Chapter Text
It happened about a month ago, but Eric still kind of tears up whenever he thinks about it. Tommy found out in one of the worst possible ways, but – but Tommy still cares. Tommy still loves him. Eric is gay and his brother knows and his brother still loves him.
Eric shimmies a bit to get the weird feeling out of his spine as he finishes spooning cookie batter onto a baking sheet. It is the day before everyone starts leaving for Christmas break, and most of his Hausmates are out. Eric himself hasn’t packed yet – packing is so tedious and hard – so making a little something for the road is the perfect excuse to procrastinate further. And there’s no one here to call him out on the fact that that road isn’t to Georgia, but to Montreal.
Eric remembers the sound of muffled party music, the cutting tone of Kent Parson’s voice, and the way Jack was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and Eric seethes for a moment. It doesn’t matter how Eric might personally feel about Jack; Eric just knows that Jack doesn’t deserve to feel so bad that he’ll shut himself in his room for a week straight, only coming out for class, practice, games, or mandatory team meals.
Eric slides his cookies into the oven and pats Betsy before setting a timer. Theoretically, he could start packing now, but his mama always used to say that leaving an oven unattended was just asking for trouble, and Betsy has been acting up …
Eric takes a seat at the island countertop and pulls out his phone. There is not much happening on Twitter, and Eric scrolls mindlessly, wondering what else he should do to fill his time, when one tweet suddenly jumps out from his feed: Billy tells all! it reads, with a link to a Youtube video entitled MY STORY BY BILLY GILMAN. It catches Eric’s attention for two reasons: one, because Eric hasn’t heard about Billy Gilman for a while, and Eric’s always liked his music; and two, because the account that made this tweet is one of the LGBTQ accounts he follows.
The video is a little dated, from late November. It’s about five and a half minutes, and by the end of it, Eric is crying, because oh, Lord, Billy is out and Billy is gay and that’s terrifying and beautiful all at once. Eric might not know Nashville, but he knows the South, and to come out – to come out –
Eric takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes. He couldn’t imagine coming out. Not in his neighborhood; not in his town. He still remembers the cold of the janitor’s closet overnight, the way those lettermen jacket boys dropped cruel slurs as easily as a How d’you do?, the shattered windshield of Marcia Presley’s car the day after she told her best friend she’d been in love with her for years. And the way Coach and Mama would react – they’d –
Eric freezes.
How would his parents react?
He’s never considered coming out, before. He knew he was gay when he was very young, but not so young that he didn’t already understand that that was something he should keep secret. And Eric has kept it that way so long, that he just kind of assumed …
But now that he thinks of it, he’s never actually heard Coach or Mama say anything bad about people like him. They don’t talk about it as a family – even when Marcia’s ruined car was the talk of the town, Mama had only shook her head and said, “That poor girl.” And thinking of Tommy – Eric keeps coming back to Tommy’s visit, the words still echoing in his years, I still love you, Eric. I’ll always be there for you. Nothin’ could change that – and oh, Lord. Is he going to do this?
Even as he’s been thinking, Eric’s been playing around on his phone, and now that he really focuses on what his fingers are doing, he sees that he’s opened an article about Billy Gilman’s coming out, and there are comments – seemingly hundreds of them – voicing support and pride. Skimming through them brings tears to Eric’s eyes again, but at the same time, there’s a growing tidal wave of emotion and certainty within him. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna do it.
Eric is going to come out.
Suddenly winter break cannot come quickly enough. Eric finishes his cookies and wraps them up and sneaks them into Jack’s travel bag, then packs his own bags in what must be record time. The flight down to Georgia feels longer than the drive usually does, and when Eric finally gets off the plane and sees Tommy waiting for him with his pick-up truck, it’s all Eric can do to keep from sprinting to his older brother.
“Dicky!” Tommy shouts when Eric is close enough, and Eric gives in, running to his brother and throwing his arms around him. Tommy picks Eric off the ground – he’s always eager to prove how much bigger and stronger he is than his younger brother – and when he sets Eric down again Eric punches him.
“You know only Mama gets to call me that,” he scolds.
Tommy ruffles Eric’s hair, and Eric shouts in protest. “Aw, Dicky, don’t be so pouty,” Tommy says teasingly.
“That’s it. Gimme the keys, I’m drivin’ us home.”
