says quietly, “She’s beautiful.”

Jack hums, then flicks through a few photos. He stops on one that has Jack holding her in his palm, and she almost completely fits in it. “I was only allowed to do this for a second. The stimulation was too much for her, and her vitals kept crashing. So we haven’t been able to ah…but for a minute it was nice, you know?”

Eric licks his lips, tries to imagine how it feels for Jack to have this child that he clearly loves, a child that might not make it—which Jack knows, and he’s not allowed to hold her. He can’t fathom. Instead of focusses on just how incredibly tiny she is. “You have to save this, show it to her during her bat mitzvah or something.”

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah. As if being angsty and thirteen isn’t going to be enough reason for her to hate me.”

Eric wants to say something reassuring—like how it’ll be obvious to her that Jack has been in love with her since she was born and she’ll know it. But Eric is also a teacher and he knows how thirteen year olds can be, so he just says, “Maybe as a wedding gift, when she’s busy being emotional over you walking her down the aisle.”

Jack’s grin is softer then, and Eric is grateful Jack doesn’t say anything morbid like, ‘if she gets there,’ or ‘if she lives long enough to be married.’ Instead he says, “It’s not worse than the photo my dad has of me taking a shit in the Stanley Cup so…”

Eric blinks. “Oh my god.” The NHL thing makes sense then. He wants to ask, but this thing between them is fragile, so he just grins and shakes his head, then signals to their server that they want drinks. Eric gets another wine, and Jack gets a sprite, and although the group comes and goes, and it’s obvious Jack knows and cares about these people—and really, who is Eric to him—he doesn’t get up. Even when Shitty talks Larissa into a dance, or when Adam and Justin follow the Chads outside to finish their argument.

Jack just stays right there against his side.

At the end of the night, as Eric is calling for a cab, he thinks if he shows up to Jack’s classroom with another brownie, he might get more than a friendly nod.

Chapter Text

“…next you need to crimp the edges,” Eric goes on, demonstrating the technique on the little pasties he’s got on his tray. “The pastry crust we’re using should prevent leakage, but you want to make sure there’s a good seal.”

The class looks like they’re doing alright on their own, and he gets through his own pretty quickly, setting the timer on the oven, then walking round to check the other students. It’s obvious there’s going to be spillage, but for the most part, he’s happy with their progress.

“Sir?” comes a voice from the middle row.

Eric stops in the middle between both sides of the room and turns. “Mr…”

“Stevens,” the kid says, and Eric nods for him to go on. “So Ms Collins was getting ready to start our student restaurant. I’m not sure if she left anything about that but…”

“She didn’t,” Eric says slowly, and he sees disappointment flicker across the students’ faces. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t. I’ll need to speak with Dr Murray on this, but I don’t see why it’ll be a problem.”

There’s a quiet, collective cheer, and Eric spends time asking them what their ideas for the restaurant were. They all claim Camilla was setting up a small café two days a week for staff to come in and buy meals. They’d run table service in the old science lab next door, and they’d cook out of the kitchens. It’s not a hideous idea, Eric thinks, and the funds will probably go right back to the school which will made admin happy enough.

He writes himself a note in his phone, with an alarm, so he doesn’t forget.

“You could ask Mr Zimmermann,” Stevens says after a minute, and Eric can’t help his sudden blush when he thinks about how things were…better. Mostly. It’s been a week since the night out, and Jack doesn’t seem to absolutely hate him anymore, even if he’s still not the most friendly. “He and Ms Collins are like bffs so he probably knows like…details.”

Eric clears his throat, and is saved by the oven timer buzzing. He rescues his pasties from the tray, just minutes before the students are getting theirs out. There’s little fuss, no burns, and soon enough they’re packing them up and putting them in the fridge so they can pick them up later.

Eric waves them all off to lunch a few minutes early, and as he’s passing by the front left station to check the oven’s off, he glances out the window and sees a familiar gait strolling over the football field. It’s Jack, with his hands in his pockets, head down a little. Chris is out there with a few of his players, and he and Jack talk a moment, then Jack settles on the bleachers with his arms resting over his thighs. It’s too far off for Eric to properly see his face, but he thinks maybe he won’t be remiss in bringing Jack a little something.

He doesn’t have brownies, and frankly he’s still a little wary. But he’s got the pasties, and he lives by his momma’s belief that there’s nothing a little good home cooking can’t cure. Or at least feel better, in Jack’s case considering the man’s got more weight on his shoulders than most people.

Eric still doesn’t know Jack’s full story. He was sorely tempted to google whatever the pooping and NHL was about, but he also knows how cruel the internet can be, and how people on there have lost some measure of control over their privacy. He reckons if Jack wants him to know, he’ll just come right out and say.

So he skips that whole mess and throws some of the pasties, still warm and delicious, into a container, and heads out without really thinking about it.

The air’s crisp, heading into fall, though the breeze is still warm enough he’s not frozen yet. He waves at Chris who’s in the middle of the field gesturing widely to the boys, and the makes a beeline for Jack whose eyebrow is quirked at the sight of Eric.

“You can tell me to get lost,” Eric says as he puts one foot up on the bottom bleacher, “but I thought you looked like you could use a little comfort food.”

Jack stares a minute, then huffs and grins a small, quiet thing. “Thanks, Bittle.” He reaches his hands out, and Eric passes off the container.

Jack pokes at them, then lifts one. It’s warm still, but not hot enough to burn, and Jack’s eyes widen when he takes a bite.

“Well?” Eric demands after a long silence.

“It’s good.” There’s only a slightly grudging tone to his words. “Thanks.”

Eric allows a small chuckle, and feels like maybe he’s earnt a spot next to Jack. “You come out here for a think, or…”

“Chris asked me to watch a few plays. I was never…football wasn’t my thing,” he says, waving his hand dismissively as the boys are running a few plays, “but he’s not really asking for technical stuff. Some of the seniors are being scouted.”

Eric’s eyes get a little wider, a little surprised to know scouts were here. “Well…I could help.”

Jack snorts. “You?”

“You wouldn’t be judging a book by its cover now would you, Mr Zimmermann?”

Jack actually has the courtesy to flush a little bit, even as he bites into another pasty. “Is there something I should know about you and football?”

“Only that my dad’s been a high school coach long as I can remember, and every year he’s got at least one NFL prospect on his team. They win a lot of championships,” Eric adds. Then says, “I wasn’t on the team.”

Jack gives him a careful look, but doesn’t ask, and in that moment Eric’s grateful he doesn’t have to explain the humiliation of being Coach Bittle’s sport-inept son. “Fair enough.”

Eric doesn’t watch the boys though. Instead he watches Jack who runs through two more pasties before handing the container back over. When the silence is heavy enough, Eric says, “How’s Nina?”

Jack’s face goes a little brighter, and softer round the edges as he shrugs. “Good. I mean, same, I guess. She’s getting stronger every day, gained a few ounces already. D’you…” He gestures at his phone which is on the bench between them, and Eric laughs.

“Mr Zimmermann, trust me when I say I will never say no to lookin’ at pictures of your gorgeous girl.”

Jack flushes, but he flicks the screen on and he opens the gallery to a photo which looks exactly the same as the ones Eric had seen in the pub except… “Oh my lord, is that a bow?”

There is, in fact, a small lacy bow attached to the side of her forehead.

Jack laughs very quietly. “One of the nurses did it. Her forehead was sticky from the tape. They had to put her…her…” He huffs. “IV thingie,” he says with some struggle, “because her little arms couldn’t take it. It was…” He stops, clears his throat. “I walked in and there were like four nurses around her little cot, and I thought something was…” He stops again, and Eric can’t help but put a hand on Jack’s arm. “Turns out she was fine. Just needed a little adjustment. Anyway the tape made her sticky, so the nurse thought she could get a little fancy for her photo.”

“She looks very fancy,” Eric muses, staring down at the impossibly small thing on the screen. “Ready for her cotillion.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “You really are that southern, aren’t you?”

“Born’n’bred, good sir. Georgia raised.”

Jack laughs. “It suits you.”

Eric doesn’t know if it’s a compliment, but it sounds like one, and he’s not exactly sure how to take it. So he just elbows Jack and shrugs. “Nothin’ fancy like you.”

“Montreal isn’t fancy,” Jack deadpans. “And never let my father hear you call it that. He’ll be insufferable.”

Eric laughs, though he’s not sure why, but he knows that Jack’s father means something in the NHL. “Well lord knows I’ll probably never meet him so…”

“He comes round more often than I’d like,” Jack admits. “Shitty’s already raved about your pies, so he’s got…a plan.” It sounds ominous, and Eric tries to laugh but it sounds strangled.

“Well that’s…promising.”

“He’s harmless. Just insufferable,” Jack clarifies.

They fall into a companionable silence after that, and it’s the nicest Eric’s felt since he started at the school. Not perfect, and he’s not at a place he’d call him and Jack friends, but he doesn’t feel the pang of anxiety like Jack’s going to throw him under the bus for anything.

“Oh lordy, bell’s going to ring soon, and I meant to ask you something,” Eric gasps as he stands.

Jack follows suit, Chris and the boys long gone, so they start toward the side entrance to the building. “What is it?”

“Just about er…Camilla’s restaurant,” Eric offers, tentative because he’s not sure how sensitive Jack still is to Eric taking over all of Camilla’s work. But Jack just shrugs.

“I don’t know much about it, really. I could ask her…”

“The students were just real disappointed when I hadn’t heard about it, and I don’t want to take away something they were working hard for. So maybe you can give her my email? Just so I can know what her plans were.”

Jack nods, then holds out his hand expectantly just before they reach the doors. When Eric just stares at him, Jack rolls his eyes. “Phone, Bittle. I’ll text myself and then pass your number to her. It’ll be easier.”

“Oh!” Eric scrambles for his phone, and as he unlocks it to pass it over, he asks, “Why do you keep callin’ me Bittle?”

Jack looks up, almost startled, then shrugs. “Habit.”

