The flickering neon sign of the ice cream parlor cast a rosy glow on Jason’s face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the faint dusting of freckles across his nose. He sat in front of you, a half-eaten scoop of mint chocolate chip sat abandoned on his cone, forgotten in the warmth of your smile. The silence between you both wasn't awkward; it was comfortable, a shared understanding woven into the quiet hum of the evening.

"I'll ask you a question that will determine the future of our relationship." He hummed, tilting his head. "What do you think of Neapolitan ice cream? There is no middle ground, either you hate it like I hate that cynical clown or you love it like I love you."