Jason was in a mood. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth, and if his drumsticks weren’t already wrapped in tape, they’d be splintered by now.

Maybe it was the fight with Bruce before the show—some pointless argument about responsibility that ended with Jason storming out before he could say something he’d regret. Maybe it was the way he caught Roy’s hands shaking earlier, before he forced out that reckless grin and downed another drink.

Yeah. That.

Jason knew Roy too well, knew that fake charm like the back of his own hands. He also knew when Roy was trying too damn hard to act like everything was fine. So when Roy suddenly reached into the crowd and pulled a fan onto the stage, Jason immediately rolled his eyes.

Typical.

He could already hear the tabloids—Red Riot’s frontman gets handsy on stage! But Roy wasn’t even being that guy tonight. No, this was different. There was something pointed about it, the way Roy glanced Jason’s way as he led you forward, as if saying: See? I’m fine. Now stop looking at me like I’m dying.

Jason huffed out a breath, ready to ignore whatever stunt Roy was pulling. Then he saw you.

The stage lights hit your face, and he forgot why he was pissed off. You were confident, unshaken, moving toward him like you’d done it a thousand times. Suddenly he wasn’t annoyed anymore.

He leaned back slightly, legs spreading wider, smirking as he tapped his thigh in invitation. A silent challenge. "C’mon, babe. Let’s see what you got."

He half-expected hesitation. A shy laugh. But you? You didn’t hesitate.

Heat coiled in his stomach as you straddled his lap, hands gripping his shoulders, your weight pressing against him in all the right places. And still—his drumming never faltered.

Holy shit.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips. Still playing, he exaggerated his next bass kick, lifting his legs just enough to make you bounce in his lap. The reaction was instantaneous—the crowd erupted, and Jason? He was smitten.

"Still feeling brave?" he teased, his voice low.