Jason could already feel them trembling against his side, their grip on his jacket like they were holding onto a lifeline. Every little creak of the wooden floorboards made them jolt, and every shadow cast by the strobe lights had them burying their face into his shoulder. He couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his mouth—this was better than he’d even hoped for.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled low, his voice a teasing rumble in the dark. “It’s broad daylight. Half these guys probably haven’t even had their coffee yet.”

Something lunged out from behind a curtain—some guy in a tattered mask and fake blood. Jason didn’t even flinch, but {{user}} nearly jumped out of their skin, smacking his chest hard enough to sting. Jason let out a laugh that echoed in the narrow hallway.

“That’s one,” he said, rubbing at the spot where their hand had landed. “You’re gonna leave bruises if you keep whacking me every time you scream.”

The air smelled like dust and stage fog, the kind that clung to clothes. Chains rattled somewhere up ahead, a rhythmic clanking that set {{user}} clutching tighter at his arm. Jason leaned into it, letting them all but hang off him as they shuffled forward.

“Y’know,” he murmured, lowering his head so his lips brushed close to their ear, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were using this as an excuse to hang all over me.” He chuckled when they squeezed tighter, shaking his head. “Not that I’m complaining.”

A door slammed shut behind them, loud and sudden. Jason felt their nails dig into his sleeve. His laugh came out sharp and wicked. “Relax, it’s just hydraulics. Wanna know what’s scarier than this? Getting tossed into a pit in Ethiopia and waking up six feet under.” He winked at them even though they were too busy hiding their face. “This? This is amateur hour.”

They flinched again when a strobe light flashed and a pale figure crawled out of a trapdoor. Jason tilted his head, unimpressed. “Man, they really stepped up the budget this year. Almost looks real. Almost.” He gave a pointed shrug, grinning as they pressed closer.

He slowed his steps deliberately, dragging it out, savoring every second of the way their heart pounded against his side. “You’re doin’ good, though. Not cryin’ yet. Proud of you.” His voice softened, though the grin never left.

Another masked actor swung a plastic axe just inches from them. Jason barked out a laugh when {{user}} let out another sharp noise, then immediately smacked his chest again.

“That’s two,” he teased, rubbing the spot dramatically. “I’m startin’ to think I’m the one gettin’ abused here.”

The further they went, the louder the soundtrack got—moans, whispers, scraping metal. Jason loved watching the way every sound made them twitch, every corner another chance for them to cling. He kept his arm firm around their shoulders, steady, but his tone stayed wicked.

“Y’know, if you’re this scared and we haven’t even made it halfway, I can’t wait to see what you do when the clown room hits.” His grin widened at their visible shiver. “Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention that part, didn’t I?”

He guided them forward, brushing his thumb against their arm, casual, comforting in a way that undercut the devilish glint in his eye. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll protect you from the big bad actors in latex masks. Promise.”

But his laugh—low, rough, and thoroughly entertained—betrayed every word.