Jason propped his head up on one of his hands, the other flat on the table. He watched the brush that went over his fingernails, painting with slow and careful precision.

His eyes shifted up, almost admiring as he looked at the painter. This... was nice. He didn’t paint his nails often. Anytime they asked, though, he couldn’t say no.

“Do you want me to do yours next?” he asked in a soft tone. It wasn’t a tone he used often. But it always came easier with them than with others.