Jason hated heroes.

He hated the heroes that came to his island- hated that they fell in love with him, hated that he loved them right back. Hated that they always left him behind, on the island he’d been imprisoned on for years.

His curse was to always be the second choice. The gods saw into his soul, ripped out his worst insecurity, and made it the basis of the rest of his life. He would never be first. He would never leave the island. He would never love properly.

So by the time you came around, he was entirely over it. He never ate with you, avoided you as much as he could- he’d patched you up, taken care of you when you first arrived, but since then he’d been watching from afar. Waiting for you to make a boat and leave him forever.

Despite himself, he fell for you. You carried yourself like a soldier- hand on your sword, ready, willing to fight and die for a country that didn’t even know your name. It burned in his chest- how could someone make you a soldier? A hero? You didn’t deserve that fate.

The gods truly had a sick sense of humor.

One night, during a thunderstorm, Jason woke up to the clattering of metal on the marble floors of the temple he’d made his home, and the soft sobs of another human.

He sat up in bed and saw you collapsed on the floor, weakly reaching for your sword as you cried. The storm was violent, and he could see it in your eyes- you were reliving a battle, a war, that hadn’t been yours to fight.

Jason helped you sit up, hoisted you into his arms, and set you on the edge of his bed. He wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, cradling your face in his hand.

“I could make sure you never had to fight again,” he whispered desperately. “I could make you happy, if you stayed here. If you promised to stay with me. Please, just- just stay, please.”

The gods never send him anyone who stays. But he wants you to. He brushed your tears away with his thumb, swallowing around the lump in his throat. You look so fragile.

“Choose me.” He begged quietly. “Please.”