The Moon, My Man

But when it came to you, whatever little self control he had in his body, seemingly turned to dust.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Since he decided not to trespass into your life again.

Everyday since then, you hadn't left his mind.

Your smile, your laugh, the tiny quirk of your lips, the way your eyes would squint in concentration, your art — your art of him— every little thing was strung into an ever playing loop of flashes of memories that mirrored in his eyes.

When he was at work, working on the rubber of the black tires with grease marked on his hands , he would remember the red paint smeared on your cheek. The way it looked so perfect on you, like you were painting yourself all the while painting him.

Jason needed to distract himself from his thoughts which were consumed by your presence and he does the one thing that has helped him for years.

Books.

Jason has always immersed himself in books when reality was too much to bear. Books had the ability to make you forget whatever was going wrong in one's life. He loved being the audience as the characters in the book navigate through their own life in the universe.

But even that hadn't helped.

Every time he opened a book, he remembered the way you both met. The stares in the library, the intrigue he felt in his heart, the way you stuttered, your confession to him about how you never read books, the consecutive decision to cosplay as Red Hood.

Everything that had led him to you.

Hell, he hadn't even stepped once inside the two story marvel of Gothic architecture, packed with books — his safe haven for years, in the past week.

Groaning, he lays his forearm against his eyes, rays of sunlight blinding him momentarily. The red duvet sits perfectly against his shirtless torso, crowding against the left side of his body while his right leg hung off the bed, fingertips grazing against the hard wooden floor. Jason had to leave for work in another hour.

The sound of a notification pulls him out of the early morning tornado in his head, saving him from the endless cycle of thoughts. Jason taps his palm all over the bed, trying to find the rectangular electronic. It was a little unusual for him of all people to receive texts at eight in the morning. Once he gets hold of his phone, green eyes widen before glowing like he just got a text from the love of his life— might as well be — while a smile curves at his lips.

It was you.

And like the past few days of having known you, you seemed to have a gift of breaking his endless cycle of thoughts.

The text from the home screen reads:

'Hi Jason, Good Morning! I know it's been a while but can we meet for dinner tomorrow? I have some news to share.

No issues if you are unable to meet.'

Jason sits up, leaning his back against the headboard as his fingers hovered over the screen. He knows he should decline. It should haven been the immediate answer after telling himself not to get involved in your life. His gaze shifts to the portrait hung in front of the bed. It was the only picture that was of him in the house. The only one he could look at everyday without thinking about what was all wrong about him. The way you had painted him made him feel like a person, not a lazarus pit monster masking in the skin of a human.

Jason reads the text again, the sparkly emojis invoking a laugh, a hoarse sound that trudges past his lips before the sound gets huddled by silence.

The first thing that left his lips today was a hearty laugh.

How long had it been since he heard the sound early morning in an empty house?

All because of you.

The glass pricks his heart further.

But his heart aches. He does want to see you again.

But what if he couldn't let go.

His heart reasons.

He could see you one more time.

Bask in your presence.

And before it could win the battle with his brain, Jason moves to the kitchen, leaving his phone on the bed.

He would reply to you be the end of the day.

Jason lied.

Your text had essentially been on his mind since the minute he received it. Every chore he worked around the house, your voice reading the text was the music he heard. It made him feel different things — wildly conflicting at that.

Scarlet painted the stretch of his cheeks at the realization that you texted him first thing in the early morning. It made him even do a little dance around the kitchen, spatula in one hand as the waffle irons hissed.

As he draws his leather jacket over his shoulders, he thinks about all the time your eyes locked onto the clothing. It was subtle but he had only caught them when he himself wasn't mesmerized by your beauty, which honestly wasn't a lot.

When he finally walks to his bike, he remembers feeling your hands around his waist, cheeks smashed against his back. He remembers the way your lips curved to a smile as you looked at the night sky of sleeping Gotham.

Without a second thought, he grabs his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and texts back to you.

"I would love too."

Jason stares at the blue message bubble.

Was he too forward?

Should he even use the word love in this?

Does this make him look too desperate? Which wasn't a lie but he didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.

Was this the right thing to do?

He was making it harder for himself. It had only been a week yet you occupied every waking moment, even in his sleep through his dreams.

But meeting you again — seeing every feature mapped beautifully on your face — would only make it even more difficult to forget you, to stay away from you.

To stop being in love with you.

But Jason had realized one thing — he couldn't really stop loving you but he could take measures to stay away from your life.

His fingers immediately press on the blue bubble, with every intention to delete when the word 'read' appears below, along with a grey bubble consisting of three dots. The helmet on his left hand is heavy, almost acting as the anchor rooting him to his spot. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, thudding with velocity.

Had he done the right thing?

Hell, was the message even for him?

Maybe you had accidentally sent it to him and now you were going to apologize for it.

Of course, you wouldn't —

There is a slight buzz on his right palm. You sent two message which instantly calmed his rushing heart.

you: Can't wait 🥳. I'll text you the address for the restaurant by the evening.

His hands stiffen around his phone, as he looks at the ground.

Nervousness and excitement fill his senses.

Nervousness that he gets to see you again.

Excitement that he gets to see you again.

You plant your face onto the soft pillow, feeling it's lush cotton brush against your cheeks as your lips try suppressing giggles but failing phenomenally to the point even your roommate and best friend raises an eyebrow. It's early in the morning and she knew, you were not for one to laugh without having a sip of coffee. Even a smile on your lips in the wee hours would be a sight so rare to Zara — your best friend of ten years — she might even think she was hallucinating.

"What's got you smiling like that?"

"More like who," hugging the pillow, you stare off at a distance, yellow sunlight shining bright against your paintings stacked on the wooden desk. Zara circles around in her desk chair, hair tied in a loose bun. She was always the early bird among the both of you while you were the night owl.

"And?" Her voice sounds louder as she rolls the desk chair towards you.

"It's Jason," you say, eyes lighting up like there were literal fireworks ablaze in your irises "I asked him if we could meet for dinner. And….drum roll ,please," you add, hands shifting to tap the imaginary sticks against the plastic surface of the drums.

"He said yes."

"Of course, he is the one who made Ms. grumpy giggle first thing in the morning," Zara rolls her eyes, though her lips stretch into a wide smile.

"Please,stop acting jealous," you mumble throwing the lush pillow at her. It lands straight on her face, knocking off her glasses to the floor. Zara's mouth opens, huffing before she picks up the cotton cushion.

"Me?!" The lush cotton lands on your face as you both giggle, till your stomachs ache. It's a Monday morning. Usually, you'd be up and racing against the clock to get your shit together and run to class but ever since your final project exhibit had gotten over, you had a lot of time on your hands. Zara still had a few classes left, but it was much later in the afternoon.

As your breathing calms, you both lay on the bed, legs dangling off the edges. The overhead fan zooms lazily, air drifting against your hair.

This was what you wished for when you were thirteen.

A future filled with laughter and happiness and the will to live this beautiful life, with all it's blues.

But at that time, it didn't feel like it.

For a long time.

Till you met him.

"So, why are you meeting him again?" Zara asks, hands braiding her dyed electric blue hair.

"To treat him to a full dinner. After all, he is the reason my thesis got selected as one of the few to present at the Museum."

"And nothing else?"

