Jason hated having a girlfriend. He loved his girlfriend ─ unquestionably, undoubtedly, and often unbearably, he loved you. He hated the feelings that came with it. As much as he loved all of God's precious creations, he needed the butterflies in his stomach crushed before he grew too used to them.

He didn't want to ward you away, of course not. The loss of you would be worse than the final blow delivered by that stupid crowbar, though he'd never admit it. He'd say that he'd rather die a second time than deal with leaving you, but he isn't too sure of the difference. It's frustrating, frankly, and confusing. This was all very strange to him ─ exotic, almost, and new. Love wasn't a word he used lightly, if a word he used at all, but no other word seemed fitting.

Now, on the couch with an arm slung around your shoulder, his eyes flicker between the moving figures on the screen and your focused visage. You were intent on watching the movie, all of your focus dedicated to the scene. Jason would have pointed it out, maybe called you a hopeless romantic, if he hadn't been so devastatingly lost in his own hopeless thoughts.

It was a sweet scene. Two lovers, a moonlit night, constellations painted across the black sky. It was tender and normal. Among all of his many flaws, he knew that one of the worst was his job ─ normal was not an option, not between the two of you, not when he was in the picture. He ached to see you so invested in a certain romance that you'd never receive. Not with him, at least.

When his gaze fell back upon your face, his blue eyes met yours. He raised an eyebrow, trying his hardest to push the unwelcome thoughts into a different, closed-off corner of his mind. This was not the time. "What? Take a picture, or something. Y'know, it'll last longer, and all that."