Chapter Text
It was nearly ten by the time Eric got home on Friday. Friday night was build-your-own-Sundae night at Camp Oconee which inevitably led to more clean-up since kids spilled sprinkles and sprayed whipped cream everywhere and dripped cherry juice on the floors so that a thorough mopping was in order.
Build-your-own-Sundae night, Eric thought tiredly as he pulled the truck into his parents’ driveway and killed the lights, was not unlike a non-alcoholic kegster that he and the kitchen crew couldn’t enlist the campers to clean up themselves the following morning.
His parents were in bed, but his mother had left a plate of leftover macaroni and cheese and a salad for him on the kitchen counter. He’s always hungry when he gets home, since the kitchen crew eats early and then it’s frenetic activity between five and eight or nine when they shut the kitchen down for the evening, sparkling clean and ready for the morning crew to arrive at four. Sometimes -- like after scrubbing cherry juice and sprinkles off the concrete floors of the hall -- Eric swears he never wants to eat again. But then he gets home to a meal that he doesn’t have to cook himself and his stomach starts to rumble.
He sits down at the table and calls Jack, putting the phone on speaker so they can talk while he eats.
“Hey Bits,” Jack picks up, voice soft with sleep.
“I didn’t wake you, did I sweetheart?” Eric asks, even though they’d agreed earlier to a call when he got home from work.
“Not really,” Jack yawns. “Monsieur Éléphant and I were just lying here listening to Vinyl Cafe.”
“To what?”
Jack laughs. “It’s a Canadian radio program we used to listen to when I was a kid. I mean, it’s still on the air but they probably don’t broadcast it down in Georgia.”
Eric shakes his head, his mouth full of mac and cheese, and then remembers they’re not on video feed. “I’ve never heard of it?” he says, after swallowing.
“It’s a lot like -- what’s that one that Holster likes to listen to? A Prairie Home Companion? Only more music. And Stuart McLean, the host, tells stories about this fictional family…” Jack trails off. “I’ll send you a few of my favorites, if you want?”
“I’d like that.” Eric smiles at the thought of listening to something that Jack listened to as a little kid. “You all ready for Shitty and Lardo to arrive tomorrow?”
Jack laughs. “Lardo is going to have to help me figure out the air mattresses; I tried inflating one last night but it took forever and still leaked somehow.”
“Lardo’ll fix it. You know Shitty’s just gonna want to crash on the couch, right?” Eric points out. “He’s already asked me for permission to bro-snuggle with you on the couch.”
“What did you say?” Jack’s amused.
“I negotiated bro-cuddles on the condition he remain fully clothed -- meaning underwear, pants, and shirt -- and of course one foot on the floor.”
“Isn’t there supposed to be something about room for the holy ghost?”
“I don’t know what they hold up there in Montréal but I doubt the preachers down here in Georgia had in mind hockey players cuddling on the sofa,” Eric says dryly, dropping his dishes in the sink and navigating his way upstairs in the dark.
“I’m not sure any religious authorities can be expected to take Shitty into account when outlining their sexual mores,” Jack responds. “Do I get any say in this question of bro-cuddles?”
Eric swallows. “You know you do. But -- it doesn’t seem fair that Shitty gets to cuddle with you on the couch before I do.”
“It’s completely not fair.” Jack yawns again. “You changed your ticket yet for August? I meant it about paying the change fee.”
“I know you did.” Eric sighs. “But I can’t -- I don’t wanna get used to you just paying to make things easier. How about we split it fifty-fifty? I’m calling them in the morning and I’ll let you know the details. I’m flying into Boston.”
“Fifty-fifty. Okay,” Jack agrees. “I’ll remind you if you don’t tell me how much.”
“I know.”
“I should get to sleep. I’m meeting Lardo and Shitty at the arena at 9:30 tomorrow morning for the community skate -- we’ll call tomorrow night?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“I miss you and I love you,” Jack says, softly.
“I love you and I miss you,” Eric responds, trying and failing to remember a time when ending a conversation with Jack using those words hadn’t been the most natural thing in the world.
By the time he gets back from brushing his teeth, YouTube links for The Vinyl Cafe are waiting in his inbox. He climbs into bed and settles down with Señor Bun to listen to Jack’s radio program and imagine they’re falling asleep listening together.