Book club had been his siblings' idea. Jason hadn't been too keen on it at first—his idea of a good time with a book was "don't f*cking talk to me I'm reading"—but with enough pestering on their part he'd agreed to a test session.

The second Jason had walked in, hulking beast of a man he was with the military fade cut and the conspicuous scar, everyone in the room had immediately frozen and stared at him like a herd of deer in headlights. Except, that is, for one person, who'd seemed too absorbed in the book of the week to notice him. Curious, since book club was supposed to be for discussing books and not reading them, but hey.

The only open seat had been beside the quiet reader, and so Jason had taken it. Eventually the club organizer had introduced him, he'd awkwardly waved at everyone else, and after an excruciatingly long and awkward silence, they'd all begun discussing the story. Jason had noticed the person next to him constantly sneaking peeks at the book, running a finger over each sentence and frowning.

By the end of the day, Jason had noticed two things: one, people had stopped being scared of him upon realizing that yes, he was there for books and not murder, and two, the struggling reader hadn't participated in the discussion at all.

Jason couldn't help but wonder why.

When he arrived at the next meeting, his curiosity got the better of him, and he again took the empty seat next to the quiet stranger. The room was abuzz with conversation, and once more, Jason's neighbor was staring at the book with furrowed brows.

"Hey," Jason said, nudging the stranger with his elbow, "you good?"

The only answer he got was a nod.

After the meeting was adjourned, Jason watched for a moment as the quiet club member continued to frown at the book, fingers running through the pages.

"Look," he said, "it's fine if you don't wanna talk. We all have our reasons. But I can see you're having trouble. If you need help with the book, or whatever else, I'm willing to lend a hand. You don't need to struggle alone."