I’m better off alone. Again, because if the alternative is alienating Jesse, well then, it’s just not going to happen.

The sounds of Jesse’s soft breaths begin to lull me into a sleepy trance, and I force myself out of it. I’m going to have to move him soon, meaning I absolutely cannot fall asleep. If he wakes up in my bed, it would be the most confusing, awkward thing ever, and we can’t have that.

Rolling onto my side, I observe him for a moment. His light blonde hair looks almost platinum in this light, mussed up and strewn about. Such a unique color. He definitely got it from Himla.

His mother was of Swedish origin, and while Trent had a slightly darker complexion and hair, Jesse came out as a spitting image of his mom. The pale skin, hair a color that people choose from bottles, and those golden eyes, like wildflower honey.

He’s a real looker, the kid. Whoever he ends up with will be one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

He’s wearing the same thing he was when he went to bed; high school football team hoodie with the torn front pocket, gray sweatpants, and some ridiculous fuzzy Rick And Morty socks he wears constantly. It brings a curl to my lips, promptly falling away when I recall him storming out of the room at barely eight o’clock. Jesse doesn’t typically go to bed early either, so I just know he was upset about what I told him… Thinking he was the reason for Leslie and I ending things.

I don’t want him to worry about me. He doesn’t need that stress. I’ll be fine. All I have to do is be here for him.

Fuck love anyway, right?

All relationships are doomed to fail before they even start.

The next time I glance at the clock on my nightstand, I notice that it’s almost three in the morning. Where the hell did the time go?

Sliding out of bed as gently as possible, I round to his side, bending down and scooping him up into my arms.

Jesse’s not a small kind by any means. He’s just under six feet, one-hundred-and-seventy pounds of slim muscle. Yet when he’s sleeping, it’s so easy for me to hoist him up and carry him to his bedroom, just like when he was little.

His calm breaths tickle the flesh of my neck as I bring him across the hall, back into his bedroom. Laying him down on the bed, I pull the covers over his waist, giving him one last lingering glance as he lets out a purr, stretching before nestling up beneath his comforter, still lost in his slumber.

Unsure of what drives me to it, I reach down and brush my fingers through his silky blonde locks, pushing the strands of ivory from where they want to flop over his forehead. It reminds me of the times I put him to bed as a child. That’s the thought resting at the front of my mind as I leave his bedroom and go back to my own.