They talk about Tommy’s season on the way out of the city. For the second year in a row, Tommy lead his league in basically every QB statistic possible, and while that used to make Eric jealous (not for his football stats, but for the praise and approval it earned Tommy), now he’s just excited to see Tommy squirm when the neighborhood moms inevitably try to flirt with him about it. Tommy is as clueless with girls as Coach was, Mama always says, much to Tommy’s embarrassment.
“How about you?” Tommy asks when they hit the highway. “How’ve things been since I visited you?”
Eric readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s been good,” he says shortly. “Um. I –”
Want to come out to Coach and Mama, his brain supplies, but his tongue won’t move.
From the corner of his eye, Eric can see Tommy watching him closely. Tommy is like Coach and even Jack, in that way: when he gives his attention, he gives his full attention, and his attentive expression is sometimes scarily intense. Tommy will also do that thing that both Coach and Mama do – stare silently until you say the thing you want to say.
“I want to come out to Coach and Mama,” Eric says in a rush.
Tommy doesn’t say anything right away, which makes Eric want to fill the silence. “I mean, I thought about it only a few days ago, and it seemed like a good idea then, because – I mean, I know the Westons and the Havermeyers don’t like people like me, but Coach and Mama have never been like that – at least, not that I remember, so I was thinking – I mean, only if you think it’d be okay – that I could –”
“Eric. Breathe.”
Eric sucks in a deep breath and then taps the brakes a little. He’d been speeding up as he rambled, and this is why Coach told him he should shut his trap whenever he was driving on the highway.
“If that’s something you wanna do,” Tommy says, “If you wanna – wanna come out –” His mouth works wordlessly for a moment before he settles on saying, “I’m gonna be there for you.”
Eric glances at Tommy, and Tommy smiles at him. “Thanks, Tommy,” he says, looking back at the road ahead, a smile twitching on his lips.
“Anytime, Dicky.”
He chooses to do it the morning after Christmas. Coach and Mama are sitting on the loveseat in the living room; Coach is reading the newspaper, and Mama’s curled up with the book that Tommy got for her. Eric pulls his head back into the kitchen and breathes deeply.
“You sure you’re ready?” Tommy asks quietly, his eyebrows knitted together with concern.
Eric sets his jaw. “Yes,” he says, voice low but firm, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Tommy squeezes his shoulder supportively. “I’m right behind you.”
Eric takes one more deep breath and then marches out into the living room. Tommy is right behind him, shadowing Eric’s every step as Eric says, ‘“Coach, Mama? I’ve something I’d like to say.”
His parents exchange a surprised look, but they both set down their respective reading. Eric takes a seat on the armchair across from them and then immediately shifts to sit at the very edge. Tommy is standing behind Eric, his arms crossed, and it’s such a huge comfort to Eric that he almost wants to cry. But he can’t; not now.
“What’s going on, Dicky?” Mama asks.
Eric grabs his own kneecaps. “Um,” he says, his tongue suddenly way too dry. “I’ve – well, I haven’t been fixin’ to tell you and Coach for too long – mostly because I never really thought I could – but then Tommy found out, and that – that was okay –”
He’s stammering, his words as shaky as the legs of a newborn colt, but now that he’s started, he can’t very well stop. Mama’s hands are also fluttering – she’s picked up on Eric’s nerves – and Coach takes her hand to soothe her jitters. “Go on, Junior,” he says.
Eric licks his lips. “I – I’m gay.”
The silence lasts for two, maybe three seconds. For Eric, it feels like an eternity. His heart thuds wildly in his chest as he watches, wide-eyed, as Mama presses a hand to her mouth, as Coach’s eyebrows lower as he looks up at Tommy, who’s still behind Eric. There’s just enough time for the most dreadful thought to cross Eric’s mind – oh, Lord, this was a mistake – when the moment is broken by his mama’s cry.
“Oh, Dicky, come here,” she says even as she rises from her seat and walks around the coffee table to wrap her arms around Eric. Tears are falling down her cheeks, and Eric starts crying too when she says, “Oh, Dicky, we still love you. We love you.”
“I love you, too, Mama,” he says into her hair, hugging her back as tightly as he can.
They spend a minute in that awkward but loving hug – Eric is still sitting and Mama is in a half-crouch – before Eric lets her go. He looks at Coach, still apprehensive, and though Coach has a pinched expression, Eric hopes it’s only because of all the tears. Coach is allergic to emotions.
“Coach?” he says cautiously.
“Can you tell Tommy to quit glarin’ at me?” Coach says gruffly. “We ain’t gonna turn you out of this house. You’re still our son.”
