[Ironically, they don't kiss at all in this chapter; If I Was a Love Poet by Rudy Francisco]

FORTY-ONE: when you find stars in his eyes.

"What're you doing?"

Biting at his lip, Paul looked up at me. There was a lost look on his face and his finger that had been previously tracing along my thigh had stopped.

We were laying in my bed one day, his head in my lap and I'd been watching a pre-recorded college football game that I'd missed. I wasn't paying that much attention to him until the commercial breaks where I caught him with his eyes fixed on my skin. There was a cute little concentrated look on his face and I'd tapped my hand on his shoulder -covered in a loose and large sweatshirt- to bring him back to reality. Paul, being respectful to my father's rules, was wearing my sweatpants despite how uncomfortable he was sleeping in anything more than boxers.

The door was cracked as proof that we were just innocently hanging out and not having sex. Paul had come over during the week since he had a little time off due to a cold that was best to keep away from people's drinks.

He didn't care to answer my question instead choosing to smile small before continuing the pattern, sleepily. I'd been wearing some basketball shorts and they'd been up a little further than normal and for some reason, he was obsessed with my thighs and that made me nervous.

I mean, yeah, he said he liked my weight gain but what if he was lying? My thighs were getting really fat, they were and I knew that wasn't very attractive-

"Why don't you like your freckles?" It was then I noticed he was playing connect the fucking dots on my skin. Shivering when his finger slid a little too close to the insides of my thighs, I listened to his light chuckle, it turning into a cough halfway through and I sighed.

"I just... Don't."

Stop being annoying, Jules, he's getting sick of hearing about your insecurities.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to think about other things, he didn't need to hear about how ugly I was becoming and he didn't need to see it either. Pulling my shorts down a little, I pulled the cover further up to cover my skin from his gaze.

When he looked up at me curiously, I shrugged, my hand going to sift through his curls absentmindedly. I hated when Paul was sick, his entire face was drained of color except for his nose which was glowing a bright pink on his normally tan skin. Grabbing him a tissue, I could sense he was about to sneeze, it coming out in that small high-pitched kitten noise and it came in a fit of threes.

Wiping further at his nose, he'd balled up the tissue and discarded it in the trash bin beside my bed. Helping him reach the hand sanitizer, I brushed his unruly hair off of his slightly sweaty forehead. God, how did he deal with me after practice? I couldn't even deal with this much sweat without grimacing.

"I dislike my forehead." His voice was soft as he tried to hold a conversation. The entire day had been filled with him sleeping, fragments of conversations that would get nowhere due to either his throat hurting or him sleeping. Smiling softly at the pout on his lips, I caught a look in his beautiful brown eyes and settled to kiss his forehead, it hot under my touch.

He'd refused to kiss me on the lips in fear he'd get me sick. "Why?"

Shrugging, he mocked me, yawning slightly and arms stretching out just a bit as he tangled his hand in my free one. "I just... Do. It's too big." There was a cute little smile on his face when he closed his eyes, the smile that always seemed trapped between his laugh lines and his dimples caved in.

"It's not." I couldn't help the smile on my face at that. Paul was perfect and I mean, I knew he had imperfections but those imperfections didn't seem like imperfections to me.

His eyes were sleepy and his lips were parted ever so slightly when I'd looked down in a fake pout. Only then did he stick out his tongue at me, plush lips still in a smile and goofily, he slid up my bed off of my thighs and under the covers. Snuggling into my side, Paul yawned and we watched the game in peace.

Or I watched, he'd ended up closing his eyes and crosshatching onto my chest with the tip of his index finger. There was a feeling in the air as his body sunk into my side and I never wanted to leave, never wanted to move from this position even if he were sneezing all the fluids out of his body.

"Baby?"

Head laid on my chest and a clean tissue nestled in his hand, he sucked in a breath that sounded more like a sniffle. His breathing was a little difficult and I could tell he felt a bit out of breath breathing and talking through his mouth at the same time.

"Hm?" His hum was muffled into my skin, arms winding around me and I smiled, no longer paying attention to the game. It was pre-recorded, I could watch it at any time, Paul was hugging me and that was all that was important so tangling my fingers in his disheveled curls, I offered to help him out a little.

