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Jake huffed and puffed, pouting like a dejected toddler. The lower half of his face was propped up on his palm as he stared (more like glared) out the passenger-side window. It would have been a funny sight if Jay didn’t have to deal with it every second of the previous two days.
“Stop thinking about him,” Jay sighed, exasperated, as he turned into the IKEA parking lot.
It was a fairly empty Wednesday afternoon. Jay never experienced IKEA in the middle of the day, let alone the middle of the week.
In fact, it was a whole week of firsts, starting with the first time, in the seven years Jay has known Jake, that he’d ever seen Jake livid. The man bounced back from everything that came his way, big or small, usually in a matter of hours; so for Jake to go borderline batshit insane gave Jay whiplash.
Jake was lounging in the middle of Jay’s bedroom, as he usually did after his shifts, head hanging off Jay’s unmade bed as he mindlessly scrolled Instagram reels, when he got the Text.
His reaction was one usually reserved for a six-game losing streak with Sunghoon or getting chosen to perform a diabolic dare in public. The scream he let out reverberated in Jay’s poor ears. (He was scrolling right next to the brunette.) Immediately, Jake hurled his phone onto the desk, cracking the screen, left the room, and Jay heard him pacing up and down the hallway furiously muttering to himself.
He had not stopped muttering since.
Jake never let Jay see the text, despite telling him every other tiny, grisly detail of his ex-relationship. But Jay understood. It must have been bad.
The following morning, Jake showed up to Jay’s apartment with two suitcases of his belongings and a prominent wrinkle between his eyebrows. No words were exchanged between the two as Jay watched Jake unpack everything in the middle of his living room and scurry back and forth between it and his bedroom.
It carried on for an hour until Jake croaked, “You need more space.”
That led Jay to take the two of them to IKEA for new dressers and a larger closet. His apartment was pretty bare to begin with, having been too busy with his producing gig to decorate the place other than the essentials: a mattress, sofa, and storage.
Sometimes, Jay genuinely felt like a mother, especially as he browsed the showrooms with his angsty teenage son Jake trailing behind him. A mentally healthy Jake would have been actively participating in the shopping, excitedly pointing out cool items with his metaphorical tail wagging and ears perked up. This Jake, however, scowled and dragged his feet like he would rather be at home playing Fortnite with his friends on Discord.
They made their first lap around the first floor.
“You must be hungry, right?” Jay asked, more of a statement than a question.
Jake hummed noncommittedly. He hadn’t eaten much of anything lately, too busy wallowing in his despair.
“Meatballs with no sauce. Side of garlic bread.”
“You remember?”
Jay scoffed. “Of course.”
Jake rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched. Jay missed that upwards curl of Jake’s smile. That smile both graced and haunted his waking thoughts, and he could draw it even with his eyes closed.
Jay got both of their food and sat them down at a table near the exit. He watched Emo Jake pick at his food. For being his best friend, Jake felt so unfamiliar.
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re judging me.”
“I'm eating.”
“You're judging me while eating.”
“You look like a kicked puppy.”
Jake yelped. “I am not a puppy!” There was the Jake Jay knew: snarky and vehemently in denial of anything dog-related.
Jay laughed heartily and passed Jake an extra meatball from his own plate. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, just eating.
Then, Jake quietly muttered:
“Do you think we spend too much time together?”
Jay's chewing slowed. “Did your ex say that?”
Jake turned red in concealed anger. “No, but the motherfucker used that as his excuse to cheat.”
Jay stared for a beat before setting his fork down. “What?”
“What?”
“What did he say? ‘Babe, I had no choice. I was jealous of your best friend being your best friend.’”
“He said I was always with you.”
“And?”
“And that I didn’t spend enough time with him.”
“So he cheated.”
“Yeah.”
“‘The fuck kind of logic is that? You guys literally lived together and breathed together. So what if I had you for, like, 10% of that time?”
“Told him that, and he said he always thought you were weird.”
“Weird?”
“Like, we were too close.”
“Alright,” Jay grabbed both of their trays and stood, “let’s continue.”
He ignored Jake’s questioning gaze burning through his back as he led them to the next level of showrooms.
It irked Jay extremely to know that a piece of shit could use him as an excuse to hurt the person closest to him.
Not that Jay was surprised. He'd never liked him, anyway.
Jay had chalked it up to normal boyfriend insecurity, how he always had something to say whenever Jake had plans with his friends and how he made Jake apologize for being his friendly self. Jay never figured out why Jake stayed with him despite leaving his previous exes so readily. Maybe Jake was only ranting about the bad sides of their relationships and that they were healthier on the flipside.
Apparently, he’d been giving the guy too much credit.
Now, Jake was walking around IKEA wondering if spending time with his best friend was somehow the reason his boyfriend cheated on him.
Jake nudged his shoulder against Jay's, knocking him out of his storm cloud. “I’m okay,” Jake consoled, trying to look into Jay’s eyes.
“Not what I saw the past two days.”
“I’m okay now.”