Eric has no idea what that means, so he just watches Jack text himself, and then add himself as a contact. Eric swallows thickly, and gets a weak smile as Jack hands the phone back. “Thanks,” he mutters.

Jack nods. “Thanks for the lunch. It…helped, actually.”

“Any time,” Eric says, and he means it. He hopes that his tone conveys that, too. By the quirk of Jack’s little grin, Eric thinks maybe it did.

***

Thursday night comes quickly, and Jack’s not there this time. Eric feels a wave of disappointment so heavy it sort of surprises him, but he pushes it down as he gulps half his wine, and tries to focus on the quiz. They lose. Again. Adam and Justin are objectively terrible at trivia, which is a little terrifying considering they’re teachers, but at least they have booze to blame it on.

They do laugh a lot, though, and eventually Eric ends up at the booth with Larissa who is nursing a vodka tonic with a swirly bit of lime peel. She’s the most sober out of the bunch, and she’s tapping away at her phone for a while, before she shoves it into her pocket and gives Eric a smile which immediately disarms him.

“Seriously, brah, how do you like it here?”

Eric blinks, then shrugs. “It’s nice, actually. I didn’t think I’d fit in, if that makes sense?”

“Oh, it does,” she says, her tone only slightly ominous. “Those two assholes,” she juts her chin and Adam and Justin who are arguing with the bartender over something. Ice cubes, it seems like which…whatever. “They have a nose for this kind of thing? You know like, people who fit in and who don’t. They haven’t liked a temp before you.”

Eric flushes. “Oh. Uh…”

“And the fact that you actually got Zimmermann to smile,” she adds, and Eric’s blush gets deeper. He’s not a fool, he knows what this funny, buzzing feeling in his gut is all about, but he’s not about to say anything. Jack’s life is complicated. He’s got an on-again, off-again thing with his ex, and a new preemie baby, and he’s straight so… “Not a lot of people can do that. Holtzy said he wants to talk to Murray about putting together a spot for you.”

“Oh I…” Eric says.

“Nurse said he’s willing to give up some of his hours, assuming Cami actually comes back.”

That startles Eric. “Oh. Oh I thought she was…I thought it was a sure thing, her comin’ back.”

Larissa shrugs. “We don’t know. I think what she’s going through kind of does something to you, you know? Like before this, she had her sister who was happy to babysit and everything but like…I mean who knows when the baby is even getting out, right? And she seems kind of hesitant about the idea of leaving her with anyone.”

“I get that,” Eric says, because although he never even really considered being a parent, he can still imagine how it would feel. “And Jack’s alright with working still?”

“He needs the routine,” Larissa says with a shrug. It’s slightly cryptic, and she doesn’t offer more info, and he doesn’t press. “I actually meant to bring him a couple things after this, but I think I’m too buzzed to drive.”

Eric stares at his glass of wine, two-thirds full still because the idea of being tipsy tonight just didn’t have any appeal. “I could,” he offers without really thinking about it. “I mean…what is it? Can I…”

She shrugs, and reaches under the table to pull out what looks like a large canvas bag. It’s awkward, but light as Eric lifts it by the strap. “It’s something for the baby’s room. He’s at the hospital tonight.”

“Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t…I mean, that sounds awful personal.”

“I seriously don’t think he’d mind if it’s you, Bits,” she says.

Eric flushes again, hoping the light in the pub is dim enough she won’t notice. “Okay. Uh. He’s at Samwell General or…”

“Yep,” she says, popping the P. She grins at him, almost cheekily which sets him on edge and he wonders if this is maybe some elaborate prank. But he doesn’t think she’s that cruel.

“Alright, I should head out, then.” He’s glad he brought his own car tonight, though Larissa and Chris had ridden with him so… “Can you catch a ride with anyone?”

“Shits can get us home. Tell Jack hi for us,” she says. It’s a dismissal, and Eric takes it for what it is, throws some cash on the table for his portion of the drink and tip, then grabs the bag and heads out.

No one notices, and he thinks maybe it’s better that way.

***

Samwell General isn’t far, and there’s decent parking since it’s late. Visiting hours are still going for another hour, which makes it easier to get in. He leaves the bag in the car though, and instead reaches the visitor’s centre and fumbles through the information.

Camilla was released a few weeks back, but the receptionist talked to the nurse’s station and said Jack was in the NICU with the baby, so Eric could go up and Jack would meet him. He’s got nerves humming through his veins and he kind of wants to turn and run.

But he’s wearing a sticky name badge with Bittle scrawled in black Sharpie, and little prints of ducklings around the edges. The NICU is on the fourth floor, so he rides all the way up, counting the dings between floors, and when he steps out he sees Jack there waiting for him.

He’s dressed casual—a Henley and jeans, but he’s got those surgical booties over his shoes, and when he approaches, Eric gets a heavy whiff of anaesthetic or whatever it is that makes hospitals smell that way. Thick and sterile.

His face is soft though, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Hey, Bittle. Lards texted me and said you were coming by with the painting.”

“Yeah, I left it in the car,” he cocks his thumb back over his shoulder. “It kind of seemed too big for the place.”

Jack nods, then looks up and down the hall, then says, “Do you want to see her for a minute?”

Eric’s eyes fly wide. “Me? I mean…is it…can I do that?”

Jack shrugs. “She’s allowed a few visitors. I’ll get you on the list, okay?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, of Jack adding Eric to the list of approved visitors. He’d only be allowed if Jack or Camilla were there, which the idea of seeing someone else’s baby without the parent present is kind of absurd and makes him want to giggle.

But he doesn’t. He just presents his ID and signs the paper, and then Jack shows him the little room where he’s meant to cover his shoes, and he has to wash up in a huge basin with harsh smelling soaps, and use a little brush to scrub under his nails and everything.

He feels squeaky clean and still nervous—panicked suddenly about the idea of germs hiding in the fabric of his clothes, and what if he’s some carrier for something and suddenly he’s caused a plague in this room meant to protect these tiny things.

Jack notices his nerves, and stops before they cross the threshold to the room. “Bittle?”

“Just…is it safe? Like what if I have some virus or…”

Jack smiles. “It’s safe. The babies who need to be isolated are isolated, okay? And you’re not going to be putting your hands or anything all over them. I promise.” He reaches out and…and oh. He puts his hand right on the small of Eric’s back and Eric almost passes out from the sudden rush of blood to his head.

He forces himself through the doors and into an open room with about six plastic cots, only a few of them full. It’s frankly kind of terrifying looking, like stepping into some sort of Matrix pod or space ship or something. Machines are everywhere, and monitors, and beeping, and dings. And the smell is even more intense, and there are a handful of nurses who smile at Jack and Eric as they make their way through, past a second set of beds with lights that look like they belonged in a stoner’s dorm room.

Nina is at the very back of the room, in a plastic case, attached to loads of tubes, and her little case has holes on the sides which Eric realises is for her parents to put their hands through and touch.

She’s smaller in person, so small Eric doesn’t realise how she’s alive. There’s a machine helping her breathe, and there’s gauze and tubes and things, and she doesn’t even look real until suddenly her little arm moves, and her impossibly tiny hand opens, then closes.

Jack softens, and he walks up and he puts his hand through. His finger looks absurdly giant as it touches her palm, and her pink fingers close round it, and Eric can’t even begin to name the emotions he’s feeling right then.

“She’s gorgeous. And strong. You two did good,” is what he says.

Jack chuckles, then pulls his hand away. “It’s hard to imagine what it’ll be like later. When she’s bigger, and breathing, and she can cry and eat and everything.” He shrugs, biting his lip for a second. “This wasn’t how I pictured it at all.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, because what the hell else can he say to that.

They fall quiet, and he leans over the cot to watch the baby for a while, and it’s strange how it should be boring, but it isn’t. He could stand there for hours. Only he hasn’t got the time, because visiting hours are ending, and he still has to get the painting to Jack.

Eric signs out, and Jack follows him to the lifts, and doesn’t say a word until the doors close. “Thanks for coming by. You didn’t have to.”

“We missed you tonight,” is what Eric says, with a shrug he hopes look casual, even though it isn’t. “We lost again.”

Jack chuckles. “Yeah. I was going to be there, but the nurse called and said we could hold Nina’s hand so…”

“Lord, Jack,” Eric says, shaking his head as the doors ding open and they step into the lobby, “I’d hope you’d high-tail it over here in the middle of class if they give you news like that.”

Jack snorts. “Murray and Hall are both well aware of my flight risk right now.”

They reach Eric’s car, and he digs in his back seat, pulling out the case Larissa sent him with. Jack tucks it on his shoulder, then looks at Eric like he’s not sure what to say. He’s already thanked him, and he can’t ask him to stay longer so…

“Do you want to come to my classroom tomorrow during lunch?”

Eric blinks, then tries to bite back his smile so he doesn’t look to eager as he nods. “I’d love to. Want me to bring anything?”

“Maybe,” Jack says, then winks as he steps back. “If the kids are making anything good.”

“Lord,” Eric says, but he’s grinning now.

Jack gives him a kind of mock salute, then turns and heads off, and Eric stands there for a ridiculously long time watching him walk away before he forces himself to get in the car. He sits there for a while, holding the wheel, and realising that something bad is happening. Something very bad.

He's gone and done it.

He’s fallen for a straight boy.

Chapter Text

It’s being surrounded by families and children that has Eric telling himself he’s only there for the students—he’s only there to get the pumpkins they need for their fresh pumpkin breads and pies, and not because he loves fall festivals. Autumn is his favourite season, but even more than the holidays, it’s this crisp weather and couples holding hands, and kids trailing after their parents and trying to pick out pumpkins half their size that leaves Eric with the most profound sense of loneliness.

He’s been at the school now for six weeks, and he’s feeling more at home than he ever has. The staff has become friendly—not quite family the way they are with each other, but even Jack has stopped glaring at him like Eric is personally responsible for every second of his pain. But it’s not the same. Or maybe it’s not because Eric is afraid to let them in completely. Without a guarantee of employment next year, without a certainty that he can keep this, he’s afraid to let himself open up.

