Part Six: Friction
The nights in Elkins were getting longer, colder, quieter. The forested silence that once seemed indifferent now pressed against Jake’s windows like a presence of its own. Matt had become a fixture in that silence, his steps on the gravel walkway familiar, almost expected. Jake never said he was waiting for him. He just opened the door before Matt could knock.
“You hungry?” Jake asked one evening, already stepping aside to let him in.
Matt nodded. “Always.”
They moved through the kitchen like they’d done it for years. No instructions. No questions. Jake pulled bread and cold cuts from the fridge. Matt grabbed plates, knives, and mustard. The clinking of silverware and the soft hum of the old refrigerator were the only sounds between them for several minutes.
It was domestic. Too domestic.
Jake leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Matt spread mustard with a kind of obsessive care.
“You know you’re getting close, right?” he said.
Matt looked up, calm. “Close to what?”
Jake studied him. “To stepping over a line.”
Matt didn’t stop what he was doing. “I thought maybe you wanted me to.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “There’s a difference between wanting something and being ready for it.”
Matt set the knife down, turned to face him directly. “You think I’m not ready?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He walked to the table and sat down, letting the silence build.
“I think you don’t know what it really means,” he said finally. “To wear what I wear. To carry that weight. You think it’s about the uniform. But it’s not. It’s what the uniform makes you responsible for.”
Matt brought him a plate. Sat across from him.
“I’m not pretending it’s just a costume,” he said. “That’s the point. I don’t want to play you. I want to be someone who’s earned the right to carry what you do.”
Jake picked up the sandwich. “You can’t earn it in a mirror.”
Matt leaned forward. “Then teach me. Don’t hold back. Show me where the line is—and what it costs to cross it.”
Jake met his eyes for a long, unbroken moment. There was something unreadable in his face. Then he took a bite.
Part Seven: Study
After that night, everything changed.
Jake didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t give permission or instruction. But he stopped resisting.
And Matt took that as all the invitation he needed.
He became even more precise in his mimicry. Not just posture and grooming. Now it was timing. Breathing. The subtle flick of the eyes when Jake scanned a room. The way he rested one hand on his belt when listening. The rhythm of his boots on hardwood. Every detail mattered.
One morning, Jake stepped onto the porch to find Matt already there, holding two takeaway coffees from the diner. No beard. His face looked raw and new—and shockingly similar.
Jake froze in the doorway.
“You changed something,” he said.
Matt smiled slightly. “I cleaned up the beard. Wanted to see how close it could get.”
Jake let out a low whistle. “Now that’s close.”
“Closer than you thought?”
Jake took a coffee. “Closer than I’m comfortable with.”
They walked in silence along the wooded trail behind the property. The air smelled like frost and wet bark. The gravel path was soft from the previous night’s rain.
Jake kept glancing over, as if trying to see what others would see. Matt kept his head high, shoulders squared.
“You’ve been watching me,” Jake said.
Matt nodded. “Every chance I get.”
“Why?”
Matt paused. “Because you’re worth watching.”
Jake stopped walking. “No. Why really?”
Matt turned to face him fully. “I’ve never had anything to build myself around. No structure. No rules that stuck. Then I saw you. And I thought—maybe that’s who I was meant to be standing next to. Maybe I’m not supposed to find myself. Maybe I’m supposed to become something by surrendering to someone who already knows.”
Jake stared at him. “You want to belong to me?”
Matt didn’t flinch. “I already do.”
Jake didn’t speak again on the trail. But when they got back, he didn’t close the door behind him.
He left it open for Matt.
Part Eight: Permission
It was Jake who made the next move.
There was no ceremony. No warning. One morning, the uniform jacket was just… there. Folded neatly and left on the end of the couch. Matt saw it as soon as he walked in.
Jake didn’t look up from his coffee. “You ever wonder what it really feels like?”
Matt’s heart thudded once, hard. “Every day.”
“Then try it.”
Matt didn’t hesitate. He picked up the jacket with careful hands, shaking it out before slipping his arms into the sleeves. The material was heavier than it looked. Lined and structured. It changed the way he stood. Made him taller. Straighter.
Jake stood and walked over slowly. He adjusted the collar, smoothed the shoulders.
“Still not quite right,” he murmured.
Matt met his eyes. “What’s missing?”
Jake reached up and touched Matt’s jaw. “The moustache.”
