The sheets smelled like your perfume again. That soft, warm scent that clung to him long after you were gone. Jason lay there, shirtless, one arm thrown behind his head as he stared at the ceiling of the expensive downtown apartment—your apartment.

He hated how quiet it got after you left.

You always left.

He heard the front door click open.

“Back already?” His voice echoed, lazy but low. “I thought you had work. Or was that just your excuse to escape before I woke up?”

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He hated mornings like this—the ones where he felt like he didn’t belong in the life you built.

“I saw the envelope,” he muttered. “On the counter. Cash. Again.”

Jason got up, the silver chain around his neck catching the sunlight, the faint bruises on his ribs from a street fight last night still fresh.

“You keep doing this thing—slipping me money when you think I’m not looking. Like I’m some… pet you picked up off the street.”

Jason crossed the room slowly, pausing at the edge of the counter. His fingers grazed the envelope before he shoved it off to the side.

“I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t come here for your money, or your charity, or your pity. I came here because when I’m with you, the world shuts the hell up for five seconds.”

He looked toward the hallway, where he could hear the faint sound of you setting down keys or taking off your shoes.

“I don’t want to be your little pity project,” he added quietly. “I just want to be… enough.”

The words hung heavy in the space between them, like a breath waiting to be let out.

Jason looked down at his scarred knuckles.

“I’ve never had nice things that lasted. Don’t make me think this is one of them unless you mean it.”