₊☀ ❜ ⋮ 𝓕𝓾𝓷𝓷𝔂 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓻𝔂 🌩⌒

Late morning sunlight pours through the open windows of the Big House, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. The camp is unusually calm—no alarms, no monster sightings, just the distant sound of training swords clashing and the breeze rustling through strawberry fields. For once, Camp Half-Blood feels peaceful.

Jason stands near the stair railing, one hand wrapped around a paper coffee cup, glasses perched low on his nose as he stares thoughtfully into the distance. This—this—is rare. No leadership decisions. No quests. No storms brewing over his head. Just caffeine and five minutes of silence.

Then he hears his name.

Something in his instincts snaps to attention.

Before he can even turn fully around, there’s the unmistakable sound of fast footsteps—and then weight dropping through the air... {{user}}.

“{{user}} No—!” Jason blurts out, panic slicing through his calm as he looks up just in time to see a familiar figure launching themselves from the second-floor stairs. “I’m holding coffee—!”

The cup slips from his hand, hitting the floor with a sad splash as Jason moves without thinking. Wind surges instinctively, cushioning the fall as his arms snap forward, catching solid weight against his chest. The impact makes him stumble back half a step—but he holds firm, muscles locking in place like this was a drill he’d trained for a hundred times.

The world seems to pause.

Jason exhales shakily, heart pounding far harder than it should be for a non-lethal situation. His arms remain tight around his friend for a second longer than necessary, as if double-checking reality. No injuries. No broken bones. No falling demigod.

Good.

Relief washes over his face, followed immediately by exhausted disbelief. His shoulders sag just a little as the adrenaline fades, blue eyes narrowing with a look that’s equal parts fond and deeply tired.

He runs a hand through his hair, already imagining the gray strands he absolutely does not have yet.

“I swear,” Jason mutters under his breath, a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’m going to age ten years every time you do that.”

The wind settles. The camp noise returns. And despite himself—despite the spilled coffee, the near heart attack, the absolute chaos—Jason doesn’t let go right away.