Zara knew all about your crush on Jason. She was like your human diary, the way you were hers. You still remember the moment you had written the words "Do not fall in love." in your journal. Zara had said with a voice full of confidence that you were going to fail your own resolution. She declared that you had already fallen even before you wrote those words.

Said she could see it in your smile.

" I might ask him if we could see each other often."

"You should." She turns, facing you. "From what you have said, it looks like he likes you too"

You hum though anxiety creeps in like a wine surrounding your limbs.

"But what if —"

" No what-ifs," Zara affirms, shaking her head "The worst thing that could happen is him rejecting you."

"Exactly!" you shout even without meaning too.

Zara rolls her eyes when you mutter a sorry.

She knew you didn't mean it and was rather a product of your anxiety.

There were small signs and based on your experience of watching a plethora of romantic films, you had a feeling Jason liked you too.

But you could be wrong.

All you could do was hope.

"Hello, Demon spawn."

Jason is leaning against the entryway, hands folded against his chest and a tight-lipped smile grazing his face. He avoided Wayne Manor unless it was regarding a mission, or on Alfred's insistence but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Damian ignores his brooding brother and continues painting the orange of the monarch butterfly onto the canvas. He had been working on the painting — the Wayne Manor garden with it's luscious bushes along with Alfred the cat, Bat cow, Titus and Goliath, all lounging against the lush green — for a while now, the final touches being the tiny butterflies zooming around the flowers.

"I need a favor," Jason repeats now standing upright. Damian still doesn't look at him, as he now makes tiny white spots on the black bordered wings.

"Are you even —"

"I am, Todd," He looks at his grumpy brother, a frown etched onto his tan skin. "It's a no."

"You haven't even heard what is it," Jason grumbles, hands on his hips.

"Whatever it is, it's a no,"

"Oh my god, at least listen to me," Jason's voice booms loud, echoing off the tiny art studio. His eyebrows are furrowed, chest heaving but Damian could sense something else — something that was so not his brother.

Nervousness.

"I-I need help in choosing an appropriate gift for someone who's an artist," Jason sighs, hands ruffling his hair.

Damian stares at the man wide eyed, dark green eyes the same as his mother's locked onto the giant standing in his doorway.

Did Jason 'The Red Hood' Todd just stutter in front of him?

It takes a whole minute for Damian to return back to himself.

"Didn't know you had friends, Todd."

"Wow, this is —" Jason takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves at the sight of a smirk on his younger brother's face. "I have friends and I need to buy a gift for her."

"Her?" Damian's voice is filled with as much amusement as one fifteen year old boy could muster. Jason wants to hurl himself out of the manor, but he still needed to buy a gift for you. And so, he grits out a reply.

"Yes."

"Fine, besides I have to buy something too," Damian answers before setting down the paintbrush. He takes off the multicolored apron with only splotches of the original cream material visible, and hangs it beside the door. Damian did not need anything from the store, he just couldn't let it seem like he was willingly helping his older brother.

"What do you know about her?"

"Nothing, like nothing related to art." Jason mumbles, sinking into the plush cushion of the couch on the far end of the room as Damian washes his hands.

"Todd, you should be knowing something about the person you want to buy a gift for."

"I-I don't know," Jason squeezes his eyes, the heel of his palms rubbing against them "She likes the color yellow, and she likes jazz music."

It's weird seeing Jason smile, Damian thinks. Eyes squinting into tiny curves, while his cheeks crease and lips stretch wide.

"She- She likes the sun or the sun likes her — I'm not sure. She likes to collage, she likes the dumplings from this Chinese restaurant near Gotham U," Jason takes a deep breath, looking off into the distance like you were just standing there rather than it being a blank wall. "She likes portrait paintings — the one where you paint people and she….she believes in hope."

It almost feels another layer of red hot brick was laid on his chest.

You believed in hope.

And he didn't.

He shouldn't be this happy to see you, when it was all going to end tomorrow.

He couldn't — wouldn't let him have hope.

After all it was a lie.

Damian really only wanted the specifics about what you liked — like what type of paintings you liked or materials you used. Instead he learnt about how you loved those specific Chinese dumplings and jazz music.

Jason was just as sappy as Dick when he was in love. But Damian is perceptive and he could see the minute the light around Jason dims. It almost looked like he realized something, something that he kept pushing back in his mind.

"Todd," Damian says, standing in front of Jason. He raises his voice a little at the lack of a response "Todd."

Finally, Jason looks up but there is a very thin layer of sheen covering his eyes, something that could be missed if one was not too observant. But Damian was and he didn't know what to say.

"Shall we go?"

In an hour, Jason and Damian reached the art store located in Central Gotham. It was a three story tall building tucked in between a Italian restaurant and a boutique. The smell of new stationary filled every sense of Jason as he steps into the bustling room.

Shelves of paint tubes and pallettes line the walls. In the center, were smaller crates filled with brushes of varying sizes, crayons and color pencils. He could even feel the scent of excitement oozing from Damian as the young teenagers bounces lightly on his feet, a smile curved on his lips.

"Do you remember what type of paintings she did?" Damian asks, looking at a new set of paint tubes. "Were they acrylic, watercolor, or gouache? Or maybe even oil?"

"I don't really know the difference between them," Jason scratches the back of his head, ears tinged red.

"Of course, you don't," Damian grumbles before pointing his hand at the myriad of paintings hung above the shelves. "Just point at the one that's similar to what your friend did."

There were four paintings in front — one with a cottage and kids playing outside, one with the glittering ocean and a sand castle, another with the Eiffel tower and the final one with a girl in the middle of a field of sunflowers.

Not only did the last painting remind him of you, but it was the exact type of painting you did for your final project.

"That one."

"That's a gouache painting," Damian murmurs before shifting between rows, Jason following him. He then picks up a gouache painting set with 100 colors and turns to hand it over to Jason, only to see the six foot giant crouched down on his knees.

"Todd, what are you doing?"

Jason hisses , a finger on his lips. Damian follows his older brother's line of sight to see a woman checking out the canvases by the door. She was holding her phone — a white cover with sunflowers painted on it — and Damian can only assume it was the girl his brother was in love with.

"Is that her?"

Jason did not have to reply.

The answer was all in his eyes.

The way they lit up like translucent green akin to that of a leaf when the early morning dew touched the surface. The way his cheeks were seemingly painted in red ochre. The way his jaw softened, posture relaxed like he was within the premise of his home.

Jason hadn't expected to see you. It had only been a week since the last time he saw you and seeing you now gave him this sense of euphoria he couldn't describe. You looked beautiful — a fact, really. The way you smiled at onlookers, talking to some of the women who worked there. He could only figure you were a recurring customer to the store. Jason finally lets out a breath when he sees you walking towards the elevators.

"We need to get out fast."

Within few minutes, Jason and Damian were out of the store, the new paint set in a paper bag. Damian doesn't say anything, just looked at his brother and rolled his eyes.

Why was his adult brother acting like one of the boys at school?

He would never know.

Forty-five minutes later, Damian is dropped off at the footsteps of Wayne Manor, Alfred waiting by the front door. Jason waves at the butler, who nods in response. Just as he gears up to leave, Damian turns.

"Good luck, Jason," Damian mutters before walking past the front doors of the manor.