And it’s fine.

But as he drags the wagon through the fields of ripe green, white, and orange pumpkins, there’s an ache in his chest that feels a little suffocating. All the same, he plasters on a smile, and he takes a couple of selfies for his Instagram and his Twitter. Then he picks out the best looking green pumpkins—because those are the best for baking.

He’ll spend a few extra hours at the school getting a good set of pumpkin puree going for each work station, and the kids will have the school full of autumn smells. They’re only a few weeks away from opening up their restaurant as it is. They’re going to serve people during the Fall Festival near Halloween, and then officially they’ll open their doors at the start of November with a Harvest themed menu. They’ll keep it going through December, right into the winter holidays, and then…

Then they’ll see.

Even if he only has this short time, he wants to make it good for them. So when they look back on his time with them, they’ll remember him fondly and he’ll be able to say his first year of doing this was successful, even if he didn’t really make much of a difference. Even if he was just standing in until they could get back to their normal.

He’s dragging his wagon through the stalls now, full of what he needs, browsing the crafts when he’s nearly bowled over by a couple of excited kids. He trips, but before he hits the ground, a pair of warm, large hands grab him by the waist and he spins in surprise, an apology ready on his lips.

It falls silent, though, as he stares up into sleepy, friendly blues.

“Jack,” he blurts.

Jack chuckles his little, “haha,” as he brushes his hands over Eric’s shoulders. “Head up, eh? The kids here are vicious.”

Eric blushes, shaking his head. “It’s already obvious I have no chance.”

Jack glances down at Eric’s wagon, then back up at him. “Are you here with someone? Boyfriend?” The word is used cautiously, and Eric’s heard that tone in the straight guys before who want to be supportive, but are unused to it.

So he smiles brightly and tries to put Jack at ease, shaking his head. “Ah no. By myself. No boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Jack actually looks somewhat surprised. “Why not?”

Eric splutters. He certainly doesn’t get asked that a lot. He knows he’s not good looking, but he knows he’s also kind of a disaster—socially anxious, awkward, still half in the closet to most of the people he knows back home. It’s not an easy line to walk, really. “I think the better question is, why would I?”

“Aren’t you…?” Jack starts, flushing hard.

“What? Oh, lord, yes,” Eric breathes out, waving a hand at him. “But no I just mean…you know.” He waves his hand up and down his body. “You’ve met me.”

“Yes,” Jack says slowly. Then he shakes his head and says, “There’s a stand over there with apple cider doughnuts. Have you tried them?”

Eric blinks, startled by the sudden subject change, but he smiles anyway because Jack is just too awkwardly adorable for his own good, and for the good of Eric’s small, gay heart. “No, I haven’t. You gonna vouch for them, Mr Zimmermann?”

Jack smiles, a small, soft thing, and puts his hand at the base of Eric’s spine, making him flush all over. “Yes, I am. Come on, the first dozen is on me.”

Eric tries to protest, but Jack’s hand is insistent, and not moving, and there’s a small queue, but they get through it relatively fast. And suddenly Eric finds himself with a dozen in a plastic take-away container, and Jack’s got two in his arms and he’s grinning.

“My parents are in town. They wanted to meet Nina, since we’re allowed to hold her finally.”

It’s been a few weeks since Eric had set eyes on the baby at the hospital, and he brightens as Jack leads them to a finally-empty picnic bench. “Oh Jack, that’s wonderful!”

“Do you want to see?” Jack asks as he sets his doughnuts down and straddles one of the benches.

Eric determinedly looks anywhere except at the spread V of his legs, and finally pulls his wagon to the side of the table, then sits next to him. “You literally never have to ask,” he replies, and elbows Jack, earning himself another small, “haha.”

Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket, then taps on the screen rapidly like he’s sending a text. Then he swipes his finger along the screen and hands it off to Eric.

He has to manoeuvre a little, to get the screen out of the glare of the sun, but as he cups his hands round the top, the image shows up, bright and startling. Because it’s Jack in a reclining chair with his shirt off—oh god, those pecs—and he’s got the baby, just barely larger than his hand, curled up against his chest. She’s still full of tubes, and she’s still got the vent strapped to her face, but she’s so much bigger than she was when Eric saw her the month before.

“She’s really starting to breathe on her own, and she’s just over three pounds now,” Jack says, his voice full of pride, like his daughter had just won an Olympic medal.

Eric can’t help the warmth flooding through him, and he thinks even if the crush is pointless, it’s worth it. It’s worth it to be near Jack, to see that smile on his face, to hear the hope in his voice. “She’s going to be running circles round you before you know it,” Eric says, elbowing him playfully again as he hands the phone back. “I hope I’m around to see that.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, eyes shining, kind of breathy in a way that’s…well. Confusing. It almost looks like…

Eric’s thoughts are interrupted as there’s a small commotion, and Jack pales a little as he rises to his feet. Two people are walking toward them, and Eric recognises the shorter blonde woman immediately because she’s Alicia Cohen, his favourite actress in the world and…

And oh. Oh my God. That’s Jack’s parents.

He knows this not just because the man next to her is the literal spit of Jack—apart from the brown eyes—but because they’re hugging him and Alicia is giving Jack’s cheek a pat, and Jack is blushing.

“Mom, papa, this is Bittle. Er. Eric, I told you about him…”

“Yes, you did,” Jack’s dad says, his eyebrows raised high above his shades.

Eric swipes his sweaty, nervous palms on his jeans as he stands, and he squares his shoulders because he might be about to meet one of his most favourite actresses of all time but it’s also Jack’s parents so he’s damn-well going to remember his manners.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Eric says, extending his hand.

Jack’s dad takes it first, and the shake is polite and sweet, not rough or demanding Eric sometimes gets from men of his size who like to posture at the sight of small, gay southern men. Alicia is next, and Eric has to keep a grip hard because he’s liable to pass out. But her shake is firm, and her smile is sweet.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” she says, giving Jack a pointed look.

Jack is flushing a little, the tips of his ears pink, and he’s determinedly not looking at Eric. “Eric, these are my parents. Bob and Alicia.”

“It’s such a pleasure,” Eric says.

They beam at him, and Jack huffs and then reaches back and forces the doughnuts at them. “Here. There wasn’t a long line.”

Bob all-but crows, and goes to rip the top off, but Alicia smacks him lightly on the back of his head. “Wait!”

Bob huffs, mutters something in French Eric doesn’t understand, but makes Jack roll his eyes. “You see what I have to put up with,” Bob tells Eric, then leans over and kisses Alicia on the temple.

“And you see what I have to put up with,” Jack mutters. “You two are free to go, now.”

Bob tuts. “But we just got here, and we’ve only just met Eric. And you didn’t tell us he was going to be here,” Bob all-but pouts.

Jack’s flushing again, and Eric is a little confused. “I didn’t know. I ran into him at the craft stands.”

“Well,” Alicia says, then smiles at her husband before saying, “you should have dinner with us tonight.”

“Maman!” Jack says, then rapid French flies from his mouth that Eric has absolutely no hope of understanding. But he’s making a desperate gesture with his hands, panicked, and Eric kind of knows what this is. He doesn’t think Jack is ashamed of him, per se, but his parents are celebrities—he’s pretty sure Jack’s dad is the NHL guy, and Alicia is well…Alicia. So it probably wouldn’t do to be seen in public with someone so obvious.

“It’s alright, Jack. I actually can’t tonight, but it was real sweet of you to offer.”

His parents look disappointed, but Bob just reaches over and claps Eric on the shoulder. “Sometime soon? We’ll be back a lot to see that precious girl of ours.”

Eric gives a polite smile, but there’s something twisting in his gut because the idea that Jack’s trying to protect his parents from him hurts a little. Even if he gets it. Even if it’s well meaning.

He tries to brush it off, and he gives Jack a friendly pat. “Well…so long as ya’ll go easy on the French. I don’t speak a lick of it.”

Bob’s smile gets wider. “Jack will just have to teach you, then.”

Eric’s cheeks go pink, and he looks at Jack, ready to apologise for…well. Something, anything to save the fragile friendship he’s got, but the words deflate because Jack is looking at him fondly, and…and he’s smiling.

“Maybe in exchange for some baking lessons,” Jack says.

Eric licks his lips. “You know where to find me, Mr Zimmermann. Anyway I should…” He cocks his thumb back over his shoulder. “These pumpkins aren’t going to puree themselves. You all have a good day, alright? And you give that sweet girl a million kisses for me, tell her to keep growin’ strong.”

Jack’s smile softens even more, and he shoves his hands into his pockets before he says, “See you later, Bittle.”

It’s the echo of those words that carry Eric home, and force a flicker of hope to blaze to life in his gut, even if he tells himself it meant nothing.

Because it meant nothing.

Right?

***

He doesn’t mean to stay so late on Monday. He barely notices the sun sinking into the horizon, but he’s caught up with getting the last touches on the English midterms for his senior class, and he’s got a huge batch of pumpkin in the oven, roasting before the puree. In the sink are seeds soaking before a roast, and he’s deep in his thoughts until he hears a quiet knock on the door.

His head snaps up, and he sees Jack there, leant against the door jamb, a soft look on his face.

Eric hadn’t seen him much that day, having been roped into handling lunch detention so they missed their usual chat. Eric wasn’t too broken up about it, to be honest. After meeting Jack and his parents at the pumpkin patch, Eric’s head had been in a bit of a state, and he was still trying to talk himself down.

Logically he knew there had been some flirting—more on Jack’s behalf from his dad than actually coming from Jack. And Eric would have felt a bit more inclined to believe it meant something if Jack hadn’t frantically waved off Eric’s dinner invite.

He was trying to pretend still like it didn’t sting as much as it had, but he’d never really been a good liar.

