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The day before Jack returns to Pawtucket, he and Eric set up his Facebook account. They sit in the Bittles’ living room with the overhead fan whirring above them and one of Eric’s baking programs streaming on the television while Jack reads one of Coach’s books on the history of American football and weighs in as-needed on Eric’s laptop tinkering.
Sitting here, Jack can almost imagine they’re back at the Haus together and it’s like last year only better because he woke up this morning with a warm Bitty curled like a kitten in the curve of his own body, the sensation of another person in his bed both foreign and familiar; barely a week and he cannot understand how he’s slept for so many years alone, how he ever found it difficult to imagine sharing such a personal space with another human being.
He’s already feeling anxious about how he’ll get through the month between his departure and Eric’s return to New England.
"Jack, honey? Which of these photographs do you want to use for your cover photo and your user photo?" Eric looks up from where he’s curled into one end of the sofa, his toes tucked under him.
"My cover photo?" Jack drags his attention back to the matter at hand.
"It's like ... what people will see when they navigate to your page. Your user photo will be here and your cover photo is here, in the background. See? Here's what mine looks like."
Jack leans over from his corner of the couch so he can see the screen of Bitty's laptop. "But I can't use a picture of me if the point is people aren't supposed to be able to find me."
"Right. Or anything related to hockey. It shouldn't be something -- oh! What about that photograph you took of the rope swing over the river? Here -- let's try it out to see if it -- " Bitty dances his fingers across the keys and then turns the laptop back to Jack for review.
Jack grunts in approval and Bitty grins and goes back to his work, occasionally asking Jack for his input until, a few minutes later, he makes a satisfied noise akin to the noise he makes when pulling a pie out of the oven and turns the computer back to Jack.
"There. So -- look, I opened it in an Incognito window so you could see what it looks like to anyone you haven't Friended."
Jack takes the laptop and studies the screen with Eric curled up beside him on the sagging couch. He hasn't gone through four years of college without knowing what a Facebook page looks like, but this is the first time the display has been personally relevant. They'd settled on the picture of the rope swing as his background photo -- cover photo -- because Jack likes the way the trunk of the tree climbs up one side of the page, the limb extending out toward his user photo with the rope falling through hazy, slanting sunlight toward the water that pools at the bottom of the frame.
His user icon is Monsieur Éléphant.
But those two details and his name -- Jack Zimmermann -- are the only personalized aspects of the page. Nothing else about him -- what school he attended, what job he has, his friends, nothing -- is visible on the page. Unless he wants it to be.
He nods.
"Okay, so now go to the main browser -- there. That's how it looks when you're logged in."
"How do I post?"
"You wanted to start by just using the SMH page, right?"
"That's what I thought. I mean, I can talk to people there without other people seeing right? And read what they share? Like the group text."
"Exactly. And look, Holster's already accepted your request to join the page -- that's what the little red notification means. So click on -- there, see? You don't need me for this, you faker!" Eric pokes Jack in the arm as Jack clicks through to the group page.
The top post on the locked Samwell Men’s Hockey page is a series of photos of Chowder and Caitlin on Angel Island in San Francisco Bay, the second post a reminder from Holster about pre-semester access to the Haus.
Jack opens the Members tab and scrolls through the names and icons, confirming for the anxious part of his brain that he's among friends.
"So," he says, nudging Eric who's pressed up against his bicep watching. "Shall we post a selfie?"
He feels Eric's head move as he squints up at Jack to check his expression. Jack can't resist twisting to press a kiss against Eric's questioning mouth.
"Mmm." Eric responds, smiling against Jack's mouth -- a sensation that always makes something in Jack's chest roll over with amazed gratitude. "Why do I have the feeling you're suggesting we troll our friends?"
"I can't imagine," Jack says, encouraging Eric back into a sitting position and smirking as he turns the laptop so Eric can see. Jack had opened the built-in camera while Eric was distracted and managed to snap six sequential frames of the two of them -- and it's a little dim but unmistakably Jack and Bitty to anyone who knows them -- making out, his face in profile bent over Eric's, while Eric's hand is curled up near the bottom of the frame, fingers reaching up through the quick sequence of images to caress Jack's jawline.
"Oh Lord, Jack, warn a guy, will you?" Eric mimes shocked disapproval, slapping his hands over the screen. "These are positively indecent! We can't post any of those!"
"What, Chowder's never posted a picture of him and Caitlin kissing on his timeline?"
