Chapter Text
There’s this belief that people shouldn’t get out of bed or leave the house once they’ve already decided they’re going to sleep.
You know the kind of stories your grandmothers tell you, like those little rituals about throwing lentils on New Year’s Eve or knocking on wood so you don’t accidentally invite something bad into existence.
That kind of magical thinking tends to follow you around.
Even when you were little and tried to outrun a random car you had chosen on the street because, if you didn’t make it, your brain convinced you something terrible would happen.
That you would get hurt, that you would die. A completely arbitrary bet; but one of the many little rules keeping your belief system intact. One of those things that brings you comfort, even when facing something completely unknown.
So, even inside your own mind, you recognize that against all odds, you’re breaking one of your most deeply rooted beliefs.
Just because of him.
For one person, you’re willing to leave behind the comfort of your warm sheets and blankets.
Even giving up the comfort of sleeping in nothing but oversized shirts and underwear that looks nothing like the kind women wear on television — the kind plenty of people would probably call ugly and outdated.
Because you knew it was Thursday.
And Thursdays usually meant, except for very specific occasions, that Jason would “unexpectedly” show up at your apartment. Except it was anything but unexpected.
It was completely calculated.
You knew the routine brought both of you comfort, even if neither of you ever said it out loud. Even though nothing sexual ever really happened.
Both of you knew that seeing each other — even if it was only so you could patch him up after patrol — was an excuse. An excuse to let your fingers linger against his skin a little longer than necessary.
To talk about meaningless things while pretending there weren’t a thousand questions you wanted to ask each other. A thousand things you were dying to know.
That small little act where both of you pretended not to notice the tension hanging in the air was the serotonin boost you needed to survive another week.
For you, it was an escape from the routine that came with having an office job. A job you certainly didn’t hate, one that, strangely enough, gave you the thing you had always been chasing:
Control.
And some half-baked version of “stability", But at the same time, it completely limited your life. You spent almost ten hours away from home every day, and on the days you worked remotely, you could go days without talking to another person.
As for him, he had never told you the specific reason why he kept coming back to you.
But during those quiet moments on the subway — the ones where your brain somehow manages to think about everything and nothing at the exact same time — you liked reaching your own conclusion.
That with how chaotic and messy his life was, coming back here and feeling that someone cared enough to take care of his wounds made him feel a little less alone. Like maybe he saw you as the stability he never had.
And even though you knew you were anything but stable…The little you had to offer was already more than enough for him.
At any other point in your life, hearing a noise inside your apartment at three in the morning would’ve probably felt like a bad omen. Like another problem forcing its way into your life without warning. The kind you usually couldn’t do anything to stop.
But this Thursday, specifically, meant testing the limits you had built around yourself. Around just how emotionally unavailable you convinced yourself you were, even when all you wanted was somewhere to put all the affection you were holding back.
You always pretended you didn’t notice when Thursday came around, because normally, safety was practically a ritual for you. You checked the lock by turning the doorknob four times.
You even reminded yourself mentally that yes, the door was locked, just so the anxiety wouldn’t follow you around for the rest of the day. But on those nights. Specifically those nights. In a place as dangerous as Gotham…
You somehow “forgot.”You let yourself believe it was just a careless mistake.A normal human slip-up. But he knew. Deep down, he knew. It was your code. Your way of telling him he could come into your life without having to ask for permission.
You hated when people described Jason Todd as cold.
Because to you, it was almost impossible not to see his humanity when you were constantly seeing him bruised or bleeding because he chose to save someone else.
Someone cold wouldn’t survive in his line of work. Not really. Jason was anything but cold. If you looked into his eyes long enough, you could see just how much he cared.About everything, even the smallest things.
He studied people through the smallest changes in their expressions. The way their face shifted while they talked. The details most people never even noticed.
He could tell the difference between a lie and a memory just by the direction someone’s eyes moved. Even their voice gave them away. A little higher? They probably needed something from him. A little lower? Someone was trying to make themselves sound like they deserved respect.
