Stay (Chapter)

The apartment was quiet, like the hush that lingers after something’s been broken. The fan by the window clicked softly with each rotation, pushing warm air in slow circles. Wood creaked under shifting weight. The fridge hummed behind the wall, steady and dull.

Ezra sat on the edge of the pullout couch, spine straight, the thin mattress bowing beneath him. A glass of water rested in his hands, slick with condensation. His palms were damp, but he didn’t wipe them.

Jake sat across from him in the old armchair, body slouched deep into the cushions like something heavy had finally caught up with him. One leg outstretched. A bottle of beer hung in his fingers, still three-quarters full. He hadn’t touched it in a while.

It was late, long past midnight. The kind of hour that made the walls feel closer and every breath feel louder than it should.

They’d walked home from the bar without saying much. Ezra had offered to crash early, but Jake waved him off with a “hang a minute” that had more weight than it should’ve.

The quiet had grown legs. It sat with them, watching.

Jake shifted in his seat like the silence had finally started pressing against his ribs. Whatever was sitting in him had run out of room.

He finally spoke, voice rough from the hour. “You ever wish you had a brother?”

Ezra looked up, not startled—just drawn back into the moment.

Jake’s gaze stayed fixed on the far wall. “Not a buddy. Not a guy you mess around with. Just… someone who stays.”

Ezra watched him for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve wished that.”

Jake nodded, jaw working like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

Ezra set the glass down carefully. “I think I spent most of my life looking for that.”

Jake looked at him now.

Ezra kept his voice steady. “Sometimes the longing got twisted. Became about things it wasn’t really about. Sex. Control. Being seen.”

Jake didn’t flinch.

Ezra’s hands stayed in his lap, folded. “I’ve never said I was gay. It never quite fit. But I’ve been with guys. Chasing something. Hoping maybe… I’d find myself there.”

Jake stayed quiet, just listening.

Ezra’s voice softened. “It never lasted. Because what I wanted—really wanted—wasn’t the sex. It was to be known. Held. Strength to strength.”

The fan clicked as it rotated.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever find that?”

Ezra looked down. “Only with Christ.”

Jake nodded slowly. Then said, “You think that could be enough for me too?”

Ezra looked up, met his eyes. “Yeah. I do.”

They sat in that for a while.

Then Jake stood up, walked across the room, and sat beside him on the couch—not too close, not awkward. Just there.

He looked ahead, not at Ezra.

I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But it’s not like anything else I’ve ever felt.”

Ezra nodded. “Me either.”

They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder. Breathing the same air. Two versions of the same soul, drawn together not by explanation but by presence.

After a while, Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
He rubbed the back of his neck.

Ezra’s hand rose halfway—then fell.
He didn’t need to mirror it anymore. They both knew. He reached out instead, slow, and placed a hand on Jake’s back.

Jake didn’t move.

Ezra kept his hand on his back. Steady. Warm through the cotton of Jake’s shirt. The kind of touch that asked nothing but offered everything. 

Jake stayed hunched forward for a long moment, like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name. His breath came slow, uneven. Then he shifted.

Turned.

And reached for Ezra with the kind of urgency that had been building for years.

He pulled him in.

It was all shoulders and muscle at first—tight and unpracticed, the kind of hug that didn’t know what it was doing but meant it. Ezra wrapped his arms around Jake in return, and the space between them folded. Their chests pressed together. Their weight settled into it.

Ezra didn’t rush. Jake didn’t let go.

The hug held—like something anchoring. A grip that said, You’re not carrying this alone anymore.

Ezra could feel Jake’s breath at his collarbone—hot, shaking. He noticed the faint freckles at the base of Jake’s neck—same constellation as his, just worn under a different sky. He could feel the tremor in his ribs, the way his fingers clutched at the back of Ezra’s shirt like he didn’t know how to ask for comfort, only how to hold on. 

Jake’s shirt still carried the day on it—sweat, dust, something faintly citrus. Ezra didn’t know why it felt like home. They held on. Long enough for it to matter. Long enough for it to heal something that had never been named. Ezra’s scar, once a quiet throb, felt warm now—like the body remembering it didn’t have to brace anymore.

He noticed the faint freckles at the base of Jake’s neck—same constellation as his, just worn under a different sky. He could feel the tremor in his ribs, the way his fingers clutched at the back of Ezra’s shirt like he didn’t know how to ask for comfort, only how to hold on. 

Jake’s shirt still carried the day on it—sweat, dust, something faintly citrus. Ezra didn’t know why it felt like home.

They held on. Long enough for it to matter. Long enough for it to heal something that had never been named. 

When Jake finally pulled back, he didn’t look away. He swiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, then pressed his palm to his chest like something had broken loose inside and wasn’t finished moving.

Ezra stayed close, eyes steady, hands still resting on Jake’s arm.

They didn’t speak. The silence didn’t demand anything. It just held.

(Chapter from The Grove. Contact me if you’d like to read the full chapter).