Summary: Something doesn't feel quite right to Jack as Bittle walks away (he thinks his ears catch a sniffle from Bittle as he leaves). There's a heaviness that's settled in his chest and a hollow feeling in his stomach. He feels unsteady, off-balance, and he doesn't like it. It's a feeling that sticks with him as he says the rest of his goodbyes and all through the alumni event. He doesn't even know why it's there.

Notes:

Not beta-ed, so apologies for any mistakes.

Title from Caledonia (I listen to the Celtic Woman version). I know it's a strange song to get a title from, but I think it works, don't you?

This is my best guess, or maybe more like my ideal vision of how Friday's comic will go :)

Originally published on AO3 and Tumblr on February 25, 2016

"Hah. See you, Bittle," Jack says as Bittle turns and shuffles off.

Something doesn't feel quite right to Jack as Bittle walks away (he thinks his ears catch a sniffle from Bittle as he leaves). There's a heaviness that's settled in his chest and a hollow feeling in his stomach. He feels unsteady, off-balance, and he doesn't like it. It's a feeling that sticks with him as he says the rest of his goodbyes and all through the alumni event. He doesn't even know why it's there.

"Those alumni events get longer every year!" his dad exclaims, sounding good-naturedly exasperated. "Ready to head back to the hotel?"

He should be, and yet he's not. The sinking feeling in his gut keeps gnawing at him, like he's forgotten something important—like maybe he should be going to some place other than his hotel.

"Yeah almost," he replies hesitantly. His dad glances at him questioningly. "I just uh...I feel like...I haven't said goodbye to everyone," he stutters over his explanation. It's as close as he can get to actually describing the feeling.

"Well, it's a bit too late to take another lap around the rink!" Bob teases. But...that's not even close.

"No...not that," Jack responds quietly.

"Ah," Bob sighs, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You know, your uncle always says 'You miss 100% of the shots you don't take'," he continues, switching to Québécois.

"What do you mean?" Jack asks, because yeah, he's heard Uncle Wayne's signature phrase more times than he can count, but he doesn't know what that has to do with this.

"I mean. Go say goodbye. You won't be back here for some time, you know?" he explains, and something about what he's saying is starting to click. There's a picture forming in Jack's mind, but it's still too fuzzy to make out clearly. "If that's what your heart is telling you, you should go. Go really say goodbye."

The carillon bells begin tolling off in the distance, ringing with a sense poetic timing and justice as it dawns on Jack.

Bitty.

"...oh," he utters softly. There aren't words to encapsulate the rush of swirling thoughts suddenly assaulting him. And even if there were, Jack would never find the right ones. Rather than try, he simply tells his dad "Uh, I'll be back," and takes off running.

He pumps his legs, feet slamming on the pavement as he pushes off, propelling himself into a dead sprint. Samwell's campus is too vast, the Haus is too far away, and Bitty's shuttle is leaving too soon; he can't fight off the feeling that no matter how fast he runs, he'll never make it in time.

So he pushes harder, digging deeper and running faster, until his calves ache and his lungs burn like they're on fire. Sweat pours down his face and he's wheezing with every breath he takes, but he keeps going because he has to. He has to catch Bitty in time.

Finally, just as it feels like he's going to collapse, like his legs are going to give out from underneath him, the Haus is in sight. Bitty is still there, sitting up in the reading room, knees drawn up into his chest and his face buried in them. Even with his face hidden, there are quiet little hiccups that float out on the air to Jack.

Jack doesn't slow, not as he bursts through the front door, not as he bounds up the stairs, not even as he tumbles through the window into the reading room. Bitty looks up at the commotion, and he's visibly startled to see Jack there.

"J-Jack!" he splutters. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, his cheeks splotchy, and there are tears still falling from his eyes, clinging to his lashes and cheekbones. "Wh-what are you doin' here?" he questions after a few long seconds of stunned silence.

Jack collapses on the roof, taking heaving breaths, winded from his long run.

"I uh—"

It's at this moment that Jack realizes he doesn't have a game plan. He always rehearses what he has to say in critical moments. And instead, he's walked into a crucial situation without any preparation. He doesn't know what to say and—tabarnak, the fear that he might say the wrong thing is making his heart race.

"I just," Jack starts, then stops. He pauses for a long minute.

"You—," Jack tries again, but he has no more words than he did before and merde, he's fucking this up so terribly.

"It just...feels like...I didn't really say goodbye?" he finally gets out. It comes out sounding like a question, and it's ambiguous and unenlightening. Bitty is confused, and Jack doesn't blame him. He's a little befuddled himself; how can he be so horrible at expressing something that's so crystal clear to him?

"What do you mean?" Bitty inquires, softly, slowly, cautiously, echoing the question Jack had asked his dad mere minutes ago when he didn't understand.

Jack sighs, his breaths still coming in unsteady gasps, but it's not because of his long sprint. It's his anxiety making it hard to breathe. He doesn't know how to say what he wants to say, and his hands are shaking because he can't let this moment pass him by, he knows he has to find some way to say it. Bitty isn't reading him, doesn't automatically know what he's trying to communicate like he usually does, so he has to come up with the words somehow.

"Um...on the ice we—we were something really special," Jack says, because hockey—that's what he knows. Hockey is the one subject about which words never fail to come to him.

And there's so much meaning behind the words for Jack. They were something really, really special, because, as the coaches so graciously pointed out to him in his junior year, Bitty made him a better hockey player.

"Yeah," Bitty answers. "You—you already said that."

"I know. But—I don't think—it wasn't just about hockey," Jack remarks and okay, he's getting warmer. He has Bitty's attention, he's listening carefully, but Bitty's face doesn't suggest his words have brought him any greater clarity.

