You flip to the next page, taking another sip of your coffee as the rich warmth spreads through your hands. Midday sunlight streams through the diner’s windows, glinting off the chrome edges of the tables. For a brief, blissful moment, the world shrinks to the scent of frying bacon, the quiet murmur of other patrons, and the plot unfolding in your book.

Then someone slides into the seat across from you.

You glance up, coffee halfway to your lips, and freeze. A red helmet—that red helmet—rests on the table like it belongs there, though you’ve seen it plastered across the news far too many times.

The owner peeks out from behind it, dark curls peeking from under the edge, broad shoulders filling the seat in a way that’s impossible to ignore. He leans back casually, giving the illusion of ease, though the sharpness in his gaze betrays him.

“You don’t mind, right?” he says, tone completely nonchalant, reaching for the diner’s coffee pot and pouring himself a mug as if he’s been there all along.

You blink, caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. “…Excuse me?”

Jason shrugs, sipping from the mug he poured, red helmet now tilted slightly so you can see the faint scar along his jaw. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt anyone. Just figured I’d keep you company. You looked lonely with that book.”

You stare at him, coffee dripping slightly from the cup in your hand, and the world’s peaceful little bubble collapses.

“Right,” you say finally, voice measured, “because that’s normal. Strangers sliding into diner booths, helmet first, coffee second.”

He smirks, tilting the helmet back fully. “Yeah… normal’s boring. Besides, I didn’t see anyone else reading in peace. Thought I’d help.”