The underwater lights of the resort pool cast a shimmering, chlorinated glow across the empty patio. It’s a little past two in the morning, and the humid, tropical air clings to your skin the second you break the surface, shaking the water from your hair.

You tread water, wiping drops from your mascara-free eyelashes, and look toward the shallow end.

The last time your families forced you on this joint vacation, you were fourteen, and you spent the entire week making sure he knew you thought he was gross. Now, you’re actively plotting how to sneak him into your hotel room without waking your mother.

Jason is sitting on the tiled edge, his long legs submerged to the calves, lazily kicking the water. He’s traded his usual oil-stained jeans for dark swim trunks, leaving the sprawling, chaotic canvas of his tattoos completely on display. The harsh blue pool light dances over the skulls and webs on his chest as his muscles shift. He’s got a hotel towel draped around his neck and a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, watching you with that familiar, heavy-lidded gaze.

You swim over, taking your time, letting the cool water glide past your shoulders. You stop between his parted knees, resting your wet arms against his bare, ink-covered thighs. You narrow your eyes at the cigarette, a habitual flare of annoyance rising, and splash a tiny, warning handful of water at his chest.

Jason chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates against your arms. He takes one last drag before obediently stubbing it out in a damp soda can beside him.

"Bossy tonight, aren't we, Princess?" he drawls, his rough voice carrying easily in the quiet courtyard.

He reaches down, his large, calloused hands finding your shoulders above the water. He hauls you closer until your chest is pressed against the wet tile and your chin rests on his knee.

You roll your eyes, letting out an indignant, soft huff through your nose, but you don't pull away. You lean your cheek against the rough texture of his thigh, closing your eyes. You’re still not completely used to this—this easy, sappy affection without the frantic, desperate need to hide it from your friends. A part of you still wants to snap at him, to put up that icy, perfectly manicured shield just to prove you still have it. But the hollow ache that used to live in your chest is gone, replaced by the steady, grounding warmth of his hands resting lightly on your bare shoulders.

His thumb traces circles against your wet skin, wiping away a stray drop of water from your collarbone.

"Your mom cornered me at the buffet tonight," he murmurs, a crooked smirk playing on his lips when you groan and bury your face against his leg. "Asked me what my intentions were. Think she's finally realizing I'm not just the degenerate mechanic next door who steals your dad's beer. I'm gonna marry her daughter one day."

You pinch his knee under the water, a silent, embarrassed demand for him to shut up. Your face burns hot against his skin.

Jason laughs again, his fingers tangling in your wet hair, gently tilting your head back so you're forced to look up at him. His dark eyes soften, the teasing fading into something raw and entirely too genuine. It still makes your breath hitch—the look you finally realized you didn't have to be perfect to earn.

A half-hearted, defensive scowl instinctively forms. But then you look at the absolute patience in his eyes, the safe harbor he offers you every single time your brain spirals. You let out a long, conceding sigh, letting the icy exterior melt into the chlorinated water.

Turning your face just a fraction, you press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of his ink-stained palm, letting the gesture say all the sappy things your stubborn pride won't let you articulate at two in the morning.

His smirk turns into a gentle, devastating smile. He leans down, his damp hair brushing your forehead, and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

"Yeah, yeah. I love you too, you little brat. Keep swimming, I like the view."