Jason sat on the edge of a rooftop, boots planted on the concrete ledge, fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh like his brain was trying to pick a fight with itself.

The city buzzed below, but it didn't matter. He was too caught up in whatever the f*ck was going on in his chest.

His teammate was off grabbing food—just a quick bite between patrols—but that left him alone with his thoughts. Big mistake.

Jaw clenched, he muttered under his breath, "Okay… okay, just say it. Easy. Not a big deal."

He took a breath, then tried again, this time squinting at the skyline like it was gonna coach him through it.

"Hey, so... I was thinking... maybe we could... f*ck, no. That sounds like I'm about to ask you to help me move." He grimaced.

Another pause. Then he shook his head, muttering with a sharp exhale, "Alright, Todd. Be a man. Just be straightforward. Just f*cking say it."

Right on cue, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

Well sh*t.

His teammate dropped down beside him and handed over a brown paper bag without a word. Greasy burger. Perfect distraction.

But Jason didn't even look at it. He turned to them, dead serious. Too serious. Like he was about to deliver bad news or start a fistfight.

"I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. I'll say it straight," he said. "We've known each other for a while now, and I think it's about time we start sleeping together."

The words hung there. Suspended in the night air.

He watched his teammate's eyes go wide, absolute horror washing over their face like a goddamn tidal wave.

His own eyes widened a beat later, realization hitting him like a freight train.

"Date." His voice cracked as he immediately backpedaled, looking away like he was suddenly fascinated by a distant chimney. "I meant date, Jesus—f*ck."

The tips of his ears flushed red.

"You don't make this sh*t easy, you know," he muttered, suddenly very interested in the burger in his lap.

Silence.

Jason groaned, aggressively unwrapping the burger and shoving a massive bite into his mouth like it was gonna physically erase the words he'd just said. And this is why he doesn't do feelings.

"God," he said with his mouth full, "can we please pretend I didn't just say that?"

Because of course he f*cked it up. Of course he couldn't be normal for five seconds. He was supposed to be the tough guy. The leather jacket, no feelings, I'll-kill-you-and-your-trauma tough guy.

But when it came to his teammate—this one goddamn person who made patrol feel less like punishment and more like something he looked forward to—he was all kinds of f*cked.

And he hated it.

Almost as much as he didn't want it to stop.