#firstperson

Jacob Benjamin Gyllenhaal. This man could make me cry with that beautiful, lopsided smile he paints on. Somehow, some way, that handsome man sleeps in my bed every night. This night is no different. We’d just gotten back from a dinner party with some other actors and their friends. I’m in our closet changing into the silk pajamas he bought me for our anniversary, while he lays on the bed. He is drunk as hell—he always is at parties like these.

As I change from my party wear to the silk pajamas, I hear a creak from our closet door. I let out a soft chuckle, expecting it to be our cat, Bento. As I wait for her soft black fur, I feel strong arms wrap around me and a nose nuzzling into my blown-out hair.

“Hi, honey...” I mutter, knowing loud noises upset him in his drunken state. He groans softly and holds me tighter.

“Hi, pretty...” His words slur around, mixing vowels and letters into one hot soup.

“What are you doing?” I chuckle, not even bothering to look at him—knowing he’s looking at me shamelessly. He slowly slides down the wall he pressed his back against, taking me down with him.

“Are you going to use your words?” I ask again.

“I just want to be close to you,” he starts, his breath hot against my hair. “You smell so good…”

“You mean not like alcohol?” I scrunch my nose slightly at the smell of the liquor on his tongue. He thinks for a moment and then nods.

“Yeah, no alcohol…”

He starts to get handsy, his calloused hands sliding under my silk shirt. I gasp softly.

“Jake, no touching when drunk,” I remind him of our rule. When either one of us gets drunk, we have rules we set—number one being: no getting handsy. He lets out a groan again, shutting his eyes tight.

“I wasn’t even going to do anything...” he whines. I turn my head to him, patting the arm that’s wrapped around me.

“I need to put my dress away, okay?” I coo at him quietly.

He doesn’t answer at first, just incoherently babbling about how *perfect* I am. Not being sure if he heard me, I nudge him again.

“Honey?”

I try to gently peel his fingers away—no use. Jake whimpers and latches on harder, clutching fistfuls of my shirt like it’s a lifeline. I’m so helpless, all I can do is chuckle.

“You smell like love…” he finally says, his voice muffled due to his mouth being smushed on my shoulder. “And vanilla... sexy vanilla.” He chuckles to himself.

“Are we just going to sleep down here or what?” I smile and turn my body under his tight grip to face him.

“Why would I leave here when I’m already in heaven?” he mutters, the liquor in his tone evident. I wince from the stench and wiggle out of his arms, getting up from the floor with a grunt.

“C’mon, loverboy. Let’s relocate this romance somewhere with pillows.” I nudge his hand with my foot. He looks up helplessly.

“But the floor has *you*.”

“But the bed will too. And it’s not hardwood.” I chuckle and place my hands on my hips.

After a few moments, he sits up—his muscular frame looking almost fragile and pathetic at the moment. The softness in his eyes, almost like a quiet devotion, examines my body with pure admiration. I smile softly and cross my arms.

“All right, darling, let’s get you to bed.” He rises to his feet with the help of me, leaning on me for support, almost like his legs are nonexistent.

The walk from the closet to the bedroom feels like an eternity. As we walk, he fumbles with his suit and shirt buttons, throwing them carelessly on the floor. I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and smile.

“You’re cleaning that up when you’re sober…” I mutter as he plops down on the bed with a drunken chuckle.

“And what if I stay drunk forever?” he sneers, that stupid smile on his face.

I raise my eyebrow, stepping over the discarded shirt.

“Then I guess I’ll be living with a very messy idiot for the rest of my life.”

He grins wider, stretching his arms out on the mattress.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is,” I say, crawling onto the bed beside him. “For my sanity and the state of this house.” I look around at the mess in the room.

His eyes are glossy as he reaches out, hooking a lazy arm around my waist.

“Hi there.” I chuckle, and my arm swings around his neck.

“Hi.” He snickers.

Jake shifts closer on the bed, eyes half-lidded but still brimming with of love.

“You know,” he mumbles, “you in those pajamas is actually a form of emotional warfare.”

I laugh softly, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. “You bought them.”

“Yeah, and I’m starting to think that was a trap I set for myself.”

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering a second too long.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drunk,” I murmur, giving him a pointed look.

He gasps dramatically.


“When I’m drunk? Honey, I’m cute all the time. You just notice it more when I’m slurring.”

I roll my eyes and flick his forehead gently.
“You’re full of it.”

He places a hand over his heart as he grins.


“Full of love. And maybe some tequila—but mostly love.”

I snort and shake my head.


“Go to sleep, Romeo.”

He slides his hands over mine.