Mister Hockey and the boy crying in the kitchen
Alternate Universe where Bitty is a figure skater at Samwell. He and Jack meet for the first time at #Epikegster 2014.
warning labels: Alcohol, mentioned homophobia, Parse.
Jack went down the stairs with a huff of annoyance. The first floor of the Haus was packed from wall to wall. Loup thumping music, laughter and yells that were barely tolerable from his room now seemed almost tangible, crushing him from all sides. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.
He pushed his way through and managed to reach the kitchen unscated. Only three guys were sitting at the table, loudly debating Plato’s cavern versus the Matrix, and another was leaning on the counter near the stove, muttering to himself.
Jack opened a cupboard, swore under his breath when he saw that it was empty of their usual mugs, glasses and bottles. He took a new red solo cup from the enormous pack available to all, and filled it with tap water, trying to ignore the guys at the table.
‘…aren’t you the most precious thing, baby…’
Jack turned around. The guy next to the oven was muttering endearments with a southern drawl- but there was no one next to him. He wasn’t even holding a phone.
Jack had a doubt. Was the guy talking to him?
‘Yes, you are lovely, a bit old, but I would love you, and take care of you, and create glorious things with you, oh sweetheart, if only…’
The guy was not talking to Jack. He was talking to the oven.
He was also, apparently, completely drunk.
‘… better things than pizza rolls, you can be sure of that, you sexy thing…’
Jack was a moment away from heading back to his room when he heard a sob.
‘… but it’s not to be, pretty thing, you and I will have to go our own separate ways and- sniffle- get with our own lonely lives and - oh lord, I’m being ridiculous-’
‘Huh-’ started Jack. ‘Are you okay?’
The guy turned around. He looked older than Jack expected. At least, he seemed to be over eighteen. Jack only had an impression of eyes and blond before he got the drunkest and fakest smile he ever saw in his life.
‘HI!’ said the boy. ‘Gosh, you’re big.’
‘… are you okay?’ repeated Jack.
‘Why, yes, of course! I’m peachy!’
The guy seemed surprised by this fact. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie and made a dismissive gesture with his other hand.
‘Don’t mind me, sweetheart, I’m being silly.’
‘…You were crying,’ insisted Jack. ‘And talking to the oven.’
‘Well, no one else seemed to give her love, so I figured-’
He stopped himself and looked at Jack.
‘You’re the Captain of the hockey team,’ he realised. ‘This is your house. This is your oven.’
‘…Yes? In a manner of speaking?’
‘What’s her name?’
‘The OVEN,’ insisted the guy.
‘She- it doesn’t have a name?’
‘Blasphemy. If I had the chance to own such a lovely baby, I would name her something adorable! Like Daisy, or Betsy, and I would bake everyday, I would make pies and cookies and biscuits and-’
He burst into tears.
Jack threw a look around. The guys at the table were staring at them.
‘Dude, what’d you do to him?’
‘D’you break up with him or something?’
‘No! We just met! He was talking about the oven- and then- and then-’
He made a helpless motion towards the crying boy.
‘Maybe you should do something about it?’ suggested one of them.
‘Dunno. Something. To make him stop crying.’
Jack hesitated. He thought about retreating to the safety of his room, where the music didn’t hurt his ears and blonde strangers didn’t burst into tears at the sight of a kitchen appliance.
Awkwardly, he lifted a hand and patted the guy’s shoulder.
‘…there, there,’ he muttered, feeling like the most ridiculous man on Earth.
He got several thumbs ups from the table residents. Which didn’t help his predicament at all. The boy was still crying.
‘Hey, hey, shh, don’t cry, everything is going to be okay…’
‘You don’t know that!’ wailed the blonde boy.
‘Okay, you’re right. Maybe, huh, what could make it right?’
‘I want to BAAAAAAAAAKE!’
(more under the cut!)