Chapter Six You’re Naked #3
Besides, the job wasn’t supposed to last more than three months, five at the absolute most. Jacob had time to fly back to
San Francisco, and Owen even braved the flights to North Carolina solo a few times just to see Jacob and his family.
“I could be in Europe for years,” Jacob said to him. “We need to see if the data is consistent. That’ll involve tracking patterns
over multiple seasons, seeing what changes.”
“I can’t do that, Jacob,” Owen said. “My doctors are here, my friends are here, I’m opening my shop here. My life is here.”
Jacob told Owen that he was being stubborn, that living life didn’t mean staying stagnant, that it involved taking risks,
facing fears, doing what was required to make himself happy.
Owen told Jacob that he was doing what he always did, running away as things were getting tough, looking for an excuse to
not come back home. Once the words were said, the floodgates opened.
And the phone call ended with Owen doing the kindest thing he could.
He let Jacob go.
Outside the bathroom, Owen hears the door to the suite open. Kevin and Abigail are cackling about some joke one of them is repeating, and it just keeps getting funnier; and Kaitlyn says something about Uno. Then Owen hears Jacob’s voice, muffled a bit.
“So much for peace and quiet,” Owens murmurs to himself. It’s probably time to get out of the tub anyway; his skin is wrinkled
like a dried plum, and the combination of the heat and his vape has been making him a bit lightheaded. But before he can pull
the plug free of the drain, the door to the bathroom slides wide open.
“Ugh, God . . . I’m gross . . .” Jacob grunts, stumbling into the bathroom just as he’s pulling his shirt over his head. It’s stained dark in multiple spots, not just under his armpits, but all over his
chest and back too, like he was sprayed with something. His bathing suit is damp as well, feet padding softly on the tile
as he makes his way in. “I need a shower.”
“Just let me dry off,” Owen says, finally making his presence known. “And it’s all yours.”
“Ah!” Jacob jolts, sliding on the tile floor, almost slipping before he catches himself on the counter. “Owen?”
“You okay?” Owen asks, reaching for the towel.
“Yeah, just . . . didn’t expect you there.”
Jacob’s eyes dart all around the room. First at Owen, then at the walls, then back to Owen again, then at the shower, then
at Owen again, then at the window that Owen had left open so that the smell of his weed pen wouldn’t linger.
Then finally, Owen again.
This time, his gaze sticks.
He can’t blame Jacob. Owen’s own attention is being held rapt by the way Jacob’s skin seems to be glowing under the bathroom lights, damp hair sticking to his chest, his cheeks flushed from both embarrassment and what Owen can only assume is alcohol.
“You’re in my tub,” Jacob says the words like the situation isn’t abundantly obvious.
“There’s no tub in my bathroom,” Owen admits, shrugging sheepishly. He probably should be a bit more modest, but it’s sort
of fun watching Jacob squirm.
“You’re naked.”
“That’s generally how people take baths.” Owen pulls the drain and listens to the suctioning sound as the tub begins to empty.
He and Jacob have seen each other naked plenty of times before.
He knows right where Jacob is looking too, eyes drawn to his chest where two barbell piercings cut through Owen’s dark pink
nipples, his chest flushed from the heat of the bath.
“If you take a picture, it might last longer,” Owen says, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out onto the bath
mat, the ends of his hair still dripping and heavy around his shoulders.
“You got your nipples pierced?” Jacob asks, like that’s the only thing worth discussing right now.
“You grew a beard,” Owen tells him, wiping the steam off of the mirror and grabbing his moisturizer from the bathroom kit
he’d brought in with him.
He’d needed to feel something after the breakup, get back a bit of control in his life. It’d begun with more tattoos, then he’d bleached his hair, but
it still hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot, not until he’d let Conor put clamps on his nipples and push needles through
them.
“Are you going to finish up so I can shower?” Jacob asks with humor in his voice.
“By all means,” Owen replies, making sure to rub the cream in plenty next to his nose, where the skin on his face gets the driest.
“Fine,” Jacob says, pulling on the drawstring of his bathing suit and letting it fall to the floor. Owen watches Jacob closely
through the foggy mirror, taking in his body. His belly’s gotten a little bigger, his thighs thicker. Jacob turns the handle,
gasping as he steps into the shower.
“Coooold!” Jacob winces, flinching away from the stream. Owen wipes at the mirror, just so he can get a view of Jacob as he
lathers up his body, running his hands along his chest and stomach and ass to rinse his body before he grabs the loofah and
the bar of soap.
