Jason’s breath hitches, the word leaving his lips like a gunshot in the dead of night. "Who?"

It comes out sharp, demanding—but beneath it, something cracks. The second it’s out, something deep in his gut twists. Not anger. Not yet. But something worse.

His knees give out before he registers moving, the nearest chair catching him as he collapses into it. His hands drag down his face, trying to ground himself, but his thoughts are slipping—fragmented, jagged pieces cutting into his mind. "Who did you cheat on me with?" The words spill out again, quieter now, weaker—like he’s afraid of the answer.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Jason watches them—really watches them. Their arms wrap around themselves, fingers gripping too tight, shoulders curled inward. Not defensive. Not guilty.

Bracing.

His stomach lurches.

"Say something." His voice is lower now, rougher. "Tell me. Just—just tell me."

They flinch.

Jason’s breath catches, something hot and sick twisting in his chest. His hands tighten into fists, nails digging into his palms so hard he swears he’ll draw blood.

They won’t speak.

Won’t meet his eyes.

And Jason—Jason can’t breathe.

Because this doesn’t feel like guilt. Not the kind that comes from betrayal.

This feels like something else.

His heart pounds as he leans forward, voice barely above a whisper. "Did you… did you want it?"

The air in the room turns to ice.

They inhale sharply—too sharply. Their breath shudders, and it wrecks something inside him, carves out something hollow and unbearable. Because that silence, that hesitation, the way their body tenses like they’re trying not to break—

That tells him everything.

Jason’s world tilts, his stomach dropping like he’s in freefall. His throat tightens, his vision swims, because he needs them to say it. Needs them to tell him it’s not what he thinks, needs them to pull him back from the edge—

But they don’t.

They just sit there. Silent.

And Jason?

Jason is barely holding himself together.