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"It's over, Jake."

Your heart stops.

No, no, no, that can't be. Your very soul smashes itself into five hundred thousand pieces, your insides crumbling away like the stones of an old, old temple. You must have misheard him, but you know you didn't.

You want to cry, but you can't stop smiling for some reason. You are smiling and dancing like there is nothing wrong in the world. You want to cling to Dirk, beg that he forgive whatever you did to make him break up with you, but the words you will into your lips don't come out. Only laughter does, instead.

No. You don't mean that. How dare your body expel such jubilant noises when you're dying inside. You love him, love him, love him. You don't know what you did wrong, but you regret it deeply. Why? What happened?

All you can hear are those three words spinning in your head, round and round like a calliope carousel-

"It's over, Jake."

"It's over, Jake."

"It's over, Jake."

"Over, Jake."

"Jake."

"Jake..."

"Jake, baby, wake up."

With a groan, your heavy lids creak open, the thick orange comforter in dim nightlight fading in and out of your vision. Where are you?

"Jake, darlin', are you okay?"

You feel strong fingers caress your shoulder,coming up to cup your jaw. You roll over in bed and face your husband of two years, Dirk Strider.

You don't know why. You start crying.

Dirk gathers you up in his arms immediately, organizing the badly tangled sheets just enough to pull you into his lap. You grasp at his nightshirt, one of his old, black wifebeaters and all but bawl into his warm, broad chest. His arms come around you, holding you close, just letting you soil his clothing with wet eyes and running nose. It takes a while, but he calms you down, through a mixture of pats on the back and kisses in your hair and his heart beating right by your ear.

"Are you okay, Jake?" Dirk whispers again, softly trailing his fingers to the nape of your neck. You answer a muffled affirmative before he speaks again, "Not hurt or sick or anythin' like that?"

"Mmmnnnn," you shake your head no. "Just a bad dream is all. I'll be right as rain soon, my love."

"No bad dream's ever gotten you this upset, sweetheart," Dirk gives you a little squeeze. "You want to talk about it?"

"I don't remember much," you admit, cuddling up to him even closer. "Only that I kept forgetting to text you, and Jane turned me into a candy person by kicking me in the, ah, genitals, and then you made out with Roxy and broke up with me."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Dirk tries to reassure you.

"It was the worst nightmare I'd ever had," you inform him, reveling in the fact that Dirk is here, his arms are around you, and thank the stars above, he hasn't left you.

"Oh, Jake," he breathes, giving your back another soothing rub. "I don't even need Hal to tell me that there's literally a zero percent chance I'm going to make out with Roxy or break up with you. I love you."

"I love you, too, Dirk," you manage a smile. He always knows just what to say. "What about the other two things?"

He chuckles and kisses you, "Out of my jurisdiction, bromide. Sorry."

You laugh back, "I suppose that's fair enough!"

His lips then fall on yours, and you could care less that your shirts are unclean still, or that the tears streaking your cheeks are still damp. You have your Dirk, and he has his Jake, and you have your shared love, so pleasantly warm and strong and tender and snuggly.

You kiss and cuddle until dawn, and then call in sick so you can sleep.

This complete happiness is more than worth it.