You could say it was because he had basically been raised to be a detective, and maybe part of it was, but the truth was, he learned it long before that. Back in Crime Alley. Because in a way, learning how to read the weather inside his own home was what kept him alive.
Hypervigilance.
That’s what it was.
He knew when his mother was using substances before he even fully understood what that meant. He knew because her pupils didn’t look like his.
Because he learned to recognize how that tired look in her eyes always came with a small expression of relief. A tiny smile. One that only filled him with anxiety because a part of him was terrified it might be the last expression he would ever see on his mother’s face.
And his father? He knew when he was lying too. The way he looked everywhere except at him. Never meeting his eyes. Never facing the judgment of his own son.
A child who noticed too much. A child who had been forced to act like an adult just to hold himself together inside a dysfunctional home that was falling apart.
Jason felt everything too deeply.
He always had. Not knowing how to put those feelings into words was the one skill he never learned. And it would end up being the one that cost him the most.
***
So there you were, lying in bed. Thinking about a thousand different things: The work waiting for you tomorrow, the fact that there was absolutely nothing in your fridge, how you accidentally ignored your friends’ messages.
Again.
How you still needed to clean the disaster you shoved into your closet hoping nobody would ever notice.
Then—
A soft click. And you knew. He was inside.
One second.
Two.
And still nothing. No footsteps. No voice. No sign of him. Had you imagined it? Probably not.
It was almost impossible to believe anyone else could make it up to a third-floor apartment without making a single sound.So you got up. Grabbed the scissors you kept in your desk drawer.
And when you walked into the kitchen...
There he was.
Leaning against your kitchen table, holding the only bag of frozen vegetables you owned against his eye.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” His voice sounded rough.
Tired, clearly in pain.
His hand gripped the frozen bag tightly.
“You basically live here at this point. You know I have actual ice packs in the freezer, right?” You said it while walking over to grab one, leaving the scissors on the table.
“Well, you never have anything in your fridge.” He looked at the bag of vegetables for a second. “You can’t live off frozen meals and tea forever, you know.”
You just rolled your eyes as you handed him the blue gel pack.“So…” You tilted your head slightly.
“Rough night?” You laughed quietly, trying to make the air between you feel a little lighter.
“I’m honestly impressed someone managed to leave a bruise like that even with the helmet.” You looked at his face.
God, he was tall.
Even standing on your tiptoes, you would never actually reach him.
But you wished you could.
That you could place your hand against his cheek while he told you how someone managed to hurt him.
“The thing is…”He looked straight at you.“They broke the helmet.”
“Ugh.” You frowned. “What did they use? A bat or something?”
“A crowbar.”
And then you looked at him. Really looked at him.
You didn’t know if maybe you were just more sensitive about certain things than he was. But you knew what that meant.
You searched his face for a moment, trying to figure out if he understood the weight of what he had just said.
And no.
For once.
You noticed something Jason didn’t. It was the second time you knew a crowbar had almost taken his life. But the first time he actually walked away from it. You remembered his story.
Dead.
Brought back.
And seeing him like this. So exhausted. So painfully human.
It almost felt like looking at someone who was still trying to convince himself he was alive.
“So…” You cleared your throat.“Do you have anything else you need me to patch up, or did you only come here to stole my fridge?”
“Well…”He tilted his head slightly. “I’ve got a couple cuts and bruises.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“Wouldn’t exactly hate being taken care of for a little while.”
You rolled your eyes.
You knew he could be ridiculously charming when he wanted to be.
But you had this small suspicion that with any other pretty woman — and by that, you meant someone prettier than you, someone actually conventionally beautiful — he would probably just turn into an awkward idiot and get embarrassed instead.
“You roll your eyes a lot.”He said it with that teasing smile of his. “Well… actually, you do that a lot when I’m around.”
“Really?” You looked at him.
“You’re the second person who’s told me that. My ex used to say it all the time.” You smiled slightly. “Said one day my eyes were gonna get stuck like that.”
A clear boundary.
Like building a wall between the two of you.
