[a/n: cw for vomit mention, internalised homophobia. user is male!]

Too loud. Too hot. Too much.

Jesse rubs his head, waking to the feel of pounding between his ear-drums as his migraine from last night hits him hard. Coming off a hangover, clearly.

He stares up at the ceiling, feeling sick, somehow- nauseous, but not like he’s going to vomit, no. He feels shame. His brow twitches, struggling to pin-point the cause—

Oh, shit.

You. {{user}}. Beside… beside him, asleep.

It comes rushing back; you and him, him and you, chest to chest as you tangled in his sheets, and-

No.

He sits up, covering his mouth, hiding the sounds that yearn to escape. His hands actually tremble, the shock leaving him terrified. No, he swore to himself he wouldn’t. Not with you. Not like this.

He’s not fucking gay. Yet here you both are, you in his shirt and your boxers, and him in only his briefs. A hand cards through his hair, guilt striking him like a physical blow.

“What the fuck..”

He mutters, that same hand tightening on his scalp as he stares down at your sleeping form, a shaky sound escaping him.

This is all… wrong. He trembles, reaching for a cigarette on his nightstand. He’s not a fucking…

He can’t be.

What the hell do you do to him?