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3AM [Jaybird!bartenderXReader]

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ summary: one [anxious] reader steps out of her comfort zone visiting the famous only-female-allowed lounge bar "The Grotto". warning: none really, almost 12k words genre : sentimental notes: It took me many -MANY- attempts to get to this very point. From improving my writing skills to creating characters that actually feel human. This story right here is very dear to my heart, if you ever struggled with stepping out of your comfort zone/ anxiety this one right here is for you. I hope you like it the same I do.

Enjoy <3 Ps: I apologise for the way it's formatted, on my notes, it's much more "easier" to read. ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

[12:00 AM] The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open to reveal the top floor of the skyscraper. The air shifted—warmer, quieter, drenched in amber light. The Grotto lounge bar greeted her like another world, carved in luxury and low conversation. Velvet seats. Soft jazz. Laughter tinkling like glassware. Only the highest class of Gotham’s women gathered here, draped in silk and scent, their cocktails catching the light like jewels. She stepped in cautiously, the heels of her modest shoes whispering against the marble floor. Her dress, simple and safe, felt painfully plain among the sleek silhouettes and designer elegance. Her eyes flicked around, unsure where to land, until they found the bar. And him. The bartender. He stood out immediately—not just for his sharp looks, but the streak of white in his dark hair, bold and out of place in a room this polished. He was laughing with a group of women at the counter, pouring drinks like it was second nature. Effortless. Magnetic. The kind of man you looked at twice even when you swore you wouldn’t. She slid into the farthest seat, away from the laughter, tucked near the edge of a massive window that overlooked the city. Gotham twinkled behind her like a secret. But she didn’t turn to look. Her shoulders curled inward, trying not to shrink, not to look like she didn’t belong. The bartender noticed her. Of course he did. He wrapped up the last drink with a practiced flick, then made his way down the counter, his movements smooth but not rehearsed. He smiled—easy, not too much. “Good evening,” he said. “What can I get for you tonight?” She startled a little, realising he was speaking to her. Her fingers had been nervously toying with her earring, and she dropped her hand quickly, forcing a polite smile to mask the fluster. “Hi,” she replied, voice soft. “Anything non-alcoholic will do the trick.” The bartender nodded with a knowing look, his gaze flicking to her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. He noticed how her eyes never quite met his, how she seemed to fold inward, smaller than the space she took up. She wasn’t like the others tonight. His smile widened, warm but not patronizing, as his hands moved with practiced ease. Still watching her in the corner of his eye, he asked casually, "First time here?" She flinched a little. “Yeah…” Her voice was quiet, almost embarrassed by how obvious her awkwardness had become. Her shoulders dropped as she glanced around the room, looking for anything to anchor herself. But the more she looked, the worse it felt. The women at the lounge were radiant—confident, easy, shining like they belonged. And Y/N? She felt like a glitch in the wallpaper. Her stomach sank as she dropped her gaze to the polished counter. Jason caught the shift. The tension in her spine, the retreat in her eyes. He looked up and smiled again—this time gentler, something kind flickering in his expression. “Everyone feels out of place the first time,” he said, setting down the shaker. “Even me. And I work here.” She looked up, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. His eyes, so often mischievous when bantering with patrons, held something real now. Something grounded. Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to form a smile. It came out uneven but sincere. She appreciated it more than she could say. The piano murmured in the background, its soft notes curling around the silence between them. Her eyes flicked across the room again—but now, it didn’t sting quite as much. She looked back at him. "Thanks," she said quietly.

Why couldn’t I think of something to say? she cursed herself silently. Even pretending to take in the elegant surroundings felt forced, like playing dress-up in someone else’s life. "This place may look like it’s only for the elite, but that’s far from the truth." The bartender broke the silence, casually. His gaze was steady, his hands already moving with practiced ease as he prepped her drink. "The only thing that really counts here is how you treat others and yourself. And you…" His eyes flicked over her, taking in the careful way she’d put herself together. "You look like you belong here just as much as anyone else." He flipped the shaker effortlessly, ice rattling like punctuation, then poured a pale mocktail into a glass, finishing it with a slice of lemon. "Even if you don’t believe it yet," he added, sliding it gently toward her. "Confidence isn’t something you’re born with — it’s something you build." His voice stayed warm, just short of teasing. "You picked the right place to find some peace. And if you’re open to it… I can keep you company." She raised her brows slightly, the disbelief subtle but unmistakable. Yeah sure. The Greek God has spoken. How could someone like him—polished, relaxed, glowing under the bar lights—understand someone like her? Still, she nodded. "Thank you," she said, her voice small but sincere. She didn’t look up. Just kept her hands curled around the glass, letting the cold soothe her nerves. She didn’t quite believe his words—but for some reason, they still helped. Jason gave her one last, easy smile. “You’re doing better than you think.” She didn’t meet his gaze, fingers wrapped too tightly around her glass, as if her focus could make her disappear. Jason chuckled, not the least bit offended. He recognized the signs—the guarded posture, the wary glance. People like her didn’t come to the Grotto often, but when they did, he noticed. "No need for thanks," he said, tone easy. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, voice dipping into that practiced, disarming charm. "Trust me—I’ve seen it all." He paused, smirking. "Women who walk in like they own the place, then leave in tears. And others so nervous they can barely look me in the eye." He tilted his head. "Though I get that a lot. Comes with the devastating charm. Occupational hazard." His eyes moved over her—not leering, just observant. Noting the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she clung to her drink like a lifeline. She finally glanced up, caught by his stare. He didn’t look away. The jazz behind them softened into the hum of background noise, as if the moment narrowed down to just them. "The latter," he said, leaning in just enough for his voice to feel like a secret, "are usually the most interesting ones." His smile curved again—gentle this time, almost thoughtful. "The ones who step out of their comfort zones. Who try, even when it’s uncomfortable. There’s something about that…" He trailed off, choosing his words. Then, softer: “There’s something admirable about it.” He was far too good at this—at reading people, disarming them, making the whole thing feel easy. Y/N’s pulse picked up, each word lodging somewhere deep beneath her carefully built walls. She wanted to roll her eyes, to write him off as another smooth-talker—but she looked at him. Really looked at him. And some foolish part of her believed him. Her gaze locked with his, unsure. Wondering. Disbelieving. He’s completely out of my league, she thought, the realization landing hard. But he was still here. Talking to her. Looking at her like she was worth noticing. Jason caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes. He knew that look well—had seen it on dozens of faces. But there was something about this one that made him stay a little longer. He didn’t say anything else. He just smiled. And waited to see what she’d do next.

