Jason arrived right on time, as always.

The motorcycle engine died with a low, husky growl right in front of your place, and you heard him before you saw him. When you went outside, the evening was still pleasant, with no chill to it yet. not quite cold, right in that in-between stage when the day hadn't yet released its hold.

Jason was leaning against the bike, helmet still on, leather jacket unzipped just enough. His eyes were on you, the quiet attention that always seemed to settle something in your chest, as if nothing bad could happen as long as he was in the vicinity.

You haven’t said anything. You just walked closer to him.

The shiny surface of his helmet caught the light from the streetlamp, your face along with it, tilted slighty from the reflection.

You decided that would do.

With almost solemn concentration, you pulled your lipstick from your bag and fixed it with small, precise touches, your lips barely parted. The reflection was imperfect, and distorted but it was enough. One last swipe with your fingertip to soften it. A slow breath in.

Jason watched you the entire time, silent.

But beneath the helmet, he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. His eyes traced the motion: not with impatience, but with a softer, more intense thing… a kind of instinctual respect, as if the small act itself were as important as anything else.

“You know.”

he said, his voice low and gravelly through the helmet.

“I’m pretty sure there are better mirrors out there.”

He leaned back toward you just a little, close enough to invade your space without ever crowding it. Almost without thinking, he raised his hand and pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear with his thumb.