Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 11
My breath fogged up in the crisp air of Old Québec, laughter bubbling from my chest as I darted past a street performer juggling fire. Jacob was hot on my heels, his own chuckles mingling with the sounds of the bustling city around us.
"Can't catch me!" I called over my shoulder, my sneakers slapping against the cobblestone.
Jacob sped up, determination etched into his features. "In your dreams!"
We skidded to a halt in front of Café Felin Ma Langue Aux Chats, the warmth seeping from the windows beckoning us inside. We slipped off our shoes at the door and padded across the wooden floor, our socks silent.
"Two lattes and grilled cheeses, s'il vous plaît," I said.
"Coming right up," the barista answered, already turning to start our order.
We found a spot by the window, the world outside frosting at the edges. The lattes arrived, steaming with artistic feline faces gazing up at us, a reminder of Monsieur Sébastien's tea, and his words that had lingered in our brains for the past few days—soulmates.
"Think he's onto something?" Jacob asked, tracing the outline of the cat's ears with his spoon.
"Maybe," I mused, my mind still tangled in the idea. "Feels kind of... true, doesn't it?"
"More than kind of," Jacob agreed, a smile playing on his lips.
That's when Tiki, a resident striped tabby, sauntered over, his tail high. He rubbed against me first, purring like an engine, then moved to Jacob, giving him the same affectionate treatment. Back and forth, head-butting gently, as if urging us closer together.
"Looks like Tiki's trying to tell us something," Jacob chuckled, scratching behind the cat's ear.
"Maybe he's our furry Cupid," I joked, though my heart thumped at the thought.
As if understanding, Tiki rolled onto his back, paws curled in the air. We both reached out, hands brushing as we gave him what he wanted—a belly rub. Our fingers met, and warmth spread through my chest, more soothing than any latte.
"Thanks, Tiki," I whispered, and the cat simply blinked, contentment radiating from him.
"Ready to burn off this caffeine?" Jacob asked once we'd finished eating, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Sure!"
We stepped back into the chill, the energy from our drinks pulsing through us. We darted through the labyrinth of Quartier Petit Champlain, our laughter bouncing off the centuries-old stone walls. The chill air was rich with the scent of roasting chestnuts and the faint echo of street musicians serenading passersby. I chased after Jacob, who had snagged my cap and was now waving it like a victorious flag.
"Rends-le, pirate!" I shouted playfully.
"Only if you can catch me, Capitaine Belanger!" he taunted, his eyes sparkling with mischief under the dim glow of the street lamps.
I lunged forward, snatching at the cap but catching only shadows. Jacob's laughter was a melody that could turn even the coldest Québec night warm. He darted around a corner, and I followed, driven by the thrill of our childish game. I chased Jacob, who feigned left then darted right, neatly evading capture.
"Give up yet?" he called out, his voice dancing just out of reach.
"Never!" I declared, rounding the bend to find Jacob leaning against the ancient brickwork, panting and triumphant.
"Voilà," he said, dropping the cap onto my head with an exaggerated bow. "The cap returns to its rightful owner."
"Merci, frère," I replied, adjusting the cap and offering him a mock salute. Our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, there we were—the only two people in the whole world.
We were breathless, hearts racing not just from the play but from the shared secret thrill of something blossoming between us. For now, it was enough to chase and be chased, to be young and together in the place we loved most.
Algebra was a jumble of numbers and letters on the page, as indiscernible as our thoughts. Side by side on Jacob's bed, textbooks ignored, we leaned over shared scratch paper that held more doodles than equations.
"X equals... wait, is that a cat?" Jacob squinted at my drawing.
"Maybe," I admitted with a chuckle. "Tiki inspired me."
"Right, because Monsieur Sébastien's quadratic cats are gonna ace this quiz for us." He nudged me, his eyes twinkling with unspoken things.
"Totally." I nudged back, inches from his face, the air thickening. Our breaths mingled, my heart pounding like it wanted to break free. I could count his eyelashes if I wanted, that's how close we were.
"Boys! Supper's ready!" His mom's voice cut through the tension, her timing uncanny.
"We're coming!" Jacob called out, but neither of us moved for a second, caught in a moment that was too loud to ignore.
"Saved by the bell, huh?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper as we finally stood.
"Something like that," he replied, though his slight frown said otherwise.