"Look," he said, his smile still lingering, though his voice dipped into something a touch more serious. "I'm not trying to hit on you or anything, I promise." He raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin tilting slightly. "That’s not what this is. I just… I see something in you, that's all." Somehow… his words stung more than they should have. Had she really been hoping he was flirting with her? The thought left her both embarrassed and annoyed at herself. Y/N raised her brows, forcing a smile she hoped looked playful rather than pained. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a dash of sarcasm, taking a sip of her drink. The cold did little to cool the heat rising in her neck. Jason noticed the flicker of disappointment but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned casually against the counter, tone light again. "You think so?" she asked a moment later, voice quieter now, the edge in her tone softening into something more curious. "Absolutely," he said, this time more gently. His blue eyes held her with unflinching sincerity. "I see it all the time—beautiful women who have no clue what they’re worth." He leaned in just slightly, his voice dipping as if sharing a secret. "But I see you. The real you. Not the version you’re trying to fit into this place." He straightened again, giving her a half-smile and a wink. The teasing glint returned, but the weight behind his words lingered. "Trust me, I’m not blowing smoke. I’ve been doing this long enough to tell when someone’s faking it—and when they’re the real deal." Y/N’s heart fluttered despite herself. Her gaze drifted to the group of women nearby, laughing effortlessly. Something clenched in her chest—an old ache of comparison she knew too well. "Thank you," she managed, a soft, almost fragile smile on her lips. Her foot tapped restlessly beneath the bar. For once, she met his gaze—and held it, even if only for a moment. He was, undeniably, magnetic. Too polished. Too much. And yet… something about the way he looked at her made her feel like she wasn’t invisible after all. Jason tilted his head slightly, the glint in his blue eyes softening as he noticed her fingers tapping nervously against her glass. While his hands worked fluidly on an order, pouring a deep amber liquid into a shaker, he shot her a grin. "You know," he said, voice easy, "you’re not the only one who’s felt completely out of place here." Y/N looked up, skeptical but curious. "Really?" "Oh, absolutely," he replied, grabbing two cocktail glasses without missing a beat. "Even me—the great and powerful bartender." He gave her a playful wink as he shook the cocktail, the ice rattling in rhythm with his words. "My first night here? Total disaster. Someone asked for a Manhattan—I handed them a Margarita." Y/N let out a quiet laugh, the mental image pulling a smile from her. "And then," Jason went on, smoothly pouring the drink, "there was a woman who ordered champagne and got soda water instead. Her face was priceless." "Oh no," Y/N said, laughing more openly now. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. "That's brutal." "Yeah, well, I was soaked. She was soaked. My pride was soaked." He grinned, setting the finished drink on the bar. "But she just laughed. Told me it was the highlight of her week. I was mortified, and she thought it was endearing." He leaned forward a bit, resting his arms on the counter as his tone softened. "Point is, if I survived that, you’re definitely surviving tonight." She blinked, realizing her shoulders had relaxed. Her grip on the glass had loosened. She wasn’t hiding behind her hands anymore, and when her gaze met his, it didn’t dart away immediately. It stayed. Jason had a rhythm to him—an energy that smoothed the edges of a tense moment. His charm wasn’t the polished kind he used on other women. This was quieter, tailored. Strangely personal. And worst of all? It was working. "I think you’re absolutely right," she said with a soft chuckle, her lips curving into a smile that felt unguarded for the first time that evening.

Jason smiled, almost triumphant, as if her ease was a little victory. He wiped the counter with a swipe of his cloth, eyes still on her. "See? You're doing great already." He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a picture of relaxed confidence. "I'm Jason, by the way." Before she could reply, a ripple of laughter pulled both their attention to the center of the bar. A group of stunning women had arrived—poised, polished, magnetic in their presence. They waved at Jason like regulars who knew exactly how to draw him in. Jason straightened. His smile shifted—brighter, smoother, something practiced sliding into place. He shot Y/N a quick, polite nod. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, tone warm but already half-turned away. The transformation was immediate. He moved through the space like he owned it, all charm and ease. "Well, look who decided to light up the place tonight! Ladies, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me." Y/N watched from her end of the bar, her smile faltering as his attention left her entirely. The warmth from before, the quiet sincerity—it evaporated. What remained was the version of Jason that belonged to everyone else. She took a sip of her mocktail. The sweetness stuck in her throat. For a moment, she held onto a flicker of hope—maybe he’d come back, pick up where they left off. But with every easy laugh, every tailored flirtation, that hope dimmed. His grin, once directed at her with surprising softness, now belonged to the crowd. "Ladies," he said smoothly, reaching for a shaker with a flourish, "what’ll it be tonight? The usual, or are we being adventurous?" A blonde leaned in, twirling her hair. "Got anything new up your sleeve, or just the same smooth talk?" Jason smirked, tossing the shaker. "I’m insulted. Smooth talk? Me? Never. Let’s try a blackberry fizz—sweet with a little bite. Sound familiar?" Laughter bubbled around him. Y/N turned her gaze down to the marble counter. Her fingers tensed around her glass. He wasn’t being cruel. He was being who he always was. And that, somehow, made it worse. The brunette beside the blonde chimed in. "Alright, charmer. What’s your read on me?" Jason leaned in like it was a game. "You? Classic. Confident. Negroni, just a touch smoother." Another chorus of laughter. Y/N sat there, invisible again. Her throat tightened. She wasn’t jealous of the drinks or the banter. Not really. She was jealous of how easy it seemed to be seen by him—when just minutes ago, he’d made her feel like she mattered. Now, she couldn’t help but feel like just another shadow in a room built for women who shone. Why did it matter so much? He was just a bartender—a stranger who'd offered a moment of kindness. But it did matter. Maybe because, for a heartbeat, she thought someone like him—a man so effortlessly magnetic—had seen her. Really seen her. Now it felt foolish. Her stomach coiled, shame gnawing at her thoughts like static she couldn’t shake. She replayed the entire conversation—every glance, every pause—until her chest tightened. Maybe if she’d smiled more, been lighter, funnier, easier. Instead, she’d been tense. Guarded. And now he was across the room, all laughter and ease with women who seemed to fit effortlessly where she never could. The familiar lump returned to her throat, thick and unmoving. She coughed lightly, pretending it was nothing. Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the counter, grounding herself. She glanced at her untouched drink—the mocktail Jason had made with care—and the sweetness now felt cloying. Another reminder that she’d misunderstood everything. She didn’t belong here. Not in this bar. Not in this crowd. Not even in that brief flicker of connection. Sliding a folded $40 beneath the base of her glass, she stood. Her movements were careful, measured. She smoothed her dress more out of reflex than vanity. As she walked past the group at the center of the bar, their laughter grated—bright, effortless, and completely unreachable. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor. And she left. No one noticed. [1:47 AM]

