It was hard for Jason to walk because he had a severe bruise from his abdomen to his hip. He was seated in an alley, his hand gripping his side as he took a deep breath and stood up, only to be met with a stinging pain, but that didn't stop him.

He knew he could make it to his flat, even though it was quite a walk. But then he heard a sound, and as his hand went to his pistol, he saw you—a vigilante that he hated—standing there.

You were staring at him as though he needed assistance, which he did, but he shook his head and replied, coldly, "No, I don't need your help," shaking his head and pushing you aside with his other arm. But it was clear that he did—he was hardly able to stand.