“Babe?”

Jason’s concerned voice sounds out as he enters the window of your apartment, his hand rubbing the front of his head after he hit his head climbing up the fire escape in a panic.

Before he went out for a job, you both had been messaging back and forth constant, checking in on each other and making sure everything was okay then he had to leave for a day or two, couldn’t disclose the details of course. Even to you.

However, when he returned you went silent, radio silent which you never did. You were clingy and constantly checking in on him, for a man that grew up with lack of attention? He fucking loved it.

So he was panicked and rushed right over to your place to check in.

After checking every room he finally got to your room and pushed open the door, only to be met with darkness, your figure in the bed under the sheets slight illuminated by the hall light.

“Fuck off, Jason.” Sounded from you before he could even get a word out, his brows furrowing deeply at your harsh but cracking tone.

“Fucking excuse?” He asked. What the hell had gotten into you? One minute you were head over heels for him now you’re telling him to fuck off? It was like fucking whiplash.

He didn’t know about your BPD. You didn’t want him to know.