Meanwhile, the clock struck 3 a.m. inside the Grotto, signaling the end of Jason’s shift. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, letting out a low, tired sigh as he finally stepped out of the elevator into the sleek ground floor lobby of Wayne Tower. Outside, the biting night air wrapped around him like a second skin, the hum of the city reduced to distant traffic and the faint rustle of wind curling between buildings. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Jason walked briskly toward the edge of the street. The cold bit at his cheeks, the snow beneath his boots crunching softly as he moved. He glanced left, then right—more out of habit than necessity—before pausing mid-step. There, across the street, a familiar figure sat hunched at the bus stop. Through the fogged plexiglass and the faint glow of the streetlight, he recognized the outline. The scarf wrapped around her face. The same posture, drawn in on itself like she was trying to disappear. It was her. He hesitated. Part of him wanted to keep walking. He’d seen dozens of women come and go at the Grotto—awkward, flustered, hopeful. Some stayed long enough to ask for his number. Others never returned. He didn’t remember most of their names. But something about the stillness in the way she sat pulled at him. She wasn’t waiting. She was enduring. And his feet moved before he gave himself permission. "Hey!" he called, crossing the street quickly, dodging a stray taxi. He slowed as he neared the bench, careful not to come too close. "You… uh—hey, you’re the girl from the bar, right?" Y/N jolted at the sound of his voice. At nearly 3 a.m., she hadn’t expected anyone to speak—let alone him. Her breath hitched as a wave of mortification washed over her. Of course he would recognize her. Just when the sting of their earlier interaction had started to dull, the universe had to twist the knife. She cursed softly and gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white with tension. A quick glance to either side told her there was no out. No crowd to disappear into. No excuse to pretend she hadn’t heard him. Just cold air and silence. And him. With a reluctant sigh, Y/N tugged the scarf down just enough to reveal her face, feeling exposed under his sharp blue gaze. “Hi, yes… it’s me,” she replied, her tone polite but laced with unmistakable awkwardness. She forced a quick, nervous wave of her hand, barely able to meet his eyes. "Everything alright?" Jason asked, approaching the bench cautiously. The vulnerability he saw in her eyes when he’d last looked up from his drink-making was still there, but magnified tenfold. It was the kind of look that tugged at something deep within him, a part he usually kept well hidden from the prying eyes of strangers. His voice softened as he drew closer, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no worries,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Y/N looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her tired features. A polite smile tugged at her lips as she waved a hand dismissively. “Totally,” she said, her voice light—almost convincing. But they both knew it wasn’t true. Y/N had never been a good actress. Her face betrayed every flicker of doubt, every ounce of discomfort—and tonight, it betrayed everything. She didn’t ask what he meant. Doing so would mean peeling away layers she didn’t have the strength to reveal—not after how exposed she’d felt back at the lounge, and especially not now, in the frozen hush of the street. “I was waiting for the bus,” she added quickly, forcing a chuckle that cracked awkwardly in the cold air. It was meant to be casual, light. Instead, it fell flat between them, dragging the awkward silence behind it. Jason’s brow furrowed slightly. “At this hour?” He glanced around, then gestured toward his motorcycle parked a few meters away. “You know you’re gonna turn into an ice sculpture out here, right? I could give you a lift—if you’re okay with that.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? No, it’s okay, don’t worry,” she said quickly, waving her hands in a frantic little motion. Her voice pitched higher than she liked, forced and clumsy. If she had felt embarrassed at the Grotto, this was worse. All the vulnerability she’d tucked away came rushing back with brutal force. She took in a sharp breath and shoved her hands into her coat pockets, fists curling tight. The cold bit at her skin, grounding her—but the heat of shame still crept up her neck. Jason noted her shift instantly. Her recoil wasn’t subtle. He took a step closer to the shelter of the bus stop, his breath visible in the freezing air. Concern lingered behind his voice, even as he kept it steady. “You sure?” he asked. “It’s freezing out here, and the next bus isn’t coming for another…” He checked his watch. “Three hours.” "Come on. It's the least I can do, after leaving you like that earlier." He flashed her a smile—charming, a little guilty, and just barely worn around the edges. "I promise I won't bite." Ouch… He was more observant than she had given him credit for. Y/N clenched her jaw, the familiar sting of self-consciousness creeping in like an old bruise pressed too hard. "You were…" She paused, clearing her throat as the lump there threatened to give her away. "You were just doing your job, no harm done!" she added, forcing a polite smile onto her lips. For a fleeting moment, that smile twisted—more grimace than grace—before she managed to stitch herself back together. She wanted to seem unbothered. Convincing, even. But the sting of being so quickly replaced, so effortlessly brushed aside, clung to her ribs like frost. Jason let out a quiet huff, not quite a sigh, but laced with enough weight to say he wasn’t buying it. Wordlessly, he lowered himself onto the bench beside her. His elbows rested on his knees, eyes fixed on the stillness of the road ahead. “Don’t try to lie to someone who’s built a job out of reading people,” he said. His voice was quiet. Not unkind. But firmer now. Honest in a way that caught the air between them and held it still. He didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. The words alone landed with enough gravity. After a pause, he added— “Did something happen earlier?” It wasn’t a demand. More like a door, cracked open. In a cruel twist of irony, it was now Y/N’s turn to freeze. She turned her head to him slowly, her face a perfect portrait of surprise and horror. Her mind scrambled for something—anything—that could pull her out of the spotlight. A shield, a quip, a distraction. Nothing came.

