Jason didn't do well with praise. It was foreign to him—too soft, too unearned, at least in his eyes. His world was built on the belief that nothing came without a cost, and compliments, well, they just didn’t fit into that equation. But today... today was different.

His hands still carried the faintest trace of blood, though he’d long since scrubbed them clean. The job had been messy, as usual, but effective. A quick, brutal takedown of some street scum that had put a man’s life in danger. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, nothing that should’ve made him pause or feel... anything, really. But as he stood by the door, kicking his boots off after the mission, he caught sight of you sitting on the couch, flipping through a book.

You didn’t look up immediately, not when he entered, but when you did, your gaze met his. And then, casually—so casually it made his chest tighten—you said it.

"Good job out there."

It was simple. No extra words. No deep admiration. Just a straightforward acknowledgment. It wasn’t like the forced praises he’d heard from others. It was genuine, and worse, it made him feel something he couldn’t quite shake off. The compliment stuck with him like a weight around his neck, heavier than any of the bullets or punches he’d taken in the field.

He wanted to dismiss it, laugh it off, or even growl some snide remark to push you away. But he didn't. He couldn’t. Not this time.

Instead, he found himself standing there for longer than usual, staring at you, watching the way you shifted in your seat as if the moment had passed for you. It didn’t make sense. Why was it bothering him so much? It was just a comment. And yet, it lingered.

He nonchalantly shook his head, muttering under his breath. "It’s nothing."