It wasn't meant to be like this. I open my eyes as she curls away from me, her petite body wrapped in his favorite sheets. I almost want to rip them off her and tell her how unworthy she is of something he had loved- but I don't. Instead, I stare up at the ceiling fan, spinning lazily in a pointless circle above my now soiled bed. The grandfather clock ticks in the hallway, and a drip echoes from somewhere in the bathroom off my room. I never thought I'd be here, I never imagined myself in this situation: it's three AM and I can't sleep.

I'd had my life all planned out. I was going to marry a nice girl, have a nice house and a few kids... I was going to live out the American Dream. I had everything. I was the perfect guy with the perfect looks and the perfect job. But then he came along.

It was a sunny day, I didn't have work or anything better to do, so I decided that I would take a walk to clear my mind from all the architectural design and business transactions I participated in so frequently. He was screaming like mad into his phone as he rushed down the street, a paper cup in his hand was filled with black coffee that splashed with every step. Inevitably, he crashed into me, knocking me on my ass as steaming liquid stained my white shirt and burned my skin. He immediately hung up his phone and apologized.

"Oh, I am so sorry," he held out a hand for me. I took it, noticing his accent.

"You're not from around here, are you?" I'd muttered, peeling my shirt away from my skin but not over my head.

"Just moved from Ireland," he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "I came to stay with a friend- but judging by that phone call... I'd say we aren't friends anymore."

"Well, have you got a job?" I asked, not really interested in small talk, but rather in his sapphire eyes.

"I have an interview scheduled for tomorrow, but no income as of yet. I'm just living off my savings."

"Hmm," I said thoughtfully, checking out his tight fitting black tee. "Come back with me to my house so I can get cleaned up and then you can treat me to lunch while we work on getting you a job and somewhere to live. I'm Mark, by the way."

"Jack," he'd smiled.

We found him an apartment just down the street from my place, and I decided that I would hire him to house sit while I traveled, which was quite often. I didn't really need a house-sitter, I just wanted an excuse to see him again. He intrigued me, with his pointy, elven ears and animated blue eyes. His Irish accent almost made me want to bend him backwards and press my mouth to his in an attempt to taste the tongue that said my name so pleasurably. But I managed to contain myself, for three months we remained nothing more than friends... Until I came back from a particularly horrible business trip.

"Welcome home, Mark," he greeted me with a warm smile, but it faded when he saw my expression. "Oh no, are you okay?"

"I'm really stressed out," I groaned as he took my suitcases and set them in the hallway outside my room.

"I'm sorry to hear that, is there anything I could do to help?" He returned to me, his eyes wide and overly innocent.

"I know this is probably a little too much to ask..." I rubbed my neck as I walked into the living room, him following close behind. "But would you massage my shoulders?" I tugged off my tie and suit jacket, flinging them over the arm chair as I turned to face him.

He shrugged, and smiled politely. "Sure thing, boss. Want me to put on some coffee too?"

"No, just some calm music, please," I sighed, happy to have someone so dutiful and caring.

He turned on Clair De Lune, dimmed the lights and got behind me as I sat on the couch, facing my back to him. His quick hands worked wonders on my tensed muscles, and before I could help myself, I unbuttoned my shirt, sliding it off my shoulders and loving how his breath caught in his throat when I did so. I pressed back into his hands, urging him to keep working whatever Irish spell he had me stuck under. I was almost moaning in relief, leaning farther and farther back until he asked me if I wanted to lay down. I nodded and flung my shirt on the chair as well.

"Let's go to my room," I said as suggestively as I could manage. He gulped and followed me. I lay facedown on my crimson bedding, realizing that this was probably the first time he's ever seen my room. He got on his knees by my side, but the angle was not to his advantage.

"Um-"

"Just fling your leg over me, it's fine," I mumbled into a golden pillow. I'd never felt such an intense release as when he touched me. He did as ordered and began working on my lower back, pressing his thumbs expertly against my aching body. I never wanted his hands to leave my burning skin.

"Am I doing good, Mark?"

"Oh hell yes," I laughed, shivering at how low his voice had gotten when he said my name. He pressed harder, moving up and down and even in circles, his body over mine. I moaned inadvertently and he chuckled with a dark sort of lust, leaning even closer to me. I felt the heat coming off him and I knew, even before he kissed down my back, I knew that he wanted me.

We woke up the next morning tangled like a tan and white rope wrapped in crimson, perfectly comfortable together. He was my addiction, but I couldn't ever tell anyone about him. I was Mark Edward Fischbach, heir to millions- but I was expected to marry before I ever saw a cent. And even though gay marriage had been legalized, I would be shamed if I chose Jack as my forever. I told him this, and he was disappointed, but claimed to understand.