All the same, he can’t ignore the thrill he gets when he sees Jack stood there, and he puts his pen down, grinning. “You’re here late, Mr Zimmermann.”

“Could say the same about you.” Jack walks in, deftly walking round a few haphazardly placed stools, and comes up to Eric’s counter, leaning against it. “What are you working on?”

“Midterms,” Eric says. “They’re the ones Camilla used last year, but Hall told me I had to make some updates according to the new standards.”

Jack pulls a sympathetic face. “Yeah. I had to revise all of mine. How’s it going? Can I help at all?”

“Oh,” Eric says, and smiles, blushing just a little. “No, hon, I’m fine. I…” Then he stops because he realises what he said. “I…sorry. Lord, I’m…it’s a habit, I call everyone…”

“I don’t mind,” Jack assures him, his voice still soft.

Eric’s head is reeling. “Ah…” He clears his throat, then closes his book. “I’ll be done soon. Just finishing up the pumpkin, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Jack nods, but there’s a small frown creasing his forehead, and he asks, “Have you eaten?”

The question startles Eric, who laughs a little. “I had a sandwich during detention, and I was going to pick something up on my way home. Something terrible, but you know…one of those nights.”

Jack nods, then glances at the oven and says, “How long?”

Confused, Eric shrugs and checks his timer. “Forty minutes. They take an hour, and this is my last batch.” He indicates the food processor which is full of pumpkin puree from the last batch.

Jack nods then, a determined look on his face and says, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Eric almost laughs, but Jack’s turning on his heel and striding out of the room like he’s off to battle. It’s confusing to say the least, but then again, a lot of things about Jack have been lately so…

So he just gets back to work, and doesn’t let himself expect that Jack is actually coming back.

***

He does though, fifteen minutes later, arms heavy with plastic bags that smell heavenly. Jack gives Eric a cheeky look as he sets the bags on the table away from Eric’s work, and he begins to unpack what turns out to be Italian food. Creamy pasta with asparagus and tomatoes, breadsticks, and two plastic cartons with salad.

“I love this place,” Jack says as he pushes one of the containers out to Eric. “I don’t get it a lot—all that cream and cheese but…” He stabs his plastic fork into the noodles and takes a bite. The look of pleasure on his face has Eric wondering how badly he must have offended god to be tortured like this.

Instead of losing himself to the small fire threatening to consume him from the inside out, Eric instead throws himself into the salad which is amazing. “Wow. I’m glad I didn’t know about this place before. I’d be so broke.”

Jack laughs as he hooks his foot round one of the stools and drags it close. “It’s a lesson in restraint. I’d be worse if I wasn’t at the hospital most nights.”

That sobers Eric a little. “How is she doing, really?”

Jack’s smile is as soft as it was before, even as he stares at his pasta. “She’s good. Strong, just like her mother.”

“And like her dad,” Eric insists.

Jack looks up, and there’s a little storm in his eyes, even as he huffs out a sigh. “I think you and I both know that’s not true.”

Spluttering, Eric reaches for his water bottle and takes a drink, even as his eyes are wide. “Jack,” he says, breathy after gulping it down, “why would you think that? I know you, okay? I mean…I don’t…I mean, it’s only been a short time, but you are. You’re here almost every day, and you’re with that sweet girl every night, and you’re just…you don’t need to sell yourself short.”

“I just mean…” Jack worries his bottom lip, and swirls some of the pasta round the container without taking a bite. “I mean, you know my past.” He huffs, a little bitter. “Who doesn’t…”

“I don’t,” Eric admits, and he flinches when Jack looks up at him with a look of hard disbelief. Holding up a defensive hand, Eric forces himself to keep Jack’s gaze. “Shitty said something, but it didn’t sound like my business.”

“So you never looked,” Jack says flatly.

“Should I? I mean, would that be easier if I…”

“No,” Jack says, then he softens, his shoulders moving down from where they’d hunched near his ears. “Most people just know.”

Eric shrugs. “I’m not most people.”

After a long pause, in a voice that’s barely audible, Jack says, “Yeah, I figured that out a while ago.” He sits back on the stool, then pushes his food away and folds his arms in front of him on the counter. “You know who my dad is, obviously.”

“Uh,” Eric says, then flushes because maybe it’s an insult that he doesn’t. “Actually I wasn’t…quite sure.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean, you said something about the Stanley Cup so I figured he was a hockey player but I was never…I’m from Georgia and it’s not really a thing so…”

Jack looks startled. “But you…seemed a little ah…at the pumpkin patch.”

Eric full on blushes, then admits, “Thin Ice was my favourite movie in middle school.”

Jack stares, and splutters a little. “Thin Ice?”

Rolling his eyes, Eric crosses his arms tightly. “I was a two-time Junior Regional Figure Skating champion, okay? I quit when I was fourteen but…but of course Thin Ice was my favourite movie.”

Jack stares, then throws his head back and laughs loudly. “They’re going to love this, oh my god.”

Groaning, Eric lets his head fall forward until his forehead touches the cool granite and only snaps back up when he feels a warm, brief touch on the back of his neck. Jack’s staring at him, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes the brightest Eric has ever seen.

“It’s a good thing, Bittle.”

Eric huffs, but sits all the way back up. “Anyway, if I was star struck at all—and maybe that was just bein’ put on the spot to meet your parents, Mr Zimmermann—I know you texted them when I wasn’t looking—it was because your mother is a wonderful human being and actress. And okay fine. I’m a fan.”

Jack is still grinning, and Eric is warm from head to toe from it. “Trust me, that’s going to make them happy.”

Eric concedes that this is his life now, so he just shrugs and says, “So what about your dad?”

The mood sobers instantly, and Jack’s smile fades a little. “He’s…a good hockey player. And that’s an understatement. He’s set a lot of records, made the Hall of Fame. He’s won a lot…a lot of Stanley Cups. I ah…” Jack shrugs, looking miserable, and Eric fights back the urge to just go hug him. “I loved hockey. But I had anxiety—and they didn’t know what to do with me, you know? My parents were gone a lot, I was in billet homes in juniors, and I just had a bottle of pills and my…” Jack flushes and shrugs. “My ex. Who told me to just push through, just keep going. Then shit hit the fan, and I took more than I should have, and I went to rehab, and he went on to captain an NHL team.”

There’s a long, almost profound pause as all of that hits Eric in waves. Jack’s pain, Jack’s story, his history and his neglect. Eric can hear the overwhelmed, scared teen in the deep, rumbling voice of the man in front of him now.

And then the rest hits because Jack just came out and there’s a vulnerable look on his face because he’s clearly waiting for Eric to react.

“Jack,” Eric says, and he’s not sure what to say. Because he’s come out a few times, though usually he just lets people assume—it’s easier that way, because it always seems to be a damn production and he just wants to live. He wants to live, and kiss cute boys, and maybe get married some day, but he doesn’t always want to be a statement.

Right now, Jack’s made a small one though, and it deserves something.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Eric says.

Jack looks at him, then chuckles quietly. “Now you sound like Shitty, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

Eric flushes, shuffling his feet, trying to hold on as his brain rearranges everything he thought about Jack from the moment they met, until right now. He lets out a breath. “I just…it’s stupid, I know. I hate when people say that to me, but also it’s true. I know it’s not easy.”

“It is with you,” Jack says, like it’s the most simple thing in the world. But that simple statement is like a punch to his solar plexus—it steals every bit of air from his lungs, and he takes a minute to recover as Jack just goes on with his story. “I went to University after a few years back in Montreal, with my parents. I went to play hockey, but by my senior year, when I was being courted by a few teams I just…realised that wasn’t what I wanted anymore.”

“Why not?” Eric asks quietly.

He shrugs. “Camilla and I were dating at the time, and I love her. I do. She’s important to me. But I knew we weren’t going to last, and I realised I’d spent so much time there hiding. Looking at men I was attracted to, but choosing not to date them because it wasn’t going to be as easy. Doing what I loved shouldn’t also make me miserable, right? And something about hockey had lost the spark when I woke up in the hospital bed. So I just…made a different choice.”

“And here you are,” Eric says.

Jack chuckles. “Here I am.”

“And you and Camilla…” Eric starts, but Jack cuts him off. Sharply.

“No.” Then he looks sheepish, and drags a hand through his hair. “I mean, she’s not…Nina was one night. She got roped into prom design, and no one wanted to help, so she begged. And we just…” He shrugged. “It’s easy with her, because it’s familiar. She had just broken up with her girlfriend and I hadn’t been with anyone in a while. But it’s not…like that. She and I aren’t together.”

“Okay,” Eric says, and he accepts this as the very important thing Jack is trying to tell him, because it’s obvious Jack needs him to know. Because every time Eric had told himself Jack wasn’t flirting, it was self-preservation, not observation. It all clicks now. It all makes sense.

Eric clears his throat. “You were too embarrassed to take me to dinner with your parents,” he points out. “Are you not out to them or…”

“Bittle,” Jack breathes out, and he looks like he’s almost laughing. “I wasn’t embarrassed. I…” He bites his lip, then shrugs. “I told my parents they didn’t get to ask you out before I did.”

“Oh,” Eric says, then kind of sags against the counter. “You want to ask me out?”

Jack gets up then, and walks a slow, deliberate pace round the counter until he’s right in front of Eric, until he’s reaching out and touching his face with a gesture tentative—telegraphing his intentions and giving Eric space to move back if he wants to. “I want to ask you out,” he says, very softly. “I want a lot of things with you.”

Eric knows there’s a kiss going to happen, but he’s all nerves and he draws the moment out by saying, “You hated me so much.”

“You were so attractive,” Jack admits, almost like it pains him, even as he looks guilty. “You were sweet, and so good looking, and you were a temp and everything hurt so much right then. I took it all out on you. I was going to get attached, and then you’d leave and I just…”

“Oh,” Eric says again.

Jack smiles, then leans in just a little. “Okay?”

Eric curls his hand round Jack’s wrist, pressing the palm into his cheek, and he nods. “Okay.”

