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The door clicks shut behind Jason with a quiet finality. The sound echoes in his head, louder than it should be. He stands there for a second in the dim entryway of Brock’s apartment, his bag hanging heavy from his shoulder, his fingers still wrapped around the doorknob like he’s afraid to let go.
Brock watches from the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch with Cerberus sprawled at his feet. The TV is on but muted—some grainy war documentary Brock probably put on out of habit, not interest. His eyes are glued to Jason, quiet and careful, as though one wrong move will make him bolt.
Jason doesn’t bolt. He just… stands there.
Slowly, he exhales and lets go of the door. The apartment smells like Brock’s aftershave and coffee—homey, familiar. The weight in Jason’s chest shifts slightly, like something inside him is loosening for the first time all day. His bag drops to the floor with a dull thud, and he scrubs a hand over his face. His wedding ring catches the light—a glint of gold that feels like an accusation.
Brock doesn’t ask how it went. He knows. It’s written all over Jason’s face—the rawness in his eyes, the slumped line of his shoulders.
Jason’s voice is rough when he finally speaks. "She... uh. She wants space. Time apart."
Brock’s brow furrows, but he nods, staying quiet.
Jason swallows hard, his fingers fidgeting with the ring again. "Told her I’d go to Ray’s." He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound empty and brittle. "So, yeah. Technically, I’m at Ray’s."
Brock leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. "You don’t have to explain it to me."
But Jason does. He feels like he has to. The weight of what he’s doing—what they’ve been doing—feels unbearable right now, pressing into his chest like a fist. He slides the ring off without thinking, the metal band resting in his palm.
"I told her I’d try," Jason mutters, staring down at the ring. "We’d try. But…" He trails off, his throat tightening.
Brock doesn’t push. He never does. He watches, his gaze steady but pained. Jason hates that look—the one that says I know this hurts, but I’m still here.
"You didn’t ask for this," Brock says softly.
Jason’s laugh is sharp this time, bitter and raw. "Didn’t I?"
Brock winces at the implication. He knows Jason doesn’t mean it like that, but it still stings, like salt in a wound they both pretend doesn’t exist most days.
"I’m sorry," Jason mutters as he drops onto the couch beside Brock, leaning forward until his forearms rest on his knees. He rolls the ring between his fingers, the weight of it foreign now that it’s no longer on his hand. He wonders if Alana felt the same weightlessness when she suggested the separation—or if her heart was heavier for it.
Brock shifts slightly, and Jason can feel his gaze—sharp but uncertain.
"I shouldn’t be talking to you about this." Jason presses his fingers to his temple, like he’s trying to will the spiral away. He sounds almost ashamed, which makes Brock’s chest tighten. "You don’t deserve this."
"Why?" Brock’s voice is steady, but something beneath it is fragile.
Jason finally turns to look at him. "Because you shouldn’t have to hear me… talk about her." He waves his hand vaguely. "About us."
The room falls silent again. The words hang there, heavy and uncomfortable. Brock leans back against the couch, crossing his arms as though trying to keep something in check.
"You think I don’t already know?" Brock says quietly. "You think I haven’t been watching you rip yourself in half for months?" His tone isn’t angry, but there’s a rawness there. "I know how much this is messing you up, Jason. I’m not blind."
Jason’s jaw tightens, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Brock’s honesty. "That’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to… deal with this. With me."
Brock’s eyes darken. "You don’t get to decide what I can handle." He softens slightly, reaching out to touch Jason’s knee, just briefly. "I knew what this was when it started."
Jason’s breath catches at the warmth of Brock’s hand, and he turns, meeting Brock’s gaze—really meeting it this time. "Did you?" Jason whispers.
Brock’s silence speaks louder than words.
The unspoken truth sits heavy between them. This was never supposed to be more than stolen moments, quiet touches behind closed doors. But it is more. It’s been more for a while now. They both know it.
"I feel like I’ve failed," Jason admits, his voice low, broken. "Like I couldn’t make it work, no matter how hard I tried."
