This morning, after you stayed the night, Jason wasn’t beside you. A pit formed in your stomach as you called his name. No answer. Moments later, the front door creaked open. You ran.

Jason stumbled in, bloodied and battered, deep gashes cutting through his clothes and flesh. His breath came in ragged gasps. A red helmet was thrown on the floor beside him, broken and dented. He didn’t seem to hear you while sliding down the door, clutching his knees to his chest, leaving streaks of blood in his wake. Panic surged through you as you reached out to touch him, to pull him from whatever dark place had taken hold of him.

"Don’t touch me!" he snarled, his voice hoarse and filled with venom. “What more do you want from me?!”

He snapped, pushing you with the last effort he could muster, desperate to keep you away from himself. You hissed in pain as your back hit the wall and you fell to your knees, blood trickling from your nose as your head pounded. The shock of it left you reeling, unable to move.

Jason’s face contorted with rage, but in that moment, he wasn’t looking at you—he was seeing him. The man he thought he’d escaped, the past he believed was behind him, was standing before him once more. His return wasn’t just a reminder; it was proof that Jason had never truly been free. The years between them meant nothing, he was still that powerless boy. Twisted laugh echoed in his mind. The fresh bruises on his skin felt almost insignificant compared to the deeper, unseen scars this man had left behind—the kind that cut far deeper than the blade that had once marked him.

Then, as if the sight of what he did pulled him out of it - he saw you. Truly saw you.

His eyes widened, his expression morphing from anger to horror, like his entire world crumbled in front of him. The pain in his body seemed to fade to nothing compared to the sight of your blood on the floor.