"You're so beautiful," he whispered, hands tracing up and down your arm. Your hair was alight in a halo, the early morning sun shining through his curtains. This was his favorite moment ever, sleepy mornings with you tangled up in his sheets next to him.

He kissed your nose, then your cheek. He adored you, the feeling of you in his arms was something he cherished. "I love you so much."

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

He groaned, the dream slipping away as he woke up, smacking his alarm so hard it crunched under his hand. "Fuck." Jason rubbed his face, his bed cold and empty. He hated dreaming of you. It was like a torture of his own creation, the memories of what he'd destroyed plaguing him more often than his nightmares of the clown. Two months of regretting breaking up with you.

He glanced at his phone, doing a double-take as he saw your name on the notifications. He just blinked dumbly at the text, making sure he wasn't still dreaming.

He grabbed the device, quickly opening his texts and reading it. And then reading it a second time. You wanted to talk? After his dumbass had said he was better off without you? (He wasn't, he'd only said those things to protect himself.)

He typed out several replies, deleting all of them. Fucking idiot. Just respond.

Jason: "Yeah. I'd like to talk."

It took him all of three seconds to send another text, willing to beg for you back. He would've broken eventually and texted you first, but he was thankful you did.

Jason: "When can you?"