“…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?”
You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.
Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.
It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.
Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.
It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.
Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.
In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.
And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.
So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.
The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.
When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.
The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!
You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.
“[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.
“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.
when eric bittle is 8 years old his aunt judy marries a Northeasterner named jacob birkholtz and suddenly he’s not the weirdest cousin anymore, it’s this gangly 12 year old named adam who Did Not Want to move to georgia and now they’re stuck in the same town together
yeah, aunt judy is holster’s step mom
this is random but holster’s dad is a pilot and aunt judy is a flight attendant and they have like the cutest dating stories ever
their first date was in paris (at the charles de gaulle airport which is actually hell but they tell people it was at a little cafe and don’t mention it happened to be in in terminal 3)
so holster and his dad move down to georgia and it’s Awkward because everyone is welcoming but distant because they’re so clearly Different (northern accents, don’t know the family history, Jewish, really don’t care that much about jam [but they learn. oh, do they learn]).
suzanne is like so heckin jazzed to have her sister back in the same city so she and judy get together all the time and holster and bitty are forced to hang
bitty thinks holster is snarky and obnoxious and holster thinks bitty is too peppy and weird and they’re sitting at the kids table together at thanksgiving and holster is grumpily shoving mashed potatoes in his mouth and bitty can’t believe he’s not even putting GRAVY on them like WHAT is WRONG WITH HIM
meanwhile holster’s just trying to figure out why everyone keeps saying “bless your pea-pickin heart”
coach and holster form a football-based bond where they just sit on the couch next to each other and mumble stats back and forth while they watch the game
bitty is jealous because it’s not fair that this stranger relates to his dad better than he does but holster is jealous because bitty’s dad is home every night while his dad is off flying around the world
do they bond over their daddy issues?? you fuckin bet
holster joins a hockey team and he sees the tail end of bitty’s training with katya because there’s like one ice rink in their town and he’s like so impressed that his tiny strange cousin does ice magic
holster becomes peak Team Bitty. he begs to be taught jumps and ice skating moves, he starts doing the mixes for bitty’s routines, they go skating together and race even though bitty always wins
bitty starts doing drills with holster and that’s how he initially gets into hockey
he uses holster’s old gear and stick and stuff and it’s all way too big but so so so cute
like, tiny baby bitty with his loud cousin watching hockey for the first time and holster’s actually like patiently taking the time to explain everything because bitty is so impressed by the game
holster refers to them a brousins (bruh - sinz, brother cousins)
they’re the bittle-birkholtz-brousins there’s a lot of alliteration ok
they’re both outsiders in their family and they end up spending half their family gatherings eating a secret pie bitty stashed, listening to one of holster’s playlists on his first generation ipod, gossiping about their entire town
bitty is one of the few people holster likes
holster is one of the few people who like bitty
BITTY AT HOLSTER’S BAR MITZVAH
i have a billion more ideas for this verse so if you’re interested i’ll keep going with Bittle-Birkholtz-Brousins Part 2: puberty and beyond