Jay glanced at Jake. Jake really did look better, posture straighter and lips less of a pout and more of a thoughtful purse. His preteen angst made way for teenage retrospect.
“You're my best friend, Jake. I'm allowed to be weird when some asshole breaks your heart like that.”
Immediately, Jay regretted how sincere and cringe that sounded, so he cleared his throat and gestured towards the rows of dishware.
“I think I need more plates now.”
“Yeah, now that I’m living with you.”
“I never have a say.”
“I’m your best friend, right?”
Jay shoved him, earning a giggle as Jake stumbled sideways and clutched his ribs. Something loosened in Jay’s stomach, and something else tightened in his chest.
Jake’s laugh always sounded like bells, light and twinkling like windchimes catching a breeze.
Jay wanted to make Jake laugh until he'd forgot the fucker's name. He wanted to drag him through every stupid IKEA showroom, sit on every couch, lie in the test beds, and then drive around for three hours afterward with Jake’s playlist blasting through the speakers. The sky would change from orange to a midnight blue. They could forget about building the boxes of furniture taking up all the space in the trunk and the folded-down seats until the next day. The thought made Jay quirk a smile.
He stopped walking.
Jake looked at him sideways. “What?”
Maybe Jay wanted Jake to look at him the way Jay had apparently been looking at him for years without realizing it. Jake’s exes always had something to say about him, big or small. He’d rolled his eyes, complained to Jake about it afterward, and moved on. Of course they knew each other better than most people did. That was what happened when you’d been inseparable for seven years.
Maybe that was the problem.
Jake flicked Jay’s forehead. “Dude, please stop spacing out. You are scaring me.”
Jay blinked. “Sorry.”
“Are you still thinking about what I told you?”
“Yeah.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “Stop it, then.”
“I told you that earlier today.”
Jake laughed again.
Jay smiled despite the absolute disaster his brain had become.
“Come on,” Jake groaned, tugging on Jay’s sleeve. “We still have to get the stupid furniture.”
They continued through the IKEA maze, Jake pointing out things he liked while Jay pretended not to notice how easily Emo Jake disappeared and Puppy Jake took his place. His tail sprouted between his legs like a spell had bewitched him. It was almost unsettling how quickly Jake could go from looking like he was left in a cardboard box in the rain to laughing at something as stupid as an ugly plushie.
But that was Jake— resilient and everything Jay loved. Loved?
Jay shook the thought away before it could settle.
They finally reached the warehouse, rows upon rows and stacks on stacks of boxed furniture. Jay didn’t even know if the two dressers and closet could fit in his car, let alone if one of the pieces required two boxes.
By the time they reached checkout, Jay's arms were sore from the heavy lifting, while Jake practically skipped behind him. Puppies enjoyed rough play, after all.
Jake's eyes landed on the food court, and he shook Jay’s shoulders back and forth. “Let’s get hot dogs!”
They grabbed two hot dogs and a vanilla soft serve before finding a small table near the windows. The sun was setting, orange light filtering through the glass and catching on Jake’s brown curls and tanned skin.
Jake took a huge bite out of his hot dog and shone the brightest smile all day.
Jay watched him.
“You know,” he said, “for someone who claimed he wasn't hungry—”
“Shut up.”
Jay laughed, taking a bite of his own hot dog.
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, watching people make their way through the final stretch of the IKEA maze and staring out the ceiling-to-floor window to the passerbys below.
IKEA was designed to help people envision the life they want to live in their tiny playhouse rooms. There’s a kitchen where Jake would burn his eggs while attempting to make the both of them breakfast. There’s a bedroom where Jake would trudge into after a long shift and fall into Jay’s arms. There’s a living room where Jake would force Jay to watch his documentaries that always turned out more interesting than they sounded.
Except all of those things have already happened.
Maybe that was what had been bothering him all day. He had been looking at IKEA and seeing a future with Jake that looked suspiciously like their present.
Jay glanced at Jake again. Jake had finished his hot dog and was scraping the last bit of melted ice cream from his cup.
“You have some-” Jay interrupted himself by reaching across the table to wipe ketchup from the corner of Jake’s mouth with his thumb.
Jake rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Thanks,” he muttered, looking back out the window.
“And,” he said quietly, “thank you for dealing with me.”
“‘Dealing’ with you? You’re heartbroken.”
“Not anymore.”
“That was quick.”
Jake fiddled with the edge of his cup. “I liked spending time with you. I always do.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I guess I don't really care where we go.”
Jay's heart gave a stupid little kick. “Even IKEA?”
Jake looked at him. “Especially IKEA.”
Jay laughed softly, but his eyes lingered on Jake’s shy smile.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the whole room gold. Their car sat somewhere in the parking lot, blissfully unaware of the boxes about to be crammed in it.
Jay looked at the smile Jake was trying to hide behind his ice cream cup and wondered if IKEA had accidentally given them something neither of them had come looking for.
And judging by the way Jake kept looking at him when he thought Jay wasn't paying attention, maybe he wasn't the only one imagining it.
“So what did your ex tell you?”
Jake paused.
“That I should’ve dated you instead.”