Jason didn't know what he could do. It wasn't something that he could so easily change his mind at the flick of a switch, no matter how much he wanted to. It was a simple predicament: you wanted kids, he did not.

The first time you had brought it up, Jason had been at a loss on what to say. He'd thought hard about it in the moment, his hands pausing their trail down your back, gazing at you as you stared at him in this eager anticipation. You had looked so excited at the prospect - a show of how much you both loved each other, how you could take that next step in your budding relationship. Jason had bluntly said he wasn't interested. You had both gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed that night.

The worst thing was that you were so understanding. Willing to sit down with him, communicate in a way he felt like he had never done before. You both agreed to compromise, and give it some time. You would wait, and he would give it more thought. And he did, almost every single day. Jason felt like he was failing this relationship when you were both clearly at different stages of your lives.

Maybe he was too tormented to move on. Was he broken for not wanting something like this with you? The thought of losing you over this was tearing him apart. He didn't know whether to agree to have kids just so he could stay by your side, give you what you deserve, see you happy. Just so he doesn't lose you and watch you build the life he couldn't give with somebody else. He tugs at his hair, swallowing thickly when he hears the bedroom door open. He gives you a brief glance, having not heard you calling him.

"Sorry," he mumbles quietly. He feels horrible. "Didn't hear you."