When Jason reached his apartment, a small two bedroom house on the top floor, he immediately looked around for some gift wrapping paper. Then he decided to do something, that even he was surprised at.

Write a letter.

You see, Jason Todd was an amazing writer. He loved reading more, but that often translated to beautiful writing. An old worn out journal of his old song lyrics, poetry, and even critical essays. It's just that he never showed it to anyone. He sits at the desk in the corner, with a blank sheet of paper and pen laid in front of him and starts to write with the intention to thank you for the experience.

But as they say, when you enter flow state, you forget about everything else.

Jason wrote and wrote as the minutes flew by. A slight ring of his phone cracks his concentration. It had already been an hour since he sat and when Jason read what he had written. He realized he had written a love letter instead of what he had set out to start with. Jason does the one thing he always did with his writing — hide it. He folded the sheet of paper and stuck it in his old journal.

One day, he will have the courage to read it again.

After spending hours of overthinking which restaurant you wanted to take Jason to, you finally decided on the Italian diner in downtown Gotham. The restaurant wasn't too pricey and was well known for it's amazing food.

After texting Jason the address of the restaurant, you try working on an art piece as a part of your commissions but nothing really was able to distract you from the sheer excitement and part nervousness you felt for the next day. You try watching some of your favorite movies, but it hadn't helped either.

Trying to sleep was another mission. You tried closing your eyes but all you thought was how the day was going to be, hanging out with Jason after a while. Shuffling around the bed, you look up at the ceiling.

You just hope things would go the way you wished.

You just hope Jason liked you back.

Early rays of dawn flitter through the curtains, casting a deep yellow over the floorboards. Zara was up already based on the tell tale signs of clanking of utensils and some soft music playing in the background.

"Girl, you need to get up. Now!" Zara shouts from the kitchen. You whine against the duvet, tucking it over your head. You hadn't slept all that well — head filled with all the things that could possibly go wrong and the things that could possibly go right. An endless plethora of them.

"Don't you have to meet Mr. Reeves today ?"

And that's enough to make you sit up, back straight like a surfer board. Letting out a small curse you run to take a shower.

Jason is the same on the other side of the town, hair disheveled and eyebrows furrowed at the alarm. The patrol had run longer than usual yesterday paired with his lack of sleep over seeing you today, had made him almost decide not to go to work.

Begrudgingly, he gets up, looking at the portrait of himself but more specifically made by you before moving to the living room.

Jason hadn't slept well either.

After all there is a saying:

If you can't sleep, someone is thinking about you.

If someone walked into Jason Todd's bedroom, it probably looked like a makeshift clothing store. Almost all his clothes from his closet were haphazardly thrown onto the floor after trying out each of them. It had been an hour since he got back from work and another two hours until your dinner reservation.

He wasn't able to concentrate all that at work either, even earning some light comments from his boss.

You had mentioned it was just a casual dinner. But Jason had a lot of shirts, a lot of jeans and a ton of jackets. It had to be perfect. He groans, flopping onto the plush mattress. He could call Dick, but that would also ensue blackmail material for him to tease. He could call Kory but she was going to mention it to Dick in a matter of minutes, hell they might even be together at the moment.

After thirty minutes, Jason decides to wear a white t-shirt that fit perfectly, showing off his muscles and some black jeans, paired along with a maroon leather jacket. He combed his hair in different styles, to the point of seeing tutorials on YouTube but decided to go with the best one — messy hair. And with that it was time for him to leave for the restaurant.

Jason reached the small Italian restaurant fifteen minutes before the intended timing. After parking his bike, he paces back and forth in front of the entrance before leaning against the brick wall of the restaurant. He watches the people walking by, his detective eye trying to notice anything illegal happening in the vicinity.

The sound of a car door closing has him look up, only to still — his entire body transfixed at one place. There you were, thanking the driver with a smile on your face before it breaks into one filled with mirth as your eyes lock onto his. You were wearing a similar maroon leather jacket with a black dress underneath. It felt like the world had blurred, only spotlighting your figure in the stage.

You looked radiant, light emanating from your very smile.

"You-You look beautiful," Jason says, pink on his cheeks.

"I-Thank you. You look beautiful too."

"We are wearing the same jacket," you giggle, pointing at his. He nods, tugging the fabric more tighter against his back.

"Shall we go in?" you ask, looking up at Jason and he swears, he could fall (but he already fell) just by how you looked.

"Lead the way."

"I'm sorry, what?" your voice rises with every syllable uttered by the host.

"We are sorry for the inconvenience, Ma'am." The man mutters, eyes drifting to the giant behind you. But you could care less about the excuses. What did they mean the restaurant was closed due to some last minute construction and that they didn't even have the courtesy to inform you. Heat rises up to your ears, hands resting on your hips. You knew it was not really the fault of the host but of the management.

But the first segment of your plan had gone to trash.

What would Jason think?

And why was your luck so bad at times?

Jason laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. You look at him as he stares intently at the host who fumbles around the desk.

"We could still offer you some pizza for free."

That's how the both of you ended up with two large pizzas in front of the restaurant.

"I'm so sorry Jas—"

"Hey, it's fine." He says, eyes soft. "It was their mistake and it happens at times."

You sigh looking at the boxes. There's a brief silence as the sounds of honking and people chattering fill in.

"We could maybe go to the rooftop? Of the art studio?" Jason asks.

You nod.

Jason was going to ask Bruce to check for all the inspection criteria for the restaurant later.

Gotham during the nights was a splendor of it's own. Glittering buildings, the subdued sounds of traffic not reaching so far high, the cold winds. The both of you were sat on the plush picnic mat as you eat the second slice of the pepperoni pizza.

"Oh, by the way I got selected to exhibit my paintings at the metropolitan Museum of Gotham."

"Wow, Congrats," Jason smiles. "You deserve it."

"All thanks to you," you say, taking the next slice of pizza."They really loved the Red Hood portrait the most."

"It was your talent that did wonders," Jason murmurs, looking at you."I was just a muse."

Heat rises to your cheeks, spreading through the expanse of your face. He was not just your muse for a painting but rather had become something more. Muse for love. You look at the Gotham skyline, when Jason calls your name.

"This is for you," He says, handing over a wrapped box.

"No….you didn't have to get me anything," your voice is soft as your gaze shifts between the wrapped box in front of you to Jason.

"Please, it's just a little thank you from my side," Jason pushes it lightly into your hands.

"Thank you."

You slowly open the wrapping, eyes wide with curiosity. Jason sits cross legged next to you, hands rubbing against each other in nervousness.

"You didn't," Your voice softens as you look at him. "I can't possibly accept this. It-It's too expensive."

"It's for you and you deserve it."

There's silence and your mouth aches for an argument. But his eyes are so clear with clarity that you murmur a thank you instead.

"But why did you buy it?" you ask again, gaze locked on his form.

Jason is stumped.

He wanted to tell you it was because he liked you.

He wanted to tell you it was because he is in love with you.

He wanted to tell you it was because he wanted to leave something from him with you, but he couldn't, not when the letter he wrote was tucked in between the pages of his old journal.

"A thank you for considering me your muse," he opts for instead.

"Please, anyone would consider you," You huff, like it was the most diabolical statement "You're like a walking Greek god on earth. You deserve to be remembered like it."

