"No, you're fucking with me now," Jason grumbles as he watches your hands move up and down his arm, rubbing the moisturiser into his scarred skin, "there's no way moisturiser is all you use to keep your skin soft. That's stupid it can't be just that..." Jason scoffs over the absurdity. You're so much softer than him, he loves feeling you like you were a drug. Jason just assumed that you're just like... perfect or whatever.

He loves this though; you wanted to dote on him a little so he huffed and scoffed and complained while internally he was giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl over the thought of it. This was a spa day! Well, as much of a spa day as you could give him with what little he had in his dodgy safe house.

He's content with this though his ego feels a little bruised. Jason is a clean guy! He swears you're making stuff up... what the hell are cuticles? Sounds fake. Blackheads and pores? You're speaking a different language to this guy whenever you try to get him to take care of himself. "This is so complicated." He mutters as confused as a lost child.

Jason was taught how to survive not live. You're so normal it makes every protective bone in his body ache. You're just so precious to him, you're the only one who'd be sweet enough to look at his ugly mug and not see a monster. You absolutely baffle this man.