My dad always made me soup to sweat out my cold and I was almost positive we still had a can of chicken noodle so I offered it. "Do you want me to make you some soup?" And if there wasn't any, I'd have to run to the store because he deserved it. I had to be a good boyfriend, I had to take care of him because he always took care of me.

He'd perked up at the question but instantly, his expression turned sheepish, "if it's not too much trouble. I'm fine with the tea you made me." But that tea was an hour old and lukewarm so kissing his forehead again, I got up to make the soup and pulled the blanket over him, letting him ball up in the covers. Instantly, he reached for my hand, "I'm okay, Jules, you don't have to. I'll make it."

But I wanted to, I wanted to take care of him just like he always did for me, I was hoping to compensate for all the shit I put him through. Paul and I were equals in this relationship so, gently pulling his fingers off of my wrist, I bit my lip. "I'll be right back."

After some thought, he'd agreed and with a stuffy nose and tired eyes, he'd smiled sheepishly at me. And I swear, it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. His bright eyes were struggling to stay open and he brought his blanket-covered hands up to wipe at them. "Thank you."

Leaving the door cracked, I made my way out of the room before jogging down the stairs and nearly crashing into Jade at the bottom. Her eyes blew wide at the near collision, stumbling a bit and clutched her phone for dear life.

"Julian! You almost made me drop it!"

But honestly, who gave a fuck about her phone when it came to Paul? I'd rushed out an apology, not even looking at her and instead at the kitchen across the living room. The lights were on, granite bar blocking it off and I tried not to pay attention to the paperwork that my mother still wouldn't sign. It wasn't out in the open per day but shoved in a black binder and my heart constricted at the thought.

No, I couldn't get upset and I thanked God that my pills were working, I'd recently been meeting with the new therapist and my life was fine. I wasn't going to break down, I most definitely was not.

Paul was upstairs, my pills were in the cabinet, my dad was here, I'd be fine. I didn't need my mom's approval, all I needed was to make my sick boyfriend some soup and then go upstairs and hold him.

Sucking in a calming breath and breathing out through my nose, I fought the tears in my throat before reaching in the cupboard to grab at the last can of chicken noodle. Opening it, I searched for a pot, bypassing my mom's cookware and digging deep in the back of a cabinet instead, hands shaking.

Last time she'd cooked was the morning she found me and Paul in my room, the morning I left. I could remember the sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, strands sticking out in a messy way and she was dressed ready for church. The smell of eggs and bacon and the way she completely looked past me. And when she did catch eyes with me, bright eyes dark and demeaning, she'd quickly look away and often, she'd ask for Jade to pass things and refused them if I reached.

My throat was closing up, my eyes were blurring and I tried to get past this without help. Gripping the granite, I kept my hands there, adamant about keeping my panic at bay.

She's not here. I kept reminding myself but with all the remnants of her, I found myself leaning on the counter, head in my hands and trying to siphon enough energy to turn on the stove, just that was a struggle. It took a few minutes but eventually, I could calm myself down and the shaking was just a scare.

I'd gotten back to cooking soon after, mind over-analyzing my future so I didn't have to think about my mother.

It was silent in the kitchen, nothing but the sounds of cutlery clinking as I set down a bowl and a spoon before going to open the can. The tears in my eyes were long since wiped away and my breathing was regulated but my hands wouldn't stop slightly trembling. It wasn't until I felt a presence beside me that I'd stopped trying to open the can, my dad coming up beside me and taking it from my hands. He didn't ask why I was having so much trouble but instead, gave me a gentle smile before dumping the soup into the pot. "Is he feeling better?"

He'd handed me the wooden spoon before going to the fridge to grab the orange juice he'd came in here for, drinking some out of the carton, I watched as he sifted a hand through his hair. There was energy in his actions and I paid attention to the fact that his wedding ring was no longer on his left hand. I'd noticed him take it off the night before, almost instantly placing it back on and now, it was on the right hand. He was getting over my mother.