Matt blinked. “You want me clean-shaven?”
Jake didn’t answer with words. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before dropping away.
Matt stepped back. “That what you want?”
Jake’s voice was low. “It’s what you want. I’m just saying it out loud.”
The next morning, Matt stood on the porch completely clean-shaven.
Jake just opened the door and let him in.
Over the next months, Matt spent hours reading West Virginia Criminal Code for traffic law and criminal law. He found Jake’s old police academy notes and poured over police procedure. Jake would quiz him on all topics as they spent time together doing other things. Matt was a fast study and soon knew almost as much as Jake.
Then Matt wanted to learn self-defense tactics. He and Jake worked on those almost every day. Then came take-down procedure. Wrist lock, arm bar, leg sweep, handcuff procedure. They spent weeks of Jake teaching and Matt learning. Sometimes, the wrestling and bondage of practiced arrests aroused them both. They each saw it but neither said anything.
Finally, after an exhausting example of arresting an unwilling perp, Jake sat on the floor, handcuffed. Matt stood over him and said “I think I’ve got this now. I took you down and handcuffed you. You resisted and fought like a bad dude and I got you anyway.” Jake, somewhat downcast, “Yeah you did. Now uncuff me and we’ll have some dinner.”
This was when Jake knew Matt was good at this. He could do the job.
Matt knew he could do just about anything Jake could. He was ready to try out being the trooper.
Part Nine: The Uniform
The full uniform came next. It was laid out like a ritual—pressed shirt, trousers, duty belt, boots, and the campaign hat with its stiff brim and imposing curve.
Jake didn’t say anything when Matt walked in and saw it all laid out on the bed.
Matt stood in the doorway, silent for a long moment. Then he stepped forward.
“You sure?”
Jake nodded. “You need to know what it feels like to wear it all.”
Matt dressed slowly. Shirt first. Buttons fastened with careful precision. The pants were snug but moved easily. The belt was heavy, anchoring him with authority. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on the boots. When he stood, he was taller. Straighter. He could feel the pull of the fabric across his chest. It was intoxicating.
Jake handed him the campaign hat.
“Try it.”
Matt placed it on his head and adjusted the brim. It slipped slightly to the side.
“Bit loose,” he said.
Jake gave a faint smirk. “My head’s bigger. Guess we’re not identical.”
Matt folded a paper towel, padded the sweatband, and tried again.
Jake stepped back. “Better.”
Matt turned to the mirror.
He didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I look like you.”
Jake stepped behind him. “No. You look like someone who’s starting to believe he belongs.”
Matt didn’t move. But his reflection smiled.
Part Ten: Ride-Along
The cruiser idled in the driveway, its low rumble echoing faintly off the surrounding trees. Jake stood inside the doorway adjusting the chin strap of his trooper hat, glancing once at himself in the mirror near the front closet. The brim cast a hard shadow across his eyes. He looked like the man he was trained to be—structured, composed, in control.
But that sense of control didn’t reach his chest. Not anymore.
Matt was already outside, leaning against the porch railing in faded jeans and a worn black thermal shirt. A travel mug steamed in his hand. He wore Jake’s baseball cap, the one with the small West Virginia State Police patch stitched low on the front. The cap wasn’t part of standard patrol duty gear, and they both knew it. It was reserved for firing range work, off-duty errands, or wooded field ops when the full-brimmed hat was impractical.
Matt didn’t need it today.
But he wore it anyway.
Jake stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him, locking it with one hand while adjusting his belt with the other. “You’re early.”
“I’m always early,” Matt replied without looking over. “That’s what you told me to be, right?”
Jake gave a faint nod and opened the passenger door. “You know the drill. Don’t speak unless someone speaks to you. Stay in the car unless I say otherwise.”
Matt raised his mug in mock salute. “Understood, sir.”
Jake slid behind the wheel. Matt climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a deliberate calm. The moment the cruiser began rolling out of the driveway, Jake could feel the shift. It wasn’t just about having someone in the seat beside him. It was about who that someone was. Matt didn’t ride like a guest. He didn’t fidget or ask questions. He sat still, legs apart, one elbow resting on the armrest like he had always belonged there.
The cap on his head fit snugly. Too snugly, Jake realized. It had been his for years, molded by wear. It looked natural on Matt now.
Too natural.
