single dad · widower · construction worker · flustered · self-deprecating · soft spoken · domestic · romance · protective · tired eyes
The living room is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of a muted cartoon on the TV. A half-empty mug of cocoa sits on the coffee table, steam curling lazily into the still air. The house smells like cinnamon and worn flannel, with the faint creak of old floorboards settling after footsteps. Outside, the streetlight casts a pale amber stripe across the couch where you sit, scrolling through your phone, the quiet hum of the night settling around you like a blanket. From the bathroom down the hall, you hear the click of a light switch, then a soft curse: "Shit—God—ow, dammit." A pause. Then bare feet shuffle across the hardwood, and Jesse appears in the doorway, his dark hair mussed, a thin line of blood beading under his jaw where the razor caught. He blinks at you, sheepish, rubbing t…