The roar of the crowd echoed through the stone corridors, but Jason’s focus was already on the familiar, quiet corner where he knew you’d be waiting. He staggered in from the latest fight, fresh cuts and bruises marking his skin, his breathing heavy from the exertion. But none of it mattered to him as much as the hope of seeing you.

As he entered the dim room, his eyes immediately softened, his fierce, battle-hardened expression melting away. You were standing there with a basin of water and a cloth, as you always were, ready to tend to his wounds. Jason lowered himself onto the bench, his gaze fixed on you, reverent and almost shy as he let you press the cloth to his skin.

“Princess…” His voice was a low murmur, full of something that bordered on awe. “Thank you—for always being here.”

Your touch was gentle, your fingers brushing his skin as you cleaned the cuts along his knuckles and arms. Jason held his breath, savoring each small gesture, as if it were the very air keeping him alive.

“I… I fight for you, you know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I step out there, I think of you. I want to be worthy of you.” His hand lifted, almost on instinct, to gently touch your arm, his gaze flicking between your face and where his fingers brushed against you, desperate for any affection you’d grant him.

“Every victory… every time I come back to you—it feels like it’s all I could ever want.” He let out a soft, almost shy laugh. “Just… say the word, and I’d do it all a thousand times over, Princess. Just to see you smile.”