Then Jack leans in, and his lips are on Eric’s, and everything else in the world ceases to matter.

Chapter Text

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“I…” Jack’s voice is muffled by Eric’s lips which he won’t pull further away from except to get just enough air to speak. “That’s my…”

“Phone,” Eric finishes for him. Then he steps back because he knows Jack’s situation is complicated and he’s not in a position to refuse taking a call. He tries not to look up, at the pink mottling Jack’s cheeks, or at the way his hands are still kind of shaking as he hurries to drag out his phone and answer it.

The moment quickly sobers, though, because all the colour drains out of Jack’s face and he’s reaching for the counter to steady himself as he’s nodding and saying, “Yeah. Yes, okay I’m…I’m on my way. I’m…just hang on just…okay.”

Eric feels a rush of terror as Jack’s eyes, wide and wild, devoid of all the previous passion, lock on his.

“It was…I have to…”

“Go,” Eric says, in the most commanding voice he can muster, trying to snap Jack out of it.

Jack nods, but he doesn’t go. He sinks to the floor, and he’s shaking all over, and his breathing is hitched, like he can’t seem to fill his lungs. Eric knows exactly what this is—he’s had more than his fair share of panic attacks over his life.

So he crouches down and he hovers his hand near Jack’s which are clutching at his knees that he’s drawn into his chest. “Breathe in. Breathe out,” Eric guides.

Jack’s nodding, and he’s trying. God help him, he’s trying.

“I’m going to touch your hand, okay?” Eric says, and when he gets a nod, he does. He squeezes, not too tight, not enough to be overwhelming, and he keeps a low murmur as he guides Jack through it—feeling hurried because he knows Jack needs to be somewhere like…like ten minutes ago.

“I’m going to drive you,” Eric says when Jack seems to have regained most of the control over his breathing.

Jack’s eyes snap up. “Bittle, I…”

“Come on,” Eric says, and he stands, holding a hand out to Jack. “You don’t have to tell me, I won’t go up with you. But you’re not driving like this, and you clearly need to be there.”

“You know where I…”

“Yes,” Eric says, swiftly, a little sharply, but only because he doesn’t want to make Jack have to say it right now. From his reaction, it’s not good. So he just leaves everything as is, flicks off the oven and says goodbye to the roasted pumpkin—it’s fine, this is so much more important.

He grabs his keys and his phone, and then they’re out the door. Jack’s quick on his heels, and it occurs to Eric as they pull out onto the street, Jack hasn’t let go of his hand.

***

They’re thirty seconds away from the hospital entrance when Jack speaks. “She keeps crashing,” he says, his voice hoarse. "That was Celeste, Camilla’s sister. She said they want us to…she said we have to be there, to prepare. To decide what to do if they can’t…if she won’t stay stable. Um…”

“What do you need from me?” Eric asks as he pulls into the loading bay.

Jack looks dazed, he fiddles with the little ID bracelet he doesn’t take off, the one that allows him to come and go from Nina’s side. “Stay here? Just for a little while?”

Eric nods. “I’m going to park, and I’ll be in the lobby near that coffee cart until you tell me I can go.”

Jack nods, then he gets out and starts away, but freezes just before he shuts the door. “Thank you.”

Eric sighs. “Go, Jack. Anything else can wait. This can’t.”

That snaps Jack out of it, and his eyes refocus, and then he runs. Eric sits there for a full minute, trying to control the shaking before he puts the car back into gear, and finds a place to park.

***

The coffee cart is open, so Eric gets himself a latte and then he curls up in the empty waiting area. The news is on the TV hanging in the corner of the little waiting room, but it’s on mute which he’s grateful for because hearing how shit the world is right now wouldn’t help matters. He thinks he can probably go upstairs because the waiting rooms up there are far more pleasant, with soothing fish tanks and classical music and warm lights. Nothing like the harsh, unforgiving fluorescents and smell of stale coffee and the ghost of strangers’ tears and worry.

But he feels like going up there would make it feel too real. Like there’s a barrier here between the welcome desk and the actual hospital where there’s information and there’s both triumph and tragedy. Right now those doors are like Schrödinger’s box, where just beyond them the baby is both fine, and not fine, and Eric isn’t ready to face that reality.

Not just for himself, though he’d be a liar if he hadn’t entertained at least one or two fantasies about what it would be like to be with Jack, and be part of the whole…everything. But it’s mostly for Jack, who has already been through so much, and he’s been so strong and so put together during all of this.

And Eric doesn’t know what he’ll do if he has to watch Jack crumble. More important than the new, fragile thing blooming between them is his friendship with Jack. In no world would Eric not care about him, regardless of how Jack felt. And Eric was tired of seeing people in pain.

It was going to be a long night, he knew. But he was prepared to wait it out until he was sure Jack didn’t need him.

***

Eric is startled by Jack’s appearance two hours later because frankly he’s not expecting to hear anything until the wee hours of the morning, and even then he assumed it would be maybe a text. Eric can’t get a read on his face, and he feels frozen in his seat as Jack sinks next to him and breathes out.

“She’s okay,” is the first thing he says.

Eric can’t help it. Everything he’s been holding in comes out in this half-laugh, half-sob, and his eyes immediately water. He feels a little like an ass because this isn’t his kid, but holy hell. “Okay,” is all he can manage.

Jack’s smile is watery, but full of relief, and he reaches over, taking Eric’s hand like a wordless promise that whatever had developed between them tonight wasn’t nothing. “She was struggling on the vent, and they thought…” Jack’s voice cracks, then he clears it. “But she’s off of it, and she’s breathing on her own. She’s on oxygen, but she’s stable. She was just tired of not being independent. She’s her mother’s daughter for sure.”

Eric can’t help but laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t wait to meet Camilla after all this.”

Jack’s smile is soft, and he nods. “Yeah. I told her about you. Um. She wants to meet you.”

Eric feels a sudden rush of fear because well…because so much can go wrong, even as much as it can go right, and he’s not really sure he’s prepared to try and impress the mother of Jack’s child. A woman who probably does have some measure of veto power over who Jack can and can’t bring around his child. “Alright,” he says in spite of his rushing panic, because Jack deserves at least that much.

“I’m going to stay tonight. I’ll be out tomorrow, but I’ll text you? Okay?”

Eric nods, and he stands, Jack still holding his hand. “Okay,” he says, and squeezes.

He tries to pull away, but Jack doesn’t let him. Instead he drags Eric in and cups his jaw, and leans in to kiss him. “Let me walk you out.”

Eric’s kiss-dumb and all he can do is nod. He tugs his coat a little closer round his middle, and he starts out with Jack holding the small of his back like an anchor. Driving home is going to be a bitch, but he’s going to do it with relief and a flood of hope because everything he thought that would remain so far out of reach is suddenly right there. It’s his for the taking. He can turn round and go up on his toes and kiss Jack and he’s allowed.

So he does, right when they get to his car. Eric grabs Jack by the collar of his shirt, and he lets Jack crowd him back against the cold glass of the driver’s side window. And there’s an edge of desperation to the kiss Eric knows is from the events of the night, and Jack’s emotions riding high. But he takes it anyway. He leans into the way Jack’s got his hands pressed firm into Eric’s cheeks, and the way Jack’s mouth is open for him, and the way his tongue gently glides against his own.

When they pull away, Eric is flushed, and Jack is smiling a little sheepish and he says, “That was the kiss I wanted to give you before, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“You could come into my room bare-ass naked and do a little dance and you wouldn’t scare me off,” Eric confesses, no hope of any control over his tongue right now.

Jack pulls a face, but his eyes are shining with laughter as he shakes his head. “Talk soon.”

Eric nods firmly. “Text me,” he says.

Jack leans in for one more, swift kiss. “I will,” he promises.

Eric believes him, and it’s that sweet confidence which gets Eric safely home.

***

I’m sorry it took me so long to text. Everything is still good.

Oh my gosh, Jack, please don’t ever apologise. I understand.

She gained four ounces this week already. They’re starting to build her going home plan.

Give her a big ole kiss from me, and tell her I’m proud of her. :-*

haha. She’ll like that. Camilla wants to know if you can come to dinner on Sunday?

I would love that, Jack. Just send me the address and I’ll be there.

See you soon, Bittle. (:

***

Eric’s an anxious mess Friday, and he knows Jack is in the building, but he hasn’t seen him except in passing. He decides to eat at his work counter in the foods room as works on the final plan for the harvest festival, only to avoid trying to look like he’s desperate to see Jack.

Even if it’s true.

Because yeah, he is.

He’s halfway into his cold turkey sandwich when he hears a knock on the door, and he glances up, not entirely surprised to find Jack there with his arms folded over his chest. He looks exhausted, but he’s smiling, looking crisp and dapper in his uniform and blazer.

“Hungry?” Eric asks, gesturing to a plastic container which has some of the fresh roasted turkey he’d made while trying out a new brine before adding it to the student menu.

Jack eyes it, then chuckles quietly under his breath before he comes over and pulls the cutting board and bread toward him. “You make this too?”

Eric flushes. “Well…yes? I mean, what’s the use in having fresh roasted turkey if you don’t have fresh bread to go with it.”

Jack carefully cuts two pieces of bread, then assembles the sandwich. He pulls a stool up to the bar and sits, his elbow barely brushing Eric’s as he glances at the harvest festival plans. “You keep surprising me, Bits.”

Eric flushes at the sudden nickname rolling from Jack’s mouth. Eric’s had nicknames before. It doesn’t seem to matter how old he gets, he still can’t escape Dicky the moment he crosses the Mason-Dixon line, but no version of his name has ever been spoken the way Jack speaks it now.

Such a simple word, one syllable, laden with so much affection it almost hurts. Eric has had a lot of being swept off his feet, prince Charming sort of fantasies that only a closeted southern gay boy can come up with feeling so alone and out of place. But he was always reasonable and never in his life did he think they’d come from someone like Jack.

