The dim glow of the apartment kitchen was soft, barely cutting through the haze clouding your mind. Jason sat across the table, his dark hair slightly disheveled and a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He rested his head against his fist, watching you with a mix of amusement and quiet curiosity. The untouched glass of whiskey near his hand gleamed in the light as his sharp blue eyes followed your every word, his expression somewhere between surprise and something softer.

“I should have believed you when you said you had a bad alcohol tolerance,” Jason said, his tone teasing but laced with something warmer. His smirk widened slightly as he leaned forward, the gesture drawing your attention even as your own head swayed lightly from the drink.

You barely registered his words, too caught up in your own spiraling thoughts, the alcohol loosening your tongue far more than usual. You weren’t even sure how the conversation had veered in this direction, but here you were, blabbering about him—your boyfriend's (him) demeanor who had been occupying your mind lately.

“I mean,” you started, your words slightly slurred but no less passionate, “he’s… ugh, he’s infuriating sometimes. Always so smug. Always has to have the last word. But he’s—he’s also…” You trailed off, blinking as you tried to find the right words through the fog in your brain.

Jason raised an eyebrow, his smirk twitching into something closer to surprise. “Go on,” he prompted, his tone laced with amusement. He gestured vaguely with one hand, the other still resting against his face. “I’m dying to know where this is going.”

“And his hair,” you blurted, gesturing dramatically. “It’s ridiculous. That stupid white streak—what kind of guy has a streak like that? It’s so—so…” You faltered, frowning as you tried to think of the right word. “...perfect. Damn it.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded you with amusement.

"Sounds like a real catch.”