Chapter Six You’re Naked #2
“Any chance I can interest you in staying for dinner?” Jacob asked as he finished breaking down the final cardboard box. “I
was going to order Thai.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Owen told him, prepared to grab his bag and make a quiet exit.
“Dude, you just helped me move all of my stuff by yourself,” Jacob said as if he couldn’t believe Owen would say such a thing.
“Besides, I’m sure your cookies are good, but I don’t think they’re a suitable meal.”
Thankfully, Jacob never let things turn awkward as they ate. They talked about other books they’d read; Jacob gave Owen recommendations,
while taking a few for himself. Especially when Owen started to recommend his favorite monster romances.
Then Jacob asked about Owen’s favorite spots in San Francisco, where he liked to spend his time. They made plans to go to
the library to get Jacob a card the following week, then Owen would show Jacob Green Apple Books, maybe grab crepes at Genki
after.
“Would it be okay if I asked you something?” Jacob asked as he stacked the plastic containers in the sink to wash out later.
“I feel like it’s a bit late for that question,” Owen said teasingly, “but sure.”
“You have top surgery scars.” Jacob’s voice was low, almost shy.
“I do,” Owen replied plainly, preparing himself for the worst. He’d never actually considered the possibility that Jacob might
have a problem with trans people. Surely, Kaitlyn would’ve never allowed the two of them to be together alone if there was
going to be a problem.
“I noticed that you tattooed over yours, did it hurt?”
“Wait . . . huh?” Owen processed the implied information in chunks, watching as Jacob pulled his shirt pulled up over his
hairy chest.
“I’ve always wanted to get mine covered up; I thought it looked cool. But I was told with the type of scarring that it’d be
tough, and that going over tissue like that hurts like hell. Then other people tell me I’m too hairy.”
Owen froze, suddenly faced with the hairy bare chest of the man he’d been ogling for years and the realization that Jacob was also trans. Something that Kaitlyn never felt the need to disclose to Owen, apparently.
“I, uh . . .” His words felt heavy, like there was cotton stuffed in his mouth, his tongue heavy. “Whew, boy.”
“Do you think it’d be hard?”
Something’s hard all right, Owen thought, stopping himself, feeling that spike in his libido. Swallowing, Owen found himself unable to stop the awkward
laugh from slipping out, clearing his throat when Jacob seemed confused by his reaction. “Umm . . . well, tattooing scar tissue
can be hard. Like with all tattooing, it really varies from person to person, what their pain tolerance is.”
“Sorry if I—” Jacob said, pulling his shirt back down. “I didn’t mean to look, earlier, when you showed me your tattoos, I
just . . . They were there.”
“No, it’s okay,” Owen assured him. He chose that moment to be a little brave, telling himself that it was more for Jacob’s benefit than his own.
He pulled the hem of his shirt—plastered with the words British Cigarette on the front—over his head, giving Jacob a proper look at his own chest. Owen’s procedure hadn’t involved his nipples at
all, leaving him with two crescent shaped scars underneath his pectorals.
He didn’t make a habit of showing just anyone his body, but the way Jacob stared at Owen’s chest, stepping closer as if he
were looking at a work of art hanging in a museum, it made Owen’s heart swell with pride in the body that he’d gotten to make
for himself.
The handful of tattoos that Owen thinks are ugly and wants covered up, the scars that stretch to his armpits, the weird patches
of hair that grow along his chest, the blotches of inflamed skin and swollen joints. Jacob looked at each of the ugliest pieces
of Owen as if they truly deserved to be adored, prized.
“Pattern’s family crest, right?” Jacob said, spotting the familiar design from the Chetek Archives books in an instant. The antlers of deer, decorated in aloysia, a flower of forgiveness, a symbol of Pattern’s story through
the books. Then Jacob laughed, a soft, tender sound that’d already become familiar. “You did say he was your favorite character.”
Owen felt a breath slip out when fingers brushed against his skin.
“Sorry!” Jacob quickly pulled back, as if he’d been poked.
“No, it’s fine,” Owen promised. There’d been something different about the way that Jacob touched him. Something that made
it not so terrible.
“You’re sure?”
Owen nodded silently, almost melting as Jacob’s fingers touched his skin again.
“Did they hurt?”
Nodding again, Owen tugged his shirt back on when Jacob pulled back. “The skin gets more sensitive,” he explained. “And I
probably could’ve gone with something less intricate.”
