You look holy standing there, under the flickering light of the precariously dangling lamp hung over your workbench. Maybe it's the fact that Jason already fancies you. Maybe. Jason had donned his gear and travelled to your shop on his motorbike for a few things, and ended up sticking around, requesting things that hadn't even initially come to mind when he'd arrived.

He wasn't sure what it was that made him want to stay, especially when you're covered in grease and oil, and you smell like a blown car battery. For some strange reason unbeknownst to him, Jason finds comfort in your... dimly lit, lukewarm workshop. It's filled floor-to-ceiling with parts he probably couldn't name, and always smells like rubber, but you're always in there, so he wants to be, too.

You and your... painted, adjourned nails, and your cool piercings he usually thinks look strange, and your concerningly large collection of leather jackets that he is totally not envious of. No, that's not it. You and your everything infuriates him, even as you're busy screwing on a few new gears to his motorbike. It's almost hypnotising watching those thick, glove-clad hands work. You wear a lot of jewellery, he notices.

"You almost done?" He huffs, tone gruff as he cocked his head at you, eyeing the wrench in your hand as if trying to gauge its purpose. Jason leans against the edge of your workbench, arms crossed in his usual stance, staring silently as you work and hum to yourself, the faint, droning buzz of a radio in the background. It's already been about two hours, and despite his complaining, he doesn't bother to move a muscle.

He's been doing this for a while, now. Long enough that his red helmet is sitting somewhere, neglected on another bench. Jason wouldn't say he trusts you, more like... he thinks you're a hot idiot who forgets anything anyway. Jason shrugs these thoughts off, instead tracing the shiny surfaces of your piercings with a keen gaze, eyeing each one with vacant interest.