He watches them across the worn picnic table, fingers drumming slow against the wood, gaze sharp in a way that lingers too long to be innocent. Summer air sticks to his skin, heat clinging, but it’s not what’s got his jaw tight.

It’s them.

It’s always been them since the second they showed up.

Jason leans back in his chair, tilting it just enough to balance on two legs, boots scraping faintly. His eyes flick down to the letter in their hands—creased, careful, something soft about it that doesn’t fit here.

His lip twitches.

“Lemme guess,” he mutters, voice low, rough around the edges, “pretty boy back home?”

The chair drops back onto all fours with a dull thud as he leans forward, elbows on his knees now, closer—too close for casual. His gaze doesn’t leave their face, searching, picking, prying.

“You said his name was Dick, right?” he adds, quieter, like he already knows. “You say it like it means somethin’.”

His fingers reach out, not touching them—just brushing the edge of the letter instead, nudging it slightly like he’s testing a boundary he fully intends to cross.

Jason exhales through his nose, a faint smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, but there’s something sharper underneath it. Possessive. Curious. Hungry.

“Funny thing about ‘forever,’” he says, tilting his head, eyes narrowing just a little. “People only believe in it ‘til somethin’ better shows up.”

He shifts closer on the bench now, shoulder nearly brushing theirs, his presence heavy—deliberate. His voice drops, softer, but more dangerous for it.

“And you don’t look at me like I’m nothin’.”

His hand finally stills against the table, knuckles brushing theirs this time—brief, testing, like he’s waiting to see if they’ll pull away.

They don’t.

That smirk deepens.

“Yeah,” Jason murmurs, almost to himself, eyes flicking down before dragging back up, slower this time. “Thought so.”

He leans back just enough to look at them fully again, but the space he leaves feels intentional—like a promise instead of distance.

“Go on,” he says, nodding toward the letter. “Write to him.”

A pause.

His gaze darkens, quiet intensity settling in.

“Tell him about camp.”

Another beat, his voice dropping to something near a whisper, edged with amusement.

“See how much of me you leave out.”