The rooftop of Westerburg High stretched out before them, the wind tossing paper scraps and the last gasps of autumn leaves across the cracked concrete. Jason leaned against the chain-link fence, arm draped heavy and familiar around {{user}}’s shoulders. The sky above was a sickly shade of gray, the kind that promised either rain or something worse. It suited him fine.

His hand slid from {{user}}’s shoulder to the nape of the neck, fingers curling just enough to squeeze—almost like reassurance, almost like a warning. Jason’s smile was faint, almost absent, but his eyes burned bright, sharp as glass.

“You ever notice,” Jason murmured, voice low and easy, “how the Heathers think they’re untouchable? Like some kinda gods with shiny credit cards and hairspray halos.” His thumb traced a slow circle against the back of {{user}}’s neck, idle, affectionate, steady. “They laugh, they strut, they break people like it’s just another extracurricular.”

The hand at the nape tightened, just briefly, before easing back into a casual hold. A rhythm to it—comfort hidden under control. Jason chuckled under his breath, a dry, humorless sound. “It’s funny, really. Everyone’s so scared of ‘em… but they’re just meat wrapped in designer labels. Soft, stupid, loud.”

He tilted his head, resting his temple against {{user}}’s for a moment, breathing in deep, like memorizing the moment, the closeness. His voice dropped even lower, a conspiratorial whisper barely carried by the wind.

“Imagine, just for a second… if someone did the world a favor. Took the garbage out. Left this place a little quieter. A little cleaner, sunshine how much easier our lives would be—your life, baby.”