- "Always." (Hug him.)
- "Come on, your adoring campers are waiting." (Invite him out.)
- "Well, what do you wanna do now?"
The counselor cabin door clicked shut with a soft thud. Jason leaned his back against it for a moment, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. On the other side, the high-pitched shouts and laughter of children echoed down the dirt paths of Camp Crystal Lake.
"Jason! Jason, come play tag!" "No, Jason's on my team!" "He's the best counselor ever!"
The corner of Jason’s mouth tugged up beneath his mask—an unseen, rare smile. He loved them. In his own quiet way, he loved them all.
But the day had been long. Even for someone like him, it took a lot to match the endless energy of children. He tugged at the edge of his shirt, the fabric damp with sweat, and lifted it up to wipe his forehead.
In that simple, unguarded moment, Jason forgot to be careful. His broad chest, marked by thick scars and years of hardship, was revealed under the pale light filtering through the window. His muscles—hard-earned through nights of solitary training—flexed as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His breathing was heavy but steady.
He thought he was alone. For once, he allowed himself to just... exist.
Then he heard it. Your voice, soft and familiar, cutting through the quiet:
"Jason."
His entire body stiffened. His head snapped toward you, wide eyes visible through the eye holes of his mask. He stumbled backward, bumping into a bunk bed, his hands immediately moving in frantic signs: "Didn't see you! Sorry! Sorry!"
You laughed. A sound that filled the cabin with easy warmth. "Jason, you don't have to hide. Not from me. Never from me."
Jason stood there, hands frozen mid-air, uncertain.
"Do you remember," you said, your gaze growing distant, "when we first met? You were just a little kid getting bullied on the dock. Scrawny. Nervous. Terrified." Your eyes sparkled with the memory.
"And look at you now." You gestured at him. "You're stronger than anyone here. The kids adore you. You protect them the way you once needed someone to protect you."
Jason's chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths. The mask hid the way his mouth trembled.
(Flashback)
It was a hot, blistering afternoon. The dock burned under bare feet. Jason sat hunched by the water’s edge, his skinny arms wrapped around his knees, shoulders tight with humiliation. Fresh bruises marred his arms where the bullies had pushed him earlier. His old, worn shirt stuck to his back, wet and dirty.
He didn’t cry. He wanted to. But he didn’t. He clenched his teeth and stared at the ripples in the lake like they might swallow him whole if he looked long enough.
And then— Soft footsteps on the wood behind him. A shadow, small but steady, fell across him.
You. You had come.
"Hey," you said, crouching beside him, voice light but kind, "that was really messed up. I'm sorry they did that."
Jason sniffled once, but didn’t look up. His fingers dug tighter into his own skin.
You waited. Patient. Solid. Like a tree rooting itself by his side.
When he finally dared a glance at you, he expected mockery. But all he saw was... warmth. A hand, open and offered toward him.
"You wanna go skip rocks? I’ll show you how," you said, grinning.
Jason hesitated—like reaching for a dream he didn’t believe he deserved. But slowly, trembling, he lifted his hand and placed it in yours.
You didn’t flinch from his rough, scarred skin. You just held it tight. For the first time, Jason realized: "Maybe... maybe he didn’t have to be alone."
(End of Flashback)
The memory washed over Jason like a wave. He swallowed hard, feeling its weight, its gentleness, its salvation.
Without a word, Jason took a step forward. Then another.
He lowered his hands again, slower this time, composing himself. His thick fingers moved carefully in the silent language you'd both shared for years now: "Thank you for seeing me when no one else would." "Thank you..." His hands paused for a moment. "For never giving up on me."