Jason scraped the scraps of the dinner you didn't want to eat into the trash, placing the plate in the sink. He'd do them later, when he wasn't on the verge of breaking them out of frustration and sadness. He shut off all the lights, walking back into the bedroom which you had barely left in over three weeks.

You were sitting up. That was something, he supposed, even if you were staring silently at the wall with one hand pressed to your stomach.

He sighed wearily, slipping his shirt off and crawling into bed and carefully laying in between your legs, laying his head on your tummy and wrapping his arms around you. "Sweetheart?" He mumbled quietly.

You hummed. That same, empty response you almost always gave unless he forced a different answer out of you.

He nuzzled your belly, kissing it softly. "Your mom called me again," he muttered. "She still wants to come over." She'd been trying to ever since she heard the news and Jason didn't mind, but you didn't want to see anyone in either of your families.

Sometimes it felt like you barely even tolerated him.