"You—you make me better," Jack says, clenching and unclenching his fists in an effort to relieve his anxiety. "Not just my hockey...every part of me. That's something...it doesn't come around every day."

Jack exhales softly. It's—that's still not enough. It's still not close to describing the sense of...emptiness that comes to Jack when he thinks about the prospect of going to Providence and leaving Bitty behind.

But Bitty seems to be catching on, because his eyes have gone wide, shimmering with newly formed tears as his mouth hangs open.

"What—what are you sayin'?" he says. It's quiet, almost a whisper.

As he looking into the vastness of Bitty's dark brown eyes, eyes that he's been getting lost in before he even realized he was losing himself in them, Jack knows that words will never be adequate. The entirety of English and Québécois doesn't have enough letters, enough numbers, enough characters, enough words to describe it all.

So he gives up. He gives up on trying to speak and scoots closer to Bitty, gently cupping the side of his face with his hand. Bitty seems shocked, but he doesn't run. He doesn't turn away. He leans into the touch, and Jack—he does something he hasn't done since before his overdose; he doesn't think, he simply acts.

He leans over and presses his lips gently to Bitty's. Bitty sighs, and everything feels like it's spinning to Jack, but that's probably just because his entire world has shifted on its axis, a certain four letter "L" word beginning to suddenly bounce around his skull.

The kiss isn't long, merely a few brief seconds. It's short, soft, and chaste, but nothing has ever felt quite this right to Jack before.

Bitty pulls back, only to bury his face into Jack's shoulder, his entire body shaking gently as he cries into the silky fabric of Jack's graduation gown. Jack puts his arms around him, and well, he doesn't know why Bitty is crying, but his brain is too jumbled up to string together the words to ask.

He's not crying for long, and he tilts his face up to Jack's, gazing up at him with those dark chocolate brown eyes that Jack never wants to look away from.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry, I just—I didn't think you'd ever feel the same way I do," Bitty whispers.

Until fifteen minutes ago, Jack didn't even know that was a possibility. So Jack nods, swallowing around his heart that's taken up residence in his throat. And he doesn't know exactly how Bitty feels, but he's pretty sure he feels the same.

"I do, eh?" he mumbles.

Bitty giggles wetly, because there are still tears streaming from his eyes. "You giant Canadian oaf, only you would wait until the last second to tell me."

Jack grins and ducks his head. "My dad—he reminded me of something Uncle Wayne said and—he made me realize."

"This boy," Bitty scoffs fondly. "'Uncle Wayne' he says. Casually callin' the best hockey player of all time, Wayne Gretzky, his uncle like it's no big deal. What am I goin' to do with you?"

"I don't know," Jack chuckles, squeezing Bitty's shoulders affectionately. "But I wouldn't tell my dad you called Uncle Wayne the best hockey player of all time."

"Oh please Jack, even Bad Bob would admit he's the best player of all time. It ain't somethin' up for dispute!" Bitty squawks indignantly.

Jack smiles and laughs just as Bitty's shuttle pulls up to the Haus and honks.

"I guess I probably should go," Bitty murmurs, clinging onto Jack tightly.

Jack nods. Bitty squeaks as Jack pulls him to his feet, gently pushing him towards the window.

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'," Bitty shakes his head as he climbs through the window frame. He grabs his suitcase from his room and they trudge down the stairs, not quite ready to leave each other's company now that they've had their moment of epiphany.

Jack gently cups Bitty's face, bending down to kiss him. "Here's my real goodbye," he says, softly and full of more fondness and emotion that even he knew he was capable of.

Bitty's face lights up brightly, and there's a feeling bubbling up in him, pushing three words up into his mouth. Jack can't help saying it.

"I love you."

Twenty minutes. That's how long he's known about his feelings for Bitty. He's never told anyone besides his parents that he loves them. It's a big moment, but it's the most natural thing. Later, when he has the chance to think over the last few months, he'll realize it feels right because he's been in love for far longer than he knew he was. But for now, he doesn't care why it does, he just knows that it feels right.

Bitty stands up on his tiptoes, softly pressing his lips to Jack's. "I love you too," he replies.

Bitty's shuttle honks, and he playfully swats at Jack. "You're goin' to make me late again."

"Go," Jack chortles and smiles, pushing Bitty out the door.

He takes a few steps to the car before he stops and turns. "Hey, you doin' anythin' for the 4th of July?"

Jack doesn't even stop to think about his answer. "No."

The grin on Bitty's face is the biggest Jack has ever seen it, and he returns it with one of his own. "You want to come to Georgia?"

"Yeah," Jack answers, enjoying the warm, fluttery feeling in his chest.

The driver honks again impatiently.

"Okay, okay," Bitty yells over his shoulder, groaning. "Talk about it later?"

"Definitely," Jack says, standing on the porch as Bitty loads up his suitcase. He looks back over at Jack, and then jogs up just as the driver yells "C'mon kid, you want to make your flight or not?"

Bitty gives Jack one more kiss, and then climbs into the car. Jack watches the car until it's out of sight, a blush high on his cheeks and a goofy smile on his face.

He walks back to the Lake quad where his mom and dad stand, the only ones left waiting as the clean-up crew bustles around them. His dad gives him a look and Jack flushes.

"I'm proud of you son," he says, hugging Jack tightly.

"Thanks," Jack mumbles as his mom pulls him into her own hug.

"Now, when will you be inviting Eric to come to Montreal?" she asks, and Jack groans, even though he's still smiling, because both his parents are unbelievable.