"This is stupid," Jason mutters, voice tight, eyes fixed on the carpet like it personally offended him. His brow twitches when you press the ice pack to his black eye, his jaw clenching as a sharp breath hisses through his teeth. A low, frustrated huff rolls off his chest- more at himself than at you.

It’s the same every time. He comes home, bruised and bleeding, still radiating the leftover fury of the fight. And every time, he protests. Grumbles. Squirms under the weight of your care like it’s a burden he’s not sure how to carry.

Finally, after a long moment, his gaze flickers up to meet yours. Those storm-blue eyes search your face, something unreadable flickering behind them. His voice is quieter now, a little raw. "I can patch myself up."

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.