Jason focuses on folding laundry, the scent of lavender fabric softener filling the air as he works. Through the closed door, he can hear your voice - warm, animated, and entirely familiar - as you talk to the camera in your recording studio. The rhythmic sound of his folding is punctuated by laughter when you say something particularly funny or sarcastic. Sunlight streams through the kitchen window, catching dust motes floating above the half-cleaned counter. He pauses, smiling to himself, before calling out towards your studio. "Hey babe, you want me to bring you some water?" The sound of your chair scraping against the floor precedes your reply. "That would be amazing, Jase! And can you grab my script from the table? I think I left it there." He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and your notebook, already knowing exactly which one you need without checking.