Chapter Text
Unsurprisingly, Bitty is in the kitchen. Also unsurprising is the fact that Bitty has his headphones in and is singing along as he stirs something in a pot on the stove.
The thing that catches Jack off guard, though, is what Bitty is singing. It's French, Jack registers in the back of his mind, but it's - Bitty's singing about sex.
Fuck.
Bitty is singing sex words, in French, and swaying his hips in time to the music, still stirring. He doesn't know Jack is frozen in the doorway, clearly, because his eyes are closed and he's still doing it.
Jack needs to leave.
He watches Bitty for a few beats, until he hears the front door slam shut and Shitty yell his name.
"JACK ATTACK, what the fuck are you doing, brah! Creeping on lil' Bits? Nasty, bro."
Jack's eyes go wide. Bitty drops his spoon and whirls around.
"Ohmygoodness when did - Hey, Shitty! - Jack, did you just get in?" He laughs nervously.
"No," Jack replies. He can feel his ears burning. At this rate, he could heat the entire Haus with the force of his embarrassment. "I, uh. Was going."
Shitty's eyebrows have disappeared into his flow. Bitty's nostrils are slightly flared.
Jack looks at the ceiling. The plaster is beginning to flake. "Yeah," he mutters, "there's some... pucks. I have to.... tape. Watch. Bye."
Whatever anyone says, he did not run.
Bitty is certain he is missing something. Jack just ran out of the room, Shitty is spluttering through his mustache with laughter, and Bitty's custard is bubbling in a way that probably means it's saying Bitty, you idiot!!! He sticks his spoon in it more forcefully than probably necessary.
"So, Jack just ran away," Shitty says conspiratorially, leaning against the doorframe. "Bro to bro, bro, he was probably having Feelings." He waggles his eyebrows. "Special feelings."
Bitty's cheeks heat up. "Oh, lord," he sighs, "I don't - should I make him a pie?" Bitty has no idea what's happening, truthfully, but he knows that the one constant in life is that pie makes everything better.
Shitty shakes his head. "Nah. Pies are nothing in the face of intence Beyonce-induced sexual crises."
"Sexual crises? What? I'm not. Are you saying," Bitty says, voice edging more into slight desperation than he'd like, "are you saying that Jack Zimmermann is having a sexual crisis because of me?"
Straight boys are more trouble than they're worth, Bitty's brain says.
"Yeah," Shitty says, "so maybe. You know. Work on that." He shoves off from the doorframe with his shoulder. "Peace and blessings, Bits, and may the force be with you or whatever."
Bitty turns off the stove. The custard can wait.
Jack is pacing his room, willing his halfie down. He tries, desperately, to think of unsexy things but his mind keeps putting Bitty's ass and the words "tu aimes le sexe" coming out of his mouth in the forefront of Jack's brain. This is, he finds, spectacularly unhelpful.
There's a tentative tap at the door.
"Hey, Jack?" Bitty's voice is muffled through the wood. The halfie is a lost cause. "I'm, uh. Can I come in?"
Jack can see Bitty's shadow in the crack between the door and the floor of his room. He adjusts himself and opens the door.
"Hey, Bittle," he manages, and then Bitty is kissing him.
"I hope that was okay," Bitty whispers, "because Shitty said you were having a crisis, and I've just been having a real time of it, and-"
Jack leans down and kisses him to shut him up. It works.
Later, much later, Bitty turns around in the shower.
"So, was it the dancing or the French?"
Jack pinches Bitty's hip. "Both."
Bitty gives him a sly smile and a little wiggle.
They end up using all the hot water in the Haus, and can't really bring themselves to care.