"You're home."

His deep, weary voice startled Jasmine as she crept through the door. Her look of shock quickly congealed and contorted to twisted, disdainful expression.

"Why aren't you at work?" she hissed.

Michael stood up from the kitchen barstool. His imposing shadow loomed over her. She had never been afraid of him, and yet, the way he towered above her made her draw herself inward and put up a flimsy barricade of folded arms. But in that moment, her eyes still fled from his. She knew this conversation would be coming, but now all she wanted to do was crash into bed, and forget about everything for a little while.

"I called off. I was up all night. Worried sick about you." Michael's voice was gruff, like he indeed hadn't slept at all. There was also a hint of knowing mixed in his tone. Jasmine awaited the layers to peel back and reveal Michael's suspicions. He was a detective, after all. Her heart was pounding. She couldn't bear to look in his eyes, the eyes that had always seen the perfect girl, the perfect partner. She had spent so much of their relationship detesting that look. But now, what she feared most is that he would never see that girl again. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but nevertheless Jasmine held out the silent hope that she'd still be that girl for him. She could lie, say she made a mistake, she was drunk, she was drugged— no, she couldn't say that, Michael was a detective. In that moment, she wanted to do anything to wash the lament and disappointment from his eyes. But she couldn't find the courage to open herself to him.

"Well, I was at work. It was a late night, so I stayed at Lauren's," she replied, as coolly as she could.

"You didn't answer my calls," he started up again.

"I was busy, okay?"

"Because of work, right?"

She tightened up her face. "What else would it be?"

Michael choked on his words. His adrenaline had been completely sapped as he found himself hanging in limbo, unable to push himself past the point of no return.

"I don't know," he conceded softly.

"Do you not trust me, Michael? 'Cause if there's no trust in this relationship, then I don't know what we're doing."

His weakness emboldened the petite Jasmine. By now, they were standing eye-to-eye. As he shrank, she grew ever larger.

"It's not that, baby. I trust you, but— I just. I worry about you, that's all. I barely get to see you some days because of work and when I do, you just lock yourself up in the other bedroom and cry."

His heart sank in his chest. "I just wonder 'is it me?' Am I making you unhappy?"

A wave of relief washed away any guilt Jasmine might have been feeling in that instant, at least for a moment. She reached up and caressed his cheek. Her mocha-brown eyes melted him, and then a kiss from her soft lips left him crumbling in her hands.

She opened her eyes again, and softly whined, "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to make you worry. I've just— I've been going through a lot lately. Between school and adjusting to my new job. It's got nothing to do with you. It's just about me. I have to work on me, and there's nothing you can do for that, understand?"

"I get it," he conceded meekly. "But if there's anything you need, anything at all. Jasmine, I'm here."

"I know you are, baby. That's why I love you." She threw her arms around his neck and he embraced her wholeheartedly.

She knew she didn't love him. She had never felt anything for Michael that exceeded the bounds of a close friendship. But, she was used to him and his predictable manner in which they conducted this transactional relationship of theirs. It was definitely transactional, she had convinced herself. At the end of the day, he got to claim the pretty girl he'd always had a crush on, and she got the security and safety in knowing that he was too enamored with her to ever leave, no matter how much she mistreated him. She had come to rely on him to neglect her flaws, and be with her so she never had a chance to feel lonely. She clung to him because he afforded her that convenience. Even if it was just pretend, it was better than being alone. It was the perfect arrangement.

Except, Michael was boring. Their lives together were boring. Like every other day, a bland mosaic of a thousand different sunrises and sunsets painted the exact same way, with nothing in between to distinguish them, there was a certain comfort that accompanied having a relationship that was indistinguishable from any other, and a persistent, gnawing agony every day in craving just the opposite. So, even if it felt wrong, because it was pointless and meaningless and dishonest, she was willing to make it work if it meant not having to face herself alone, and the emptiness that she could never fully bury.

Jasmine lifted her head and kissed him again as she smiled.

"You're the best boyfriend a girl could ask for."