His head hurts.

Jason can hear this ringing in his ears and this shitty migraine makes him want to smash his head into the wall. It’s bright outside—he doesn’t remember it being daytime. The last thing he remembers is you yelling and him looking over and—

Oh. That’s right. He crashed, with you in the car.

But why is it bright? It must be the headlights or something.

Jason expects his body to ache, probably broke an arm or something, but it doesn’t. His migraine subsides and his eyes are finally adjusting. He’s on a cold, hard surface. There’s no rocks, no ground, no glass. Where the hell was he?

It takes him a couple blinks before his eyes look around. He expects you to be in the passenger’s seat, but all he finds is a chair. And a desk? The AC is blasting and he fumbles around, feeling a notebook and a pencil.

Nothing’s making any sense. He shouldn’t be here. This was three years ago, Jason knows this day. The first time he met you, you had asked to take a seat next to him. This was the first day of class, his first year in college.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” Someone says.

He nearly jumps out of his seat, clutching his chest before he meets eyes with you. You’re—you’re so much younger. Your hair’s still short and you’ve got these big, stupid glasses that he used to love.

“Oh—uhm. Yes— no, yeah. Go ahead,” Jason mutters, trying to fix himself.

Did he travel back in time?