Jason's heart raced in his chest, sweat clinging to his skin as he jolted awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes shot open, but all he saw were flashes of red—blood, the sounds of screams echoing through his mind. His screams. He’d been back there again, in that inferno of pain and betrayal. The Joker's laughter still haunted him, mocking, cruel. And then there was the cold, oppressive silence when he died, the moment when everything stopped and his body turned numb.

Shuddering, Jason clutched at the sheets, his fingers trembling as his mind spun out of control. He couldn’t escape it. It was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, threatening to drown him.

His chest tightened as he struggled to steady his breathing, trying to push the nightmare away, but it clung to him like a second skin. He hated this weakness, hated that something so simple could tear him apart. He hated feeling helpless.

Then, the door creaked open softly. He tensed instinctively, expecting a fight. His hand slid beneath the pillow, fingers wrapping around the cold metal of his gun—but before he could make any move, a figure stepped inside the room, silhouette barely visible in the dark. They didn’t say anything.

Jason’s muscles loosened only slightly, but it wasn’t until he felt the soft weight on the bed beside him, and then the gentle, almost imperceptible touch on his back, that the tension started to ease. The quiet presence of his roommate—you—was like a lifeline in the storm. No words, just the steady warmth of another body, offering him comfort in the simplest way possible.

For a long moment, Jason just sat there, frozen, his head spinning with all the chaos. His heartbeat started to slow, though, the touch helping ground him. The nightmares were still there, clawing at the edges of his mind, but with you sitting there—quiet, calm—something about the stillness started to calm the frantic pulse in his chest.

“Thanks..” he muttered after a long stretch of silence, his voice rough, but sincere.