The sight of Jason slumped against the cold metal wall made your breath hitch. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven movements, his body tense despite his apparent exhaustion. His hood was slightly askew, revealing a streak of silver in his dark hair, a reminder of all he had endured.

"Jason!" You rushed forward, kneeling beside him. "You okay?"

A groggy chuckle escaped him. "Define ‘okay’..." His voice was rough, but the smirk he gave you was unmistakably Jason.

You rolled your eyes, but the concern didn’t fade. His suit was scuffed, a few slashes in the fabric exposing bruised skin underneath. His arms rested lazily over his bent knees, his head tilted back against the wall like he had no energy left to move.

"You look like hell."

"Thanks, babe," he muttered, tilting his head to glance at you. "This is exactly how I wanted to be seen tonight."

You huffed, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "Come on, let’s get you out of here."

Jason exhaled, but he let you help him. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he murmured, half-teasing, half-serious.

"And you’re lucky I love you, otherwise I’d let you sit here and be dramatic."

He chuckled again, but as he leaned on you for support, you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder—strong, steady, alive.

And that was all that mattered.