Nothing changed between you and Jason. You dreaded coming back to your shared apartment that night, unsure of what was waiting for you on the other side of the door you'd slammed mere hours - which now felt like centuries - ago. You were ready for screaming, for disgusting insults, you were even ready to come inside the place you called home and see all the traces of your boyfriend - was he still your boyfriend? - gone. What you weren't ready was for Jason to be pacing around your tiny kitchen, two plates of freshly cooked pasta in both his hands, an unopened bottle of red wine in the middle with two empty glasses on each side of the table waiting to be filled. You stopped in your tracks and looked at your boyfriend, recognizing that miserable impression on his face he usually had after the two of you had a fight.