He swallows, then smiles. “How so?” Because he really doesn’t see how any bit of him can be surprising. He knows he’s good looking, knows he’s sweet, and easy to get along with. But he’s never felt more than typical.

“You just…you come in here, and you know this isn’t—that it might not last. But you still give everything you’ve got to this. To the school, to the kids. You barely know me, and more than half the time you have known me, I’ve been the biggest asshole…”

“Oh sweetheart,” Eric starts, but Jack shakes his head, stopping him.

“It’s true. I know I have a lot to apologise for. Even if I had a reason.” He clears his throat, and Eric is a little too overwhelmed to speak, so he carries on. “You don’t know if any of this is going to be yours, but you still treat it like it matters.”

“It does,” Eric says, finally regaining his composure. “These kids matter, the school matters. Opening a little restaurant and making brownies and turkey sandwiches for teachers might not be saving the world, but it’s letting the kids feel productive and useful, and it’s getting them excited about something. And just because it’s not mine forever doesn’t mean it’s not worth caring about.”

“Most people don’t feel that way,” Jack says.

And well, Eric knows that. He’s not a fool. But the thought still makes him a little sad because he’s always been the kind of guy who likes to hope, as ridiculous as it might be in this day and age. But hope’s kept Jack together during this time with his baby, and hope’s kept Eric afloat during his long, long years in a place he wasn’t allowed to really be himself. And hope got him to where he was today, sat at Jack’s elbow knowing that he could just lean over and take a kiss for himself, because Jack wants to kiss him back.

He smiles instead of that. For now. “Maybe optimism is silly, but I’ll probably never let go of it.”

Jack sets his sandwich down and leans over, cupping Eric’s face. “I hope you don’t.”

Eric has time to pink in his cheeks before Jack’s mouth closes over his. It’s a malty, rye-and-turkey kind of kiss, and he loves it.

***

Sunday comes too fast. He spent Saturday having Shabbat afternoon with Ransom and Holster who invited him over after services, and they noticed his subdued mood—which was mostly just him trying to calm his nerves. Several rounds of angry board games, and Eric went home to take a long bath and get to bed early so he can spend the rest of Sunday worrying a hole in his carpet with his pacing.

He bakes a pie, then hates it, and bakes another. Then a tray of chocolate-pecan bars, then some maple tarts. He looks at what he’s got to bring over and he knows it’s too much, but he can’t help himself because his compulsion right now is just too strong to let go.

And he hopes Camilla won’t think he’s over-compensating and trying to be someone he’s not. He just…he just wants to make a good impression.

His heart is in his throat, but he makes the drive without any real incidents. He straightens his cardigan and smooths his hand over his hair as the other precariously balances the baked goods in their travel containers. Then he rings the bell and holds his breath, and he waits.

There’s a moment of almost visceral relief when the door opens and it’s Jack there instead of a woman who’s a stranger, and whose job he’s currently filling. He offers a tense, nervous smile as Jack takes two of the containers, then pulls Eric into a kiss.

“Jack,” Eric breathes against his lips. “This isn’t very polite.”

Jack just chuckles and pulls back to kiss the tip of Eric’s nose, then he threads their free hands together and pulls Eric through the house.

It’s a small cottage, one story with a short hallway that leads to closed doors. The living room is a decent size—empty, and there’s decent smells coming from the kitchen which is through a swinging door. Jack pulls him through, and the kitchen is small, but modern and sweet.

And Camilla’s there. She looks a good fit for Jack, which makes Eric’s insides twitch in an unpleasant way. She’s tall, maybe two or three inches on Eric, muscular in her arms, and a strong jaw. Her hair is twisted back away from her face in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a red flannel with the sleeves rolled up, and yoga bottoms.

Eric feels over-dressed and a little like he’s under a microscope when she turns to look at him. But her scrutiny doesn’t feel cruel, or threatening. Her mouth curves into a small grin and she says, “Yeah, I see it.”

Eric looks to Jack who’s blushing, and he says nothing, just snatches the pecan bars out of Eric’s hands to set them on the counter. Eric clears his throat, then sticks out his hand and says, “I’m Eric. But I guess you know that.”

“Oh, I know that,” she says, then winks.

Jack clears his throat, and now the tips of his ears are flaming red. Eric almost laughs. He would have, were it not for the nerves. Instead he demands to know how he can help, which is how he’s roped into straining veg from broth as Camilla prepares a roast chicken, and Jack busies himself with setting the table since apparently he’s not allowed in the kitchen.

“So Jack tells me you’re revolutionising my foods class,” she says as she eases the chicken onto a serving platter.

Eric almost drops his large spoon, and his eyes go wide. “Oh. Gosh, no I’m…I’m just holding down the fort, you know? Until you’re back and…”

She smiles. “Chill, man. That’s not like a bad thing. I took like two culinary classes in college when I was getting my degree, and Hall thought that was qualification enough to throw that class at me. Trust me, I don’t mind. I mean, unless the kids expect me to keep up with that gourmet homemade bread shit when I get back.”

Eric can’t help his laugh as he takes the chicken from her, and walks it to the table. “Lord, I don’t think they’ll mind. I’m not sure they appreciate my particular brand of enthusiasm for cooking.”

“Some do,” Jack says softly, a grin on his face as he watches Eric. “Back when I was being an asshole, I gave kids detention for talking about you too much in my afternoon class.”

Eric’s eyes go wide. “Jack Zimmermann, you did not!”

“Yeah, I’m so not surprised about that one. Jack doesn’t do well with you know…feelings,” Camilla says, hip-checking him slightly as she moves past him to sit.

They all do after that, and Jack carves, and Eric serves, and Camilla pours some wine. “So I take it he was always kind of a grump?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Who says grump, Bittle.”

“I do,” Eric defends primly.

“It’s a good word for him,” Camilla offers. “And yeah, he can be a nightmare, trust me. But I’ve never seen him smile like this before,” she adds.

Jack and Eric are very quiet for a minute, and then Jack mutters something in French which makes Camilla throw her head back and laugh.

Eric sighs. “Y’all are unfair. I’m downloading duolingo tomorrow.”

“So you can tell Jack how many red apples the woman has?” Camilla asks with a snort.

Eric shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Unfair,” he says, but it comes out through a huge smile that Jack’s face is matching.

***

Dinner’s over pretty quickly, and they move to the living room and Eric gets an update on Nina, and he gets to see all of Camilla’s pictures. The best part about those is they’re almost all of Jack holding that tiny little thing in his arms. It’s fantastic to see her filling out, looking like a tiny human with her little pink face obscured only by two tiny prongs of an oxygen tube instead of the huge vent.

She’s got a long way to go, but Eric feels an overwhelming sense of hope when he sees her up against Jack’s bare chest, cradled by his massive hands that could easily fit two of her. Eric touches the edge of the picture, grinning.

“Watch out, world,” he mutters. “This one is going to make waves.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Camilla says.

Jack huffs, then pushes himself to stand. “I’m going to wash up dishes before I head out.”

“Oh, I can,” Eric says, and moves to stand, but Jack eases him back with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Guest, Bittle. I stopped qualifying a long time ago. Take advantage while you still can.”

Camilla nods sagely, and Eric flushes just a little, but shrugs and relaxes against the cushions of the sofa as Jack disappears through the door.

There’s a sort of anxious moment the second he’s gone, then Camilla breathes out a sigh and says, “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to say that for a while.”

Eric’s eyes widen. “…what for?”

“I guess being you. I mean, it’s not like you did anything specific—though getting Jack to the hospital that night was…he was a mess and I was worried he wasn’t going to be able to drive himself. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t gotten there. Especially if you know…if she…”

“She didn’t,” Eric says automatically, and reaches over, squeezing her knee for a second. “And it was the least I could do.”

“It’s not just that, though.” She leans back, stretching one arm along the cushion, and gives Eric a careful look. “The day he met you, he came here ranting about what a mistake the school made. We talked a while and about halfway through his rant he kind of stopped and put his hands over his face and was just like, I was a huge dick. Then he told me about the brownie.”

When Eric scowls, Camilla all-but doubles over with laughter. “He was like a vicious little cat person, pushing it off the desk into the trash. Who does that!”

She shakes her head as the giggles subside. “I knew you were something special then. I just wanted to wait to see if that dumbass would figure it out on his own. Thank god he did.”

“Thank god,” Eric echoes, feeling overwhelmed because this went very, very different than he’d anticipated. Not a bad thing, but still scary in a way. “I like him a lot.”

“I can tell,” she says softly.

Eric gives her a serious look then, and gives his half-prepared speech because it’s the least she deserves. “You just need to know I’m not here to step on toes. I know you and Jack have been… there’s…affection between you two, and I know having a kid can affect how you feel about someone and I just don’t want to…”

“I’m…” She stops, then shakes her head. “I’m not gay. I’m attracted to men, but I don’t ever want to be with one, if that makes sense. I love Jack with my whole heart and there’s literally no one better I could have picked to have a baby with. But I’d never be happy with him, and he wouldn’t be happy with me, either. The reason we’ve been able to make this work between us is because we love each other. And we know what we want from each other. And we know what we don’t. You won’t step on any toes, because there aren’t toes to step on.”

“Oh,” Eric says, because that’s all he’s got. The word’s kind of pulled out of him, and he’s afraid for a moment because nothing in his life has ever been this easy. And this certainly shouldn’t be because this situation with Jack has been one of the most complicated ones he’s ever been involved in. They’re both teachers, Eric is a temp with no guarantee he’s going to be able to stay even in the city, let alone at the school. Jack is a new parent to a preemie baby who is still in the ICU, and the mother of that child is sat right here, looking Eric in the eyes.

And tell him it’s okay.

It’s okay.

“Hey, I’m sorry if that was too much. I mean, I know you two haven’t even gone on a date yet but…”

Eric gives a slightly tense laugh, and shrugs. “It’s not like any of this has been conventional.”