Supper was a blur of chatter and clinking utensils. We ate, laughed, and acted like nothing had changed. But everything felt different.
Back in Jacob's room, the night wrapped around us like a secret. "She Will Destroy You" by Cocteau Twins and Harold Budd floated ethereally from his record player, notes intertwining like vapors, making Jacob's room feel submerged underwater. I emerged from the bathroom, hair damp, just in my pajama bottoms, and found Jacob shirtless, mid-change.
"Nice timing," he quipped, his cheeks turning pink.
"Coincidence, I swear." My gaze lingered on him longer than I planned, our eyes locking in a silent conversation. Jacob leaned into me slightly, our shoulders brushing—a touch that sent an electrical current through me. He let out a sigh, and I caught the faintest scent of his cologne, the one I'd picked out for him last Christmas. It was a reminder of a time when our biggest concern was whether we were yet of the age in which we should give grown-up gifts, or boys' toys. I gave him one of each.
"Your hair's dripping," he said softly, reaching out as if to touch it, then pulled back. I wanted him to touch me already.
"Sorry, I can—" My words hung unfinished. The space between us was charged, waiting for a spark.
"Never mind. It's fine." He turned away, but not before I saw the tremble in his hands. The same tremble I felt, all over.
We crawled into bed, backs touching, a silent agreement to respect the gulf between us. But in the dark, as sleep claimed us, the distance closed without permission. My arm found its way around him, his hand clasped mine, and we slept, tangled in a truth we were still afraid to whisper awake.
Morning sunlight spilled through the half-open blinds, sketching warm bands across our tangled bodies. I felt the weight of Jacob's arm draped over my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. For a moment, as sleep ebbed away, I relished the serene bubble we'd unknowingly crafted in the night.
A soft knock fractured the silence. The door creaked open, and Chloé's voice, gentle but insistent, floated into the room. "Jacob? Ethan's mom called."
Jacob stirred beside me, his arm tightening reflexively before he blinked awake. He rubbed his eyes, his hair a tousled mess that somehow made him look even more endearing. "What's up, Chloé?" he mumbled, still half-caught in dreams.
"His parents need to see him," she said, her smile bittersweet as she took in our innocent entanglement.
"Okay," Jacob replied, a crease of worry forming on his forehead. He nudged me softly, his hand hesitating before it brushed my cheek. "Ethan, wake up."
I groaned, not ready to leave the warmth of his bed or the comfort of him. But reality beckoned with an urgency I couldn't ignore. I sat up, scrubbing at my face, the chill of morning suddenly biting at my skin.
"Thanks, Chloé," I managed, voice thick with sleep.
She nodded and slipped away, leaving us to untangle ourselves from the sheets, and each other.
The familiar scent of home did nothing to calm the fluttering in my chest as I stepped through the front door. Dad was waiting in the living room, his expression somber, a stark contrast to the vibrant paintings that adorned the walls.
"Sit down, son," he said, gesturing to the couch. Mom was there too, her hands clasped tight.
"Is everything okay?" My voice sounded small, even to my own ears.
Dad cleared his throat. "I've been offered a job... in Chicago. We're moving, Ethan."
The words hit like a winter gust, harsh and cold. Chicago. A thousand miles away from cobblestone streets and the quiet hum of the St. Lawrence River; from my sanctuary in Jacob's room, our shared secrets, and the future we hadn't yet dared to name.
My heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. "But—what about school? My friends?"
"We know it's hard, but it's an incredible opportunity," Mom added, reaching out, but I barely felt her touch.
"Less than a month," Dad continued, and the room spun slightly. Less than a month to unravel everything that bound me here.
"Can we talk about this?" Desperation edged into my voice, my gaze flicking to the photos on the mantle—Jacob and I grinning at the camera, arms slung around each other.
"We can talk, of course we can." Dad's tone was firm, yet not unkind. "But the decision has been made."
I stood abruptly, the motion jagged and graceless. Their words had turned my safe haven into foreign territory, every corner now echoing with the countdown of days slipping through my fingers.
"Excuse me," I murmured, escaping upstairs to my room, where the memories of laughter and late-night conversations pressed close, suffocatingly sweet. And in that instant, the walls whispered a truth I wasn't ready to hear: Home wasn't just a place; it was where Jacob was, and I was about to lose both.
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