Jason leaned back against the bench, exhaling slowly, his tone laced with a hint of concern. "Did that guy give you any reason to feel this way right now?" Silence. Jason took that as his cue to push a little further. "Did he... make you jealous?" he asked, his voice softer this time, yet probing. The cold air nipped at her cheeks, the icy wind cutting through the thick layers of her coat, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How could she be so readable? So damn easy to figure out? She clenched her fists in her pockets, resisting the urge to physically recoil from the weight of his gaze. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to slap herself and dig a hole right there in the frozen pavement —anything to escape the sheer intensity of her embarrassment. No clever deflection. No lie fast enough. No way out. The gears in her head spun frantically, searching —desperately hoping —to find an excuse, a retort, anything that could salvage what little dignity she had left. But her mind was blank, frozen just like the night around them. Not even a half-baked excuse surfaced. Her throat tightened. Words lodged deep, suffocated by the lump that had been growing since the Grotto. And the longer she stayed silent, the more she could feel the truth thickening in the air between them —undeniable, almost tangible. Jason wasn’t saying anything. Just waiting. And somehow, that made it worse. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of a taxi passing by. The flickering streetlight above them cast a dim, cold glow over the empty pavement, reflecting off patches of ice. Jason shifted slightly on the bench, his breath misting in the freezing air, but his gaze remained steady on her. "Maybe the guy you liked flirted with another girl at the counter?" His voice was softer now, laced with a gentle concern that somehow made Y/N’s skin prickle. Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes darting away from his. The weight of his words settled heavily between them, suffocating in their precision. She could feel it —the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her foot tapped nervously against the concrete beneath her. Jason didn’t press. Didn’t smirk or tease like she half-expected him to. He just watched. Waiting. And with every passing second, her heartbeat thundered louder in her ears, the tension clawing up her throat. He knew. And worse —she knew he knew. Yet still, she couldn’t bring herself to say a word. Jason exhaled softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. "Look," he said, his voice even, "if I’m wrong, you can just tell me to shut up and I will. But if I’m not…" He trailed off, tilting his head, giving her an out. An opening. Y/N inhaled sharply, her breath shaky. She felt cornered—trapped in a moment she had no way of escaping gracefully. Jason’s face softened, and he finally turned to look at her. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw, and the way she was trying so hard to hold herself together. And he realized—he’d hit the mark. "Hey," Jason's voice was quiet now, stripped of sarcasm and charm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way back at the bar. I was just…" he trailed off, his voice thinning. “Working.” The cold bit sharply at her cheeks as Y/N shot up from the bench, movements clumsy, breath uneven. Her heart pounded against her ribs, so loud it nearly drowned out the distant hum of the city around them. Shame and panic coursed through her like static, and for a wild moment, she considered running —disappearing into the dark street like a bad memory. Instead, she stood there, stiff and small, pointing aimlessly toward the next stop like it was a lifeline. "I—" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, too forcefully. "Look, I… I-I'll be headed towards the next bus stop," she said quickly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. Her words spilled out like they were trying to outrun her shame. It was a lie. A bad one.

Jason didn’t move at first. He just watched her —the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He could see the panic rising in her, inch by inch. She turned away, her fists curled tight in her coat pockets. Her throat burned, her mind screamed to leave, to vanish before this spiraled further. But somewhere beneath the storm, a quieter part of her stayed. Maybe he’ll stop me. Jason stood as well. “Hey, wait.” His voice wasn’t commanding. It was careful. He reached out halfway, then thought better of it, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, and his tone held none of his usual polish. “I know I can be… a bit of a jerk sometimes. But I didn’t know I made you feel like that. I was just trying to understand.” There was a pause—small, but telling. The kind that slipped in when someone realized they couldn’t undo something, only own it. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I promise I wasn’t trying to.” He gave a faint, dry chuckle, more tired than amused. “I’m not really used to people not enjoying my company.” It wasn’t arrogance. It was honesty. That was the worst part. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down at his boots like the answer might be written there. When he looked back at her, the streetlight caught the streak in his hair, softening his face. “Look, I’ll walk you to the next stop if you want. Just to make sure you’re safe, okay? I can’t let you walk alone at night. Not in Gotham.” Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic. The sarcasm hit her in waves, but it didn’t reach her lips. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to keep it all in—the humiliation, the guilt, the aching vulnerability that made her feel like a raw nerve. It wasn’t just that he’d figured her out. It was that he was being… nice. Genuinely kind. And she hated how ashamed that made her feel. She rubbed at her eyebrows with the heel of her palm, like she could physically smooth out the embarrassment surging through her. For a moment, she wanted to snap at him, tell him to leave her alone, to stop being so damn decent. But she knew herself. She’d choke mid-rant, and the tears would come. So instead, she gave up. With a tired exhale, she let herself fall back onto the bench. Not gracefully. Just… defeated. It couldn’t possibly get worse than this. Or so she hoped. Y/N let out a quiet breath, watching it fog the air before fading into the night. She kept her eyes on the street, refusing to glance his way. If she looked at him now, he’d know —he’d see right through her, just like before. Her skin burned with leftover embarrassment, frustration simmering just beneath. It wasn’t fair. Not how easily he read her, not how calm he stayed while she fell apart. He’d been kind, sure, but that only made her feel worse. Like she was the punchline to a joke she didn’t get. Like the harder she tried to hold it together, the more obvious it became she was cracking. Jason's eyes narrowed slightly, watching her retreat back to the bench with a mixture of concern and confusion. He'd never seen someone react like this to a little teasing before, but then again, he'd never really taken the time to get to know any of his clients beyond their favorite drinks and flirty banter. He gave her a small, understanding nod. He sat back down on the bench next to her, giving her space. "I'm sorry," he repeated, softer now. "I'll… try to be more careful in the future." For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant hum of a taxi rolling down the desolate street. Her heart pounded, her breath shaky. "Future?" she echoed, the sarcasm sharp enough to sting. "By tomorrow night, you’ll forget I even exist, and I’ll be booking therapy sessions for the next three years." The words clawed out of her before she could stop them, years of awkwardness and self-doubt laced into every syllable. It wasn’t meant to come out like that—not so blunt, not so bitter—but now it was there, hanging heavy between them.