Camilla laughs, then just abandons all pretence and drags Eric into a hug. “If it works out, it works out. Right? Isn’t that how life goes.”

“Yeah,” Eric says, and gives her a firm squeeze before they break apart.

“For what it’s worth, I’m really hoping it does.”

***

Jack and Eric walk out together, holding hands after they say goodbye to Camilla who is heading out herself to see Nina. They hover near Eric’s car, and when Camilla’s rear lights have disappeared round the corner, Jack crowds Eric up against the car again and kisses him. It’s a slow kiss this time, sweet and careful, both hands cupping Eric’s face like they were before, but without that edge of desperate relief.

When they break apart, Jack pushes his forehead against Eric’s. “Can we do dinner soon. Me and you?”

Eric grins. “Any time. Literally.”

“Why don’t you come home with me tomorrow, eh? I’ll cook. I promise I’m not as bad as Camilla wants you to think.”

Eric grins, and pushes on his toes to take three, quick, pecking kisses from Jack’s mouth. “Alright.”

“We should…we should talk,” Jack says softly. And before Eric can panic, Jack kisses his temple and says, “Good talk. Or well, necessary talk. About what we want?”

It feels very grownup in a way that none of Eric’s relationships or flings have felt up to now, and he can’t help his nerves, but he puts on a brave face and nods. “Yes. I want that.”

“Good.” Jack kisses him a final time, drawing it out and out until Eric’s toes are tingling and he wants well…a lot more. So he makes himself step back, drawing his hands away so slow the tips of their fingers catch on each other before their hands fall back to their sides.

“See you tomorrow?” Eric asks.

Jack’s face breaks out into the smallest, sweetest grin. And he nods. “Definitely.”

Eric has a feeling tomorrow is going to be a good day.

Chapter Text

Eric hisses and wrenches his hand away from the pan for the fourth time that afternoon, glowering at it like somehow it’s the heat’s fault and not his own. He hears snickers from his class, and bites the inside of his cheek lightly because he knows his distraction is obvious. And now all those rules about how you don’t date where you work sort of make sense.

Or maybe Eric’s just a bigger disaster than most, and his small, gay heart can’t take the affection from someone as absurdly attractive and secretly sweet as Jack Zimmermann.

He pulls himself together and offers a smile at the class, squaring his shoulders as he goes back into teacher mode. “And today the lesson you should take home is, try not to cook while you’re distracted.” There’s a small titter, and Eric knows the class is going to start asking questions, so he moves the pan onto the counter and says, “I also want your sample menus tomorrow, along with at least one prepped and made for me to taste. Remember, family recipes are highly encouraged, and nothing that takes longer than four minutes if it’s individually cooked, and twenty minutes if we can cook it in bulk.”

The dinging bell saves him from anything else.

It’s lunch time, so the students scramble out as Eric shoves his hand under lukewarm water to bring the temperature of the burn down and hopefully, this time, he can avoid a blister.

He’s just applying a little burn cream when there’s a knock on the door jamb and he looks up to see Jack there, a little shy, a tiny bit pink in the cheeks. Eric feels himself almost glowing with anticipation—knowing Jack is there to see him, knowing Jack and him are having dinner tonight as a proper date, and that Jack wants to kiss him and hold him and do all those other things Eric’s been thinking about almost non-stop.

“Hey, you,” Eric says as Jack slips into the room and closes the door.

Jack rubs the back of his neck a little shyly and holds out a paper bag with an unfamiliar logo. “Hey. I know you probably brought your lunch but I thought…well I like this place. They have great sandwiches and I…” He stops, his eyes narrowing, then he quickens his pace and he’s at Eric’s side in less than a second. The bag’s on the table, and suddenly he’s got Eric’s hand cradled in his palm. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh, honey,” Eric says, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in his gut, “it’s nothing. Really. Hazards of the workplace.”

Jack’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth tight. His thumb brushes along the outer edges of the burn which really aren’t anywhere near as bad as the worst Eric’s gotten from a hot oven before. But this is definitely the first time someone has looked so worried over such a small thing, and Eric doesn’t even really know how to process how that makes him feel.

He absolutely doesn’t pull away. Especially not as Jack’s fingers begin to gently rub in the rest of the burn cream. Or the way his hand trails down a little lower, and his thumb pressed against the bend in Eric’s wrist.

After a second, Jack clears his throat and looks a little sheepish, even if he still doesn’t let go. “Do you want to have lunch with me?” he asks, awkward as he ever is.

Eric almost laughs, but doesn’t think Jack will appreciate the giggles in the face of his obvious vulnerability, even if it’s not laughing at him. Frankly, Eric just doesn’t know how to deal with all this attention. He’s not used to being wanted like this—he’d never really let himself have it. He’s certainly dated before but this…the laser focus of Jack’s gaze, the way he just seems to want.

It’s so new, and it’s overwhelming, but so good.

“I would love that, Jack,” he says softly.

They skip the staff room to avoid prying eyes and the chirps Eric knows will rain down on them. The staff is bound to figure it all out soon enough, and being able to have this just to himself, just for a little bit, means a lot.

So Eric locks his door and they hunker down at the counter with their sandwiches which are—as Jack promised—amazing. Their knees brush together on the occasion, and when Eric gets back from throwing their sandwich wrappings in the bin, Jack holds him by the hips and kisses him until they’re forced to part ways and get on with their day.

The one thing that gets Eric through is knowing that just on the other side of that final bell for the day is dinner with Jack. Because it feels like something more. Like the start to a long future. And he’s ready to dig his claws in and not let go for anything.

***

Engrossed in his marking, Eric doesn’t realise there’s someone at his classroom door until he hears a tiny sigh. He glances up and sees Jack there, arms crossed, smiling softly at him. Feeling slightly panicked, Eric stares up at the clock and flushes.

“Oh lord, I’m so sorry,” he says, scrambling to put his marking pen away. “I didn’t even realise the time and I was just…”

“It’s fine, Bits,” Jack says, and walks into the room. He pushes his hands into his pockets, and Eric realises Jack’s changed into jeans and a Habs t-shirt. “I like watching you work.”

Eric scrubs a hand down his face. “Midterms, you know? They’re working so hard and I just want to feel like I’ve gotten through to them.” He stares down at the mark of eighty-eight percent on the paper he’s just done and isn’t sure if he should feel pleased or disappointed. It brings him back to his days in school—high school, University, it all felt the same. His ADD made everything ten times harder, even after meds and therapy, and sometimes it startles him that he’s actually here. That this was the job he chose.

He doesn’t wallow for long, just in the few precious seconds it takes for Jack to get from the classroom door to his desk. He puts his large hand over the stack of papers. “Bring them with, eh? I have my French exam to mark and we can do it together. I mean…it’s not much of a date but…”

“It sounds perfect,” Eric says, and actually means it. He thinks if he was less into Jack it might sound like the worst date of all time, but thinking about hunkering down on the living room floor, legs stretched out under Jack’s coffee table, their sides pressed together…it gets him kind of warm inside.

Jack is patient as Eric gathers up his things, shoving them into his bag, and soon enough they’re heading for their cars.

Eric hesitates near his own, looking at Jack with some uncertainty. Jack backs up, then puts a hand at his lower back and holds it there. “Let’s take mine. I can bring you by later or…well. We can figure it out.”

Eric flushes, but he nods and lets Jack direct him to his truck. As he settles in the seat, he looks over at Jack’s profile and feels a sense of rightness. And it scares him a little, and worries him that he’s getting a little too far, considering his dating history is small and pathetic. He wonders if maybe it’s the by-product of being in the damn closet for too long, of not really knowing how to date, or how to have intimate feelings for the person he’s attracted to, that the first one to show him any sense of romantic attention is making him feel like he’s already in love.

He breathes through it, reminds himself they have a ways to go. That he needs to not scare Jack away—not scare himself away when it inevitably becomes too much.

Jack seems to sense the tension in the car, but he doesn’t call attention to it. He just reaches over with his free hand and lets his fingers tangle with Eric’s until they get to the restaurant. Jack parks the car, then pulls Eric’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles gently which makes Eric’s head spin.

“I’ll just run in, okay? Then we can get back to mine.”

Eric nods mutely, unable to say anything. But it’s good enough for Jack, who drags his hand away and hurries in to get their order.

He’s back in a flash, and the truck cab is filled with delicious smells and Jack’s hand is resting large and warm on his knee. Eric thinks, as they head toward Jack’s, that maybe he needs to worry less about how scared Jack might be at how quickly Eric is falling.

***

The evening is benign and calm. They eat, Eric looks at a few more photos of Nina who is growing like a weed. Jack takes a call from Camilla and passes on her hellos. They sit for a while and finish up marking, and Jack chirps Eric in French a little bit.

It’s sweet, and it’s domestic, and kind of wonderful.

Eric finishes before Jack, so he leans back against the sofa cushions and watches Jack’s mouth move over French conjugations as he finishes up his last few papers. He studies his profile—sharper angles than Eric’s got. He looks at Jack’s thick black hair which is just starting to show little flecks of silver in a few spots. He sees the bags under Jack’s eyes because this whole thing has him constantly exhausted.

Jack’s skin is largely unblemished, but Eric knows there’s scars underneath that don’t need to show up on skin to be visible. Eric has his own—he understands them too well.

Jack finishes soon after, and he eases up on the sofa, stretching his legs and then his arm along the back of the cushions until he can draw Eric close. It’s sweet, a little on the careful side which Eric doesn’t mind because he’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to navigate this whole thing.

They went from Jack hating everything about Eric, to kissing, to their first date being take away and midterm marking. It’s so far from normal, Eric feels lost at sea. But the way Jack’s looking at him is at least grounding. He can see the same affection and same want reflected in his eyes, and that soothes him.

“What are you thinking?” Jack asks. His fingers are tracing the shorn edges of Eric’s freshly cut hair, and it’s incredibly distracting.

Eric clears his throat, but he moves into the touch, unable to help himself. “About us,” he answers honestly.

