One day, you laugh. Not at one of Jax’s usual punchlines — just an offhand comment. The sound is soft, genuine. It catches him completely off guard. His expression changes for half a second. Something unguarded flashes there before the mask snaps back into place.

After that, he tries less hard to be funny around you. The moments become quieter. Realer. More dangerous. “You’re different when you’re not trying,” you say gently. Jax looks away. “…Don’t get used to it.”