( a glass of tap water and a fork make an interesting toast. jason can't help the laughter that bursts free after, setting his glass down to shove his fork back into the pancakes. another mouthful in his big huge mouth swallowed down, before he even bothers trying to speak again. )
God, Lo, you're-- ( something else is where he was going with that. maybe fucking amazing, but he stops mid-sentence. remembers who he's with, where they're at. what the hell he's supposed to be doing here. and it's not--quite right. there's something off, something he got bits and pieces of before. jason hasn't fucking laughed like this in. forever. but he does so freely here without restraint. without memories weighing down on him without things hurting so bad.
he's comfortable. too comfortable. getting too used to all of this when it's all going to come crashing down around him any moment. he'll fuck something up, again. do something truly fucking awful, again. destroy any chance at maintaining jack shit and when their goal is to get out of here anyway? god, what's the point of all this? of being friendly, of making faces and eyes at gods, getting along with the local vigilante crowd--
it's all fucking pointless. the fork gets set down on the table as he finishes what he has, purses lips before he's turning in to press a kiss against the curve of a cheekbone (there's something dark in there, a deep-seated fear. jason tries to hide it under the contentedness of before, but) with one hand raising to try and help loki turn in towards him more, fingers brushing through dark hair. )
Hate to eat and run, but I forgot 'bout something. I'll see you tonight?
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God, Lo, you're-- ( something else is where he was going with that. maybe fucking amazing, but he stops mid-sentence. remembers who he's with, where they're at. what the hell he's supposed to be doing here. and it's not--quite right. there's something off, something he got bits and pieces of before. jason hasn't fucking laughed like this in. forever. but he does so freely here without restraint. without memories weighing down on him without things hurting so bad.
he's comfortable. too comfortable. getting too used to all of this when it's all going to come crashing down around him any moment. he'll fuck something up, again. do something truly fucking awful, again. destroy any chance at maintaining jack shit and when their goal is to get out of here anyway? god, what's the point of all this? of being friendly, of making faces and eyes at gods, getting along with the local vigilante crowd--
it's all fucking pointless. the fork gets set down on the table as he finishes what he has, purses lips before he's turning in to press a kiss against the curve of a cheekbone (there's something dark in there, a deep-seated fear. jason tries to hide it under the contentedness of before, but) with one hand raising to try and help loki turn in towards him more, fingers brushing through dark hair. )
Hate to eat and run, but I forgot 'bout something. I'll see you tonight?