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Jeff hated how people forgot how young Jack was. No person should have to carry the weight of a franchise, much less a 22-year-old kid. Everyone assumed Jeff was younger than he actually was, but he’d take that over being put under the same pressure as Jack any day. Sometimes Jack would show up at his apartment with his media smile on and Jeff would hold him close and wait for the facade to shatter. He would cook for Jack on those days, whatever he wanted, and he’d make his plate up, making sure he had enough of everything. He’d sit Jack down on his couch and he’d place his plate in front of him. He’d sit maybe a little bit too close, and he’d let Jack rest against him as he ate. When they were both done, Jeff would clean their plates before turning the tv on. Sometimes Jack would lay with his head in Jeff’s lap, and Jeff would run his fingers through his hair, or his hand down his arm. Other times, Jack would just snuggle into Jeff’s side, and Jeff would put an arm around his shoulder to hold him closer. They’d stay like that until the call of sleep became too strong to ignore. If Jack went home, Jeff would insist on driving, and he’d pick him up the next morning. If he stayed, Jeff would tidy up the guest room and make sure he was comfortable. On a few occasions, he offered the other side of his bed, and he woke up with Jack wrapped in his arms. Jeff would make breakfast, real breakfast, for the both of them before seeing Jack off. He’d do whatever it took to take care of the kid, to let him know that the world wasn’t always on his shoulders.