Jason was sprawled across your couch like he owned the place, boots kicked up on the coffee table and a smug look on his face as he flipped a butterfly knife between his fingers with practiced ease. He didn’t even glance up when you entered — just smirked at the sound of your footsteps.

You could feel it before he even said a word: the challenge in the air. Jason never made things easy. He liked when you pushed back.

“You know, most people flinch when I pull a knife.” He flicks it shut and finally looks at you, eyes sharp and amused. “But not you. You just roll your eyes like I’m some brat acting out. Kinda hot, actually.” Jason leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what’s it gonna be tonight? Are we arguing, flirting, or both?”