Because in your logic, people who liked each other romantically didn’t casually talk about their exes.
“Did he say that?” He asked without looking at you.
Maybe because he wanted to act like he didn’t care, or maybe because he really didn’t.
“She.” You looked him in the eyes.
You had never exactly come out directly before.
But it wasn’t like you were hiding it either.
He had plenty of ways to figure it out.
If he cared enough to.
“Oh.”
A small pause.
Like he was trying to find the right way to answer.
Like he understood that this small detail meant more than it seemed.
“She.”
Another pause.
“Wow… you never told me you had a girlfriend.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” You shrugged. “And it’s not like you ask.”
You paused. You tried looking at the wall instead of his eyes.
Ignoring him a little.
Because pretending not to care had always been a game for two.
“Well, now that you mention it, I’m kind of curious.” You let out an uncomfortable little laugh. “What do you actually know about me?”
A pause.
“I’m guessing almost nothing.” You motioned for him to sit on the couch so you could clean his wounds.
Obviously, you were being defensive.
He came into your home like it was his own.
Planted himself into your life.
Tried to make you feel close to him.
Except no.
Not really.
Because to you whatever this was. It wasn’t closeness.
“Of course I know things about you— ow!” He complained defensively as you cleaned his cuts with hydrogen peroxide.
“What?, My favorite color?,My height?”
You looked at him.
“Wow, yeah, you really know me.”
The sarcasm slipped out of your mouth as you pressed against his wound a little harder than necessary.
“You’re acting like I only see you as someone I’m using.” His voice rose slightly.
“Quiet.” You looked at him, annoyed.
“In case you didn’t notice, it’s three in the morning and, believe it or not, normal people actually sleep.”
“Then stop making me feel like I’m the bad guy here.”His fingertips brushed over the bruise as he tried to check how bad it was.
“Don’t you think it’s a little childish to assume there always has to be a good guy and a bad guy?” You handed him the hydrogen peroxide and cotton.
You knew his injuries weren’t serious. There was no reason for you to take care of them yourself when he could easily do it.
“This isn’t life or death, Jason.”
You looked at him. Trying to look annoyed, cold.
“What are you even doing here? You don’t even need stitches or anything.”
“Do you want the truth?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Today was a shitty day.”
A pause.
“I got hit in the head pretty damn hard and I just wanted…”
He stopped.
Like forcing the next words out actually hurt.
“To not be alone.”
Another pause.
“I wanted to see you.” His eyes showed a little bit of vulnerability.
The kind of vulnerability you weren’t willing to fall for.
No.
Not again.
“Not wanting to be alone doesn’t automatically mean wanting to see me.” You stood up from the couch, putting distance between the two of you.
Because you knew perfectly well that if you stayed close.
If it was up to you. You would never choose to leave, you would never choose to push him away.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He looked directly into your eyes offended.
But to your distorted version of reality, it only looked like he was embarrassed about being caught.
Even though deep down, you knew that wasn’t true.
He was hurt. Physically and emotionally.
“Shit, Jason.” You let out a bitter laugh. “It’s like you never tell me anything. You just come here, we hang out for a while, we talk, I patch you up.”
You laughed again, but this time there was nothing funny about it, almost like you were trying not to break down. Because there was a part of you that wanted to hurt him, to make him feel bad.
Like maybe, for just one second, he would understand the complete imbalance he had created inside of you.
“Wow.” You shook your head slightly. “I never thought I would do something like this for someone.” Your voice started to crack. “I had to learn how to stitch wounds just so I wouldn’t feel like I was hurting you more.” A pause. “And you only come here when it’s convenient for you.” Once again, the blue of his eyes stopped you. Completely froze you in place.
Should I really say this?
Is it even worth it?
You thought about it, but your mouth had already decided to keep going.
“W-when I’m convenient for you.” You took a breath. “When it’s late enough that nobody has to see you with me. And you talk about doing things in broad daylight like we’re actually going to do them.”
Another one of your wounds, projected onto him. You had always felt like someone’s secret.
Always.
