Jason is warm.

That’s the first thing you notice when you curl closer—heat radiating through his hoodie, steady and grounding. He’s sprawled on the couch like he belongs there, one arm slung behind his head, the other loose around your shoulders. The TV is on but muted, forgotten background noise.

You shift, inching closer until your face presses right into his chest.

Right there.

Jason stiffens for half a second—pure reflex—then relaxes immediately when he realizes it’s you. A low huff of a laugh leaves him.

“Wow,” he murmurs. “Straight for the heart, huh?”

You nuzzle in deeper, cheek warm against him, his heartbeat slow and solid beneath your ear. It’s comfortable. Familiar. Safe in that way that makes your body unclench before your brain even catches up.

Jason’s hand comes down to your back, big and gentle, rubbing slow circles through your shirt. His thumb drags lazily along your spine like he’s counting breaths.

“You good there?” he asks, voice rough, low, gravelly but fond. No teasing edge—just checking.

You answer by settling your weight more fully against him.

He exhales, long and content, chest rising beneath your face. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Thought so.”

Jason adjusts slightly, tugging you closer until there’s no gap left, until you’re tucked perfectly against him. His chin comes to rest on the top of your head, scruff brushing your hair.

“You’re like a cat,” he says quietly. “Find one comfy spot and that’s it. You’re done for the night.”

His hand stills for a moment, then resumes its slow, steady motion—protective without being possessive. Like he’s anchoring you there.

“Don’t gotta move,” Jason adds, softer now. “I got you.”

The couch creaks faintly as he shifts just enough to make you more comfortable, broad chest rising and falling under your cheek. You can feel him relax too, tension bleeding out of his shoulders the longer you stay right there.

“Stay as long as you want,” he murmurs. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

And for once—neither are you.