You did not meant to say ALL of it out loud.

Red coats Jason's cheeks. You take another slice of the pizza to distract yourself from spewing something that only needed to stay in the premise of your mind.

After a few minutes, the large pizza boxes are empty as you both witness the Gotham skyline, eyes closed as the winds of the night welcomes you into it's embrace.

It was time to say goodbye.

You hug Jason, feeling his warm flesh against your body. But your mind was riddled with thoughts.

You loved spending every moment with Jason.

You wanted to spend more time with him.

And so you say it.

"Jason." He stills, hands midst of folding the picnic mat. Your eyes are wide and sweat runs down your forehead, despite it being cold. Jason could sense something was wrong — the way your hands twitched, the way your eyes don't lock onto his.

"Is everything o—"

"I like you."

The confession hangs in the air. No one moves and you don't dare to meet his eyes. Your heart thumps loudly and you take the moment of silence to pour all of it out.

"I have loved spending time with you in the past few days, and would-would love to see you more often."

Silence ensues and it's not comfortable, like it was tinged with guilt.

Complete silence during confessions is never really a good sign.

You look up and the minute you do, you already knew the answer. His eyes don't meet yours, rather looking at his black boots. Jason stands still, but you could see the way his hands shake a little. It was as if a cloud of somberness washed over the space, taking away it's earlier remnants of warmth and laughter.

You force a smile regardless.

"It's okay, if you don't like me," your voice is soft, normal but Jason doesn't miss the quiver in each syllable.

He hates that the reason behind it was because of his words.

Was because of him.

He was the reason a face full of sunshine was trying not to breakdown into tears. Jason's green eyes look at you, and he wants to punch himself. Your hands were trembling that you quickly hide behind your back when feeling his gaze on them. Eyes glassy, sheen coating a thin layer but your smile was the most heartbreaking part.

It was the same, but forced.

And he was the reason behind it.

"I'm sorry," Jason's voice is soft, the words almost a whisper.

You shake your head, "No, please it's fine. Just do not let this be our last meeting. I want to see you on the day of the exhibition."

Jason doesn't say anything.

What can he say?

Should he say that he liked you too?

That he loved you?

That he wished he could be with you every waking moment of his life?

That for the first time, something he had wanted come true?

But he destroyed it all again.

Like he always did with hope.

Like hope did with him.

Jason's throat feels dry and itchy, his voice strained as he mutters, "I'm sorry," before leaving the rooftop. Jason runs along the stairs, from the fifth floor to the ground floor. His chest heaves but it was not because of the physical activity he did.

No.

It was because of this weighted stone in his heart. He hurls a kick at the wall in the parking lot, but it only hurt him further. And maybe that's what he wanted.

He did the right thing didn't he?

He couldn't destroy your life.

He couldn't make you give up on hope, but why did it feel like he just did.

The thing about heartbreaks is, it happens at every age.

It just looks a little different every time.

Your heart broke for the first time when you were five as you watched a boy in the playground stamp on an ant. The boy had left, running off to play with his friends while you crouched next to the ant, tears streaming against your cheeks.

Your heart broke for the second time when you were ten, and your best friend stopped wanting to be friends with you. It was sudden and you had never found the reason behind it.

Your heart broke for the third time when you were thirteen, after a screaming match with your parents. It was never really the same again. Though you have mended your ways, words can never be taken back.

Your heart broke for the fourth time when you couldn't find the second robin — the boy who had been there with you that night.

And now for the fifth time — It was Jason.

The week following the night was agonizing to say the least.

To both of you.

You had spent the better part of the days crying or at least on the verge of crying. You hadn't realized how much it was going to affect you. You thought it was just a silly little crush, that you could get over in a day or two. But this, this made you realize that perhaps it was more. perhaps it was love.

You had fallen in love for the first time.

You tried painting — the one thing that helped during times like this. But even that fell short. All you did was paint blues and blues. Zara helped you at every moment, trying to say he was a jerk but that only made you cry further because you knew he was not. He just did not like you.

You decided maybe you had to look at something that would give you a sense of hope and you did.

Ever since the age of thirteen, when you started pursuing painting again. You had a ton of sketchbooks filled with your artistic endeavors over the years. Most of them were in your parent's house back in Star City but you carried one of them to every place you went.

Your first sketchbook.

It always gave you a sense of hope. The feeling that everything will eventually turn out alright. You pick the black covered sketchbook that had painted red and green — a number of hibiscuses on the front.

You sit against the plush of the brown bean bag on Zara's side of the room, turning to the first page of the sketch book.

A laugh escapes your lips without even meaning too, at how bad your art was back then.

But it was still art and the only reason you were able to do well now. The first page was filled with stars, and the moon. The following few pages were filled with characters from cartoons such as Spongebob Squarepants and Dora the explorer.

Then it's filled with Robin.

Colors of red, yellow, green paint over the white pages to form the silhouette of robin. Some filled with his face — freckles, heart shaped chunks of hair that framed his forehead.

You felt hope.

It might be even questionable how one could feel hope after seeing a painting.

But you did.

After all, it was Robin who gave you all this hope in the first place.

Jason was in no better shape.

He hadn't left his apartment in the last two days — skipping work and patrol alike. A number of missed calls from all his siblings, the Outlaws, and even Bruce. But Jason never got back to them. He just wanted to be left alone.

Jason had gone to work the very next day after the confession, tried acting like everything was in fact okay. But it wasn't and it didn't take much time for the cracks to form. During his day job, he misplaced items, punctured an already good tire and at the end got yelled at by his boss, who later asked the young man to take a few days off.

Patrols weren't great either.

He had beaten a thief to the pulp. There was a good reason behind it — said thief had stolen from an elderly lady — but even Jason knew this was not about it. It almost felt like he was seeing himself when he was punching the man. Wanting to pour out all his anger towards himself.

It was Dick who got him to stop by calling him Robin, not Red Hood which had made Jason even more angrier.

Jason was angry.

Not at you.

But at himself.

A knock on the door propels Jason out of his bed. It was probably some food delivery service considering he had been living off of takeout for the last two days and so he makes the mistake of not looking through the peephole because the first thing that greets him early in the morning was Dick Grayson's 24 carat smile.

Jason is fast but not faster than his older brother's reflexes as he pushes a foot against the slamming door. Jason grunts, walking back to the couch as Dick shuts the front door. He sits on his couch, cradling his foot while eyes squint in pain. Jason sighs before retrieving an ice pack and handing it over to him.

"Why are you here?"

"I can't visit my younger brother?" Dick feigns, placing the icepack on his foot. Jason doesn't bother asking how he knew of his apartment — after all, they were detectives and children of Bruce Wayne.

Dark blue eyes look around the apartment. It was simple, modest with a few nooks and crannies that felt like Jason but he could also see the stacking take-out boxes on the counter. Dick walks to the kitchen — albeit still limping — as he starts clearing out all the boxes and washes the dishes left in the sink.

Jason watches and he could only feel water bubbling up in his eyes. He lets his head fall back against the couch, eyes closed as a tear slides down.

He didn't deserve all this love.

All this care.

When he watches his older brother clean the house, it takes him back to the happy moments he shared with Dick years earlier — before everything went wrong.

Before he came back wrong.

