Chapter Text
Eric drops Will at his parents’ house at the end of the night and sits in the truck watching until Will reaches the house and the porch light flips on as the motion detector trips. It’s nine o’clock and full dark is approaching. When Will gets the door open he turns to wave and Eric waves back, taking his foot off the brake and pulls away from the curb.
He’d noticed all the Confederate flags hanging out on peoples’ homes as he drove to work this morning, the Confederate flag stickers on the backs of passing cars, the Confederate flag t-shirt on the guy three people ahead of him in line at the coffee shop. Not that he ever stops seeing them when he’s home now, hyper aware of all the cultural differences between what would be socially acceptable in Massachusetts and what’s commonplace down here in Georgia. But this feels different -- like people don’t even have the decency to recognize the link between the symbol of Southern identity they’re sporting and the nine black people dead in Charleston. Or like they get there’s a connection and they simply don’t care.
He’s newly aware, after yesterday, that this is the sort of hyper awareness that people like Will and his family are never without.
Eric drives home, flipping his finger at the house three doors down from his parents’ with a flag flying, and pulls the truck into the garage. He kills the engine and enters the house quietly in case his parents are already asleep, swinging by the kitchen to pick up his customary dinner plate and heading straight for his bedroom. He just needs to close himself away from the here-and-now for a bit and spend some time talking to Jack.
He leaves the plate in his room and rinses the smell of food and bleach from his skin in the shower before pulling on a clean pair of boxers to sleep in. He reaches for a t-shirt, then hesitates because the heat of the day still lingers even with the fan in his window pulling in night air.
And it’s not like Jack hasn’t seen him shirtless before.
He smiles to himself and opens up his laptop, letting it wake up while he unwraps his dinner and considers taking the enchiladas downstairs to rewarm. But he’s not motivated enough to go all the way back down to the kitchen so he just sticks his fork into the lukewarm meal and takes a bite. Mmm. His mother’s used the cream cheese again. Best. Decision. Ever.
Skype wakes up with his laptop, which hasn’t open since he said goodbye to Jack the night before, and Jack is on waiting for his call.
“Hey,” he says, when Eric calls him up, his voice coming through a half-second before the screen syncs and Jack’s tired face is there smiling softly at him. He sees Jack’s eyes flicker down to his chest and back up to his face, taking note of Eric’s shirtless state.
“Hey,” Eric says, around his mouth full of enchilada.
“You just get home?”
“Yeah, I drove Will home so his sister didn’t have to come out and pick him up. Her parents were nervous about her being out on the roads tonight.”
“Bad weather?”
“We had a thunderstorm earlier -- but no, I meant everything being a little tense what with the shooting and the media coverage.”
“Oh. Right.” Jack sighs and rubs his face. “Jersey’s still down there. I guess it’s a media circus down there, and everyone’s still in shock.”
“Can we - can we not talk about this anymore tonight?” Eric asks, hearing the pleading note in his own voice. “I know that’s white privilege talking but -- we’ve spent the whole day up at Oconee reassuring little kids that a gunman isn’t going to open fire on them. I just … talk to me about Pawtucket. Tell me what we’ll do when I come visit in August. I want to not think about the South for awhile.”
“Mmm.” Jack settles back against the pillows he has propped against his headboard and adjust the screen of his laptop to make sure Eric can see his face. “Well, we’ll start every morning with a jog down Blackstone Boulevard and through Swan Point Cemetery -- have I told you it’s one of the oldest landscaped cemeteries in New England?”
Eric smiles. “A few times.”
“And then I thought we should probably check out your competition. There’s a place just up the road called Wildflour, though they only do Vegan, and a place called Seven Stars? And Zaccagini’s Pastry Shoppe -- they do pies.”
“Jack -- have you been Googling my competition?” Eric is both touched and amused by the image of Jack hunched over his computer taking note of places where Eric can critique the local pie options.
Jack shrugs. “A couple of the guys on the team are foodies -- they talk and I listen.”
“So what you’re telling me is I can bribe my way into their good graces with cookies and pie.”
“Dev and Pogs, at least. Dev does homebrew in his basement. And Pogs goes over to help him taste-test.”
Eric scrapes the last of his dinner off the plate and drags his laptop into bed without bothering to brush his teeth. One night isn’t going to do serious damage, and he doesn’t want to interrupt Jack’s storytelling.
“So tell me about the guys -- I wanna know who I’m meeting in August.”
“I’ve told you most of what I know.”
“Well, tell me again, honey. I like a good bedtime story.” Eric yawns and Jack laughs.
“Get comfortable then, and I’ll bore you to sleep with the few details I have so far gathered about the other guys on the team.”
“Yes please.”
“I haven’t met all of them yet because some of the guys are on vacation -- visiting family, taking kids to Disney World, that sort of thing. Jersey’s down in Charleston right now, where his family lives, His grandparents and an aunt and uncle, I guess, attend Emanuel. So he’s been down there doing what he can.”
“Mm,” Eric murmurs in agreement. “Jersey?”
“His name is Adrian Michaelson, but he grew up somewhere outside of Princeton. So 'Jersey.'"
“And there’s Chris and Dan,” Eric prompts. “Are you any closer to figuring out which team they’re on?”
Jack laughs, “Apart from the Falconers you mean? I told you my gaydar has always been shit.”
“You should complain to the management.”
“Mmm. It’s true. Can’t be playing with faulty equipment.”
“Maybe one of the team managers can hook you up with a newer model?”
“I’ll put in the request.” Jack smiles, “I mean, not that it’s any of my business whether they are or they aren’t. They don’t seem to care what people think one way or the other.” Eric notes the wistful tone in Jack’s voice.
“Well, but -- it would be nice if you knew you weren’t the only gay guy on the team, right?”
Jack shrugs. “I usually assume I’m not the only one. I mean -- on every team I’ve played there’s been at least one... “ he raises an eyebrow pointedly at Eric.
Eric laughs, “Yeah, well. Who wouldn’t turn gay for you Jack.”
He means it as a joke but Jack responds seriously: “Plenty of people, including my ex.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean --” Eric’s struggling to stay awake.
Jack waves away the apology. “Kent had his chance. He decided I wasn’t worth the risk. I’m glad you do.”
“Me too, Jack. It’s a lot --”
“Worth it,” Jack says firmly, making Eric smile even as his eyes drift shut.
“Yeah, totally worth it,” Eric says in response.