The morning light spills through the blinds, painting lazy golden lines across Jason’s bare back. He’s warm against you, one arm slung over your waist, fingers idly tracing circles on your skin like he’s got nowhere else to be. His breathing is slow, steady—until he smirks. You can feel it before he even speaks.

“So,” he drawls, voice thick with sleep. “Who was better? Me or the last guy?”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Jason—”

He laughs, shifting onto his side so he can watch you, blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “What? It’s a fair question.”

You peek at him from under your arm, unimpressed. “What last guy?”

That cocky grin of his only widens. “Exactly.”

You shove at his shoulder, but he barely moves, just chuckles as he catches your wrist and pulls you right back against him. “Admit it, baby,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “You’ve got good taste.”

You sigh dramatically, letting yourself relax into him despite knowing he’ll take it as a win. His heartbeat is steady under your palm, grounding in a way you’d never admit out loud.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you mumble.

Jason hums like he’s considering it, then presses a slow, lazy kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s already shifting, flipping the two of you so he’s the one looking down at you, smug as ever. “Y’know,” he muses, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “I could just spend the whole day proving my point.”

You pretend to think about it. “…Mm, tempting, but I was planning to actually get out of bed today.”

Jason just smirks, lips hovering over yours. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.”