He had always prided himself on being perfectly in control. In control of himself and his emotions, but most certainly his thoughts.
And yet here he was, head over heels for a crazy blond Iowa boy, dark blue eyes like the abyss of stars. No matter how far away he was they always drew his gaze. A smile that made his stomach feel like a river of stones and his head like a star gone supernova, exploding and collapsing all at once.
He lay in bed, thoughts a million parsecs away, dreaming up all of the countless(endless; infinite) ways Jim would go to war over a feeling. The way he would look and grin that "certified-out-of-my-mind" grin and completely ignore any logical solution, he would sit and grin and tell him that he had a strategy. A strategy! Like the games of chess they played twice a week! And yet more often than not Jim would pull him into some convoluted game of cat-and-mouse where no one knew who was playing who.
And in the end, the pawns were set and the king was cornered, and there was hardly time for a simple, whispered "check mate" before the game came crashing down. And Jim would look at him and grin that self-satisfied grin, and he would be reminded exactly why he agreed to this in the first place.