Jack’s lips twitch into a small, sweet grin. “Yeah? What about us?”

Eric shrugs, reaching up behind his neck to tangle his fingers with Jack’s. “It’s a…strange start, you know. Whatever this is between the two of us.”

Jack’s smile falters, a small frown creasing his brow, and Eric wants to reach out and smooth it with his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little too quick. “I know it’s not…I’ve never been…”

“Hey, no,” Eric says, quick as he can. “No, I’m not…it wasn’t a complaint, sweetheart. Not at all. I mean, I don’t exactly have a long history anyway. Dating was never ah…anything I was real good at.”

Jack looks at him, his expression somewhat disbelieving. “How?”

Eric can’t help a small laugh, even as he squeezes Jack’s fingers a little tighter, moves in a little closer. “My parents are…they’re not bad people. Just a little wilfully ignorant. I think they liked don’t ask, don’t tell a little too much.”

Jack bites his lip, then sighs. “I understand. Growing up in the spotlight, in the Q, everything with hockey after that…”

“Yeah,” Eric breathes out, but his words fail for a moment when Jack’s fingers release his, only to trail down the back of his neck, to his shoulder, then down his arm. Eric’s practically tucked into his side now, and lord, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at doing the whole dating thing the right way.”

“I don’t know that there is a right way,” Jack replies softly. “I don’t have the best track record either, but I know my life is a little too complicated for drinks at a bar, and movie nights. I just know I like you. And I like this.”

Eric can’t help the grin spreading across his face, slow as molasses. He lets Jack reach out, pinch his chin between his fingers as he angles Eric’s head toward his, then moves to cup his cheek. “I know I like you too, Jack.”

Jack grins at him, all big and beautiful. Then he leans in and they kiss. It’s a soft thing, not desperate, not wanting more than this. It’s in this moment, with Jack holding him, the words still hanging between them, Eric knows this is probably it. That even if he can’t get a permanent job here, this is still it. He’ll stay here, and he’ll figure it out, and he’ll see where it goes. He’ll learn where he fits in to Jack’s life, with Camilla, and the baby, and everyone else he’s starting to see as friends—and maybe some day, family.

He doesn’t say it aloud yet, but he can feel the warmth of it in his belly, and the bone-deep belief that Jack will agree with him.

When they pull apart, it’s only far enough so Jack can speak, his nose brushing against Eric’s as he says, “Stay tonight?”

Eric nods, his lips parted in a half grin as his hands reach up to clutch Jack by the front of his shirt. “Okay, sweetheart. I’d…I’d love that.”

Jack smiles back, big and beautiful before he says, “Good,” then draws Eric in to another kiss.

Chapter Text

“…now, we just need to mix this chopped chocolate here into the melted butter,” Eric says, and he grins when the small child strapped to his front bashes the wooden spoon against the counter. It’s no easy feat, baking with a one year old child attached to him, but over the last six months, Eric’s gotten pretty good at this sort of multi-tasking.

Nina is still very small for her age, nowhere near walking or talking yet, but she’s a bright girl and she’s catching up quicker than anyone’s really prepared for it. She’s got her papa’s dark hair, and her mother’s sharp, deep brown eyes, and the determination of a thousand storybook heroes.

She was released almost three months to the day that she was born, just over the five pound mark, still on a feeding tube and oxygen, but making strides toward being independent. She celebrated her eight month birthday by getting her g-tube out, and at thirteen months, she’s sitting up on her own and starting to crawl, though her favourite place to be right now is attached to either Jack, Camilla, or Eric.

The job, of course, didn’t last. Hall and Murray just couldn’t pull together the funds to keep Eric on. But Eric was offered a adjunct position at the community college, teaching a couple of writing classes, and he misses the kids a lot, but he’s not giving up hope for something else to turn up. For now, Camilla’s letting him use the Foods classroom to surprise Jack who’s sitting in on some parent-teacher conferences and doesn’t even realise Eric’s here.

“You know, this is the very food that started it all, sweetpea,” he says, wiping a stray bit of cocoa dust from her cheek. He stirs the flour mixture into the gooey chocolate, then pours it into the baking pan. “Your papa was like a vicious, angry little cat, swipin’ that brownie right into the bin, and I swear I’d never seen a man so rude in my entire life. He’s earnt his fair share of brownies since then, but I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get through that thick head of his.”

Eric puts Nina into her seat, then straps her in before he goes near the oven. When the timer’s set, he sits on the floor in front of her and spins one of the brightly coloured rattles on the side which makes her squeal with delight.

“Turns out it wasn’t his fault. He was just worried sick about you. But he knew you were a fighter, just like him. Stubborn and just as silly.” He pokes her nose, and she pats him on the face with a quiet, “babababa,” which earns her a kiss on her round cheek. “I bet these brownies will get a good laugh outta him, and they should be done just as he’s finishing up.”

They play a little longer. As the timer ticks down, Eric holds her by her little fists and lets her walk herself around the desks. He misses this classroom—misses the kids who were excited about cooking, who wanted to do something big and good with the restaurant. And they had, that year. They took Camilla’s plans, and expanded on it, and earnt enough money to keep their restaurant going into the next year.

Camilla debated about coming back for a while, but in the end she wasn’t ready to turn in her badge just yet. So she resumed her position and Eric remained on call should they ever need him. He fretted about it for a while, but then Jack took him out to look at the stars for one of their date nights, and he pressed a key into Eric’s hand and said very softly, “I’d like it if you would consider this me asking you to move in. But if you’re not ready, I just…want you to keep it. Use it for whenever. Until you are.”

It was his way of saying, ‘You’re it for me,’ and it didn’t take much thinking about, because Eric had known for some time now that Jack was it for him, too.

He didn’t make Jack suffer in anticipation long. Eric waited out the two months of his lease, then moved his things to Jack’s.

It was something else, learning to live with another man, and navigate a relationship that also came with a baby, and who came with an ex who was around a lot, and an entire family comprised of a bunch of teachers who worked at a stuffy private school. He had growing pains, and there were days he and Jack didn’t talk for most of it, and there were times he reconsidered all of it.

But then he’d lay there deep in the night with Nina slumbering between them, and Jack’s arm stretched high above the pillows, holding Eric’s fingers in his own, and the sense of rightness and contentment and a host of other things he couldn’t quite put a name to reminded him of why he was so stubborn, and of how much he wanted this.

The timer dings, drawing Eric out of his thoughts, and he puts Nina back in her seat so he can pull the brownies. He commits the grievous baking crime of cutting while hot, and he wraps it up with cling film then puts Nina back in the sling, and they start their long trek down the hallway toward Jack’s classroom.

Eric hears voices, so he knows they’re a little early. Nina’s happily gumming away at her dummy, so she won’t give them away, and Eric manages to duck into the curve of the corridor when two parents—who don’t look entirely happy—stroll by. He hears Jack’s soft sigh, and him muttering to himself in French, which makes him smile as he approaches the door.

Jack’s at the very back of the classroom and he’s frowning down at a stack of papers. The moment is too much like the first time Eric had walked in, and he thinks it’s kind of perfect in a way. He clears his throat, but this time when Jack looks up, his entire face goes soft and pliant.

He stands, and comes round the desk with his arms out. He sweeps Nina out of the sling and kisses her cheeks rapidly until she drops her dummy and giggles, and holds his big face between her small, chubby hands. As she tucks into his neck, he looks over and he raises an eyebrow at Eric.

“I thought we were meeting at home. What’s that?”

“Just something I whipped up while we were waiting for you. I thought it would be a nice surprise since you know…it’s our anniversary and all.” Jack looks confused only as long as it takes for Eric to pull back the cling film and show Jack the freshly baked brownie.

Eric considers it a moment of success when he sees Jack’s face go pink all over, up to the tips of his ears. “Ah. So it is.”

“I certainly hope this one isn’t going to end up in the bin,” Eric chirps.

Jack sighs, and he starts to reach for the plate, but changes his direction halfway through and instead grabs Eric by the back of the neck and somehow manages to kiss him silly while also holding on to a baby. When Eric pulls back, he’s a little breathless and staring into Nina’s laughing eyes.

“Your papa is a silly man, you know that.”

She replies with a small pat to his nose, and Eric grabs her hand, kissing her little fist.

“You almost finished up? I actually have anniversary plans. Cami’s meeting us at the restaurant to take the princess home.”

“You gonna see mama tonight?” Jack asks Nina, his voice cooing and baby-talk, but there’s a new flush to his cheeks when he looks over at Eric, and Eric feels it all the way down in his bones. He’s so, so in love.

***

Camilla’s exactly on time, and she kisses them both on the cheek before taking Nina, and soon enough they’re at a secluded table at a restaurant more fancy than they usually frequent. They’re not really dressed for the occasion, but Eric can’t really bring himself to care much considering Jack’s got his foot hooked round Eric’s ankle, and their fingers tangled together on the side of their appetiser plate.

They’re looking at each other all fond and sweet, and it’s exactly what Eric envisioned.

“I know it’s a silly anniversary to celebrate,” Eric starts, but Jack shakes his head.

“It’s perfect. I love you. I want all these moments. Our tentative friendship lunch, the night you drove me to the hospital, the first time we baked together. Bits those are…they’re just as important as anything else.”

Eric bites his lip, then just sort of blurts out, “Marry me.” He blinks rapidly in surprise, but he doesn’t take it back. He should, he thinks. He should, because he meant to do it right with a ring, and with…a little more fanfare than being overwhelmed by Jack’s sweet words. But it’s out there now, and he means it so…

Jack just sort of laughs then. He picks up Eric’s hand from the table and kisses it—his knuckles, his wrist, his palm. His eyes are sparkling in the little tealight candle at the edge of the table, and he looks…amused, but also happy, and not offended that it happened the way it did.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” Jack says, like it’s the simplest thing in the entire world.

Three hours later, at home, with Jack on his knee holding a ring and asking the same thing, Eric realises that it is.