Chapter Text
Eric records a vlog on his third day home for summer vacation and doesn’t include anything about Jack.
Well, no. Strictly speaking Eric does say a great deal about Jack -- it’s just that none of it makes it into the final, edited version because he’s chicken.
“...so all y’all might remember how I talked a few months back about having a crush on someone? Well, it turns out he’s not straight after all! And right after graduation he kissed me! Oh, my Lord I didn’t expect it to happen at all! I’d already gone back to the Haus to fold some laundry Chowder had left in the dryer when all of a sudden there’s this boy, so beautiful and disheveled and breathless running up the stairs to find me and I thought -- I thought something must be wrong! But instead. Instead, he kissed me and oh my goodness for a moment I felt like a heroine at the end of a romantic comedy! Just when she thinks she’s somehow ruined her chance at happiness forever -- she turns around and there he is, saying yes!”
He wants to say all of this and more. Part of him wants to talk about the way Jack’s palms had felt, warm and slightly sweaty from nerves and his sprint across campus. He wants to talk about how Jack had tasted, salty from sweat and the acrid taste of his morning coffee and soft, God in heaven, Jack’s lips were so soft and only the littlest bit chapped (because he never remembered to use lip balm and was always biting them), and had been gentle at first, but all too willing to open beneath the tip of Eric’s tongue, licked daringly out to taste the sweep of Jack’s bottom lip, to tease at the little pucker at the corner of his mouth.
He wants to say all of this. He’s practically bouncing on his toes at the kitchen counter while he talks, between deft folds of pastry dough and and the spread of peach jam serving as the base for his Bakewell tart.
So he says it. Because his father is at work and his mother is out running errands and he’s alone in the house and he can let spill all of the words he been storing up inside.
But then while the tart is cooling by the stove and he’s safely back in his room with his headphones over his ears, he edits all of the words out of his final video and drops them with the drag and click of his mouse into the trash.
And then he empties the trash for good measure. As if somehow the sound clips might jump back out of the trash and re-attach themselves to the final video.
He doesn’t think he’s said anything incriminating -- anything that would lead people to believe he and Jack Zimmermann are dating (dating!).
But he can’t risk one of the women who follows his vlog and the Pinterest he and his mother share watching and then mentioning something in chat to Suzanne. Can’t risk some sports reporter Googling all of Jack’s teammates and finding his Twitter and then finding his vlog. And putting two and two together.
He knows Jack’s told Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann but he hasn’t said anything about coming out coming out. And it feels too soon to ask.
So he edits, ruthlessly erasing Jack from his public self, and posts a vlog about the difference between tarts and pies and his goal of mastering both sweet and savory tarts over the summer. He’ll always be a pie man at heart, but a baker does have to have flexibility. And Eric enjoys branching out in new directions -- in cooking at least.
Then, while the vlog is uploading on his parents slow and uncertain Internet connection, Eric digs his cell phone out of his pocket and curls up in his old papasan chair to send a text to Jack:
Hey!
Hope you had a nice bike ride this morning with Charlotte and Helena
Want to talk later?
I’d like to talk later
I miss you
I really miss you
I miss the Haus
And the rest of the team
But mostly I miss you
I had a dream last night that you came down to Georgia and kissed me again
I sure didn’t waste any time before kissing you back