Two lives.

33. Jurys still out

Something about a guy trying—and failing miserably—to jump over a stack of chairs. The way Ekko laughed made me laugh too, even though the video wasn’t that funny.

“You find the dumbest stuff,” I teased, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

“And yet, you’re still laughing,” he shot back, smirking as he locked his phone and placed it on the grass beside him.

I leaned back against the tree again, my head tilting toward the branches above. “Skipping class with you wasn’t my smartest decision,” I said, half-joking.

He stretched his arms behind his head, lying back down in the grass with a satisfied sigh. “Please, like you were actually gonna stay in class. You needed a break.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I just rolled my eyes. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning up at the tree canopy. “But you like it.”

I didn’t respond, but I could feel a small smile tugging at my lips. He wasn’t entirely wrong about that either.

Ekko shifted, getting up onto his knees with a lazy grin. He shuffled toward me, still on his knees, like he was expending the bare minimum effort to move. When he reached me, he plopped down beside me, leaning his back against the tree. His shoulder brushed mine, and I felt a flicker of warmth where we touched.

“Wanna listen to something?” he asked, pulling a tangled mess of wired headphones out of his pocket. He fumbled with them for a second, plugging them into his phone before holding one earbud out to me.

“Sure,” I said, taking the offered earbud. My fingers brushed his for a split second, and I tried not to overthink it as I placed the earbud in my ear.

He scooted a little closer, our shoulders pressed together now. His cologne—a clean, woodsy scent—lingered in the air, distracting in the best way.

He scrolled through his playlists, mumbling, “Yeah, this’ll work,” before hitting play.

The opening chords of J. Cole’s “Love Yourz” filled the earbud, soft and reflective. I glanced over at him, but his face was calm, unreadable, as he leaned his head back against the tree.

“This song,” he said quietly, “it just… I don’t know. It makes me feel like everything’s okay, even when it’s not.”

I nodded, the lyrics washing over me:

No such thing as a life that’s better than yours…

The words settled into the quiet between us. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but it was true. The song wasn’t just about love—it was about finding contentment with what you have, even when things aren’t perfect.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he added, his voice softer now, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear that.

“It’s a good one,” I said, matching his quiet tone. And it really was. The music, the lyrics—it fit this moment perfectly.

We sat there like that for a while, letting the song play out. I watched the way the sunlight dappled through the tree branches, the warm patches moving lazily across the grass. Every now and then, I could feel Ekko’s shoulder press into mine, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or just because he was leaning a little.

When the song ended, I pulled the earbud out and turned to him. “You’re right,” I said, smiling. “That song makes you feel things.”

Ekko chuckled, resting his arms on his knees. “Told you. Cole don’t miss.”

We sat there in comfortable silence, the kind that made you hyperaware of everything—the gentle rustle of the wind through the leaves, the distant shouts of kids on the field, the sound of our breathing mixing together like its own quiet rhythm.

Ekko shifted beside me, nudging me lightly with his elbow. His lips curved into a small, lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with something playful yet thoughtful. “You ever miss home?” he asked, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to disturb the stillness.

I hesitated, tracing an absent pattern in the dirt with my fingertip. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “But… it doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment before leaning back against the tree. “Home’s not a place,” he said quietly. His voice had lost its usual edge, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “It’s people.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I glanced over at him, surprised by the sudden weight in his tone. His face was turned slightly, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the light catching in his eyes like liquid gold.

“You think you’ve found yours?” I asked, my voice quieter now, like I didn’t want to break whatever fragile thing we were stepping into.

He shrugged, but there was something deliberate in the way he held my gaze. “Maybe,” he said after a moment, his voice just above a whisper. “Jury’s still out.”

I felt my chest tighten, a strange mix of warmth and ache. There was so much he wasn’t saying, and yet it felt like I understood him perfectly.

The wind picked up, rustling the branches above us, sending shadows dancing across his face. He glanced down at the ground, like he’d said too much, but I wasn’t ready to let the moment pass.

“Do you want to find it?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I think I do.”

And just like that, the quiet settled around us again. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be filled—it was the kind that felt like understanding.