Jack was sitting on the beach, watching the sunset with Sawyer by his side. It had been thirty four days since the crash, and no one had come to rescue them. But Jack did not care about that right now. He only cared about how Sawyer's fingers laced with his; how Sawyer's sun-bleached blond hair was always in his face, unless he put it in a tiny pony tail. He cared about the smirk that Sawyer had on right now as he watched Jack stare him up and down. He didn't care about the fact that Sawyer was smoking a cigarette, and how cigarettes kill you, and that the smoke was blowing in his face. No. It did not matter right now; all that mattered was that he was sitting on this goddamned beach, having a smoke (well, Sawyer was having a smoke) and a drink with his boyfriend.
But then he started thinking about his ex-wife, Sarah, and how everything fell apart. He was suddenly worrying that Sawyer was going to spit those stupid words, "I don't want to do this anymore," then walk away and leave. He was worrying about what would happen when they are rescued, and if Sawyer would break up with him because the public does not like relationships like theirs; they think that it is wrong. And then, Jack thought, Sawyer doesn't give a shit about that. But what about work? Would Jack still have time for Sawyer? Would Sawyer even still love him? Jack frowned.
Sawyer quirked an eyebrow, curious as to what made his boyfriend frown. "What's got you in the dumps all of a sudden, Doc?" He asked.
"It's stupid." The spinal surgeon replied.
The southern man rolled his eyes. "Well, tell me anyway." He demanded. Jack played with his hands, then recited all his worries.
Surprisingly, Sawyer did not interrupt a word Jack said, and even waited a few seconds to make sure the doctor was finished. When he was sure that Jack was indeed finished, he spoke right up. "Jack, none of that matters. I love you, you love me. Yeah, we're stuck on a damned freaky island, and we piss each other off sometimes. Yeah, when we're rescued, it'll change everything. But that don't matter! What matters is right now, and how perfect it is. Shit, Jack; you're always worried about everything. But that's okay, 'cause I ain't worried about nothin'. It's kind of poetic, really. It's perfect." he said, his use of bad grammar slipping in. But that does not matter.
And as Sawyer leaned in to kiss Jack, the doctor was able to relax, and enjoy what really matters.