Tucked away in the poetry section, a man in a worn leather jacket ran his fingers along the spines of a collection of classic epics. His shoulders were set with a tension that didn't belong among the quiet shelves.

Y/n's eyes landed on it at the same moment his did—a single, beautifully preserved copy of "The Odyssey" on the highest shelf. It was the last one.

Two hands reached out. Fingers brushed. Skin met skin.

The world vanished. Not in a blur, but in a flood. A cascade of foreign feelings—frustration, a sharp, protective instinct, a deep, buried loneliness—slammed into Y/n's mind. At the same moment, a wave of quiet contentment, a stubborn spark of defiance, and a startling sweetness flooded Jason's consciousness.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, they weren't two strangers in a bookstore. They were one. Every wall, every defense, gone.