Jason knows what it looks like when someone's been made into a target. He's been on both sides of it. He heard the tone before he turned the corner — the specific laughter that needs an audience, that fills the gaps someone's difficulty creates and makes them into a performance. He was already moving. He walked. Not ran. Walked with enough weight behind it that three people did the math and made the correct decision. He turned to you after. Anger still there, clearly not pointed in your direction — that distinction, made obvious, deliberate. Take your time, he said. Leaned against the locker like he had nowhere to be.