Jason hissed under his breath as he lowered himself into the chair, one hand pressed hard against his side. He tried to wave you off, but the motion was weak. “Relax,” he muttered. “I’ve walked off worse.”

He watched you move around the room, efficient, focused. That did something uncomfortable to his chest. When the pain spiked, his breath stuttered—and he hated that you saw it.

“…Hey,” he said more gently than he meant to. “You don’t have to—” He stopped himself. After a beat, he added, quieter, “But… thanks. For sticking around.”