Eric narrows his eyes at Jack. "Are you ... actually suggesting?"
" 'Taking one for the team,' " Jack fake-types a caption in the air above the keyboard. " 'Helping Bitty stay on top of his checking practice over the summer br--" he's cut off, laughing, and Eric grabs his wrist.
"You are impossible!"
"It would solve the problem of coming out to the team," Jack points out. He's not entirely sure whether he's seriously suggesting it, but as he looks at the photo sequence he knows he’s tempted.
“Here,” Eric leans in against Jack’s shoulder and taps his finger on the mouse pad, getting a second set of photos with himself smiling openly at the camera and Jack’s face moving through the sequence from thoughtful frown to amused glance right at Eric snuggled familiarly against his side.
“Pick one of those,” Bitty instructs, and Jack clicks through the six photos in the sequence.
“This one?” He asks for Bitty’s approval, pausing on an image where they’re both looking into the camera, leaning into one another, Jack slightly stiff (but then he always looks slightly stiff in photographs) and Eric’s smile mobile as he gathers himself to speak.
Bitty presses a kiss against Jack’s shoulder in assent and Jack figures out how to upload the image to the page, hesitating for a moment before typing in the text box, Hi from Madison, Georgia. I’m finally on Facebook.
He watches it appear as a post on the page, the “likes” from Chowder and Lardo and Ransom almost instantaneous.
Larissa Duan
Looks like you two are having a good time! 
Chris Chow
So jealous!!! Was there pie?!
Justin Oluransi
Cute promo shots, you two. When’s the season premiere?
Jack considers Ransom’s comment for a moment, an idea taking shape in his mind. Then he smiles.
“There’s a way to send private messages on Facebook, right?” He asks.
“Sure?” Bitty says, a question in his voice.
“So what if we sent the first photograph to … just the guys at the Haus?”
Eric stills. “You mean, like, Ransom and Holster and Chowder… and Lardo?”
“... and Shitty, yeah.”
“Jack …”
“We don’t have to,” Jack says, quickly, remembering how Bitty was so upset back in June when Jack suggested they tell people.
“No, no -- I.” Eric twists to look Jack in the face, and Jack can see the mischief creeping into the corners of his mouth. “I like it. I just. Any photo we put out there, even if we just send it to friends. It could get leaked.” He studies Jack with serious eyes.
There’s a time when the idea of that would have sent Jack into a near-blind panic. He looks down at the laptop and clicks back into the camera program, opening the first set of photos he took and arrowing through them. His artistic eye is critical of the poorly-lit images, and the part of himself that will never be comfortable with selfies doesn’t like the face he’s making, the stiff way he’s holding his shoulders. But he’s also moved by these pictures -- so different from the photograph that he’d sent Eric from the Cape. That photograph conveys something singular about Eric -- his competence, his care, his generosity, his willingness to open himself up to Jack even when he imagined inevitable hurt and loss.
This photograph -- this sequence of photographs -- tells a different, and equally true, story about the way their lives are blurring together.
He thinks about the people who saw them kiss at the airport.
He thinks about Eric’s family picnic, about Caleb and Kallista and heavy weight of Caroline entrusted to his arms.
He thinks about all the nameless people in Madison who have witnessed them in the streets, at the coffee shop, in stores, at the parade and pancake breakfast, holding hands and leaning in. He’s seen a few glares, heard a few muttered epithets, and he’s sure Eric has too. But they haven’t let one another go. Once -- after someone had brushed by a little too close on the sidewalk in order to make sure they heard his disapproval loud and clear -- Eric had stopped short, pivoted up, and pulled Jack down into a kiss.
It might have felt different in the dark, on a less crowded street corner, without Mr. and Mrs. Bittle five steps ahead. But every time they stand before someone, anyone, and make clear they’re together their togetherness grows just a little bit stronger.
“I -- I say let’s do it,” he says. He pauses, then grins. “Do you think this means Ransom or Holster wins the bet?”
Eric laughs, and Jack the last bit of worry tight in Jack’s chest eases at the sound. “Dude, Holster’s a freakin’ romantic. He will die when he hears you kissed me on graduation day and then kept it a secret for seven whole weeks.”
Jack Zimmermann to Adam Birkholtz, Eric R. Bittle, Chris Chow, Larissa Duan, B. Knight, Justin Oluransi
[image post]
Bits and I hear Ransom and Holster have a bet on.
So the question is ...
Who won?