( there's bruising around his eyes, in the traditional haven't slept in four years way; a few scratches on his neck, old bruises along cheek bones. the bandages that had been covering his chest have been removed, replaced with butterfly bandaids which are. a little harder to see through the skin-tight tank he wears under a jacket despite how fucking hot it is outside lately. it's a thinner jacket, at least; not the faux leather he usually wears but softish cotton, torn at the sleeves with threads hanging down from the bottom. faux leather gloves cover hands, because like hell is jason risking anyone of their mix-matched group touching skin and causing emotion shares.

easier just to keep himself covered. the flush is met with a wider grin, before jason turns himself back around towards the bar. raises his glass and rotates a wrist to stir the whiskey inside. )

All this work to avoid me, when we could've been enjoying good whiskey together this whole time. ( another way of saying of course that's what he has. jason offers his own glass, holds it towards fitz. ) Figured if we were going out for beer, I'd get something a little stronger while I waited.

Dicky wasn't over exaggerating how cute your accent is, either.