Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 6
The evening breeze wafted through the open window, carrying the scent of blooming lilacs from the garden below. I watched Jacob lean over to give it a nudge, pushing it further open as if inviting the season itself into his cluttered bedroom. The air outside had turned balmy, too warm for May, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was a prelude to the many warm nights we'd spend just like this—side by side, inseparable.
"Man, it's stuffy in here," Jacob said with a chuckle, peeling off his shirt without a second thought. He stood there for a moment in the waning sunlight, skin glowing faintly golden, looking every bit the carefree kid I'd always known, yet somehow different.
"Guess it's time to ditch the layers," I mused, following suit. My sweater and undershirt hit the floor with a soft thump, and I felt the cooler air kiss my skin. It's funny how something so simple could feel so freeing.
We had just conquered the last of our Algebra homework, equations and variables still scrawled across paper on the desk. But now, our minds were far from numbers and letters as we took turns reading passages from "The Lord of the Rings" aloud, each word a shared adventure. Tolkien's world was our escape, Frodo and Sam our avatars.
Jacob's voice, animated and rich with enthusiasm, brought the pages to life. "I'm coming too, or neither of us isn't going. I'll knock holes in all the boats first." His mimicry of Sam's determination drew a hearty laugh from me.
"He's as stubborn as you, Jacob!" I teased, earning an accusatory glance paired with a grin that reached his eyes.
"Histoires sans paroles" by Harmonium filled the room, notes dancing around us as Jacob flipped the record. The music was a backdrop to our own tale—one not bound by ink and paper but by years of friendship. As he leaned out the window, the question slipped out, almost without thought. "You're comparing me to Sam?"
"Yes, I think you are a lot like Sam. Frodo wouldn't make it without him." I ventured, my heart picking up pace with the mix of heat and nerves. Jacob shot me a quizzical look, half-amused, half-curious.
"Are you saying you wouldn't make it without me?"
His words hung there, and my face and even my whole upper body flushed red with a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. He caught me, alright. Caught me in a truth I hadn't fully admitted even to myself. But then again, there were no secrets between us—or so it seemed until now.
"Got me," I admitted, meeting his gaze head-on. "Cat's out of the bag now." It was a confession wrapped in jest, but one that held more weight than all the books on the shelf combined.
Jacob's response wasn't what I expected. There was no teasing comeback, no playful shove. Instead, he sat down, close enough that our bare shoulders touched, his voice soft and sincere.
"I'll be your Sam. I'm honored to be."
Our laughter faded into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of pages turning. His presence next to mine felt like an anchor, steady and sure. And as we continued to read, shoulder-to-shoulder, I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, our story was evolving into something entirely new.
We finished reading "The Breaking of the Fellowship" together. It was starting to get late. "Sam would never leave his Frodo, because he loves him," I murmured, tracing the spine of the book as if it were some ancient rune that could unlock the secrets of our own hearts. The evening air wafted in, carrying the intoxicating scent of the spring evening from Jacob's window.
"Totally," Jacob agreed, his voice a low hum in the dimming light. "It's like, no matter what, he's there. Always with him." His gaze didn't meet mine, but I felt the weight of his words settle between us, heavy with unspoken truths.
"Exactly," I said, nodding slowly. "I... Frodo's lucky to have someone like that. Someone who'd go to the end of the earth for him."
Jacob chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to dance around the room. "The end of Middle-earth, you mean."
"Right," I replied, the corner of my mouth lifting in a half-smile. That was us—always quick to find the humor, even when the conversation edged toward something deeper.
We were quiet for a moment, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves outside and the soft tapping of a branch against the windowpane. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to tip the scales.
"Getting late," Jacob observed, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.
"Bedtime?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah."
With a lazy stretch, we peeled ourselves away from our comfortable nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. The room was too warm, a precursor to the summer heat that loomed just on the horizon. We shed our daytime armor—me, my trusty corduroys; Jacob, his faded jeans—until we were down to just our boxer shorts.
"Better," I sighed, relishing the cool sheets against my skin as we crawled into bed.
"Definitely," Jacob echoed.
Our whispers became a sacred ritual, words exchanged in the dark, each one an offering of friendship and something more. Something neither of us fully understood yet, but it hung there, a promise in the silent spaces between us.
I don't know when sleep claimed us, but it must have been swift and gentle. I remember the closeness of Jacob's body, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine. And then, nothing but dreams.
When morning crept through the blinds, casting lines of light across our tangled limbs, I woke to find Jacob's arm draped over me, my own hand resting on his chest. In sleep, we had found our way to each other, seeking comfort and connection without even trying. It was new, this level of intimacy, but it didn't feel strange. It felt like... home.
I lay there for a while, watching the rise and fall of Jacob's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. And I knew, without a doubt, that whatever this was between us—this friendship, this bond, this budding love—it was the real deal. As real as the stories we read aloud, as enduring as the melodies that filled the room, as certain as the sun climbing higher in the sky.
"Sam would never leave his Frodo," I whispered again, not because I needed to hear it, but because it was true. Because it was everything.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
