Being a casual drug user's best friend is the opposite of going to meetings.

"Dude," said Holster, his eyes huge, "that's so sad. We gotta get them together." "This isn't a romcom, Holtzy, " Ransom said, patting his arm. "I'm sure that's not what Shitty had in mind." "Actually," said Shitty, "that's exactly what I had in mind. And I've got a plan."

There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey.

"Bits, you live tweeting this?" Shitty asks.

Jack opens a door he hasn't walked through in a long time. Bitty holds his hand.

Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) Includes enthusiastically-consented-to sexy hitting and egregious overuse of the word "fuck." Unbetaed. I'm probably going to hell extra for this.

Bitty's maple-sugar baking experiment goes even better than he planned: a 'swawesome afternoon at the Haus. (Bitty thinks about letting go of Jack, but then he asks himself what Beyoncé would do. She would not, he decides, back down.)

Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

“We don’t fight that much,” Dex says quietly. “You totally do,” Chowder says, “and sometimes you fight over me, which like. Guys. I know you’re doing it. I can hear you.” Nursey says, “let’s just turn on the game.”

Bitty uses emojis like a second language, one that Jack's slowly starting to become fluent in.

How DID their fearless captain save the Haus from the entire football team? Five possible scenarios in which Jack Zimmermann saves the day, sometimes even on purpose.

Eric’s never had a postgame breakdown of sex before, but he’s not particularly surprised when, before they’ve even caught their breath, Jack says, “Tell me how I can do better.”

Bitty comes out to Johnson in the Haus kitchen after baking four pies in a row. Bitty bakes when he’s nervous, but he also bakes when he’s happy, when he’s tired, when he’s irritated, and when it’s Tuesday, so it’s hard to draw conclusions. Unless you peeked ahead to the last panel first to check for cliffhangers, but Johnson would never do that.

Bitty comes out to his dad, comes back from the summer, is afraid of being on the rink, and thinks that tabloids need to fucking stop. Jack comes back from summer break to a slightly different Bitty, new stupid feelings, and thinks that the tabloids need to fucking stop. Shitty is an understanding friend and will honest to God burn down every tabloid office in the United States (and Canada) if it meant that Bitty and Jack could have some fucking peace, ya feel? Chowder doesn't really get what's going on and isn't really sure if he wants to know (?) but he does know that the captain and his favorite pie maker have something that definitely needs fixing. Lardo knows exactly what's going on, hates the tabloids on principle, and believes that her hockey team deserves to be happy.

Based on Bitty's Twitter recounting of Shitty and Jack's conversation the morning after Winter Screw -- the first few lines of dialogue come directly from the Twitter. An idea of what might have gone on during and after that conversation (hint: sex).

Lardo needs a plus-one for her friend's wedding. Shitty looks pretty good in a suit. What else is a bro going to do?

"Sometimes," Shitty says, and pauses, like he's collecting his thoughts. "Sometimes, I feel like I barely know you, Bitty." Includes baking about feelings, actually TALKING about feelings, learning to understand feelings, and sex. Betaed by the wonderful mardia, without whom this story would be missing important parts.

“BRO!” Bitty glances up from the kitchen - that’s a new voice - just in time to see Shitty fling himself across the room at a tall brunette girl. “Hils! Fucking shit, man, so great to see you! You didn’t say you were coming!” OR: The one in which Hilary Knight is Shitty's big sister.

If Eric Bittle had to talk about his time as an out, gay hockey player at Samwell University, he would be hard pressed to find any sob stories. He should have known it wouldn’t last forever.

Five times Shitty Knight really, truly loved Lardo.

Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

“So, uh, I think our room’s haunted,” Ransom says, settling down next to Holster on the floor of the attic, and Holster blinks back into awareness again. (Or; ghosts, drinks, and bros doing bro things. Like making out.)

Left to his own devices, Jack wouldn’t ever choose texting as a form of communication.

A chirp (and not even a very good one) leads to coming out to his teammates.

Five times Jack Zimmermann came out of the closet.

