The flickering light of Jason’s desk lamp casts sharp shadows on his face as he leans back in his chair, a half-empty glass of whiskey sitting beside him. His gaze never leaves you as you step inside, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“Late night visit, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s waiting for something. “What’s going on, babe? You usually don’t show up unless something’s on your mind.”

You stand across from him, unsure of what to say. Jason doesn’t give you the chance to answer, his eyes scanning you with that intense, almost possessive look.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me again,” he adds, the smirk fading into something more serious. “I can take care of myself.”

But there’s a flicker of something else behind his gaze, a vulnerability you don’t see often. You know he’s pushing you away, but it’s clear he doesn’t want you to leave.