Episode Nineteen:Moving In Together
811 Words
The keys felt heavy in Ethan’s hand.
They dangled from a thin ring, two cheap brass copies, still warm from Jace’s palm where he'd pressed them into Ethan’s hand a few minutes ago.
"You're sure about this?" Jace asked, hovering in the open doorway, barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, looking impossibly vulnerable despite the cocky lift of his eyebrow.
Ethan stood in the hall, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, cardboard box tucked under his arm, his heart pounding like a caged animal.
He thought about Claire’s apartment, standing cold and empty, waiting for a future that would never happen.
He thought about the job he was barely holding onto.
The friends he hadn’t called back.
The parents whose disappointment still echoed in the back of his mind.
And then he looked at Jace.
Barefoot. Freckled. Paint-stained.
Smiling like the whole damn world might be okay if Ethan just stepped forward.
"I'm sure," Ethan said quietly.
And for once—he meant it.
He crossed the threshold.
Jace exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
They stood there for a second, awkwardly, like two kids trying to figure out how to play house.
Ethan dropped the box on the floor, slung the duffel next to it. "Where do you want me?"
Jace grinned wickedly. "Loaded question."
Ethan snorted, shoving him lightly in the shoulder, but the tension broke.
They moved together easily after that.
Ethan’s few things—clothes, some books, a battered leather wallet, a shaving kit—slotted into the mess of Jace’s life like they’d been waiting for a place to belong.
The closet was a joke. Half taken up by canvases and crumpled shirts.
The bathroom shelves cluttered with tattoo balm, sketch pads, and half-empty bottles of cheap cologne.
But Ethan didn’t care.
He wasn’t looking for space.
He was looking for home.
---
The first night was chaotic.
They tripped over each other unpacking.
Argued about where the mugs should go.
Made love on the mattress without bothering to put on new sheets.
Fell asleep tangled in limbs and paint-smeared laughter.
Ethan woke in the middle of the night to Jace curled around him, mouth pressed to his shoulder, murmuring nonsense into his skin.
He kissed Jace’s forehead and pulled him closer.
And he realized—
For the first time in his life—
He wasn’t pretending.
---
The days blurred in a warm, clumsy rhythm.
Ethan worked remote as much as he could, hammering out designs between Jace’s impromptu dance sessions and the constant clatter of art supplies.
Jace worked late at the tattoo shop some nights, leaving Ethan alone with the smell of paint and the hum of a life being lived out loud.
They fought about stupid things.
Whose turn it was to do dishes.
Jace leaving wet towels on the bed.
Ethan triple-checking the locks every night like a nervous old man.
But the fights didn’t last long.
A slammed door. A bitten apology.
A kiss pushed against the kitchen counter, all hands and desperate laughter.
They figured each other out, piece by imperfect piece.
---
One Saturday, a few weeks after moving in, Jace came back from work and found Ethan on the tiny fire escape, sketchpad in his lap.
He was trying to draw the city.
It wasn’t good.
The lines were shaky, the shading wrong.
But he was trying.
Jace leaned against the doorway, watching him with a small, secret smile.
"You’re terrible," he said finally.
Ethan looked up, mock offended. "I’ll have you know I almost passed art class in high school."
Jace laughed, walking over and sitting down beside him. Their thighs brushed.
Without a word, he took the pencil from Ethan’s hand and started correcting the lines—soft, quick strokes that turned chaos into shape.
Ethan watched his hands move.
He thought about how those hands had built a thousand things:
paintings, tattoos, this messy little life they were starting together.
And now—they were building them.
"Teach me," Ethan said, voice quiet.
Jace looked at him sideways. "Art?"
"No." Ethan smiled. "How to stay."
Jace put the pencil down.
Turned fully toward him.
Kissed him slow and deep, the city humming forgotten in the background.
"You already are," Jace whispered against his mouth.
---
Later that night, lying naked and tangled on the mattress, Jace traced lazy circles across Ethan’s ribs.
"You’re not gonna wake up one day and regret this, right?"
Ethan caught his hand, pressing it flat against his chest.
"My whole life was regret," he said. "Until you."
Jace’s eyes shimmered in the dark.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
Because when Ethan kissed him again—deep, slow, with every ounce of love he’d been too scared to show—he knew:
Home wasn’t a place.
It was a person.
And he had finally, finally found it.
- Writer
