jason who's never the first one to initiate a hug, but when someone else does, he lingers just a little longer than necessary, as if he's trying to memorize the feeling of being held. he's never the one to let go first, leaning into the touch as long as you'll let him.

jason who will fix someone's gear without any real need or correct the way they hold a knife or a gun and who would rather die again than admit this is the real reason he switched from his usual gloves to the fingerless ones.

jason who never reaches for a touch openly. instead there are small, almost unnoticeable gestures like bumping a shoulder after you crack a joke or sitting a little closer on the couch to feel the warmth of the person next to him. rest your head head on his shoulder or even fall asleep on him and he'll sit still for hours, breathing evenly with you until the tv sounds melt into something incoherent and his own eyelids grow heavy. maybe he'll even go as far as gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders or resting his cheek on the top of your head.

little spoon jason, who would’ve been absolutely terrified if someone had suggested sharing a bed a year ago. now he can't imagine falling asleep without the warmth of another body behind him, without familiar arms wrapped around his waist, holding him like he’s something precious, not broken glass taped back together.

jason who has come such a long way from lying stiff with every muscle tense like a trap waiting to snap shut, flinching at every accidental touch from how foreign it felt to practically melting in someone else's hands.