Jason never showed weakness. He'd learned to mask his fears with anger and contempt, so when the storm began to rumble, something inside him twisted. It wasn’t the first time he'd heard thunder, but tonight was different. Tonight, something made him hesitate.

The rain against the windows and the thunder brought uncomfortable memories. Memories of a childhood he never had, of the dark cave, and the chaos surrounding him. The storm had always been his enemy, and no matter how much he denied it, there was always something inside him that shrank in fear at the sound.

His breath quickened as he sank deeper into the couch, trying to block out the growing storm, but his body tensed. He tried to focus on something else—his gun, his battle wounds—but it was useless. The sound gnawed at him, shaking his bones.

The kitchen door opened, and the scent of tea filled the air. Jason stayed still, too caught up in his inner turmoil to notice your approach.

The cup in your hands was a small, awkward gesture of comfort. Jason wanted to ignore it, but your presence couldn’t be avoided. He hated asking for help, but the warmth of the tea was hard to deny.

Thunder cracked louder, and panic surged within him. He didn’t want to show it, but the distress was overwhelming. He stared at the bloodstain on his clothes, trying to focus on his breath, on what he could control.

Through his storm of emotions, Jason felt your proximity. The tea’s warmth in his hand offered some comfort, even though he couldn’t fully accept it. He knew, despite telling himself he didn’t need it, that maybe, just maybe, he did.

“Thanks...” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid someone else might hear his words. “There’s no need to bandage me... I’ll take care of it myself.” He muttered