Whether it was because people weren’t willing to have something serious with you or because when it came to dating girls, the idea of coming out was something that terrified everyone involved.
And God, you didn’t judge them. Not really.
But little by little, those wounds left their marks and now you were bleeding all over him. Over Jason.
You looked into his eyes.
At some point, you had started crying. You didn’t remember when or how much. Your throat felt raw from talking so fast, and the only thing running through your mind was how stupid you felt.
Stupid.
And hopeful.
Because even though you tried to deny it a part of you really did want to be someone to him.
“I…” He paused. “Shit. If that’s really what you think of me, you could’ve told me a long time ago.” His voice was quieter now. “I thought it was obvious.”
And suddenly.
He looked younger, more tired, vulnerable.
So much that he buried his face in his hands. Until eventually, he looked back at you. Hair completely messy. With an expression that, for once, wasn’t trying to hide anything.
“Wow.”A small uncomfortable laugh escaped him. “I really thought you knew you mattered to me.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you the things you want, but I really can’t put you in danger.” His voice faded little by little during that last sentence.
As if even he realized how weak that excuse sounded.
So you reminded him.
“There it is again.” Your voice sounded exhausted. “The same excuse. You’re only saying that because you don’t want to make me feel bad.”
You nodded slowly.
Like you were trying to accept something that hurt to say out loud, but had been living inside your head for a long time.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t like me.” A pause. “Then leave me alone.”Your throat tightened slightly.“You just like my attention.” Your voice sounded louder this time. More final, ike you truly believed what you had just said.
Even though deep down, the only thing you wanted was to ask him to stay.
“No, I just…” He stopped when his eyes met yours. “I don’t want to have this conversation while we’re angry.”
His voice softened.
“I’ve already hurt you enough. I made you think something about me that I never wanted you to believe, and I just…”
He sighed.
“I want to fix this, give me time." He paused "Let me fix it in the morning. I need to think.”
He looked back up at you. “I want to talk, I really do. I just… don’t think this is the right moment.”
He said it softly. Hoping you would actually give him that space.
Like he was terrified of ruining everything.
At another point in your life, that would’ve meant a lot.
But right now, it only reminded you of that same cycle where nothing ever gets talked about because it’s never the right time.
And you were tired. Tired of always being the person willing to confront things.
But you wanted to try. Not now. But some part of you still wanted to hear him out.
“Forget it.”
You looked toward the door. Silently asking him to leave.
“No.”A pause. “I’m coming back, okay?”
He looked at you, like he needed you to believe him.
“Just… not tonight...Look, if I stay right now, I’m probably going to end up fighting with you, waking up your neighbors…” He looked down. “And saying things I don’t mean.”
You didn’t want to argue anymore. You didn’t understand where that small moment of clarity had come from.
Especially from Jason.
Part of you thought maybe it was progress. But you immediately reminded yourself not to get your hopes up.
So you just nodded. And opened the door.
And for the first time since you met him, you received a display of affection meant entirely for you. Not hidden behind sarcasm. Not disguised as a joke. Not justified by an injury that needed attention.
Just for you.
He kissed the top of your head quickly. Like he was embarrassed by his own vulnerability. Like being gentle was somehow harder than being harsh or cruel.
He turned toward the balcony, and without looking directly at you, he raised his hand in a small goodbye while preparing to jump across to the neighboring ledge.
You watched him for one more second, and then he was gone. Moving quickly through the darkness.
Exactly how you would expect from someone trained the way he was. Even with his helmet half broken. Even while carrying everything he didn’t know how to say.
Everything he wasn’t ready to face. Until eventually, he disappeared into the night.
You looked at the clock. Four thirty in the morning. You knew that in an hour, you would have to wake up and get ready for work.
And even if you tried to sleep…You probably wouldn’t be able to.
Because among all the things your brain was telling you in that moment, there was only one truth you could clearly map out:
You had opened Pandora’s box between the two of you.You finally talked.
But what you didn’t know was whether you would be able to face the consequences of it without hurting yourself.