JASON'S JAW IS TIGHT when he spots you.

You’re swaying slightly on the sidewalk, arms crossed over your chest for warmth, eyes distant. There’s pink glitter on your cheekbones. A red Solo cup abandoned at your feet. You’re laughing at something Connor Stoll says as he helps keep you steady but the second Jason calls your name, your head whips around like it’s instinct.

He watches your whole face light up.

“Jason!” you yell, arms immediately outstretched like he’s a prize you’ve won.

His heart aches.

You’re clearly drunk. Your smile is dizzy and open, your mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes. He’s at your side in seconds, letting you drape yourself over him as he nods a silent thank you to Connor.

“Had a little too much ambrosia punch, huh?” he murmurs, brushing hair from your face.

You nuzzle your cheek into his chest. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He ducks to catch your eye. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

You hum, content. “You’re warm.”

Jason wraps an arm around your waist and starts guiding you away. “You’re freezing. Let’s move, okay?”

You let him walk you back to the cabins, occasionally stumbling, occasionally giggling. You don’t stop touching him once. Your hands tug at his jacket, your mouth babbles half-formed words. At one point, you call him your husband and that nearly kills him.

You reek of sugar and fake fruit. He presses a kiss to your temple anyway.

By the time he gets you inside his cabin, you’re more sleepy than tipsy.

“Water,” he says gently, helping you sit on the edge of his bed. “Then makeup off. Then sleep.”

You pout. “Why do you always take care of me?”

He gives you a look, handing you the water bottle. “Because I love you.”

You take the water, sip it obediently. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You’ll mess up your mascara even more.”

“Don’t care.” You crawl into his lap instead. “Can I kiss you?”

Jason freezes.

Your arms are around his neck. You’re warm and soft and blinking up at him like he hung the godsdamn stars. You smell like champagne and vanilla and trouble.

His throat works. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“You are that drunk.”

You lean in anyway slow, careful, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You kiss him once, soft and syrupy, and he lets you. But when your hand drifts beneath the hem of his shirt, his breath hitches.

And then he’s pulling back.

Your eyes flutter open.

“Jason?” you whisper, blinking.

He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, thumb grazing your jaw.

“Not like this,” he murmurs. “Not when you’ve been drinking.”

“But—”

“You’re not in your right mind,” he says gently. “And I want it to be real. You—real. With me.”

You go quiet.

For a second, all you do is stare at him.

“You’re a good man, Jason Grace,” you mumble finally, dragging your finger across his chest like it’s a secret. “Even when I try to be a little hazard.”

He smiles, a little sheepishly. “You’re not a hazard. You’re just a very flirty drunk.”

“You don’t want me?” you ask, small, slurring now from exhaustion. “Like, in that way?”

Jason looks at you like it physically hurts him to even let you ask that.

“Of course I want you. Gods, I want you all the time. But I want you when you know you want me. Not when you’re drunk and flushed and full of party dust.”

You look down at his chest, cheeks heating. “Okay.”

“I’m still gonna kiss you,” he says quietly, tipping your chin. “I just want the rest of you to feel safe first.”

He kisses your forehead first. Then your nose. Then your mouth—soft and slow and completely unfair.

You sigh into it. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jason chuckles. “You’ve told me that twice tonight already.”

“Okay, well. Third time’s the charm.”

JASON DOESNT KNOCK. He never does when it’s this late.

The first thing you hear is your door creaking open and the familiar rhythm of his footsteps quiet, careful, like he’s trying not to wake you. Which is ironic, since you’re already sitting up, blinking blearily at the boy standing in your doorway, bathed in blue light and shadow.

You know the look on his face. You've seen it before.

“Bad dream?” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

He nods, once. Doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to.

“Come here.”

You lift the blanket. He doesn’t hesitate.

The mattress shifts as he slides in beside you, his skin cool from the night air. He smells like pine, like electricity, like rain in the middle of a dry season. His arms find you fast—like they always do—one circling your waist, the other slotting under your neck, pulling you flush to his chest like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Neither do you.

His heartbeat is rapid beneath your palm, still recovering. You trace circles there gently, wordlessly. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left his cabin.

“It was stupid.” His voice is hoarse. “It wasn’t even real.”

“Still scared you.”

He swallows. You feel the movement under your cheek.

“I hate that it gets to me,” he admits, low. “I hate waking up like that. Alone.”

You lift your head enough to look at him. His hair’s a mess, sticking up on one side, his jaw tense even in the dark. There’s something about this version of Jason—the quiet 2am version—that hits you in the chest every time.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not alone.”

“I know.” He glances at you, lips curling into something small. “That’s why I came here.”

He tugs you closer until there’s barely any space between you, one leg hooked over yours, his hand splayed across your back. His touch isn’t desperate, it’s steady. Reassuring. You realize he’s grounding himself now, like you’re the thing that’ll keep him tethered if the nightmares come back.

You’re okay with that. More than okay.

“Want to tell me about it?” you ask softly, fingers brushing over the back of his neck.

He hesitates. “You weren’t there.”

“What?”

“In the dream. We were on some mission. Something went wrong. And you were just… gone.” His voice wavers slightly. “I couldn’t find you.”

Your heart twists. “Jason…”

“I know it wasn’t real. I do.” He’s staring at the ceiling now, jaw tight. “But I woke up and you weren’t next to me and I—”

“You didn’t even knock,” you reason gently, resting your forehead against his.

“Would you have answered if I had?”

“No. But still. Rude.”

He huffs a laugh, finally. Some of the tension drains from his body, and you exhale with him, your limbs tangling naturally again.

You fall quiet for a while after that. His breathing slows. Yours does too. The window’s cracked open and the cicadas outside hum.

Just when you’re on the edge of sleep, Jason shifts again.

“You know I love you, right?”

The words are so quiet they almost slip past you. But you catch them.

You freeze. Blink your eyes open. You’ve said it before, sure. But never like this. Never in the dead of night, tangled in sheets, said like a confession. Like a promise.

You pull back just enough to see his face.

His cheeks are flushed. His brows furrowed slightly like he’s nervous.

You lean in slowly. “I know,” you whisper. “I love you too.”

His shoulders relax. He kisses you soft, sleepy, grateful.

You stay like that for a while, mouths brushing lazily, hands trailing over bare skin like you’ve got nowhere else to be (because you don’t). It’s not heated. It’s not even about the kiss. It’s about being here, being real, being safe.

You feel his hand stroke down your back.

“You’re staying here tonight,” you say into his mouth. It’s not a question.

He nods. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

“Good.”

When you both finally collapse back onto the pillows, your legs are tangled and his hand is on your waist and you’re pretty sure you’ve never felt this warm in your life.

And when Jason finally falls asleep—with his head tucked into your neck and your fingers running through his hair—you know the nightmares won’t touch him.

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