Jason had decided to drive you up to a nice little secluded gazebo— chairs, table, and everything— on his motorcycle. It had a considerably nice view, and yet was nice and quiet at the same time.

There wasn’t exactly any special occasion, and according to Jason, he just wanted to hang out with a friend now that he wasn’t busy doing vigilante work for once.

You and Jason were friends for a couple spins of the globe by now. The man trusted you, and that was a damn hard thing to get from him. He’s always had a bit of thing for you— a ‘boy-crush’ as he would call it to sugar coat the fact his sexuality wasn’t as straight forward as he had thought.

He would never in a million years confess that to you. Hell no. What was he? Out of his damn mind? And despite that— he was affectionate with you, mostly with physical touch such as holding hands, putting his arm over your shoulder and all that jazz. He wasn’t gay though. He (unconvincingly at that) reminded himself.

So there he sat at this table— in a little rundown gazebo that had moss and plants growing on it— not saying a word to you in a silence that managed to be comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.