Deciding that he’s suffered enough, Owen cuts his skin routine short, collecting his things as he steps out into the room.
That’s when he remembers that this isn’t his room.
And he didn’t bring a change of clothes with him.
Great, Owen thinks. He considers making a run for his room wearing just this tiny towel. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal; he and his friends have all seen one another naked before. Then he has an idea. An entirely selfish one, one
that he should not go through with.
So of course he does it anyway.
Sliding open the closet, Owen breathes a quiet sigh of relief that Jacob has always been the kind of person who—no matter
where he stays, and no matter for how long—will unpack his suitcase.
After digging through the closet, Owen grabs the most comfortable thing he can find, a heather-gray sweatshirt and a pair of darker gray sweatpants.
Both are so big on him that it looks like he’s dressed in a burlap sack.
Owen feels stuck as he stares at himself in the mirror on the back of Jacob’s door, listening to the sound of rushing water, Jacob humming some song that Owen can’t remember the name of.
It forces him to remember those early mornings lying in bed, still exhausted from the late nights at the shop, and listening to Jacob get ready for his day before he’d finally lean over, kissing Owen’s forehead and tucking him comfortably back under the covers, whispering “I’ll see you tonight. ”
Owen falls onto Jacob’s bed, running his hands along the soft sheets, his eyes catching on the nightstand, already stacked
with a collection of Jacob’s things. There’s his phone on the charger, a paperback copy of a romantasy book, his reading glasses
folded up neatly on top of the worn cover. There’s his rubber bracelet for the cruise and his wallet. Owen knows it’s wrong
to flip through it—it’s not like he can glean any real information from his snooping, but he just can’t help himself.
There’s about fifteen pounds in cash, plus a quarter stuck between a few of the bills. There’s Jacob’s US driver’s license,
which is set to expire next year. Library cards for San Francisco, Durham, and Dover. There’s a paper copy of his visa, creased
from being folded up over and over again. And . . .
Oh.
Owen pulls out the photo, the one tucked right behind a punch-out card for a boba shop in the Sunset that closed a year and
a half ago. The photo is of Owen at the beach, dressed in a gray T-shirt and black swimsuit. His hair was shorter back then;
bleach had yet to touch his brunet curls. And there are a few empty spots on his arms and legs, places he hadn’t yet filled
in with ink. The corners of the actual photo are rounded, worn, like Jacob handles it often.
Owen stares at this old reflection of himself smiling back through the picture. He’d been hopeful back then, never once considering
that his friends wouldn’t be his friends, that he and Jacob wouldn’t last forever.
The shower shuts off, and Owen swiftly slides the photo back into the wallet before he tosses it onto the nightstand seconds before Jacob steps out of the bathroom.
“Oh!” Jacob doesn’t necessarily sound displeased, dripping water on the tiled floor. “You’re still here.”
“Sorry, I—” Owen starts to apologize, before realizing that he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. “I needed to borrow
some clothes.”
“That’s okay,” Jacob says as he steps into the room, towel wrapped around his waist as he walks around like nothing’s different.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Who said I’m thinking?”
Jacob shakes his head slowly, chuckling to himself as he digs around for a pair of underwear. “I’m not gonna touch that one.”
Owen doesn’t want to smile, but he does.
“The night of the Christmas Eve party, I couldn’t sleep. So I went outside, just to think for a bit. And Kaitlyn followed
me.”
Jacob turns to Owen, but he remains silent.
“We talked. About the trip, but also about you.”
“What did you say?” Jacob asks.
“That I was okay with you coming, that I didn’t care.”
Jacob lets out a low scoff. “Right . . .”
Owen can’t even be mad. Because he’s right. Clearly, he’s not okay with Jacob being here. Far from it, actually. But he can’t
do anything about it now. He continues, “Kaitlyn said that she was surprised we ended things. And that she thought we should . . .
I don’t know, try to be friends.”
“Hmm . . .”
“Hmm.” Owen mocks Jacob’s lack of a response. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Well . . .” Jacob hesitates, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “What do you want, Owen?”
Owen looks up at Jacob. At the man he loved.
Loves.
Maybe it’s not a romantic sort of love, not anymore, but Owen does still love Jacob.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m still hurt, Jacob. You left me.”
“It’s not like I didn’t think about you, Owen . . .” he starts to say. “I wanted you to come with me.”
“You know me, Jacob. What makes you think I’d be okay with packing up my entire life, bouncing all around Europe?” Owen feels
his palms growing clammy. “Maybe you get something out of never sitting still, but that’s not me, Jacob. You know that.”