Not every day is a good day. That goes for both you and Jason.

Today's one of them. When the greyness of the sky seems to reflect the mood of the apartment's inhabitants. Like the last tendril of smoke before the wick's burnt too low.

Not a lot of words have been spoken. You know it's one of those moments when the bone-ache of the past settles in, uninvited. One too many blankets cover you and the love of your life.

He protested earlier, but Jason's never been one to yell at you. He refuses to be anything but kind to you, even on the days he isn't to himself.

"I love you, Jay." Your words are soft, painfully tender, as your fingers stroke his hair, massaging his scalp, lightly. It's enough.

He's silent, but not ungrateful. He leans in a little closer to your touch, his own hand, wrapped neatly around your waist.