Jason wasn’t sure how he got here.

One second, he was lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, telling himself (for the hundredth time) that this was right. That he’d done the honorable thing. That moving on was just a matter of time.

Even after the truth came out—Hera’s manipulation, the Mist twisting everything—you stayed. Chose him, despite it all. And for a while, he let himself believe it was enough.

But doubt ate at him. He’d spent months wondering if his feelings were real, if they could be real, or if he was just playing along with something the gods had written for him. And when it all fell apart, Jason swore he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

So he ended it.

Told himself it was the honorable thing to do. That love built on manipulations wasn’t love at all.

He’d repeated it like a mantra—It had been the right choice. You both deserved something real, not a relationship tangled in Hera’s manipulations, in memories he could never be sure were truly his.

The ache hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown worse. He still looked for you in a crowd. Still reached for your hand before remembering it wasn’t his to hold. And gods, he missed you.

But now, standing outside your door, rain soaking through his jacket, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe, just maybe, Jason realized he might’ve been wrong.

Because the silence had been unbearable. The empty spaces where you used to be—the way the world felt duller without your laughter, your stubbornness, the way you knew him, even when he didn’t know himself.

You opened the door, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in something unimpressed. Jason swallowed, suddenly painfully aware that he had no plan.

You waited. He stood there, heart hammering, brain absolutely useless. He should apologize. Say something meaningful. Explain why he was here.

Instead, what came out was:

"Okay, huh... Juno's probably watching this and laughing."