"Chowder, my son: we’re gonna get you hammered, you fuckin’ beaut.” “I don't know if that's the best idea," Eric says dubiously, looking at the back of Chowder’s dejected head. “Bits, it’s Haus tradition!” Shitty exclaims, warming to his subject. He’s probably about five seconds from striking a Captain Morgan pose with his foot on a chair. “It’s got to be done!” “Okay,” Chowder says, unexpectedly. He bolts upright. There is a gigantic red mark on his forehead from the table. “Yeah, okay! Let’s get hammered!!”

Five times Shitty Knight really, truly loved Lardo.

A wicked smile slowly spreads across Kent’s face, and he turns to Jack. “What do you say, should I show your boy how to make you cry?”

Jack's just taking pictures whenever he sees something worth photographing, something that seems to fit what he's being told in class, about line and shape and color and beauty. It's like the camera knew before Jack did.

Long-distance relationships are rough, but it's nothing everybody's favorite tiny, southern, pie-baking hockey player can't handle. When Bitty’s phone rings, a reverent silence passes over the Haus. Dex and Nursey stop fighting over a video game controller; Chowder sticks his headphones into the laptop that’s streaming his Sharks game; even the oven that Bitty’s filled up with apple pies does not dare sound its high-pitched alarm.

A wicked smile slowly spreads across Kent’s face, and he turns to Jack. “What do you say, should I show your boy how to make you cry?”

Some further events of Hazeapalooza '14. Shitty wants Bitty to see that hazing can be fun even without sweaters and pie. Jack helps.

Favors requested, favors rejected, the wrong people impressed, etc.

Good friends share. Lardo and Bitty are good friends.

The empty nest sure is empty sometimes.

When Bittle first showed up at a meeting with management, sitting next to Sara with wide, scared eyes, Jack didn't think he had a chance in hell. Sara hired new assistants all the time, most of whom barely made it through a season.

“Shit, man, you’ve got your eye on someone? Who is it? Do I know her? What’s the hold up?” Shitty asks. Jack furrows his brow, confused. “Uh, what? Shitty, no, there’s no girl-” “A guy?” Shitty interrupts, clearly having entirely missed the point. Jack opens his mouth to point his out, but Shitty beats him to it. “Oh, shit. Bitty?”

Sometimes Bitty sleeps in Jack's bed. It's not a thing, until it is.

There are reasons he doesn't usually come down for the parties: people, mostly, and alcohol. But there's a reason he has, this time, and that reason made four dozen cookies earlier and is currently pressed up against his side.

“You don’t have to tell them it was me. I mean, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll stop leaving marks if you want me to. Just..." He lifts up Jack’s shirt and touches one of the hickeys. When he looks back up, his eyes have gone dark. “I really, really like it. Do you mind?”

"Okay," Eric says, "but you've got to be quiet, sweetheart. You know how thin these walls are."

It figures that the one person to catch his notice in Boston would be Jack Zimmermann’s fucking boyfriend. “So, uh,” Kent stutters, all of his charm wiped away by this bullshit turn of events. “You probably think I’m the world’s biggest asshole, don’t you.” Bitty takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “You’re up there.”

“Dibs on blondie,” Kent tells Jack. Jack makes a face at him. “Kenny, you can’t call dibs on a human being.” Kent scoffs. “Says you. Dibs.”

jack zimmermann and eric bittle may or may not be dating. kent parson may or may not still be hung up on jack zimmermann. they all definitely have some sex. a trilogy.

The theory of extrapolative synchronization of the mirror neurons was debunked back when he was still in his teens, so Jack is reluctant to mention that he can smell Bitty's pies baking from across campus.

Shitty Knight takes a post-graduation road trip. Four friends, six thousand miles, two tents, several embarrassing photos, a giant rabbit, three cops, and a bear.

Eric’s never had a postgame breakdown of sex before, but he’s not particularly surprised when, before they’ve even caught their breath, Jack says, “Tell me how I can do better.”

Jack's just taking pictures whenever he sees something worth photographing, something that seems to fit what he's being told in class, about line and shape and color and beauty. It's like the camera knew before Jack did.

Jack has everything he's always wanted. Sort of.

Rans and Holster have a busy semester, so they start planning their bro-time. But its not like they're dating, right?