A year passed, and my parents told me that I had to settle down, soon. Jack had moved in with me by then, using the cover of cleaning my house for payment. When I brought home my girlfriend, he burst into tears and ran into a guest bathroom before I could explain to him that she was just for show. Though I hadn't really told her that part, and she likely would have stormed out right then. So I took her to bed. I knew it was wrong, but god damn it, it was what she expected. He wouldn't look at me the next morning when I came out of my room in nothing but my boxer-briefs. He was in the kitchen, making breakfast.

"Morning," I went up behind him and his whole body tensed at my touch.

"Please don't, Mark. Not now."

I stepped away and ran a hand through my black hair, refusing to let him get to me. "I still care about you," I touched his back, letting my hand slide down his cotton tee. He remained silent and I grabbed his hips, pulling his body against mine.

"Just don't!" He cried, squirming out of my grasp. He spun around, his eyes red and puffy. "How can you care about me- but turn your back and fuck some whore you met and thought would satisfy your parents! You obviously care more about her than me! But why? Why do you need her? You don't need the millions, you have a job that pays you about five-hundred grand a year! Are you just embarrassed of me? Is that it?"

"N-no, Jack, never..." I didn't know what to say, I'd made a mistake.

"Then what is it, Mark? What are you so afraid of?!" I stayed quiet, my lower lip trembling. Before I could find my voice, I was crying, miserably whimpering as I leaned against the counter. "Hey," he murmured. He wrapped me in a hug, sighing out an apology.

"Don't apologize to me," I muttered against his chest. "I'm undeserving."

Several more months passed, and according to the rest of the world, Melissa and I were the perfect couple. But behind closed doors, Jack was my Irish prince. He accepted his role, and our nights together came to be a cherished occurrence. There was still jealousy in his eyes whenever Melissa would cuddle with me on the couch, but he knew it meant nothing to me. I was just doing this for the money, so we could move to Ireland and live in a castle somewhere free of hate.

This fantasy didn't last long though, as Melissa went through my texts to Jack as I showered one morning. "What the fuck is this?" She shouted when I came out of the bathroom. I saw my phone in her hand and I knew instantly what she had read. I told her that Jack and I were goofing around while she modeled all day, and she demanded it stopped. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and swore it was over. Later that evening, I pulled Jack outside and kissed his forehead while apologizing.

"What are you sorry for?" He asked, his eyes just as beautiful as the day we'd met.

"This has to stop."

"What- what are you saying?!" He stepped back, ripping his hands from mine.

"Our nights mean nothing to me, Jack. We've grown apart."

"We've only grown apart because we rarely get to be together! You're fucking kidding me, Mark!"

"I'm sorry, I just can't," I hissed through clenched teeth. Oh how badly I wanted to pull him into my arms and hold him against me until the sun rose...

"Can't what? Is this about the money?" His voice rose, nearing deafening levels. "IT'S ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY ISN'T IT?" I didn't say a word. I would be able to explain it all as soon as I got Melissa to marry me, then divorce me when I got my inheritance. I was so certain that I could get him back- we'd been together for so long. So I told myself to wait until I had the money and was free from Melissa. After that, Jack and I could be together forever.

But forever never came. Jack left me, and took all of my willpower with him. Melissa and I got engaged. My parents were pleased, but I had never been more depressed. He never answered my texts or calls, and eventually deactivated his phone. I didn't know what to do but continue on, living my pathetic life of lies. I stayed awake several nights just asking myself why. He was right- we didn't need the millions, I could have been perfectly fine with just us and a cardboard box. But I was selfish. I wanted more, I wanted fortune. I already had love and good looks, fortune was all I wanted after that. But if I couldn't have my Irish lover to share it with- what value did it have? I'd trade a million dollars for a million of his kisses, or his crooked smiles...

I was at work when I got the call. I answered like a zombie, just a shell of my former self. But when the voice on the other end told me that a young Irish male had overdosed on sleeping pills in his hotel room, I felt my heart burst in my chest. There was no way I'd get through this alive. I rushed to the hospital, but I was too late. My prince had died. The police interrogated me and I told them he was staying with me until my fiancée got pissed and asked him to leave. They handed me an unopened letter with my full name carefully scrawled on the front.

"Mark, you were everything to me. You were the first thing that put a smile on my face since I first set foot in America.  I never expected to find a brown-eyed God, let alone spill coffee down him. Each night we spent together meant the world to me.The fact that you gave us up for some meaningless cash only shows me how little I meant to you. I'll always love you, even if it's unrequited. I'm so sorry it had to come to this, but I can't imagine a forever without you by my side. You were my first, and my last. Yours forever, Jack."

I broke it off with Melissa that night. I didn't care about the money anymore. I only wanted the money in the first place so I could give Jack the life he deserved: a life that we could share. But now that he was dead, I had no reason to be with Melissa. Nights passed in drunken blurs, whore after whore taking up Jack's place on my bed- but none ever fulfilling his place in my heart. These one night stands are meaningless, all of them.

The current girl stirs, disgusting me with every breath she takes. I just met her, and I already can't wait to be rid of her. I let the tears flow, this becoming my nightly ritual of laying in bed sick with regret at three AM.