Owen could’ve sworn that Jacob wasn’t paying attention, though. His attention was rapt on Owen’s body, staring at the fine
lines and tattoos. He remembers never being looked at like that before, not by anyone he’d hooked up with, and certainly never
anyone he dated.
Jacob had looked at Owen like he was a thing to be appreciated, studied, like he wanted to know every intricate detail he
could about Owen’s body.
Now, sinking lower into the bathwater, Owen watches the streaks of deep purple from the bath bomb mix with the blue, swirling
on the surface like oil on water. He doesn’t want to be an asshole to Jacob. It doesn’t feel good. But that does nothing for
his anger, because there’s no one else to direct it at.
No one besides himself.
Does he not have the right to be mad at Jacob? He’s thrilled that Jacob is doing what makes him happy, that he’s finally working
somewhere where he seems to be taken seriously, where he’s finally getting to study what he cares about.
And all he had to do to get it was leave Owen behind.
Maybe that’s not fair.
But what about the situation was fair? For weeks Owen sat in their home, alone.
Taking care of Fitz, coming home to the empty apartment at the end of the day, waiting for their schedules to line up with the time change so they could FaceTime, only for Jacob to be pulled away at the last second because he was needed somewhere.
It was a sort of loneliness that Owen had never felt before, even as a teenager when he was struggling to get his diagnosis.
When he had no real friends to speak of, no one to talk to other than the friends he’d made online to chat about The Chetek Archives and his fan art.
It was the sort of loneliness that sat deep in his soul, that ached constantly, no matter what Owen tried to do to combat
it. Hanging out with Kaitlyn only made him think about Jacob more. Going out to the movies or to eat was much the same. Going
on walks worked for a bit, but when Owen kept returning to the empty apartment, those feelings would come rushing back.
They’re still there, rising to the surface of Owen’s heart so easily.
He misses their stupid inside jokes, their movie nights, the sound of Jacob’s laughter. He misses when Jacob would talk too
much, or those flashes of embarrassment he’d feel when Jacob got excitable in public. He misses how Jacob would leave his
beard hairs all over the sink after he was done shaving. He misses grabbing Jacob’s phone for him when he’d forget it at a
restaurant, Owen waiting until Jacob realized it was missing before revealing he’d had it all along. He misses holding Jacob’s
hand, going to Safeway to get him Claritin when his allergies were at their worst. He misses talking with Jacob in bed, head
resting on his bicep.
Owen misses his best friend.
He doesn’t want it to be true. He wants to be past the relationship, he wants it to be over, to be able to say that these
feelings are long gone.
But they haven’t gone anywhere.
He’d heard stories of Jacob’s thrill for adventure, his inability to sit still for longer than a few weeks.
Kaitlyn told him how he signed up for nearly every study-abroad program he could, even taking a student research job on a fishing boat that navigated along the East Coast during his senior year.
Even his move to San Francisco had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Of course, Owen noticed smaller instances here and there
while they were together. Sometimes Owen would come home to find their bedroom totally rearranged. Or there was the time Jacob
sprung an entire week-long vacation down in Monterey on him without asking Owen if he could take time off from the shop first.
And the day he showed up with Fitzwilliam totally unannounced.
Then the call came. Jacob’s voice had been quiet, like he had something to hide. He finally revealed the news that his research
team would be heading “into the field.” Apparently, there was only so much they could do from the comfort of a lab.
“The lab is in Dover,” he said. “The first one, at least.”
“There’s a marine biology lab in Dover?” Owen asked, not thinking of anything other than the North Carolina town near where
Jacob and Kaitlyn had grown up.
“No, like Dover in Britain. On the Channel. Where the migration path is.”
“Oh . . .”
“Yeah, and I know that it’s a huge ask, and that you don’t really like traveling, and that things . . . haven’t been great
for the last few weeks—”
“You want me to upend my entire life and move to a different continent with you?”
“Well . . .” Jacob’s laughter was forced and uncomfortable. “Yeah, I guess there’s really no other way to say it.”
It’d been hard enough to see him leave for Duke.
Months of unemployment had followed the budget of Jacob’s department at UCSF being shredded to bits.
He had taken on a few temporary jobs as a teacher’s assistant, lab tech, even joining the janitorial staff part-time for a bit.
Then one of Jacob’s former professors had emailed him, figuring he was perfect for the research team that he was putting together.
Owen had urged him to take the job, knowing how miserable Jacob had been when he was unemployed. “Useless,” in his own words.