Work Text:
Jason knows, of course, that you're here - knows the sound of your footsteps echoing endlessly through the high, domed ceiling of the cathedral. He knows, but he doesn't move - choosing instead to remain slumped over in his pew.
"How was the service?" you ask as you get to him, and the hush of the crowd still clearing out reverberates through the doors towards you. A child asking his parent if they can get hot chocolate on the way home, and another asking if Santa is really going to come tonight.
"I don't know," Jason responds flatly. "I just got here."
"Ok," you say gently, with a patience that makes something burn at the back of this throat. "Can I sit?"
"I don't think I make the decisions in this place," is Jason's scratchy response, his voice a bit choked as he balls his hands into fists. You hum in understanding, looking up toward the arched ceiling - at the scrawling art that coats the stone of the cathedral.
"Well, I like to think that if he didn't want me in here, he would've struck me by lightning or something before I made it to the door. Move over." You shove at Jason's shoulder gently, and he gives half an effort to move so that you can squeeze into the pew next to him.
"I thought you stopped going to church?" he asks, and as the question reverberates through the empty hall, you feel something pricking at the back of your neck.
"I did. I'm just here to see you."
"I'm sorry," he responds immediately, like a sinner kneeling to the floor, like a boy begging for forgiveness.
"That's not your apology to give," you point out. "My decisions are my own."
"But do you make them for me?" he asks, like he's pleading for something.
"Only sometimes," you admit, and he slumps over a bit in relief - like it's a burden, like it's undeserved to have someone wait for him like this.
You pretend to ignore it - kindly, gently. You pretend that you can't see him crumbling under the weight of being loved. Instead, you tip your head back and look up at the shimmering stained glass windows of the cathedral and the way they bounce light around the endless space.
They bathe Jason in light, although you're sure he hasn't noticed with the way he bows his head down to press against the back of the pew in front of him. But the light touches him all the same, red and golden and haloing him in something holy.
"You look beautiful," you murmur before you can stop yourself, and he nearly flinches under the kindness of it. His fingers drag against the scars on his knuckles, and he presses his forehead further into the wooden pew. The red glow of the stained glass spills onto the floor, and you watch as Jason shifts his feet away from it, as if he can truly run away from it.
"It's nice in here, too," you muse, hoping, you suppose, that it'll help. Hoping that he'll be able to hear you through the swarm that buzzes in his own mind. "Even with all the other shit, at least it's pretty this time of year."
Jason lifts his head, finally, at that, and looks around the cathedral like he's never seen it before. He blinks as he stares at the garlands and the bows, as if they'll suddenly disappear before his eyes if he tries hard enough.
But that doesn't work. It never does.
"You didn't decorate this year," he says flatly once he's given up, and you inhale a bit at the feeling of being caught off guard.
"Um… I didn't know if you would want to," is your gentle response, and he slouches down like you've burned him.
"You always used to," he points out, and you shake your head before you can stop yourself.
"That's not true." At his suspicious look, you falter. "I didn't while you were…"
"Dead?"
"Gone," you say pointedly. "I didn't decorate then, either."
"Why not?" he asks you, and the sigh that you let out fills the empty space around you, the gap that sometimes grows between the two of you.
"Because…" you offer, and he watches you, his eyes trained on the way you shift and press your lips together. "You were gone."
"But Christmas wasn't."
"Jason -"
"I just want to understand," he says earnestly, and as you look at him, you see the way the colours from the stained glass pool across his face.
"I just, um… I didn't want to remember," you shrug, and he kindly ignores the waver in your voice. "In a lot of other ways, I… I really tried, you know - I tried not to forget. But, um… I don't know, it's stupid."
"Please say it," Jason prompts softly, and you find that here, in the shadowed shelter of a church, you recognize a prayer when you hear one.
"I guess I felt like if I never did Christmas without you, then… it wasn't real, you know. I didn't have to deal with the fact that…"
"That I was gone," he supplies.
"Dead," you correct, and it echoes sort of hollowly through the space. Jason sighs, and you watch as he rubs a hand over his eyes, blocking the dazzling light from the stained glass from his face.
"So why not this year?" he asks, and you look a bit sheepish.
"I - I just… I didn't want to upset you," you say gently, and when Jason reaches for your hand, you let your shoulders slump a bit as you sag down in the pew.
"Baby, the only thing that upsets me is how you decorate the tree. I don't give a fuck about the rest of it," he offers bluntly, and if you weren't so relieved by his levity, you'd remember to be insulted.
"There's nothing wrong with how I decorate the tree," you huff out a shocked laugh, and as he offers you a relaxed sort of grin, some of the clouds part outside and more beams of colour shoot down between the two of you.
"I'll do it this time - I'll show you how it's done," he offers, and you cock your head to the side and look at him fondly.
"You want to decorate for Christmas?" you ask gently, and he shrugs.
"You can do the rest of it if you want. I'll just take care of the tree."
"Well…. I mean - it's Christmas Eve, isn't it a bit late?" you ask. He hums in thought as he reaches over to hold your hand in his, tangling your fingers with his own.
"Will it make you happy?" he asks matter-of-factly, and you blink.
"Uh… sure?"
"Then it's not too late," he says as he stands. You tug on his hand a bit to hold him back.
"Will it make you happy?" you counter gently, and the smile he offers you is so soft that you wonder if the snow outside has begun to melt from it.
"I don't know," he says honestly, his voice tinged with a rare note of sheepishness. "But I think it's about time I try, isn't it?"
He stands above you as he speaks, the stained glass windows behind him blinding and glowing as they spill a halo of colour around him, and he looks down at you like it's you who's made the light shine through.
"Sure, baby," you say softly as you let him pull you up to stand in front of him, and the kiss that you press to his nose has heat flaring in his cheeks. "I think we can at least try."