He was getting over my mother so quickly? How could you just throw eighteen years of marriage away? Was it the same way I'd thrown seven years of friendship away? How could he just move on? Maybe he's trying to heal, maybe he's not over her yet.

But what was so wrong with him moving on? I didn't know, I moved on not even a week of being rejected, my dad could move on almost two months after his divorce.

No, that's fucking stupid, they loved each other.

Maybe I didn't love Calum.

Deciding to ignore that for the moment in order to prevent more crying, I opted to answer my dad's question while stirring the contents around in the pot. "A little, his nose is still runny though and his fever isn't getting better but he's smiling." And just talking about Paul made me happier, a smile appearing on my face and I thought about how red his nose was when I'd left him, his big brown eyes sleepy and his smile lazy.

My dad smiled at the look on my face, placing the orange juice back in the fridge before dropping some peppers beside me. "That's good." Leaning on the counter beside me, he stood there staring, almost as if he were studying me. When he'd gotten sick of that, he pushed himself back to his feet and went to walk out. "Chop up a red pepper and put some in there, it clears the sinuses."

"Thanks."

"No problem." I didn't know whether he didn't notice how bad my hands were shaking or if he was just choosing to ignore it. I was thankful either way, it was still a bit awkward to talk to my dad about certain things. "Tell Paul to get better soon."

Nodding, I went to do as advised and started cutting the pepper, thoughts wandering to Paul. "Alright." And looking over the counter when a thought occurred to me, I called out to him again. "Hey dad, would it be cool if he, you know, spent the night?"

"Julian." He'd warned, the universal sign for me to stop talking and pushing boundaries but of course, I didn't take that as an answer. What if Paul drove himself home and, like, fell asleep at the wheel or something?

"He's sick and I don't really think it'd be a good idea for him to drive himself home." And I also may have slightly wanted to watch the new season of American Horror Story with my boyfriend that night, cuddled up and sleeping beside each other.

My dad thought about it for a little while before sighing. I was a second away from reminding him of all the lawsuits that had to do with car accidents when he turned towards me and through closed eyes, he resigned, "Guest room." Before rushing to his room and closing the door preventing me from asking for anything more.

: : :

The smile on Paul's face, when I'd handed him the soup, had to be the cutest thing ever. His tongue was stuck in between his teeth, his nose was almost as pink as his lips and his brows were raised. The bowl was settled in between his sweater-covered hands and he briefly looked up at me while taking a sip.

"Ow." He'd whined before placing the bowl down on the tray I brought it with, grabbing at his tongue.

"I told you it was hot." I chuckled before brushing a stray curl off his forehead before leaning in to kiss the clammy skin. "Do you like it?"

"Mhm." Smiling that cute little smile, he took a spoonful of soup before placing it back on the bedside table. Balling himself up in covers, despite it being hot outside, he closed his eyes. "I think I broke my tongue though."

"I'd kiss you to see if it still works but you won't let me."

Glaring at me falsely, he bit back a smile, "I'm not getting you sick." And for once, I wished he wasn't so caring because his lips were right there and they looked even poutier and kisses always made me feel better.

Stripping off my shorts despite my dad's rules, I stretched. I was always more comfortable in my boxers, that was for sure and I know a nap would be good for him.

"Jules, what are you doing?" He asked when I started folding my shorts before placing them on my gaming chair and going to shut the door. Deciding to leave my shirt on just in case my dad did pop in -but mostly because Paul would be upset at me disregarding the rules so easily- I met his eyes. "Your dad said clothes on and door open."

I shrugged at that, I would hear if anyone came up the stairs plus, I was eighteen years old and Paul was sick anyways. We wouldn't be having sex and even if we did, I was a legal adult. "It's hot, plus he's all the way in his room and we're not doing anything."

Resigning when he realized that I didn't care, he ran a hand down his flushed face. He looked as if to be dreading something and that was made clear when he groaned. "I have to get home soon." His voice was hoarse as if he needed to cough and soon enough, he did, followed by a sneeze and a tissue falling into the trash can I'd pulled beside my bed.

"You can stay over."