Jason opened his mouth, maybe to apologise again, maybe to deflect with some casual charm —but she didn’t give him the chance. "I was envious, okay?! Envious!" she snapped, voice cracking as she turned to face him fully. "I wanted you to be flirting with me instead of those Victoria’s Secret looking girls!" Her hands flew up as if to physically throw the confession into the air. "But nooo, I had to be all stiff and awkward and ruin everything." Jason blinked, caught off guard. Her face went hot. Her stomach dropped. There it was —out in the open, ugly and honest. She had made a complete fool of herself. Again. And yet, in some twisted, ironic way, this was the most honest she had ever been all night. Not the polite facade, not the forced small talk at the bar. This —this was her, stripped bare. If she weren’t seconds from collapsing into the sidewalk, she might’ve laughed at herself. Instead, she stared at the streetlamp across the road, pulse pounding in her ears, wishing the ground would just split open and swallow her whole. The irony wasn’t lost on her. At the lounge, she’d done everything to keep a cool, composed façade. Now, she was unraveling —flushed, flustered, and very much exposed. Jason, mid-sentence when she exploded, had fallen completely silent. His brows had lifted slightly in surprise, eyes flicking across her face as if to confirm he’d heard her right. The streetlight above flickered, throwing shadows across his features, softening what might’ve been disbelief… or something gentler. Y/N’s breath fogged the air between them. Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves as the weight of her confession settled in. She swallowed hard, the cold biting into her already warm cheeks. “Oh god,” she whispered, half into her hands. Her fingers covered her mouth like she could push the words back in. “I… I can't believe I said that.” Her eyes darted toward the road like it might rescue her. Maybe she could run. Maybe this could be a bad dream. Jason blinked, and then let out a small breath—half-laugh, half-sigh. “Okay,” he said, recovering, voice low and teasing. “Did not see that coming.” He turned slightly on the bench, his head tilted as a slow grin crept onto his face. "Alright then—let’s flirt." Y/N’s head snapped toward him. “Wha—Huh?!” Her voice cracked. Her chest heaved. If the pavement cracked open beneath her, she’d happily disappear into it. Jason leaned in just a little, expression bright with mischief. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked smoothly, mock-serious. “I’d love to know the name of the woman who just knocked me speechless.” She could only blink at him, frozen in place. Her mouth opened. No sound came. It was agony. Then came the heat. It rushed up her neck and into her cheeks so quickly she thought she might combust. She clenched her fists inside her coat pockets, grounding herself to keep from combusting completely. Jason gave her time. His grin widened just enough to be smug, like he was enjoying the chaos he’d stirred. “You blush so easily,” he mused, breath curling in the cold air. “You were already turning red when I guessed right. Imagine if I actually started flirting.” Y/N sputtered, the words slipping out without permission. “We-Well… you’re embarrassing me, that’s why.” He leaned back, elbows on the bench, so casual it only made things worse. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Exactly,” he said, voice low and unbothered. “That’s what flirting does.” The quiet around them stretched again—just the hush of the city, the click of a far-off traffic light. Y/N sank into the bench, defeated. Somewhere out there, the universe had to be laughing. Jason’s tone softened as he nudged again, still grinning. “So… are you gonna tell me your name, or do I have to guess a second time?” His eyes held hers—not teasing now, not quite. Just open. And somehow, that was worse. How had someone made her feel so seen? Or maybe… it wasn’t him. Maybe it was just her luck finally running out.

The whole night had unfolded like one long, humiliating joke. Each awkward moment stacked on the next until she felt like the punchline. She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, not caring if she smudged her eyeliner. A sigh slipped out, heavy and tired. For a second, she nearly laughed—one of those dry, nervous chuckles that escape when nothing else makes sense. And Jason… somehow, everything still circled back to him. "I'm Y/N," she said finally, stretching her arms in a motion that felt unpolished but honest. For once, it wasn’t an effort to seem like something she wasn’t. Jason didn’t flirt this time. Maybe he picked up on the shift. Instead, he smiled gently. "Y/N, huh?" he repeated, like he was testing the name. A real smile—soft, not slick—tugged at his mouth as he held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, officially. I'm Jason." Jason's hand was warm and firm, and for a moment, Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the contact. Her hand lingered in his, a little longer than necessary, before she finally pulled away, stuffing her hands back into her pockets. "You're not what I expected," Jason said after a moment of companionable silence. "But in a good way." Y/N furrowed her brows, confused yet intrigued. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quiet but edged with curiosity—though she instantly regretted opening her mouth. The very act of meeting his gaze without crumbling under the weight of embarrassment was becoming a little easier, though the remnants of awkwardness still lingered, like a stubborn chill clinging to the winter air. Even as fragments of the night at the Grotto danced mockingly in her mind, she fought against the urge to retreat into herself. Progress, however slight, was still progress. He shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know, I guess I just thought you were… different." He looked out onto the street, the city lights reflecting off his blue eyes. "I'm used to women who… know how to handle themselves around me, I guess." "But you," he turned back to her, his expression softening, "You're real. You're not trying to impress me with your dress or some fancy drink order. It’s refreshing." Did he… Did he actually… Y/N turned her head toward him instinctively, her expression flickering between astonishment and disbelief. "What…?" she managed to whisper, her breath curling into a delicate mist in the biting winter air. Her dress—the one she had painstakingly saved for, sacrificing an entire week’s paycheck—wasn't some casual choice. It was supposed to be her best shot at blending into a world where refinement and elegance were currency. And yet, Jason's words hung in the frigid air, obliviously heavy with unintended meaning. A backhanded compliment? Or was he truly so out of touch with ordinary life that he didn’t grasp the weight of his remark? Speechless, Y/N’s thoughts churned, caught between wounded pride and reluctant curiosity. She glanced at him again, searching for any sign of malice, but all she saw was the same soft smile. Jason noticed the shift in her demeanor. His smile faltered slightly, brows knitting in concern. "What?" he asked, clearly unsure of what he'd done wrong. "I didn't mean it as an insult, Y/N," he added quickly. "It was supposed to be a compliment. You're… unique, you know?" "You mean poor?" she shot back before she could stop herself, the sarcasm cutting through the air sharper than the cold. The words dropped between them like a stone. Raw. Honest. Unexpected. Even she was surprised by the weight of her own voice. But maybe that was what he did to her—brought out the pieces she usually kept hidden. Jason blinked, stunned for half a second, then let out a laugh. Not the charming, bar-ready kind. It was real. Warm. Caught off guard. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head, breath curling visibly. "Okay, fair point," he admitted. "Guess that makes me look a little out of touch." "Just a little?" she teased, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

