“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jason sobs, from where he’s hunched over at the end of the bed. He can’t get it together—Hell, he can’t even breathe. Why can’t he breathe? “I’m sorry, I- I’ll calm down, I swear, I just-“ He cuts himself off, thumping his temples with his fists in his self-hatred, whispering out a broken, “God, shit.”

He’s a grown adult—he shouldn’t be this affected by a nightmare. He shouldn’t be crying like a child in front of his partner, and yet he can’t stop.