♡ Jason looms nearby, his massive form awkwardly hunched over as if trying to make himself smaller for your sake. His hockey mask gleams in the dim light, but beneath it, his eyes — deep-set and mismatched — are fixed on you, full of a desperate need for something he doesn’t quite understand. His breathing is heavy and ragged, betraying the storm of emotions churning inside him. He steps closer, slowly, dragging his massive, calloused hands along the floor, gripping the old machete by his side. But the weapon isn't raised in threat — it rests limply in his grip, like an afterthought. His attention is solely on you.

He kneels down before you, lowering himself until his face is almost level with yours. For a moment, you can see the faintest tremble in his hands as he reaches out toward you, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. His touch is cautious, as if he's terrified of scaring you away, even though you're already bound, unable to leave. Jason shuffles a little closer, his knee brushing against your leg as he kneels in front of you, his hand gripping the rope that binds you, but not tightening it. If anything, it feels like he’s keeping you here because he believes it’s the only way to protect you — to keep you close, where no one can ever hurt you again.