The air between them seemed to thaw despite the biting cold. For the first time, Y/N let out a genuine chuckle—light and unrestrained, carrying warmth through the otherwise empty street. It wasn’t forced or awkward like the polite laughs back at the Grotto, but something natural. Easy. Jason’s grin widened at the sound, his earlier amusement deepening into something softer, more genuine. For a fleeting moment, it was as if they'd always been good friends, sharing laughter on a quiet January night with no one else around to intrude. Jason's eyes sparkled with mirth, and he bumped her shoulder with his lightly. "Alright, alright. Point taken." The moment felt surreal—the two of them, sitting on a bench in the dead of night, bantering like old friends. It was a stark contrast to the tension-filled evening at the Grotto, and Jason found himself starting to enjoy this side of Y/N more than he expected to. The laughter faded, leaving behind a silence that wasn’t exactly awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. The kind of quiet that settles when two people don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, yet are still aware of each other’s presence. Y/N shifted slightly on the bench, her breath visible in the freezing air. Jason exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He glanced at Y/N, whose smile had softened into a small grin. She was still looking at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Maybe it was the brief moment of ease between them—or maybe the weightless feeling that came with laughing for real—but Y/N felt a sudden, reckless jolt of boldness. She cleared her throat, fidgeting slightly on the bench, as if bracing for impact. "So…" she began, the word escaping before she could take it back. Her courage faltered immediately, the question already forming and refusing to be swallowed. She hesitated. For a heartbeat, she wanted to backpedal, to turn it into a joke or wave it off. But he was already looking at her. Calm. Curious. Waiting. "Earlier… when you said you wanted to flirt…" Jason raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Mhm… and?" Y/N winced inwardly, but now she had to see it through. "When you asked if I wanted us to flirt… were you serious, or just messing with me?" Jason’s smirk was instant, effortless. "Would it have made a difference?” "Maybe." She wasn’t sure what answer she had been expecting, but it wasn’t the one he gave. "Let’s be real," he said, stretching his arms along the back of the bench, gaze drifting toward the quiet street across from them. "If things were different—if you had walked into the Grotto all confident, playing along instead of looking like you wanted to disappear—maybe I would've flirted with you. But…" He trailed off, and Y/N felt her stomach twist, the cold seeping into her bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. "But what?" she asked, her voice quieter now. Jason exhaled through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at her. "You’re not really my type." The air seemed to thin around her. "Oh." He didn’t see the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her coat. "I mean, don’t get me wrong," he added, voice casual. "You’re… interesting. But I usually go for a certain kind of woman. The kind who walks in and knows exactly what to say. Someone who turns heads without trying." Y/N stared at the ground, the sting rising in her throat faster than she could stop it. "You mean prettier girls." Jason nodded, still distracted, still oblivious. "Yeah." The laughter had long faded, swallowed by the cold stillness of the night and the distant murmur of the city. Y/N dropped her gaze, fixing it on a crack in the pavement as if it held the answer to the sinking weight in her chest. The burn in her throat tightened, a silent battle against the sting behind her eyes. She refused to let it happen—not here, not in front of him. But no matter how hard she tried to steady herself, the disappointment curled around her like frost creeping through the cracks, seeping in where she couldn't stop it.

She had known. Of course, she had known. But hearing it said aloud, so bluntly, so effortlessly, made it real in a way she hadn't been prepared for. And that was the worst part—not that Jason didn’t find her attractive, but that she had let herself believe, even for a second, that maybe he could. Jason didn’t expect much of a reaction—maybe an eye roll, maybe a scoff. But instead, Y/N just… froze. No sharp retort, no forced indifference. Just the smallest, almost imperceptible flinch, like she’d been caught off guard by a punch she should’ve seen coming. And he got it. Immediately. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then she looked away, her fingers curling into her sleeves as if to disappear inside them. Jason felt something uncomfortable twist in his gut. His stomach dropped. "Shit." The word left him before he could stop it. His usual smoothness, his usual control—it vanished in an instant. "I didn’t mean it like that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I just meant—" He stopped himself. What was he even trying to say? That it wasn’t personal? That she shouldn’t take it to heart? That he didn’t mean to say it so bluntly? None of it sounded right. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, dropping his head, defeated. "It’s all bullshit anyway," he muttered. His voice wasn’t playful now, wasn’t teasing. Just tired. "The flirting, the ‘charming bartender’ act, the way they look at me like I’m some… fantasy." A humorless chuckle left his lips. "It’s exhausting, you know? Playing along. Saying all the right things, smiling at all the right moments. It’s the same damn thing every night." And maybe, just maybe, that was why Y/N caught him off guard. Because she wasn’t playing the game. Because for once, he wasn’t sure how to play either. For some reason, Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the crack in the pavement, as if grounding herself in something so trivial could keep the humiliation from swallowing her whole. Her mind screamed at her to hold it together—he was just a stranger, after all. Just a fleeting presence in her life. But logic meant nothing against the heat burning her cheeks, against the sharp sting of tears welling up despite the freezing night air. She bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Her throat tightened, breaths shallow as she blinked—once, twice—each time praying the tears wouldn’t fall. But they clung to her lashes, stubborn and stinging. Her nose prickled, and her jaw ached from how tightly she clenched it. She was crying, quietly, helplessly. For what? For some guy she’d known for a handful of hours? It made no sense. A part of her wanted to lash out, to tell him off, to make him feel even a fraction of what she was feeling—but she knew herself too well. She’d get two words in before her voice wavered, before the lump in her throat betrayed her, and that would only make her feel more pathetic. She just wanted a damn mocktail in a fancy lounge bar. A simple night out, pushing herself out of her comfort zone. Instead, she sat there—ashamed, ridiculed, and on top of that, the cute bartender who had once made her feel seen had now made her feel completely invisible. Just another nobody in his world. Silence stretched between them, thick with defeat, even their breathing too loud against the quiet. Y/N exhaled sharply, tilting her head toward him, her expression a mess of sadness and sarcasm. "Should I consider myself lucky that I got to see the real shitty version of you?" The words slipped out before she could stop them—biting and dry, her voice carefully controlled even as her chest tightened. Maybe this was her way of deflecting, her last-ditch effort to cling to dignity. Sarcasm was the only shield she had left between herself and complete humiliation. She snorted softly, almost to herself. "If I knew you were this shitty, I wouldn’t have given you that tip.”

