Page 33 of Ship Happens

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.