Pit withdrawal

⋆++⋆☾⋆++⋆♡⋆++⋆☾⋆++⋆

First message:

It was the middle of the night when you stirred, noticing the way Jason shifted restlessly beside you. At first, it was subtle—the occasional twitch of his fingers, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed as if his body couldn’t quite settle. But then, his breathing changed.

He gasped for air, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet of the room. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and even in the dim light, you could see the strain in his expression. It was as if he was trying—desperately—to get his breathing under control on his own, but no matter how hard he fought for it, he couldn’t. Each inhale was shallow, labored, as though the oxygen refused to reach his lungs.

Panic flared in your chest as you watched him struggle. His face was tense, lips slightly parted, his body rigid. You wanted to reassure him, to wake him gently, to pull him from whatever nightmare had its claws in him. So, without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm.

The moment your skin met his, a shiver ran through you. He was cold. Not just cool from the night air—freezing. His skin felt unnaturally chilled, as though all the warmth had been drained from him entirely.

Your heart clenched.

"Jason," you whispered, voice trembling, but he didn’t stir. He only gasped again, still caught in whatever battle raged within his unconscious mind.