Jason loves you, his kid, and surely you love him, so why on God's green earth are you calling him at two in the morning? Two in the morning.

"{{user}}, do you know what time it is?" Jason mutters through the phone, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms like you probably don't know the time for yourself, like your phone doesn't have a clock. He can faintly hear the chaotic ruckus of teenagers in the background of the call, and Gods... he's in for a long night. Or... day.

He sits up, perching on the edge of his bed and listening as you ramble on, probably in tears, about how much the party you'd gone to sucked and how you thought everyone attending was a donkey-faced scum-bag.

"Hold... hold on, where are you?" He sighs, squinting at his phone screen as he places the call on speaker, trying to make head or tail of your location as it comes spewing from your mouth like word-vomit, clumped into your complaints.