And Paul being -well, himself- conscious of every little thing, had smiled uncomfortably at me before shaking his head. "I don't wanna impose."

"Shut up, you're not driving. I love you too much to let you fall asleep at the wheel or something." I'd said, grabbing at he remote and nearing my bed only for him to reach out and latch onto my free hand.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" He'd asked, voice small and I realized how hot he must've been. The soup didn't help and it was seventy degrees in my room as well as his sweating from a cold, he was probably burning.

Grabbing a shirt out of my drawer, I grabbed at his hands before pulling him to the edge of the bed and peeling the sweatshirt off of his torso. His chest underneath the fabric was flushed as were his cheeks, a few curls sticking to his forehead, and his bottom lip sucked slightly into his mouth. I smiled, he was just so perfect so... pretty. "You don't have to ask." After I'd nestled him in a breathable short-sleeve white tee of mine, he'd slid his hands back into mine.

"Lay with me?" And if those big, brown puppy-dog eyes didn't do it, I don't know what would have. Pulling me closer, I obliged and laid beside him, grabbing at his waist. I smiled when he scooted closer, pushing his hot forehead to rest on my chest and giving it a small kiss through the fabric. Twirling my fingers in his -well mine, but now most likely his- shirt, I let him choose what we were watching as I admired the small tattoos that littered his body.

The map, which was obviously the first one I'd noticed, was my favorite. He'd informed me a little while back that they marked a place off in every city the visited. Explained that he wanted to travel the world before he got old and planned to get more continents tattooed onto his back.

All of his little tattoos had a meaning, the little arrow right below his collarbone, said it was his first tattoo when he'd met the guys and it showed him that there was always another way. The black tatted lines marked in his wrist, I was waiting for him to tell me that story.

And then there was the little cross right behind his left ear. I didn't know how religious Paul was but I knew he believed in something. That was enough for him.

He'd decided to watch Catfish and I didn't object, knowing that he loved it. I'd watched it with him a few times, and yeah, it wasn't my favorite show but he always seemed to be so into it, even going as far as feeling bad when an episode ended badly.

Tracing the cross, I tried not to think of my mother again, the disappointment she felt. I hadn't gone to church in months. "Did you use to have your ears pierced?" Directing my attention to the small hole in his ear, I sighed.

I didn't want to think about it, I couldn't so I focused on something else like my therapist had taught me. I focused on something that I loved and that something was Paul.

He was a little preoccupied though, tangling his fingers in mine but still watching the tv with wide eyes. Apparently the girl had been cat-fished by her own cousin, that was some crazy shit. "Yeah, a while ago, did a home piercing for a video. Lanny even pierced his tongue."

"Why don't you guys do stuff like that anymore?" Their channel was more about spreading a message as of now. And yeah, it was still great and their content had good quality but why did they change so much?

"Yeah, we stopped when Brandon got serious about filming, got further into making some positive videos with better layouts."

Nodding, I continued to comb through his curls, small smile on my face when I heard him sigh contently. We were back to small talk, things that wouldn't be offensive if we'd fell asleep on each other. Twirling a tighter wound curl from his shower earlier, I spoke, "I wanna get my nose pierced."

"Do you?" He'd asked, diverting his attention back to me but more so his own hands as they wrinkled the fabric of my shirt. Then he smiled that soft smile up at me, biting at his bottom lip.

"Yeah..." then my eyes noticed the small wrinkle in his nose and the slight breaths before he erupted, pulling a tissue out of the box on my bedside table and handing it to him. His hands were cold, as if he hadn't been sitting under warm blankets and I felt bad. "I mean, I get its weird-"

"No, it's cute." Shutting his eyes, he pinched his nostrils closed in the cute way that he did before replacing his fingers with the tissue. Paul had weird mannerisms, all abnormal and all adorable."I" sneeze, "was gonna" sneeze, "g-get my nipples pierced next week." Sneezing one last time, Paul discarded of the tissue and went for the hand sanitizer. "W-wanna come?"

But I was so stuck on what he'd said, I didn't notice the way he sat up, knees positioned on the sides on my thighs and head going to rest on my shoulder as if he were hugging me in my bed. My arms went to