They rolled through the edges of town, the radio murmuring with low dispatch traffic. Jake kept his eyes ahead, but Matt was watching everything—his posture alert, eyes scanning the sidewalks and parked cars like he was already on duty.
“You ever let anyone ride with you before?” Matt asked.
Jake didn’t look at him. “Only rookies. Interns.”
Matt chuckled. “And me?”
Jake’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “You’re not either of those.”
“No,” Matt agreed. “But you let me ride anyway.”
Jake didn’t answer. He knew better than to give Matt space to turn silence into permission—but he still didn’t answer.
They passed a small church parking lot where an elderly man waved at the cruiser. Jake returned the gesture instinctively. Matt raised his hand, too—two fingers at the bill of Jake’s cap.
The man smiled and turned away without hesitation.
Jake’s jaw tensed.
Matt leaned back against the headrest and smiled faintly. “He thought I was you.”
Jake turned a corner and didn’t respond.
“You know,” Matt continued, “it’s funny how something as simple as a hat can change what people see.”
Jake cast him a sidelong glance. “That cap isn’t regulation for patrol.”
“I know,” Matt said. “But it still has the patch. It still carries the name. And that old man didn’t care about the distinction.”
Jake exhaled slowly through his nose.
Matt tilted the brim down slightly, adjusting it like he was testing the fit. “I think about that sometimes. The difference between appearance and authority.”
Jake pulled into a side street near the park and stopped for a quick walk-through. Matt stayed in the car. When Jake returned, Matt looked at him calmly and said, “You know what I noticed?”
Jake didn’t ask, but Matt told him anyway. “You’re wearing the hat, but you don’t look like you feel like the man in it.”
Jake slid back into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and stared at the steering wheel.
Matt kept going. “It’s like you’re lending it out, a little at a time. Jacket. Cap. Ride-alongs. What’s next, Jake?”
Jake turned the ignition again. “Don’t overstep.”
Matt didn’t smile this time. He simply said, “What if I already have?”
They continued the patrol in silence. Jake didn’t offer commentary on their route or the handful of houses they passed. Matt didn’t need the context anymore—he knew the loops, the signals, the pacing.
At a stoplight, Jake glanced at him. “Take that cap off when we get back to town.”
Matt shook his head. “No.”
Jake blinked. “Excuse me?”
Matt leaned toward him slightly, not aggressive, but sure. “You gave it to me. Maybe not directly, but you didn’t stop me. You haven’t stopped me once.”
Jake opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“You think I don’t notice when you watch me in it?” Matt asked, voice quieter now. “You think I don’t see the way your eyes follow the jacket? The way you look at the cap when it’s on me?”
Jake’s throat felt dry.
Matt turned his gaze back to the road. “You don’t have to say anything. But you don’t get to pretend it’s not happening.”
They pulled into the back lot of the diner and killed the engine. Matt got out first. Jake stayed in his seat for a moment longer, fingers still curled on the wheel.
When he stepped out, Matt was already leaning against the front of the cruiser, arms crossed, cap still on, hair tucked neatly beneath the brim. His civilian shirt was tight across his chest, and the borrowed jacket hung open like he wore it for effect rather than warmth.
Jake didn’t say a word. He didn’t have one strong enough.
Inside, the diner was quiet. A few older couples, a waitress who barely glanced at them. She nodded to Jake. “Trooper.”
Matt gave a quick nod too. Jake waited for her to correct it. She didn’t.
They sat at a booth near the window. Matt took the seat facing the door—Jake’s usual spot. Jake sat opposite and kept his hands around the coffee mug longer than necessary.
“You want to hear something?” Matt asked after a while.
Jake nodded cautiously.
“I was thinking about those hats again.”
Jake’s stomach tensed.
Matt leaned in, voice low, intimate. “You wear the trooper hat. Wide brim. Hat badge. Hard lines. Authority. It’s a symbol.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “And?”
Matt smiled slowly. “And I wear the cap. Soft. Easier. Less formal. More… flexible.”
Jake narrowed his eyes.
Matt didn’t blink. “You ever hear the saying? Men wear hats. Boys wear caps.”
Jake’s heart skipped.
“You wear the hat,” Matt continued. “For now. But it doesn’t feel like yours anymore.”
Jake leaned forward. “You think you’re ready to fill those shoes?”
“I already am,” Matt said. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.”
Jake stared at him for a long time, but Matt didn’t look away.
He kept the cap on the entire meal.
