Before I could even wrap my fingers around the door handle, it creaked open — the sound jolted me upright. My heart hammered against my ribcage as I pressed a shaky hand over it. "It's me," Jason chuckled, strolling in like he owned the place, and then settling beside me on the bed.
"Why are you here?" I asked again, sinking back into the mattress, hoping this wouldn't turn into one of those moments where he drags up all the weird crap from earlier.
"I can't sleep. That's why." His voice was soft, teasing but honest. Then, after a pause, "And I wanted to talk."
A sigh slipped out from deep inside me — heavy, tired. The room felt thick with silence until he finally broke it, eyes fixed on mine.
"What causes those nightmares?" His voice was gentle, curious, like he really wanted to know.
I swallowed, pretending like it was nothing. "It's nothing, really."
But the silence stretched on, unbearable. I forced my eyes closed, voice barely a whisper. "I can't even remember my childhood."
His gaze never wavered, patient and steady. "If you keep dreaming about it, maybe there's some kind of bond you can't shake."
I dodged the weight of that thought. "Why aren't you with your girlfriend then?"
A soft laugh escaped him. "She's not my girlfriend."
"Fuckboy," I shot back, smirking despite myself.
"Pig," I retorted, narrowing my eyes. "Why aren't you with anyone?"
He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because I'm stuck with your unattractive presence."
I rolled my eyes, but damn, that smile lit up the room. "Fuck you."
"Don't worry, I can satisfy you." He smiled like it was the funniest thing ever.
"Yeah, sure." I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in hours.
Then he said quietly, "I get nightmares too."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not now." His breath was heavy. Clearly, this was no small thing.
"I'm here if you want," I said softly.
He smiled. "I'm alright now."
That conversation — it was like a weight lifting. No Kate. No awkward jealousy. Just this strange comfort that felt like maybe we weren't just roommates after all.
When he got up, I nearly begged him to stay. And to my surprise, he did.
I turned my back, heart pounding as I drifted off to sleep, his whispered "Good night" the last thing I heard.
Morning broke gently. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, catching Jason asleep beside me — peaceful and unaware. He looked so calm, so real. His arm was draped over my thigh, warm and heavy. I carefully moved it back over him, not wanting to wake him, then slipped out of bed.
In the kitchen, the fridge light flicked on as I searched for breakfast. That's when I heard him: "Good morning, you beautiful mess."
I shot back, "Go fuck yourself."
He raised his hands in mock defense, hair tousled like a perfect mess. I bolted out of the kitchen, laughing despite myself, heading to the couch to avoid the teasing.
He followed, coffee in hand, grinning like he'd won the day.
"You have 24 hours left to live," he said casually.
"Then I'm going down with you," I shot back, rolling my eyes.
He chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Get ready. I'm taking you out for lunch."
Later, at the restaurant, I dove into my food while Jason disappeared to the bathroom—longer than usual. My gut twisted with suspicion; his weird behavior all day was a bad sign.
When he returned, wet hair messy and shirt half-clinging, he pulled me up abruptly. "Get in the car!"
My heart hammered. "Did you get into trouble?"
He just looked at me, serious and unreadable.
In the car, I caught my breath, watching him with a mix of awe and confusion. Shirt off, his tattoos stretched across skin like a dark, beautiful map. I almost gagged—he was so damn hot.
"Why are you staring?" he asked, slipping into a fresh black shirt, eyes locking with mine.
No words came. All I wanted was to run my fingers through that damp hair and trace the sharp planes of his chest.
What the hell is wrong with me?
TThe silence stretched between us, thick and charged. My pulse hammered in my ears as I tried to shove down the wild fluttering in my chest. Why was I suddenly so aware of him—like every little detail was amplified? His scent, the way his skin looked against the fading light, the subtle rise and fall of his breath…
"I'm not staring," I said quickly, cheeks burning. "Just... appreciating the art."
He smirked, that infuriating, cocky smirk that somehow made my knees weak. "Art, huh? I guess I should start charging admission."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips.
He started the engine, the low hum of the car filling the space between us. Outside, the city blurred past—bright lights, honking horns, the rush of people I barely noticed. Because right here, right now, it was just us.
"So…" I finally said, glancing over. "What was all that weird behavior earlier? You acting like you were on some secret mission?"
Jason's eyes flicked to mine, that unreadable look softening just a little.
"Maybe I was," he teased.
"Tell me," I insisted, leaning closer like I might actually crack the code if I got close enough.
He laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. It's nothing dangerous. Just... complicated."
I frowned, not liking the vague answer. "Complicated how?"
He hesitated, fingers tightening on the wheel. "I've got some things I'm dealing with. Things I don't want dragging you into."
My stomach twisted. "Jason, whatever it is, you don't have to handle it alone."
He glanced at me, eyes searching. Then he smiled, that soft, real one that made my heart catch. "Thanks, Marie. It means a lot."
The rest of the ride passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn't need words.
When we finally pulled up to the place he'd been avoiding all day, I took a deep breath.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice low.
I nodded, gripping the door handle.
Whatever this was, I was ready to face it. With him.