Jason looked up at her, the grin he so often wore nowhere to be seen. There was no charm in his face now—only regret. Her eyes shimmered faintly in the cold, but she refused to blink. He recognized the anger wrapped around her words, but it was the pain behind it that made his stomach twist. He let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. "That was shitty of me, wasn’t it?” His voice was low, stripped of its usual polished bravado. Tired. Flat. He leaned back against the bench, eyes on the vacant street. There was a quiet kind of shame in the way his shoulders sank, like the weight of the night finally caught up to him. A dry, humorless laugh escaped his throat. “Guess I’ve been doing this for too long,” he muttered. “The flirting. The charm. The whole damn act. I don’t even think before I speak anymore.” His fingers tapped against his leg, restless. “People walk into the Grotto expecting someone else. They want the smirk, the flirty banter, the illusion. They hand over their money and expect me to be whatever version of me makes them feel good. And I do it. Because it’s easier than disappointing them.” Jason exhaled, sharper this time. “They don’t care about me. Not really. Just the idea. The bartender who always knows what to say. Who’ll let them flirt, even if they’re wasted or married or looking for something I’m never going to give.” Y/N’s lips parted, a breath catching before she could stop it. "Oh…" It wasn’t much. Just a soft exhale, but the weight behind it was undeniable. A realization slipping through. She had done it too, hadn’t she? Looked at him like a story, not a person. It hit her low and quiet, enough to make her chest ache in a different way. He finally turned to look at her, and for the first time, he really looked. His expression wasn’t dramatic or broken—just tired in a way that felt too honest. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing people as people. Just… routines. Nights on repeat. Smiles I don’t mean.” A smirk tugged at his lips, empty and automatic. “So yeah. I say shitty things without thinking. Maybe I’ve been playing the part too long to remember how not to.” He glanced down at his hands. “But I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He hesitated, then added, softer, “I think that’s what threw me off about you. You didn’t want anything from me. You weren’t pretending. And I went and proved you right anyway, didn’t I?” His confession caught her off guard. So much so that, for a moment, the shame weighing on her chest loosened. Just a little.

She stole another glance at him, this time less guarded. "Still… it must be lonely.” Jason didn’t immediately respond, his gaze still on the empty street ahead. He let out a slow breath, fogging up the air between them, and leaned back against the bench. "It is," he admitted, quieter now. "But what can you do? You play the part long enough, and eventually, you just… keep playing it." There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet sort of exhaustion. He glanced at her then, eyes sharp despite the tiredness behind them. "It's not like anyone gives a shit what I actually think, anyway.” Y/N exhaled slowly, watching the faint puff of breath disappear into the cold night. Jason’s honesty had thrown her off, but it didn’t erase what he had said before. She could still hear it, still feel the sting of it settling somewhere deep in her chest. She swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Then why do you do it?” Her voice wasn’t sharp or accusing, just quiet. Maybe she wanted to understand. Maybe she wanted to hear something that made his words earlier hurt less. Jason shrugged, eyes sliding away from hers. “It’s easy, I guess. And people like it. I can be whatever they want me to be, and they’ll keep coming back, keep giving me their money…” He leaned his head back against the bench, staring up at the dark sky above them. “Habit, I guess. I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t know any other way.” Y/N pursed her lips. His answer felt distant, like a statement made to no one in particular. She let it sit between them, rolling it over in her mind, but there was no response that felt right. No words that wouldn’t sound hollow in the face of something so deeply ingrained in him. So she didn’t say anything. A gust of wind stirred the air between them. She shifted slightly, unconsciously putting a bit of space between them on the bench—not out of discomfort, but the kind of subtle retreat that happens when someone is processing something too big to name. The wind whispered through the empty streets, rattling a loose street sign in the distance. A car rolled past on the cold asphalt, tires humming softly before fading away, leaving behind only the quiet flicking of the traffic light above them. The rhythmic click—steady, unbothered—marked the seconds passing between them. A brittle leaf skittered across the sidewalk, catching briefly on Y/N’s boot before dancing off into the street. She exhaled, the sound soft but visible in the cold air. Beside her, Jason did the same, his breath unfurling in thin, fleeting clouds. Neither of them spoke. There was no need to. The night filled the silence for them—the occasional flicker of the streetlamp, the distant roar of a motorcycle turning a corner blocks away, the barely-there rustle of Jason shifting in his seat, fabric brushing against fabric. She looked at him again—really looked. And for the first time, she didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed. Just quiet. Curious. For once, she wasn’t the one performing. The stillness wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt necessary. Y/N exhaled, watching her breath fade into the cold air. The silence between them was thick—not awkward, just present, like it had earned its place. And then, without thinking, she murmured, “Must be… interesting, having people want you for something so simple.” She blinked, surprised by her own voice, then turned her head slightly to glance at Jason. He looked at her, his face unreadable in the low light. For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just watched her. Then, with a small, tired smile, he shook his head. “It’s not simple. And they don’t want me. They want the idea of me.” Jason’s words landed between them like a stone in still water—unmoving, rippling outward in silence. Y/N watched him, mind circling through a dozen replies that all felt hollow. That sucks? I get it? None of it would matter. None of it would change that this was his truth. Her fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve, grounding herself with the motion. She exhaled. Just say something.

Because it was true. Jason looked at her then, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a second, she thought she'd crossed a line, but then his face softened. He didn't look away. He let out a slow breath, watching as it curled into the cold air and disappeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than before. Then, finally, a quiet, almost absentminded reply— "Feels different, too.” It was so soft that Y/N almost missed it. She watched as his fingers tapped lightly against his knee, like he was working through a thought he hadn’t quite shaped yet. And then, without really meaning to, Jason looked at her. Really looked at her. Her face was relaxed now—no tension in her brows, no hesitation in her expression. The dim streetlight softened the lines of her face, casting her in a kind of quiet glow. She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t performing. And just for a second—before he even realized he was doing it—he lingered. Then, like catching himself in the act, he shifted his gaze away and cleared his throat. Jason leaned back against the bench, stretching out his legs with a lazy kind of ease, like he was making himself comfortable. Like it was easy to sit there. And maybe that was the strangest part of all. He didn’t try to charm her. Didn’t offer a witty comeback. Didn’t fill the silence. Jason’s laugh from before still hung faintly in the air, softer than the cold night but warmer somehow. When he wasn’t playing into expectations—wasn’t smirking, teasing, or perfectly composed—he looked real. Grounded. Like someone she could actually understand. A passing car hummed down the street, its headlights throwing long shadows across the pavement. Y/N didn’t look at him; she didn’t need to. The silence remained unchanged. Not uncomfortable. Not strained. Just there. Y/N leaned back on her hands, eyes on the quiet streets. Her posture had shifted—looser now, more at ease. She wasn’t shrinking in on herself. She wasn’t trying to disappear. She was just… there. Her legs swung slightly beneath the bench, like she didn’t even notice. Jason glanced at her. Then looked away.