There's this tight feeling of guilt Jason feels when he looks at Dick — all the times he has been rude to the man though he only was helping. Jason knew he had every right to feel angry but guilt was an added emotion along with it.

After an hour of cleaning the house, Dick finally sits back on the couch.

'Succession' plays on TV, as Dick looks at Jason who is peering at the screen. But he could tell Jason wasn't really looking at the show — his mind was elsewhere. Dick unwraps the burrito bowls that Alfred had made and sets it in front of Jason.

Dick also got a bat burger since his younger brother loved them too much but even that couldn't deter Jason's apparent concentration from the large screen. He tries shaking the bowls against the teakwood of the coffee table, hoping that would divert Jason's concentration.

But nothing.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he asks, hands folded "Is this about her?"

And that get's Jason to look at Dick, "Damian mentioned about the gift you got her. Did she like it?"

"Yeah, she did," Jason murmurs, looking down at his lap.

"Then what's wrong?"

Jason stands up, walking towards his room. He couldn't be having this conversation or else it would just end up having him loose it.

But Dick, doesn't let go — he knew better.

"Just let it out Jason, you can't keep hoping —"

Hope is a lie.

You hurt hope.

He hurt hope.

It rings in Jason's head and before he knows it, it comes out through his mouth.

"I hurt her, okay!" Jason shouts, voice booming in the closed space. "She asked me out and I said no."

"But w—"

"Because I don't deserve her, Dick. I- I don't. I wanted her to like me but after she realizing she does, I knew I had to let go." Tears streak his scarred cheek , chest heaving as he continues, " And I hurt her and-and I don't know what to do. I love her but she deserves better."

And Dick does what he does best.

He pulls Jason into a hug, lets him cry on his shoulders as he rubs his back. Dick knows telling he deserved everything wasn't going to change how he felt. No words from him could do that.

Only Jason himself could.

But he was going to be there for his younger brother.

It was finally D-day.

The day your exhibit was going to live in the hallways of Metropolitan museum of Gotham. You were decked out in a white shirt and black slacks — formal enough for the event and casual enough for you to stay comfortable. It was only 9 am,but you and the two other students had come early in order to make sure all the paintings were at the right positions.

This was your dream come true.

To have your art, your paintings be part of the very same walls that hung paintings of revered artists from all over the world. The very walls you had been to every year without fail since childhood.

A small giggle escapes your lips before tears prick your eyes.

You couldn't cry. No, it was going to ruin all your makeup. But a tear slips by anyways.

Your dream had finally come true.

You sniffle, looking at your phone.

Since there was still an hour left for the museum to open, you opt to listen to songs while having breakfast at a cafe nearby.

But your eyes don't leave your phone.

You were not sure whether or not to text Jason. You wished he would come but you were not sure whether if he would. Glancing at his contact, you type 'Hi:)', before deleting the text. Sighing, you look out of the large glass windows, as kids play in the green, bubbles floating in the air. It was a beautiful day, the sun beaming brightly.

Maybe he would come.

It had been a few hours since the Museum opened. Your parents had traveled from Star City to visit the exhibition, along with a few family friends. Zara had come in early morning along with some of her friends as they look at each painting.

You received various compliments for your accurate portrayal of the vigilantes, including people who had been saved by them personally. High profile members of Gotham had also visited your exhibit, citing they would contact you for future opportunities. But with every person stepping into the pristine air of the museum, your eyes hoped it was your beloved muse.

Zara had noticed, brows lifted. You just shrug, talking with other guests. Soon, the crowd became gentle, slowly dispersing into the evening air of Gotham. The sound of footsteps has you turning around to see The Dick Grayson, along with the youngest Wayne and the billionaire's only daughter. Every citizen of Gotham knew of Richard Grayson, the first adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

He wore a three piece suit with a midnight blue tie that probably costed more than all the things you owned. Cassandra looked beautiful with her luscious black hair framing her face. Her defined arms were striking through her sleeveless black dress, as she had a soft smile on her face. The last member of the trio was the youngest Wayne, a three piece suit similar to that of his older brother's paired with a emerald green tie.

"Hi, sorry we couldn't make it earlier," Dick Grayson says, extending a hand as you shake it with your own clammy palm. "Our father unfortunately had some very boring business proposals to take care of."

"No-No issues. Thank you for stopping by," you smile through your nervousness as you stand in front of the members of the most powerful family of Gotham.

You take a step back, hands fiddling against each other as the three siblings stand in front of your portraits. Cassandra's eyes lit up as she looks at the portrait of Orphan while Dick and Damian look around the other paintings of their family members such as Batwing, Red Robin, Batgirl. Cassandra mutters a 'beautiful' as she observes each painting in detail while Damian questioned about the different techniques you had used to make the paintings.

All three of them stop in front of the largest painting among your exhibit — your robin painting.

"That's the-the second robin right?" Dick asks, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Yes, that's him," you answer, eyes focused on the painting.

Dick Grayson knew you were the girl Jason was in love with. It had been a total coincidence that he met you since the visit was supposed to be on behalf of Bruce Wayne. But Damian having seen you earlier at the art store, immediately told his older brother when he saw you talking with other patrons.

"It's beautiful," Dick says, his eyes tracing over each and every portrait. "All of them are."

"Thank you."

And Dick Grayson knew just what to do.

"What do you want?" Jason grumbles into the phone.

Dick had given him ten missed calls over the span of fifteen minutes. "Unless you're in immediate danger, I'm ending the call."

"Come to the museum, Jaybin." Dick answers, voice soft yet firm over the phone.

Jason sits up straight, red already coursing his body.

"What are you doing there? Did you stalk—"

"No, Jason. I came here along with Cass and Damian on behalf of Bruce," Dick sighs, as he looks at you standing at the far end of the exhibit. "Now just get here as soon as you can."

"I-I can't." Jason mumbles, head in his hands.

"Do you trust me?"

"…Yes," Jason sighs. He did trust his older brother, though he never says it out loud. Dick Grayson on the other side of the call was expecting a no. The answer from his younger brother takes him aback a little before he regains his composure.

"You have forty-five minutes before the museum closes."

Jason wore the first thing he could find. The museum was further into the city and along with the added evening traffic, he had to leave now to reach before it closed. With not much time on his hands, he decides to wear a black t-shirt paired with blue jeans.

Within thirty minutes, Jason reaches the marble staircase to the Museum. He could see Dick Grayson standing near the front door, looking at his watch.

"He—" Dick stops him, before giving his younger brother a firm squeeze on the shoulders.

"Cass and Dami are waiting in the car, " He continues, eyes locked with green ones. "Don't overthink it. Just go in." He gives a slight pat on Jason's shoulder before walking towards the car.

Jason finally steps inside the building.

There aren't many people at this time in the museum. He could see you standing at the far right corner of the room, looking at your phone. With every step ahead, his heart beats loudly like it was stuck in his throat. How does he explain why he couldn't come early.

You look up once he is at a reasonable distance, eyes lighting up and lips breaking out into a wide smile.

Oh, how you looked so beautiful.

Oh,how you were still kind enough to grace him with the same smile that he fell in love with after he broke your heart.

"Jason," you squeal, gaze locked on his face. "You're here."

"Yeah, sorry I was la—" He tries apologizing but you don't let him.

"Doesn't matter. You're here."