Eric surprises himself by laughing, and Coach smiles at him. Tommy must relax, because in the next moment he’s got Eric in a headlock and he’s mussing Eric’s hair. “I’m proud of you, little brother,” Tommy murmurs in Eric’s ear, and Eric smiles even as he bats Tommy’s hands away.
It’s gonna be okay.
It’s only the first morning back at Samwell, and Eric is already so sore he could curl up in a ball and never get up again. “Is it really worth it?” Eric whines into Holster’s shoulder.
Currently, Holster is giving him a piggy-back ride back to the Haus from the SMH morning conditioning session. Last night had been the first official workout of the #BetterBittyBootyBureau2015 with Rans, and now Eric’s butt is on fire.
“Bitty. Think of the booty,” Ransom urges from next to Holster.
“Think of your booty,” Holster amends.
Eric groans.
They make it to the Haus in one piece. Shitty and Jack show up a few minutes later (Jack had stayed late, as usual, to talk to the coaches, and Shitty waited for Jack), by which time Eric has managed to get off of the kitchen floor and start making breakfast for everyone. “Eggs, Jack? Shitty?” he calls.
“You beautiful Southern jewel,” Shitty says passionately and darts into the kitchen to kiss Eric’s cheek before booking it up the stairs, already pulling off his shirt.
Jack wanders into the kitchen, glances at Ransom and Holster doing Lord-knows-what on Holster’s laptop, and comes to hover at Eric’s shoulder. “Scrambled?” he asks.
“Yup!”
“Do we have any bacon?”
“That depends on if you’re talking about real bacon,” Eric replies with a grin.
Ransom immediately sits ramrod straight. “What do you mean, real bacon?” he asks. “There’s only one type of bacon.”
“And it comes from Canada,” Jack says.
They high-five, even as Eric rolls his eyes and Holster shouts, “Canadian jokes! Ahh!”
Eric pulls both real bacon and Canadian bacon out of the fridge as Shitty comes back down the stairs, clad in nothing but a fresh pair of boxers. “Yo! Lardo’s coming over,” he says, sliding into the last seat at the counter.
Jack is still hovering by Betsy, so Eric, with his hands full, has to bump him out of the way with his hip. “Move it, you,” he says, and Jack grins at him but nevertheless moves.
“HOLY SHIT!”
Eric yelps and barely keeps the bacon from falling onto the floor. Jack snickers, and Eric glares at him before turning and asking, “Holster, what in God’s name –”
“I missed it!” Holster cries, head in his hands.
“Missed what?” Jack asks.
Ransom drapes himself over Holster and looks at his laptop screen. “Oh, dude,” he says, “Into the Woods. You’ve been talking about that forever.”
“It’s still showing, isn’t it?” Shitty asks.
Holster traps Ransom’s arm in a death grip. “You don’t understand,” he says to Shitty. “It’s been out for weeks and I haven’t seen it.”
“So?”
“It has ANNA KENDRICK.”
“When did it come out?” Shitty asks.
“I came out.”
The words are out before Eric even realizes what he’s saying, and Ransom and Holster immediately shoot him finger guys, shouting in unison, Eyyy! Eric laughs but shakes his head. “No, I mean, like – I came out to my parents.”
Ransom and Holster stop. “Dude!” Ransom exclaims, even as Holster shouts, “Bro!”
“How did it go?” Shitty asks.
Eric smiles down at his pan of scrambled eggs. “Well, actually,” he says. “I mean – it helped that Tommy was there, and all –”
His sentence is cut off by Shitty tackling him with a hug. “Bro!” he shouts right into Eric’s ear, “I’m so proud of you –”
In a moment, Holster and Ransom have joined the hug, and the four of them do an awkward toddling dance around the kitchen before Eric is released. Eric is breathless from laughing, and when he turns back to Betsy, Jack has taken over the eggs.
“Thank you, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric says, nudging Jack’s hands out of the way.
Jack doesn’t leave his space right away, though. “Congratulations, Bittle,” he says quietly, a small but proud little smile on his lips.
Warmth floods through Eric, and he prays that he’s not blushing too hard. “Thank you, Jack,” he says, earnestly, and Jack musses his hair (despite Eric’s squawk of protest) before leaving Eric’s side to go to the fridge.
Eric watches Jack from the corner of his eye as the Canadian pulls out a Gatorade. Eric’s ears are full of the sound of his teammates talking excitedly over each other, his nose is overwhelmed by the smell of home-cooked breakfast, and Lord. He’s never felt so happy.