Jason Grace had never imagined a night out could be this complicated.

Correction — he hadn’t imagined a night out at all. Not since he became a father.

Leah Grace, five years old, curious, chaotic, the absolute center of his universe, was at Thalia’s apartment. Thalia, who honestly shouldn’t be trusted with a goldfish, had insisted. Demanded. Forced, really, that Jason take one night for himself.

“You need to live a little,” Thalia had said, hands on her hips, jaw tight. “You can’t just cook, clean, work, and walk around like some sleep-deprived robot while Leah thinks her dad never has fun.”

Jason had argued. Reasoned. Offered a hundred logical excuses why a night alone was unnecessary. Why there was no need. “It’s just me and Leah,” he reminded her. She had scoffed and left him with one final glare that suggested she could kidnap Leah herself if he didn’t comply.

And now here he was. Apartment quiet. Clock ticking. Refrigerator humming. Nothing alive but him and the faint echo of a life he’d almost forgotten existed. He poured a glass of water, stared at the city lights outside his window, and debated. Should he stay in? Should he read? Watch TV? Pretend for a moment that it wasn’t always “work, Leah, chores, repeat”?

Fifteen minutes later, he knew the truth. He needed to leave. Just for a little while.

Coat on. Keys jingling. Shoes tied. Into the night.

The bar smelled of spilled drinks and polished wood. Music thumped softly, too loud to relax but too quiet to be distracting. Jason perched on a stool near the edge, scanning the crowd, glass of something amber in hand, posture stiff, jaw tight. No expectations. Just… sitting. Breathing. Existing outside the apartment for once.

Then you walked in.

He saw you before your laugh even reached him — the tilt of your head, the playful swing in your step, hair tumbling over shoulders like it didn’t care about rules, smile wide, eyes sparkling, just daring him to notice. You were gorgeous. No, more than that. You were… distracting. And Jason Grace, responsible, focused, stoic Jason Grace, found himself blinking.

You caught his gaze for a fraction of a second, and something tightened in his chest. A flutter. A cautionary tug of “don’t,” because Jason never let himself notice anyone, not like this. Not since Leah. Not in years.

You plopped onto the stool next to him, sheepish but unashamed, clearly nudged by friends. Jason inclined his head in the smallest acknowledgment. Friendly. Polite. Hands at his sides. Eyes straight ahead. Nothing happened. Nothing.

But then you laughed. The sound was soft but impossible to ignore, and the world tilted just enough that Jason’s jaw, stiff as it had been since becoming a single dad, betrayed him with a small, imperceptible twitch.

Conversation started — slow, playful, light. You laughed easily, teased him a little. He countered without trying, voice calm, friendly, careful. Polite. But even in casual words, there was a pull he hadn’t expected. A pull he hadn’t had time to recognize in months, because Leah filled every waking moment.

Drinks flowed. Stories bounced back and forth. He laughed quietly when no one was watching. Smiled at the corners of your mouth. Blinked at the tilt of your head. Subtle, hidden moments. He didn’t let them linger. Couldn’t. But they existed. And for a man whose entire life had been responsibility and routine, it was dizzying.

By the time he realized how many drinks he’d had, the bar blurred, voices melded, lights spun just slightly. He woke up in his own apartment. Head pounding. Every muscle screaming. Hangover heavy. And… you.

You were there. Naked. Curled against him like you belonged. No warning. No explanation. Just warm, soft, completely impossible.

Jason froze. Heart thumping. Mind scrambling. He tried to think logically. Breath measured. Hands careful. Eyes on you. You blinked, confused, soft smile brushing your lips.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing made sense.

"Morning?" He managed, voice thick with sleep.