Jason nods, a slight smile grazing his lips as he looks at the different portraits hung up on the wall. He had already seen most of them while he was your muse. His gaze finally dropped to the center piece, the one he hadn't seen yet — the one of Robin.

But when he finally sees the painting, he takes a step back, breath hitching. It wasn't Damian nor Dick's. Not Tim's or Stephanie's, but rather his.

His.

The Robin is on the rooftop, a girl next to him with her features not too defined. He is pointing at something in the sky, his smile vibrant against the dark night background. But the girl next to him wasn't following his finger, but rather looking at him, as golden hues outline his body, gleaming brighter than the stars of the night sky.

Looking at the portrait, itches something in his brain.

He doesn't know what or why.

"Th-That's the second Robin," His voice comes out stuttering.

Jason had always thought his Robin run was useless. After all, he was reckless and emotional. But he hadn't thought he had impacted anyone's life.

"Yeah, that's him."

"Why did you not choose any of the other Robins?"

Because Jason truly wonders why him? A lot of his memories from back then was broken. All he remembered about himself as Robin was, he was a failure.

So why did you paint out of all the Robins, him?

A failure?

"Because if not for him, I wouldn't be here."

A/N: Hope you liked it :)

To join the general taglist, pls comment.

Silks of red sit against the wall while a bunch of teddy bears sat in one corner. The background was just for your point of reference. The silk red would turn into the red brick stacked against each to form the wall of crime alley and the teddy bears — each separated from one another at a distance would lie on one side of Jason, would represent the children of crime alley.

All Jason had to do was lean against the red silk, arms folded and one leg over the other while looking ahead. The twist of the door knob signals Jason's return from the changing room, clad in the familiar creation of yours.

He still looked handso — Nope, we are not going there right now.

"Can you wear these on your back?" you ask, handing over the pair of angel wings — one cut and sprinkled with red from it's stem. It was a lot heavier than you had expected as they were made out of resin, with small flecks of bronze caressing its edges.

Jason knew today was the day he would be cosplaying as himself. To say the least, he was curious how you were going to portray him. He was no angel like Bruce or an inspiration like Barbara.

He was nothing really.

Nothing angelic enough to even hold one of the celestial plume.

He loops his arms over the straps regardless. You were kneeling down, trying to spread the silk uniformly against the wooden floor. You wore a brown apron, cinched tightly at the waist, a little faded from multiple washes over the months. Jason could tell you hadn't slept the previous night, if the dark bags under your gorgeous eyes acted as any proof.

The tiny studio was already ready for his presence early in the morning with the pallette of red paint stacked near a wooden easel that held the rectangular white canvas painted in a layer of red mud, positioned horizontally. Printouts of the photos you had taken of him yesterday was now pinned to the corkboard replacing Stephanie's. There were other pictures pinned along with his to form a collage such as those of crime alley, a movie still of kids running, and the same pair of angel wings.

"Okay, so let me just tell you a brief run through of what I have planned for the portrait."

Jason should really listen, but how can he if you looked like that. It looked like the sun was your personal stylist, it's rays highlighting every tiny detail across your face while your eyes gleamed with zeal. Your hands are turning, twisting as you explain the way you were going to draw him — yet Jason didn't hear a word.

Instead in the small enclosed four-walled room of the art studio, Jason becomes the artist and you, his muse, as he tries committing every part of you to memory. He was not artistic like you, but as a lover of words, Jason had the most beautiful combination of letters associated to you, to your very being.

Safe to say, Jason was falling for you just as easily as the moon falls for the sun.

He just hoped you would fall for him too.

A very fickle thing, since he likes to tell himself he doesn't believe in hope.

"Jason, are you listening?" The only reason you felt he wasn't, was because of how still he stood. Maybe without the domino mask, you would have been able to see green eyes locked on to you for the past five minutes just like you had been caught twice before.

His arms rubs the sensitive skin riddled with goosebumps at the back of his neck, red blooming across his body like hibiscus sprouting to life. Fortunately for him, you were not able to witness his pathetic flustering akin to that of a teenage boy who had seen his crush look at him for the first time.

"Sorry, was just thinking about something." He murmurs, his eyes darting to the red silk because that was so much easier than telling you how he found his home in your eyes.

"Are the wings too heavy ? Are you unco—?" you ask trying to find any reason that could be bothering him.

"No, they're perfectly fine." Jason says quickly, his ears turning pink as he realizes he just interrupted you out of his own fluster.

There's a brief silence that wraps around both of you — not awkward, just there — before your voice cut's through the silence.

"Let me go through it again." Jason nods, intent on listening to you this time and not getting lost in the beauty that was you.

"The red silk ," you say pointing at the fabric, "Will be the red brick walls of crime alley. I need you to lean against it such that one wing is fluttering high."

Jason nods.

"The teddy bears you see placed at a distance from each other," The fur feels soft against your skin as you position the teddy bears better against the floor. "They will be the children of Crime Alley running."

You point towards the stumped side of his wings,"The other side, there will be a dark shadow cast. I know it's kind of confusing, but you will see what I mean once we start. Do you have any suggestions?"

Jason might have had something to say if he listened, but he was lost again.

Just this time in his thoughts — a never ending cycle. Jason loves his family more than they will ever know. But sometimes it made him forget about all the good he ever did just because he did not do it the 'right' way. Jason was no way as good as Bruce Wayne but he saved others too.

He was a protector. A savior to many living in Crime Alley. How many kids had he saved from the ever impeding doom of being involved in drugs and gangs? How many women had he helped move out of unsafe homes and from trafficking rings? Even news outlets never spoke much about his work in Crime Alley — the positives at least.

To have a total stranger think of him in such a way was rather surprising and heartwarming.

"No, I-I think it's perfect."

You smile, lips stretched wide as you start maneuvering around to make this feel as comfortable as it can be for one. There is a tiny speaker at one corner of the room that you deliberately brought from your dorm. It had become a small tradition — creating a playlist before you started working on a painting— in the last four years. But since you were working with a muse, you opted for something that would make him feel more comfortable.

"Shall we start?" you ask Jason, though already pulling him by his arm towards the backdrop. Anyone could tell you were excited — the sparkling eyes, wide smile, bouncing foot from foot and for one, you wouldn't have had the confidence to drag Jason by his arms. But if you had looked behind, you would have seen him smiling wide.

He'd love to be dragged anywhere, if it was with you.

Turning towards him, you place your arms on top of his shoulders, voice firm, "If you need to take any breaks or feel uncomfortable, just let me know. We can take a pause anytime. So please voice it out at the very moment."

"Yes, sweetheart."

The words leave his mouth before his brain can even process. Both of you turn statuesque, sculpted by the shared beating of your heart, like muses waiting to be painting.

"Sorry, if that—" Jason says, hands twitching at his sides.

"No, No. It's fine , I mean — Let's j-just get back to work."

You turn your back to him, hoping he wouldn't notice the way you took deep breaths, trying to calm your beating heart or the silly grin on your face.

In a few minutes, Jason was leaning against the silk, arms crossed and his right leg over his left. He looked glorious like that of a royal knight, guarding his kingdom.

Like that of Red Hood guarding Crime Alley.