Brock shifts closer, resting his forehead against Jason’s shoulder for a second, grounding him. Jason’s breath catches at the quiet intimacy of it.
"You didn’t fail, Jase," Brock says quietly. "Sometimes… people just grow apart." His voice tightens despite himself. "Even when they love each other."
Jason’s shoulders tense briefly before they relax under Brock’s touch. "It doesn’t feel that simple."
"It never is," Brock agrees.
Jason leans back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion. He’s careful not to disturb Brock. "I don’t even know who I am without her," he admits quietly. "I’ve been with Alana so long, I don’t… I don’t know how to be me without that."
Brock hesitates before shifting closer, his knee brushing Jason’s. His hand comes up to clutch Jason’s elbow, his chin resting on Jason’s shoulder. "Then maybe it’s not about figuring out who you are without her. Maybe it’s about figuring out who you are—period."
Jason closes his eyes briefly, letting Brock’s words sink in. They sit there in silence until Cerberus lifts his head and pads over, resting his chin on Jason’s lap. Jason huffs a soft, surprised laugh, his hand automatically stroking behind Cerberus’s ears.
"See?" Brock says, his voice gentler now. "Even Cerb thinks you’re supposed to be here."
Jason glances down at the dog, who stares at him with calm, trusting eyes. Cerberus’s tail thumps once against the floor, as if to emphasize Brock’s point. Jason scratches under his jaw and murmurs, "Traitor."
Jason turns his head slightly, just enough to brush his cheek against Brock’s hair. "I don’t want to talk about her anymore."
Brock hesitates—because part of him knows Jason needs to talk about it—but he also knows how hard it must be for Jason to sit here, trying to pick apart the threads of his life while sitting in his lover’s apartment.
"Okay," Brock says softly. "Then we won’t."
Jason tilts his head back and exhales a breath that feels like release. He shifts so that their legs press together, needing the contact more than words.
Brock smiles at that and presses a quick kiss to Jason’s shoulder. Jason lets out a slow breath. "You sure you’re okay with this? Me being here?"
Brock looks at him, eyes steady and soft. "Yeah." He pauses, and there’s something else beneath the surface. "I just don’t want you to regret it."
Jason’s gaze sharpens, something flickering behind his eyes. He turns slightly, brushing his thumb along Brock’s cheek.
"You don’t get it," Jason murmurs, the words careful but unshakable. "You’re the only part of this that doesn’t feel like a mistake."
Brock’s breath catches at that. His fingers instinctively curl into Jason’s shirt, holding on to that truth like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
Cerberus shifts at their feet again, snuffling like he knows exactly what’s happening. Brock huffs out a laugh against Jason’s shoulder. "You’re taking up all his space."
Jason chuckles quietly. "Nah, I think he’s fine." He reaches down to scratch behind Cerberus’s ears again. "He knows where he belongs."
Brock’s eyes soften. "Yeah," he says, his voice quiet but sure. "I guess he does."
Jason leans in then, pressing his forehead to Brock’s. Their breaths mingle in the small space between them, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the separation, the guilt, the uncertainty of what comes next. Jason’s throat tightens again, but this time, it’s not just from sadness—it’s from the quiet relief that washes over him. The relief of not having to pretend or be anything other than this.
"Thanks for… letting me stay."
"You’re not just staying." Brock says quietly, "This isn’t temporary if you don’t want it to be."
He pauses, looking at Jason with so much care and something else that Jason can't put into words because it feels too damning. When Brock continues, his voice is quiet but steady. "I need you to know something."
Jason nods, his eyes locked on Brock’s like he’s bracing himself.
It's silent for a moment, and then Brock's running a hand through his curly hair. "I wouldn’t make you leave," Brock tells him quietly. "No matter what. Even if you told me tomorrow that you’re trying to fix things with her and don't want to...to do anything anymore, I wouldn’t..." Brock's voice wavers, but he meets Jason's eyes steadily. "I wouldn’t make you leave."
Jason’s heart stumbles in his chest. He stares at Brock for a moment longer before nodding.