We spend a long time under that tree as Jackson tells me the long story about how he stayed up for three weeks in a row, only giving in because he was so incredibly bored by the end of it. About how he just wandered around at night all alone, doing chores and going for runs just to have something to do. About how he missed dreaming, and missed rest, because while he wasn’t precisely tired, in a bodily sort of way, he was exhausted mentally.
“We need sleep, I think, to turn off our minds,” he says at the end of it, thoughtful. “Life’s hard enough as it is – we need time away from it all, I guess.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” I murmur passively, all my words blurring together as I sit with my chin still propped in my hand, just staring at him, mesmerized.
Because god, he’s gorgeous. Jackson
