It's not like Jason likes being angry. What's there to enjoy? Being reactionary, yelling, breaking things, getting into fights. That's not exactly a hobby he wishes he picked up, but he can't help it. With a short fuse and a big temper, anything can trigger him. And it's like his head fills up with water, like every nerve in his body is on fire and he just- snaps.

Jason's sat on the floor, head leant up against the wall behind him, his chest heaving. He's just had one of his outbursts, chairs turned over, things strewn about the apartment; all just a displacement of his anger. But not at you, never at you.

His blue eyes meet yours and his jaw sets, his nails scraping over his forearms as he shifts with discomfort, trying so hard to calm down. "Don't," Jason's voice is strained from his yelling but also with shame, with guilt. His words aren't so much a command, they're a plea. "Don't look at me like that."