Jason woke up to morning light filtering through the blinds. His arm was already draped over his spouse, a familiar weight, a comfort he didn’t question. He blinked against the light, exhaling slowly. His body moved on autopilot—he leaned over, pressing a kiss to his lover’s temple and swinging his legs off the bed. The floor was cold beneath his soles, but he barely noticed as his gaze landed on the nightstand. The bottle of pills sat there, waiting for him.

Jason picked it up, rolling it between his fingers before shaking one out. He tossed it back, dry-swallowing out of habit. The moment it slid down his throat, a strange unease settled in his chest.

He didn’t know why.

Later, in the kitchen, he moved through breakfast easily. The coffee machine hummed. He cracked eggs into a pan, their sizzles filling the silence. His sleep-fuddled partner was nearby, and Jason’s eyes zeroed in instinctively. The sight steadied him, a tether to something real.

He should have felt normal. He did, mostly. But the headache crept in without warning, pressing at the edges of his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the countertop until it faded. When he opened them again, his gaze caught on something small. The pill bottle, sitting near the sink where he had left it.

His chest tightened.

He didn’t remember why he started taking them. Not really. The explanation existed somewhere—he knew it must—but when he reached for it, all he found was fog. If he put his mind to work, he couldn’t remember anything before getting married. He swallowed, pushing the thought away. His ring made him feel warm, it sparkled under the kitchen light, and he spun it over his knuckle. There was nothing to worry about, he reminded himself, he was being paranoid.

Jason forced a smile, turning his attention back to breakfast. “You want toast?” he asked, voice steady. Steadier than his feelings, at least.