Page 71 of Ship Happens

Jacob still watches the movie with all of the wonder of someone seeing it for the very first time. Somewhere in the middle, Owen adjusts, lying with his legs stretched out on the couch rather than across the coffee table. Jacob surprises him by lifting Owen’s legs to gently drape his calves on his lap. Owen considers shifting back to his original spot, but then Jacob places his hand on Owen’s skin, absentmindedly rubbing small circles over the tattoo on Owen’s ankle.

Every sensible voice in his brain warns him that he should tell Jacob to stop, that this is a step too far, that Jacob is crossing a boundary.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

So, he lets it happen; just for tonight, Owen lets himself exist in the past. His legs settled over Jacob’s lap, a movie playing on the television, his iPad set against his thighs. And every few minutes, his eyes wander up to Jacob, and he can’t help but stare at the man, thinking about how beautiful he is, how he wants to run his hands along that beard, feel the hair beneath his fingertips.

Stop it, Owen thinks, turning back to the drawing he’s working on of Superman making out with Batman.

Then he hears Jacob let out a whispered “Ow,” his hand buried in his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asks, closing the cover on his iPad and leaving it on the coffee table.

“I think I have a knot,” Jacob replies. “In my hair.”

“Let me see.” Owen leans forward as best he can. Jacob’s hair is dark and thick, with a natural curl that requires time and care that Jacob has never bothered to put in, so it’s no wonder that Owen can easily find several knots. “Jesus, do you ever brush your hair?”

“I just forget sometimes, okay?” he says defensively. “Not everyone has time.”

Owen rolls his eyes, moving his legs off Jacob’s lap.

“Where are you going? I can get what you need.”

“It’s fine!” Owen promises him as he grabs his cane. His feet are still unsteady, but he needs to move again. “Besides, I’ve had to pee for an hour. And I don’t think you can do that for me.”

When his business is done, he carries himself carefully back to the living room with his entire bathroom kit, stuffed full of the serums and mousses that Owen used on his hair before they left for the party.

And—most importantly—he brings his brush.

“Move to the floor,” Owen demands, motioning with his hand before slipping back to the couch. “Sit in front of me.” He keeps his legs spread so that Jacob can settle right between them.

“What are you going to do?” Jacob asks him, barely glancing over his shoulders.

“Well, I can’t do anything with your split ends,” Owen tells him. Scissors were near the top of the cruise company’s contraband list. “But I can at least get rid of some of these knots. And maybe do something about how thirsty your hair is.”

“It’s not that bad, right?” Jacob’s asks, voice charmingly innocent.

Owen shakes his head, running his fingers through Jacob’s hair to get a feel for where the worst of the knots are. “Just watch the movie.” Owen straightens Jacob’s head, forcing him to look forward.

It’s not as if Jacob has completely neglected his hair. It’s still soft as Owen rakes his hands through the curls. Owen knows that they’re both enjoying this way too much.

“What do you use?” Owen asks. “You switched shampoo.”

“I can’t find the brand you showed me anywhere in the UK.”

“So . . .” Owen presses. “What are you using instead?”

Owen can’t see Jacob’s face, but he does notice the way his shoulders scrunch.

“Jacob Jon Morrison . . .” Owen lectures.

“Head and Shoulders.”

Owen had spent years breaking Jacob of what everyone in their friend group labeled Jacob’s “straight-boy habits”: not putting things back where they belong, leaving kitchen cabinets open, not washing his hair down the drain when he shaved, leaving his clothes on the floor, using five-in-one products in the shower.

“I’m sorry!” Jacob cries. “I tried to find the other stuff, but it’s so expensive to get it shipped.”

“It’s fine,” Owen groans. At least Jacob won’t have a dandruff problem. “Just sit back.”