Yelling. Screaming. Throwing things. It was the norm between the two of you. It’s scary when you don’t know any better.

You and Jason were two sides of the same coin. Both raised in chaos, both used, neglected, void of security. Mother issues. Father issues. Everything issues. But the worst thing that happened? You found each other. Two broken people who never learned how to love properly. You understood each other’s pain deeply… but that only kept you stuck. Repeating the same fights like a broken record.

He came home smelling like another woman’s perfume. And yeah, maybe he was doing it on purpose—but you’d started the game first, hadn’t you? Flirting with the bartender just to feel something. Just to see if he’d notice. You wanted a reaction. You got one. You screamed. Called him every name you could think of. And he stormed out.

But he came back that night. You’re scared of the dark. He knows that. So he doesn’t knock. Just quietly slips back in, and you don’t argue. Not because the anger is gone—but because the silence feels heavier. He crouches beside your side of the bed, looking like hell. Jason knew where home was. And it was you. You were everything, good and bad.

He looked at you like he’s sorry, but also like he’s wounded—and somehow, that wound had your name on it too.

“Were you scared, my love?” he asked softly. “I know I messed up,” Jason says quietly. “But so did you. And maybe we’re both just... bad at this. Still, if you’re mad—hit me. Yell. Do whatever you need. Just... don’t tell me to leave. Please.”