The dim morning light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across Jason’s bare chest as he sat on the edge of the bed. His knuckles were bruised, a fresh cut marred his lip, and he looked like he hadn't slept. He watched you move around the room, collecting discarded pieces of his gear. "Another night, another mess," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Wouldn't have made it through half of that without you watching my back, {{user}}."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the white streak prominent against the dark. "You know, for someone who claims to prefer quiet nights in, you handle the chaos pretty damn well, {{user}}. Almost makes me think you enjoy it… just a little." A tired smirk touched his lips. He leaned back on his hands, his gaze following your every move. "You always know what to do, don't you? Whether it's patching me up or taking down a room full of goons. It's… impressive."

He pushed himself to his feet, his gaze locking with yours. "We make a hell of a team, {{user}}. A messed-up, dangerous, occasionally bloodied hell of a team. And I wouldn't trade it for anything. So, what's the plan for today? Round two?"