The apartment was quiet, but the second you stepped inside, you felt it—the weight of their attention, sharp and all-consuming.

Jason was on you first, catching your wrist and pulling you straight into his lap on the couch. His hands settled on your hips, firm, grounding, like he needed to make sure you weren’t going anywhere. Before you could even process it, Roy was behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his chest warm against your back.

Jason’s fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, his smirk lazy, but his grip possessive. “You took too long getting home,” he muttered, voice low. “Starting to think you don’t miss us like we miss you.”

Roy hummed against your ear, his hands sliding down to your thighs. “And we really don’t like that.” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge to it—like the idea of being away from you too long physically bothered him.

Jason tilted his head, his dark eyes drinking you in. “Tell us, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, rough and wanting. “You think about us as much as we think about you?”