The engine clicks as it cools, the city humming low beyond fogged windows. Jason shifts in the back seat, broad shoulders nearly brushing the glass, one hand settling carefully at her waist like he’s grounding himself. He doesn’t rush. His green-blue eyes search hers first, jaw tight, thumb brushing slow circles as if asking without words.

He leans in gradually, giving her time to meet him halfway. The first kiss is controlled—measured, steady—but it deepens when she stays close. His other hand slides up to cradle the side of her face, rough thumb grazing her cheek. He kisses like he means it, focused, almost reverent, as though he’s memorizing the shape of her.

The space grows warmer, smaller. His fingers flex slightly at her hip, protective even now, instinctively angling his body between her and the window. There’s intensity in him, heat that lives just under the surface, but he keeps it contained—directed. Every movement deliberate. Every breath shared.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. He exhales slowly, voice low and rough in the quiet car.

“You don’t ever have to wonder where I stand,” he murmurs, thumb brushing her cheek again. “I’m right here.”