A small, white speck floated down between them. Y/N blinked. Looked up. Another drifted down, then another. She straightened, hands slipping from the bench as she leaned forward. The light caught the delicate flakes, turning them silver as they fell. Jason watched her as she watched the sky. Without thinking, Y/N stood and stepped just beyond the bench as more snowflakes twirled down. She tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded, soaking in the moment. The city lights gave the illusion of something softer, more delicate—like the world had paused just for her. Jason didn’t move. Something about her felt different now. It wasn’t just the way she stood—shoulders relaxed, face unguarded—it was the way the night wrapped around her, quiet and unburdened. The neon glow from a nearby streetlamp caught in her hair, softening its edges. The snowfall blurred everything sharp about her, leaving something gentler behind. She didn’t look different. But somehow, she did. Jason exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze away like it might shake something loose in his chest. Y/N, unaware, reached out a hand, palm open, waiting. A small flake landed. Melted. “Figures,” she muttered. Jason smirked. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know.” Her hand dropped back to her side, her breath visible in the cold. “Something more poetic.” Jason snorted. “It’s frozen water.” She turned to him with a mock glare. “Wow. You really know how to kill a moment.” He shrugged, lazy. “It’s a gift.” But she wasn’t annoyed. She was smiling—small, easy, unguarded. Jason found himself watching her again. And this time, he didn’t stop. Y/N let out a soft breath, then moved to sit back down, settling more comfortably than before—legs crossed at the ankles, hands loose in her lap. She didn’t seem to notice the change in her posture, but he did. She wasn’t shrinking anymore. Jason couldn’t look away. She was the same girl who’d nursed a mocktail in silence at the Grotto… but she wasn’t. That girl had curled in on herself, trying to disappear. This one was present. Open. Jason had seen a hundred masks in his line of work. But he’d never seen someone take theirs off like this. Y/N turned and caught him staring. “What?” she asked, her voice light. Jason blinked, startled. He scoffed and looked away, shaking his head. “Nothing.” “Liar.” He smirked, but didn’t argue. And then— Silence. Not heavy. Not hesitant. Just there. Like they’d finally earned it. The wind picked up slightly, sending a shiver up Y/N’s spine. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her coat and exhaled through her nose, watching the faint fog it created. Jason followed her gaze upward. The snow was still falling, but lazily now, like the night itself was winding down. “You ever just sit in silence with someone?” Y/N asked suddenly. Jason glanced at her. “What do you mean?” “I mean, like this.” She gestured vaguely between them. “No talking, no pressure. Just sitting.” Jason thought about it. About all the nights at the bar, the endless small talk, the constant push-and-pull of playing along. He exhaled. “Not really.” Y/N nodded as if she expected that answer. Jason didn’t add that he wasn’t sure he minded it this time. Y/N didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just turned her head toward him, slow and unbothered, her breath soft in the cold. And then she smiled. Not a shy one. Not an apologetic one. But a real smile. One that didn’t ask for permission. One that didn’t try to charm or disarm or perform. Just hers. Jason looked over—drawn by something he couldn’t quite name—and for a second, it caught him off guard. She wasn’t the girl hunched over her mocktail anymore. Wasn’t the one fidgeting with her sleeves or glancing at the exits or trying to shrink herself out of view. There was nothing guarded about her now. And before he could help himself, Jason smiled back. Not his usual smirk, the one honed to perfection with a thousand rehearsals and flirtations. But something smaller. Warmer. A slow curve that reached his eyes—softening them, making the faint crow’s feet at their corners show.

The street was still quiet when the distant hum of the bus finally broke through the silence. Y/N stood up without hesitation. There was no fidgeting this time, no lingering glances for reassurance. Just a calm, certain rise to her feet—like she knew she was okay now. Jason stood too, but slower. Almost mechanically.Something in his chest gave a strange, unexpected stutter. Not pain. Not dread. Just… something he couldn’t name.The kind of feeling that told him she was about to leave, and that he might actually miss her. The bus pulled in, headlights washing over them as it hissed to a stop. Y/N stepped forward—And that’s when he moved.Not with a plan. Just instinct. His hand reached out, brushing against the sleeve of her coat. Not grabbing. Just enough to pause her. She turned to him, her eyes soft and open, like she was already saying yes to something he hadn’t said yet. Jason opened his mouth. And for once, he didn’t have a perfect line. “Can I…”He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure.“Can I see you again?” A beat. “I mean—can I have your number?” Y/N’s brow arched, a hint of amusement playing on her face. She didn’t tease him for it—not this time. She just reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone.“Give me yours,” she said simply. Jason blinked, caught off guard again, but handed it over without a word. She typed with calm, steady fingers—no hesitation. Then handed it back. “There. You better not ghost me,” she added, her tone light, but not joking. Jason glanced at the screen. Her name. Her number. There. Real.“I won’t,” he said—quieter than he meant to, but sincere. She stepped onto the bus. He stayed by the bench, watching as she moved down the aisle, sat by the window, and didn’t look back. The doors closed with a hiss. The engine rumbled. And just like that, she was gone. Jason stood still in the cold, hand curled slightly, as if to protect the ink on his skin.Snow kept falling.And he just… smiled. A real one. Jason didn’t move. He stood there, hands in his pockets, watching as the taillights faded into the snow-flecked distance.The early dark morning quiet returned—soft, still, heavy with meaning. The cold bit at his cheeks, but he didn’t notice. His fingers curled lightly around his phone, like part of him still didn’t believe the number inside it was real. And yet, there it was. She’d said yes. Not to a performance. Not to the polished bartender. But to him. Jason tilted his head back slightly, watching the snow drift down through the dim streetlights, soft and slow. The bus was long gone. The street was empty. And still, he stood there. For a moment, everything stayed still.The kind of snow that quieted the city and made it feel like the world was holding its breath. And then—he smiled. Not wide. Not for anyone else. Just enough to feel it in the corners of his eyes.Enough for the warmth of it to reach somewhere deep.Enough to feel, maybe for the first time in a long while, that something had really, actually changed. The bench beside him was empty now. But he didn’t feel alone