You stand beside him to fix the angel wing that was slightly tilted. As the soft feather bristles against your fingertips, you could feel his eyes on you. A shiver runs through your spine at the close proximity, butterflies zooming in your stomach. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down only for his heavy scent to course through your body, heat washing over you like waves.

Stay professional, the words ring in your head.

But how could you in the presence of someone like him.

Taking a step back from him, you take a final look at the entire scene ahead of you , rechecking if everything was in it's right position.

"Would it be okay if I played some music?" you ask Jason, fiddling around with the speaker.

"Go ahead," his voice a little muffled as he fixes his shirt.

"Do you want to play any specific Genre? Artists?"

"Not really, I'm fine with anything."

The soft melody of "Futile Devices" by Sufjan Stevens waft through the room, caressing every object in it's way. You had chosen the instrumental version as it provided you with enough concentration to not focus too much on the lyrics.

Sitting behind the easel on the wooden chair, you prep the canvas, coating it with another layer of red. A tiny circular wooden table rests next to you, a black cylindrical pen stand holding clean brushes of varying widths. Your thumb curves itself into thumbhole of the wooden color pallette, covered in pints of red, black, white and other colors formed as a result of the combination of the primary colors.

You start by making streaks of light grey, outlining his silhouette at the center of the canvas. Leaning closer to the canvas, you switch the brush for a thinner one to outline his features and proportions. Shifting against the cushion of the chair, you simultaneously paint a brief outline of the bricks in the background to make sure nothing was being miscalculated or else you would have to redo the whole painting again.

Jason can see your eyes flickering to his form regularly as well as to the pictures pinned on to the cork board, orbs squinting in focus over the borders of the canvas. There was a slight streak of red on the stretch of your cheeks when you had rubbed the back of your hand mindlessly against your face.

He could see the way your eyes narrow in concentration, leaning closer to the canvas while your body was almost off the chair. He noticed the way you would hum along to the instrumentals, your mouth whispering some of the lyrics that would have accompanied the music. He noticed the way you stretched your arms, groaning at the slight strain in the muscles from holding them in one position for too long.

And he noticed, he was falling fast. Very fast.

It had been two hours and you had finished till his shoulders, along with the red brick walls of Crime Alley. Deciding it was the apt time to take a well deserved break, you stretch your arms above your head, swaying side to side. That's when you notice, the way Jason stood too still.

Some if not most of your muses could sit without moving, but they were human too, shifting a little here and there that caused minuscule changes in the position of their arms or legs.

But Jason, he just stood still like he had been replaced by a statue dressed in Red Hood's costume.

"Let's take a break."

Jason finally moves, walking towards the the small rectangular table in the corner, housing two chairs. You wash your hands and bring a bowl of potato chips and two energy bars. Handing one over, you plop down to the plush of the chair with a sigh.

"How did you stay so still, Jason, for like two hours."

Honestly, the only reason Jason could stand motionlessly was because the subject of his concentration was you. He could look at you for hours, untouched by the outside world — almost like the world blurred around him when you were there.

"Daydreaming about my books," he answers instead.

"Oh, which book?" you ask, taking another bite of the protein bar.

"Frankenstein."

"Oh my god! Have you seen the movie?" your hands clasp together. "It was so fucking beautiful. Even the costumes, especially the blue gown Mia Goth wore. "

Jason hadn't watched the film. He wanted too but knowing how the words would translate to real life people on a screen would hit far too close to home and he did not have the courage to watch it just yet.

He hums regardless.

"Shall we continue?"

Throughout the next hour, you had painted till his waist, covering his huge biceps. Before continuing further, a curse leaves your mouth at the lack of the black paint from the tube. The extra set of tubes were stacked high up in the supplies room and you would need to get a ladder to get them down.

"All okay?" Jason questions, already walking a little front to see you better.

"Yeah, it's just that the black paint tube is empty and I still need them," you mumble, trying to squeeze the aluminum of the tube just in case you were mistaken but alas!

"Are there not extra tubes?"

"There are. It's just a little inconvenient," you groan, head falling back.

The next few minutes that could have been spent painting, you were rather hauling a large ladder to the shelves of the supply room. Jason had come along, citing he'd like to explore the art center as much as possible.

You step onto the ladder, one rung at a time with your hands firmly clutching the red side rails. Reaching the last rung, your hands were at arms length to grab at the white plastic container housing the new set of tubes.

It happens fast.

One second your fingertips graze against the container, the next your arms are flailing in the air as your feet slips off the ladder. This was going to cause a sprain or worse, a fracture. But in the small moment you're afloat, you remind of yourself to stay positive even if things don't seem that way.

Squeezing your eyes, you wait for the ground to cradle you but it never happens. Instead you're cradled by rather soft yet taut muscles, one under your waist and the other, under your knees.

You could see the white tuft of hair blending against the black, the small tiny scars on the expanse of his skin that was not covered by the masks, the very faint cinnamon freckles scattered around his cheekbones — not many in number. His arm under your t-shirt is hot, the warmth transcending past the fabric as it caresses against your skin. Jason looks down at you and murmurs an 'are you okay'.

And all you want to do was kiss him.

Nope. Stay professional.

"Wow, yo-you have fast reflexes."

He laughs — a deep rumble in his chest that scratches at your pulse. Jason sets you down on your feet gently with his hands on your waist, the skin now burning with heat and hands you the pack of new paint tubes that he retrieved by climbing the ladder himself.

Both of you don't speak till you get back to the studio.

Every moment spent with each other is making it only harder and harder not to like your muse.

The same stands true for Jason.

Evenings are always a lot busier in the university than the mornings.

A lot more noise.

A lot more warmth.

Students shuffle around the campus in groups after a long exhausting day of classes, some laughing with friends to lay off the stress while others rush to grace their humble abode.

The art studio specifically had visitors on the rise between 4 pm and 7 pm — some professors visiting the space as other students would hang out with their friends who were art majors. The evenings were also the time workshops and other extracurriculars would be conducted — open to all students despite of their major and sometimes even the general public.

It had been a few hours now, and you finally had finished painting Red Hood onto the canvas. The only part that was left, was the children and the shadow which could be completed in a few hours. Jason could finally get out off the costume and return back to his leather jacket and tight t-shirt (the ones that you oh so admired, every time he stepped foot into the studio).

It was 4 p.m — well past lunch time —again— and the cafeteria wouldn't be open for so long nor would the food taste good. You had insisted to have lunch around 1pm but Jason did not mind posing till the painting was complete. Said he wasn't hungry.

Thus you had decided to order some takeout from the local Chinese restaurant next to Gotham University.

The rooftops of the art building was a secret picnic spot for a few students, including you. The evenings would involve some of your friends sat against the cotton picnic mat or laying back on it, embraced by the occasional colored skies of dusk.

"Shall we go to the rooftop? It's a pretty good spot to eat," you ask Jason. It wasn't that you couldn't have it here, surrounded by paint and varnish. This was something you were used to but not Jason.

"Sure."

The paper of the takeout bag scrunches under your palm as you walk toward the staircase. A soft sniffle stop you in your tracks.

Turning around, you try to check the source when your eyes land on one of the neighboring studio's — Serena's. Her auburn hair was hunched over her shoulders , hands rubbing against the splotchy skin of her face. Serena's eyes were red and swollen like she had been crying for a while.

