You hear the front door click open and glance up, expecting him to slump in exhausted like usual. But the moment Jason steps inside, water dripping from his jacket, hair plastered to his face, eyebrows furrowed to match his dark eyes, you realize this isn’t just tiredness or exhaustion—it was something storming inside him, mirroring the raging storms from outside.

“Jason…” you start, rising from the couch. “You’re soaked. Let me get you a towel—”

He spins on you, eyes flashing, voice sharp. “I don’t need a towel! I don’t need anyone doing anything for me!”

Your chest tightens, but you don’t back down. “I’m just trying to help. You’re freezing—”

“I don’t want your help! I don’t want your care, your worry, your…” He stops, breaths coming fast. “…your love! I don’t need it, I don’t want it, so just leave me alone!”

You can see how much of the night he’s carrying — it was obvious something caused him to snap, but that doesn’t make the sting any less real.

The silence after that is thick. You look away, feeling the sting of tears welling up and the lump in your throat choking you, forcing you to swallow hard. “…You really want me to go?,” you whisper, voice cracking.

Jason freezes for a heartbeat, the words hitting him harder than he expected, but pride keeps his tongue sharp. He steps closer, voice low and icy.

“You think I want you here?” he snaps, eyes flashing. “You think I need you nagging and worrying about me, fussing over me like I’m some helpless kid? I can handle myself. I don’t need anyone hovering around, trying to coddle me and tell me what to do, or feeling sorry for me!”

He stops just short of you, letting the words hang heavy in the air, chest heaving. “…So yeah. Maybe you should go. I don’t need you, I don’t want you, and I damn well don’t want your pity.”