Chapter Text
A sharp, grating alarm split through the silence, burying itself into Jason’s skull like a damn drill. He groaned, blindly reaching the watch that rested on his wrist, sliding his finger lazily along the rim until he found the button he was looking for, with a swift click the alarm silenced. With that unbearable noise put to rest the only audible noise were the birds chirping beautiful melodies outside the window.
His head pounded—deep, throbbing pain pulsing behind his eyes, punishment for whatever the hell he’d done last night.
With a heavy sigh, he threw an arm over his face, shielding himself from the cruel sunlight filtering through the curtains. His body screamed at him to get up, instincts drilled into him over years of discipline, but his stomach churned at the mere thought of movement.
Still, something felt... off.
This bed was warm. Too damn warm. The kind of warmth that didn't come from blankets but from something or rather someone.
Jason stiffened. A weight rested against his waist—solid, unmoving. His foggy mind struggled to catch up as he blinked blearily at the foreign limb wrapped around him. It wasn’t scrawny. Not delicate. This was a thick, muscular arm, heavy with familiarity and wrongness.
His stomach twisted as his gaze followed the arm back to its source.
Salim.
Mother. Fucking. Salim.
Jason’s blood ran cold.
"What the fu—" He jerked away, twisting onto his side so fast his vision swam. His throat tightened, bile rising—not from the hangover but from the sheer, suffocating panic clawing at his chest. No, no, no, no.
This wasn't happening.
Salim shifted at the sudden loss of warmth, his brows furrowing slightly, but he didn’t wake. Jason sat there, frozen, staring at the man beside him. Too close. Too familiar. Too fucking much.
His breath hitched as flashes of last night slammed into him.
The bar. Too many drinks. Salim’s voice, then it all went blurry from there. Like someone tearing the film out of a movie reel, then expecting the projector to play it anyway. He couldn't remember jack shit! Just how many pints of beer did he fucking have?!
Jason squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms.
Jesus Christ, what did I do?
The disgust curling in his gut wasn’t for Salim—it was for himself.
He'd thought that he finally got his life figured out. Finally got it set straight. Just to drink himself stupid and make the biggest mistake in his entire fucking life. How the hell could he let himself do this?!
Shoving the arm off of him like it burned, Jason pushed himself up, swaying as the room spun. He barely caught himself on the nightstand before stumbling onto his knees, searching on the ground for his clothes.
As he continued his search, a voice—sleep-rough and familiar—cut through the silence.
“…Jason?”
His breath hitched.
Salim was awake.
Jason didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He froze in place. How was he supposed to talk to the man after this. . They committed sodomy for christs sakes!
"𝘍𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘰𝘵"
His father spit in disgust, Jason's anger at its boiling point, ready to take it out on anyone. "Where the fuck are my clothes Saleem?" The words came out harsher than he meant, the southern drawl heavy in his voice.
The older man sat up in the bed, analyzing Jason, taking in his tense posture, already sensing what the marine was thinking. "Jason, nothing ha-"
"Where. Are. My. Clothes."
Salim sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tried to think of some kind of way to take control of the situation before it got out of hand. "Please just listen to me Jason. You trust me don't you?"
"Looks like I put my trust in the wrong fuckin’ hands, huh?" He huffed a humorless laugh, not daring to turn around. If he saw the expression his harsh words caused, he knows he'd give in immediately.
So he opened the door, slamming it shut behind him to go find wherever the hell his clothes had been put. But as he stepped out, his eyes landed on another room—a bedroom.
He froze. Shit—I forgot he’s got a kid.
Jason stumbled back, reaching blindly for the door handle, but instead, his hand pressed against Salim’s chest. A shiver shot up his spine causing him to freeze in place.
"Jason. ."
A hand clasped onto the Marine’s shoulder, a thumb rubbing soothing circles as the older man tried to take control of the situation.
Jason hated how his body responded to the touch, how it relaxed—as if it wanted to submit to Salim.
"𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯' 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘳"
His father’s voice spat angrily in the back of his mind, the words filled with utter disgust. His eyes began to sting, his heart hammered against his ribcage, and his fists coiled up tightly. The sudden wave of claustrophobia made him feel like he couldn't fucking breathe. Jason quickly jerked away from Salim’s grasp, his breathing unsteady as he muttered under his breath.
"Don’t fuckin’ touch me."
Jason took a sharp step forward, breath ragged, eyes wild. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “I said don’t fuckin’ touch me.” His voice was low, sharp, like a blade pressed against a throat.
Salim’s hand hovered in the air where Jason had been a second ago. He didn’t look startled—more… concerned. That only pissed Jason off more.
“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Jason spat, his voice dripping with hostility. His pulse pounded against his skull, the phantom weight of his father’s voice pressing in, suffocating. "𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦. ."
Salim exhaled through his nose, calm despite Jason’s bristling anger. “You are scared.”
Jason’s jaw locked. “Like hell I am.”
Salim took a slow step forward. “Then why are you shaking?”
Jason looked down—his hands were trembling.
No. No, fuck this. His chest tightened, rage rising like bile. He’d been backed into a corner before, and he knew how to get out. Push back, hit first, get the last word.
His voice came out sharp as a gunshot. “Don’t act like you know me, Saleem.”
Salim didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away. Just looked at him with those steady, damnably patient eyes.
“I do.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat.
For a split second, something in his mind fractured—just a crack, but deep enough to let the fear bleed through. His body screamed at him to get the hell out. To run.
So he did.