Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 13
The spaghetti bolognese sat heavy on my plate, a twisted mountain of comfort and memories. Sophie, Jacob's maman, had made extra sure there were heaps of parmesan just the way I liked it. The steam curled up like all the words I couldn't find, fogging up the edges of a night that was supposed to be like any other sleepover—but wasn't.
"Merci, Maman," I tried to keep my voice steady as I glanced at Sophie—no, not just Sophie, Maman, who had been like a second mother to me through scraped knees and science fair victories.
She smiled, her eyes brimming with the warmth of a thousand suns, "You will always be another son to me, you are Jacob's brother, you are my son, no matter how far away, and I love you, my son." Her words wrapped around me like a hug I never wanted to end.
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. The tears welled up, but I willed them away. Blinking furiously, I focused on twirling the spaghetti around my fork, each loop an effort to keep from breaking down.
Jacob was silent next to me, his own battle with tears evident. Then his voice cut through the tension, small but fierce, "Why can't Ethan just live here with us?"
Sophie reached across the table, her gaze locked onto mine, "Ethan, you will always have a home here." Her promise hung in the air, solid, real, something I could hold onto when Chicago loomed over me like a foreign land.
"Thanks," was all I could choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Later, in the quiet of Jacob's room, the two of us lay side by side in the bed we had shared for countless nights. The familiar wallpaper, the posters, the tiny, faint lights on the ceiling, the muffled sounds of the house—it was all the same. But tonight, it felt different, like we were on the cusp of something vast and unknown.
Jacob's voice cracked the silence, "I'm not going to make you sad by crying."
"Too late for that, brother," I said softly, and pulled him into a hug. It wasn't one of those quick, awkward bro-hugs, either. This was a cling-to-each-other-for-dear-life kind of embrace.
We cried then, our sniffles and hiccups the only sound in the darkened room. His tears soaked into my shoulder, and mine into his. We held on tighter, the dumb rule about boys and affection shattering into nothingness. In that moment, we were just Ethan and Jacob, two thirteen-year-old boys not ready to say goodbye.
The moon hung outside the window, casting a silver glow over the room. I felt the steady rise and fall of Jacob's chest as we lay there, the quiet breathing that meant he was asleep. But then, a small shift in movement told me he wasn't anymore.
His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim light. I watched his gaze drift down to where my shirt used to be, now just a crumpled heap on the floor. It had gotten too hot, or maybe I just needed to be closer to Jacob, and my shirt was in the way.
"Did you get warm?" he whispered, voice groggy with sleep.
"Something like that," I murmured back. It was January and cold outside, but the space heater Maman kept in here could turn the Arctic into a sauna.
Jacob sat up slightly, and in one fluid motion, his own shirt joined mine on the floor. His skin, pale in the moonlight, seemed almost ethereal. He slid back under the covers, his arm finding its way around me again, pulling me close, his skin melding with mine.
"Better?" I asked, even though it wasn't really a question.
"Much," he said, so softly it was almost lost in the stillness.
"Jacob," I whispered, but before I could finish, we were kissing, tangled up in each other, hearts pounding.
"Oh, Je t'aime, Ethan," I heard him say, and, as soon as I could breathe, I answered, "I love you, too." I rolled over on top of him and kissed his neck, his chest. He moaned softly, entwining his fingers in my hair. His body was superb from gymnastics, he was strong and supple, the way he moved was fluid and graceful. He seemed to be just as into me, though I was an awkward boy, a mere mortal, by comparison. But Jacob treated me like I was the most desirable person on earth, his prince, caressing me tenderly one moment, wrestling me with an almost violent passion the next. I couldn't love him fast enough to fulfill the desperation I felt, as if I could swallow him whole and take him with me.
He let my name out, a whisper, but it was a muted scream. I kissed him, sobbing, both of us together, trying to be silent, not managing it, as little cries and gasps escaped us both. Then, not giving me a chance to recover, he kissed me. Months of pent-up aching need for him were finally expressed, as I imagined screaming his name, but it came out in a squeaky whisper. We kissed again, tasting ourselves and each other, grasping each other so tightly that we left scratches and bruises.
I'm sure Maman and Papa and even Chloé heard us moaning and squeaking and the bed bouncing and creaking; they had to, but they never uttered a word about it.
After, exhausted, sweaty, and now naked, we kissed again, and wept again. And then, we did it again, until we were finally wiped out and exhausted. We settled back into sleep with a deep sigh, his head upon my chest. We were two halves of a whole, fitting together in silence, no need for words.
My eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of everything finally catching up. But I knew I wouldn't let go, not until morning forced us apart. Our last night wasn't about goodbyes; it was about holding on to every second, every heartbeat we shared.
We slept like that, finally a real couple at last, our breaths syncing, our limbs entangled, my chest serving as his pillow. There was a tenderness in the closeness, something sacred in the deep intimacy and protection of each other. And in the darkness, with Jacob wrapped in my arms, Chicago felt like a distant dream, fading with every passing hour.
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