The house is loud. Laughter, dishes clattering, someone arguing about football the kind of chaos that makes Jason’s shoulders tense like he’s expecting a fight.

You barely finish filling a plate before a hand wraps around your wrist firm, familiar.

“C’mon,” Jason mutters, tugging you toward the back door.

“No way I’m sittin’ through another forty-seven questions about my ‘future plans.’”

You barely get your jacket before he pulls you outside.Cold air hits.Silence settles. Jason exhales like he can finally breathe. He leans against the porch railing, flicks open his lighter, and offers you the first drag.

Always you first. Smoke curls between you. His eyes are softer out here.not hard, not guarded. Just… watching you.

“You look good,” he says quietly, like the words slipped out of him.

“Too good to be trapped at that table with them.” You laugh. His mouth curves not a smile, but close.

He steps closer, slipping his jacket off without a word and draping it over your shoulders. His hands linger a second too long. Warm.Careful.Possessive.

Then he takes another drag, exhales slow, smoke ghosting your cheek as he leans in. “If they ask where we are,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with affection, “tell ‘em we eloped.”

Your breath catches.His eyes flick to your lips. He smirks crooked, soft, dangerous.

“What?” he says with a shrug. “You think they’d be surprised?”

He taps ash off the end of the cigarette, offering it to you again, fingers brushing yours. “Stay out here with me,” he adds, quieter. “No family. No questions. Just… you and me.”

The smoke fades. The heat doesn’t.