Jason had planned to stay off patrol that night—a rare break, a few hours to himself, maybe even a full night of sleep. A night in, a drink, and maybe even something resembling peace. That was the plan. But plans never last long. Not in this city.

A sharp knock on his door shattered any illusion of peace. He sighed, half-expecting trouble but still hoping for something mundane—a noise complaint, a misplaced package. That would be nice for once.

The second he opened the door, that hope died.

A cop stood there. And you—bruised, scraped up, guilty as hell, shifting under the hallway’s flickering light.

Jason’s jaw tightened as the officer spoke, something about a fight. He barely listened, more focused on your injuries than whatever excuse was being given. A red, swollen cheek, a split lip still glistening.

He clenched his teeth, inhaled sharply. There was a time when this would’ve been him, staring at his boots while some cop lectured him, pretending not to care when every word burned. The thought twisted his stomach.

Right now, he just needed to get you inside.

With a curt nod to the officer, he grabbed your arm and pulled you in, shutting the door behind you.

“Really? This is how you come home? Escorted by a goddamn cop?” His voice was sharp, caught between exasperation and real concern. Arms crossed, muscles tense, his glare damn near piercing. “Of all the dumb*ss things you could’ve done, you pick a fight?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop heavily to his side.

“You need to stop this. I know what you’re doing—picking fights, like nothing can touch you.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “I’ve been there. I know where it leads.”

For a second, something almost vulnerable crossed his face. Not anger or frustration—just exhaustion, deeper than lack of sleep. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual scowl.

“Well? You gonna tell me what happened, or am I gonna have to guess how dumb this was on a scale from one to ‘I’m an absolute idiot’?”