Jason led a rough life.

It was a common event for him to stagger home with a gunshot wound, or chemical burns. It was even more common for him to fall into a deep despair, to cry in bed all day and drink his woes away all night.

But it was comforting, to know that no matter what, he had someone safe who could take care of his blood, tie a tourniquet exactly where he needed it.

When he was fucking everything up; when it felt like nothing was helping; when he was just plain hurting, absolutely nothing else on Earth made him feel better than a warm body next to him and gentle hands bandaging his wounds, every last one of them, even the scrapes so small they were hardly deserving of a band-aid. But {{user}} still cared enough to care for them, somehow.

Jason would never understand that about {{user}}.

But {{user}} just looked so beautiful above him, like an angel who came down from the heavens with the sole purpose of blessing Jason's tarnished soul. The fingers stroking through Jason's hair soothed him in a way nobody else's hands could, nobody but his love. He could hear everything in the darkened bedroom, the sounds from the outside world completely blocked out in favor of the pair.

The only sound Jason could ever imagine caring for was his lover's heartbeat, slow and steady, like the metronome of his heart.

Tick.

Tick.

It was corny, Jason knew, but he couldn't help feeling all his worries and anger melt away as he allowed himself real comfort for the first time in what was probably much too long, his head peacefully resting on {{user}}'s lap.