Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 21
Two months had crawled by since I'd last seen him. Two months since my family had moved to Chicago. Each day stretched longer than the last, the void where Jacob used to be growing deeper.
Today, the ache became unbearable.
Lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling of my room, I made my decision. I needed to go home—to him. It wasn't just want; it was need, as essential as breathing.
"Je dois le retrouver," I murmured to myself. "I have to find him."
With a resolve that felt like fire in my veins, I rose from the tangle of sheets. The distance between us might span cities, miles, and memories, but nothing could stand against the force of what I felt for Jacob.
I had loved him quietly, fiercely, since we were boys, sharing adventures and whispered French words beneath the sprawling arms of the maple trees. And although we had been separated by circumstances beyond our control, I refused to let that be our ending.
"Attends-moi, mon Jacob," I vowed, the words spoken to an empty room, yet filled with the promise of reunion. "Je viens."
Stepping out of my house, I didn't look back. All that mattered was the journey ahead—the journey back to Jacob. My footsteps were swift and sure, a testament to the urgency coursing through me. The old city with its storied walls and winding streets had witnessed the beginning of our story, and I was determined it would see its continuation.
"Je suis en route, Jacob. Hold on," I whispered to the wind, hoping somehow, it would carry my message across the distance to him.
Jacob lay in the darkness, the little stars on his ceiling a faint constellation that no longer held any magic. The chill of absence wrapped around him like a shroud, and he reached out with a trembling hand to the empty bed beside him. Ethan's absence was a tangible void, a silent echo that reverberated through the fibers of the sheets and the hollows of his heart.
"Goodnight, Ethan," Jacob whispered into the silence, his voice catching on the name that had become a prayer, a plea for comfort in the night.
The room didn't answer back, didn't offer the familiar warmth of Ethan's chuckle or the soft shuffle as he adjusted under the blankets. Instead, there was only the relentless quiet, broken by Jacob's shallow breaths and the muffled sobs that he couldn't suppress. He curled his fingers around the edge of the extra pillow, the one that used to be Ethan's during those countless sleepovers, and pulled it close.
"Remember when you said we'd build a fort out of pillows and blankets?" Jacob murmured to the pillow, his imagination painting Ethan's bright smile in the dark. "You said it would be our castle... impervious to the world." His arms tightened around the pillow, clutching the fabric as if it could bridge the miles between them.
"You promised we'd never have to be knights in separate kingdoms." The words, thick with longing and unshed tears, were soaked up by the cotton case, unanswered yearnings lost in the weave.
Jacob's mind replayed memories like cherished films, each frame filled with laughter and shared secrets, moments so vivid he could almost feel Ethan's elbow jostling his side in a fit of giggles. In those fleeting dreams, they were still together, invincible against anything life might hurl their way.
"Chicago's not so far," Jacob tried to reassure himself, even as another part of him knew the painful truth—that distance wasn't just measured in miles but in the yawning space of nights spent alone, without the comforting rhythm of his best friend's breathing to lull him to sleep.
The grip on his makeshift companion tightened until his knuckles turned white, and slowly, the reservoirs behind his eyelids breached, sending warm tears cascading down his cheeks. They were drops of sorrow mingling with the fabric, leaving damp trails on the pillow that couldn't hug him back, couldn't whisper that everything would be all right.
"Sleep well, Ethan," Jacob finally let out, his voice a ghostly lullaby that carried across the emptiness of his room. "I miss you."
With a trembling sigh, Jacob closed his eyes, letting exhaustion pull him under into a restless sleep where, maybe, just maybe, he could find Ethan waiting for him in dreams undivided by distance.
Jacob shuffled through the school corridors, his gaze fixed on the scuff marks marring the linoleum floor. The clamor of locker doors slamming and the buzz of adolescent chatter felt distant, smothered under the weight of his longing for Ethan. It was in this daze that he nearly collided with Lucas Dupont.
"Whoa, careful there," Lucas said with a slight smirk, steadying Jacob by the shoulders. His touch, meant to be grounding, only served to remind Jacob of the absence of another's embrace.
"Sorry," Jacob mumbled, attempting to sidestep Lucas, but the other boy moved with him, effectively blocking his retreat.
"Hey, it's cool," Lucas responded, falling into step beside him. "You're Jacob, right? Ethan's friend?"
Jacob nodded, the mention of Ethan's name causing a twinge in his chest. Lucas, with his tousled brown hair and easy smile, had an air of confidence that seemed to draw others to him. But to Jacob, he was just another face in the crowd—one that wasn't Ethan's.
"Mind if I walk with you?" Lucas asked, though he didn't wait for an affirmative before continuing. "I heard about Ethan moving away. Must be tough."
"Something like that," Jacob replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lucas laughed, a sound that failed to reach Jacob's fenced-off heart. "Well, you've got me now. I mean, not like that," he added quickly, casting a sideways glance at Jacob, assessing.
Jacob could feel the weight of Lucas's gaze on him, appraising, desirous, but it was as if he were encased in glass, untouchable and numb. He thought of Ethan's laughter, how it used to fill the spaces between them, warm and genuine, nothing like the hollow sounds echoing off the lockers now.
The memory surfaced unbidden—a moment shared with Ethan that seemed worlds away. They had been lying side by side on the grass in Jacob's backyard, staring up at a sky smeared with twilight hues. Their conversation had meandered from the mundane to the profound until they found themselves discussing faith—what it meant to believe when belief itself seemed so fragile.
"I don't know if God listens to guys like us," Ethan had said, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
"Maybe," Jacob had replied, "but I think what matters is that we listen to each other."
In a gesture that felt more like a vow than anything spoken in a place of worship, Jacob had reached for the silver Star of David pendant at his throat. Delicately, he unclasped it and leaned over to drape it around Ethan's neck.
"There. We're both Jews. We're both Catholics." Jacob's words had been soft but resolute.
Ethan had enveloped him in an embrace then, fierce and full of promises neither of them knew if they could keep. The metal star had rested against Ethan's chest, a testament to something deeper than dogma—a bond that transcended labels, a love that defied distances.
Back in the crowded hallway, Jacob's fingers instinctively went to his bare neck, tracing the empty space where his Star of David once lay. He swallowed hard, pushing back against the swell of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Uh, Jacob?" Lucas's voice jolted him back to the present. "You okay, man?"
"Fine," Jacob lied, offering a weak smile. "Just... fine."
But he wasn't fine; his heart was somewhere in Chicago, beating in tandem with a boy who wore his star and carried a piece of his soul.
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