After a knock on the glass door, you let yourself in. Jason stood near the doorway enough to hear the words spoken inside but not encroaching another's private space. He sees you sitting beside her, just rubbing her back. You hadn't spoken immediately, just waiting till Serena herself wanted to speak about it.

Once the sniffling died down, you squeeze her hands.

"What happened?" you ask softly, still rubbing her back in circles.

"I still have five paintings left," she whispers your name "And the one I finally did, a bottle of paint fell on top of it. I-I don't know what to do. I'm going to fail and —"

Serena starts crying again, her eyes flickering towards the now red splattered painting.

"Hey, listen to me," You try diverting her attention from the fallen painting to you. "You still have time, Serena. Start slow and once you feel confident enough, you will be able to finish them much faster. I know it's not easy."

You grab her shoulders gently, turning to face you. "And you might even hate me for saying this, but don't lose hope."

Her blue eyes water again, and you tell her to let it out.

Let it all out.

Jason had his back against the wall, his eyes looking at the sky through the glass windows. It was light blue, a color he hadn't witnessed often in Gotham over the years. Jason's ears don't pick up what you told Serena after the last three words that passed through his ears, and settled like a heavy brick in his mind.

Don't lose hope.

It's just three words, but it strikes Jason like glass piercing skin. Red fills his mind but it's not anger. No, he doesn't think he can feel that way about you, but rather it's annoyance.

Hope is promise.

And as they say, promises aren't meant to be broken.

Though a part of Jason fills with annoyance, there's small spurts of yellow bursting through, even without his knowledge. After all, his anger is towards the man he first found hope in. When Jason met Batman, he felt hope. A promise almost. His life was going to get better, he was going to study and help people like his mother - Catherine. He was going to make his father proud.

But as history goes, promises are lies.

Hope is a lie.

After a few minutes, she turns to you, her lips in a straight line. But her eyes were clearer, not happy, not hopeless — somewhere in between.

"Do you want to have some dumplings? I got them from the old grandma who's restaurant is near the university," you hand her the tiny box.

She shakes her head, trying to give it back to you. But you push it further into her lap.

"It's okay, just eat them and you'll feel energized," Bumping against her shoulders, you grin "Grandma's dumplings does that."

You invite her to the rooftop to which she politely declines citing she will start working on her project after eating the dumplings.

"Okay then, I will drop by later," you utter, waving as you walk back to the door until Serena calls out your name.

"Thank you."

You offer her a smile in return.

Jason thinks you're a little foolish.

The edges of the rooftop are low, just a few blocks tall with a flat metallic surface, glinting in the last rays of sun. You could see the entirety of Gotham University in all it's glory — tall buildings with Gothic architecture huddled among endless lush of green.

The sky was a hue of deep orange and light pink, bleeding out it's yellow as the night sky starts taking over. The days are quite short compared to the nights in Gotham. You lean against your elbows, the cotton fabric scrunching under your forearms. Jason sat next to you, legs crossed. The both of you had just finished eating — he had Chop Suey and you, Chilli Crisp noodles.

The takeout bag lies next to you, folded neatly so you could dispose of it appropriately. At this height in the rooftop, the sounds of Gotham dimmed into a sort of lullaby, along with the winds giving the perfect environment for one to doze off in it's ambience.

"You know that Serena finishing all five paintings within this week is not really possible right?" Jason mumbles, the first since having eaten lunch. He was no painter, but he knew a thing or two about how much time it would take for the paint to dry. It's not impossible but it would still be extremely hard.

Jason just did not understand why you had to give someone false hope instead of being realistic.

Sometimes hearing the truth feels better than false hope.

"You think I should have told her that it's going to be extremely hard?" you ask, turning your head towards him. The wind flutters through his hair, as the leather covering his arms scrunch at random crevices.

"No…I-i just think it's bad giving false hope to someone."

"I'm not Jason. I - I just told her the truth." you mutter, sitting upright.

"But one should be realistic."

"Hope is realistic, Jason."

It was not.

Jason of all people knew that. Hope wasn't realistic. Hope was for fools, he thinks, though it was still only hours ago he hoped you liked him. But if you knew him, really knew all about him, you could understand why he believed in what he did. He had hope in Bruce, but not only was it shattered to pieces, it made him loose trust in the four letter word all together.

"You think I'm foolish, don't you?"

The words are harsher than intended.

No, you were not annoyed at him. It just reminded you of the people you haven't been able to prove wrong yet.

"I'm sorry —" he starts before your voice interrupts him.

"No, it's fine. I'm not offended," you say, your voice soft as you look out into the pink sky. "I am foolish. I know that."

A slight pause. Jason looks at you, your eyes closed as the setting sun cast's it's last rays over you.

You looked peaceful.

Would having hope make him peaceful too?

Would it make it easier, to watch as the day passes and the moon shines, and have this belief that everything was going to turn out okay?

That maybe, just maybe, him coming back from the dead was for something.

Or was it only him who deserved to rot when he had hope? Why did everything turn to dust when he felt it? With Bruce. with Sheila.

Maybe he was cursed. Cursed to see hope as something not to hold, not to inherently believe in.

No, he is cursed. Because why did he have to meet you — the rendition of hope on this earth — fall in love with you, when he knows he can't have you.

When he can't have hope.

"But I think it's better than being hopeless." your voice lands like that of water in the endless stretch of desert. Hope. But it was him, who had to figure if it was real or a mirage.

Maybe Jason was going to truly believe this one day.

Maybe in another life.

Or just maybe you would be the one to prove it to him.

"What's got you so happy, Little Wing?"

Dick Grayson's words cling to the air as he leans against one of the pillars of the bat cave, a sly smile on his face accompanied by deepening dimples on both sides of his cheek. He was still in the latex suit of Nightwing, just the domino mask off.

Dick likes to think he knows his little brother. Which maybe is true, but only to a certain extent. He is not aware where his little brother lives now. Nor had his personal phone number. He knows Jason works as a mechanic, but where? No idea.

But Dick Grayson knows the little things about Jason Todd, like now as he sees him smile off in the distance at seemingly nothing. Just smiling out in the open, with his pearly whites in view. It was a beautiful sight, to see his younger smiling again in the presence of him. Indeed a rare sight, he wishes he could bask in more.

Jason rolls his eyes, smile replaced by the downturn quirk to his lips that was specifically meant for his brothers. He gathers his jacket, ready to leave only for dick to stand in front of him — arms and legs stretched as wide as a human could like that of a starfish — obstructing his path to exit.

"So, there's a girl, isn't it ?" Richard asks, wiggling his eyebrows like a lunatic.

"What, N-No. Just Shut up," Jason groans, pushing him out of the way but if he thought Dick was going to leave it at that, he was wrong. Dick had immediately noticed the red blossoming across Jason's face and ears. Honestly, he had just guessed it was about a girl (or a boy), something he did to almost all of his younger siblings like every older sibling did.

But now that it was really about a girl, just know that Dick Grayson was going to be one annoying wingman. But first he needed to know who you were, without using his detective skills (aka techniques to stalk criminals) that helped solve cases and were borderline illegal. The only other way was to ask Jason.

Meanwhile, the both of you had been texting about when you and him would be unconstrained by other duties to coordinate for his portrait.

It had been two hours, two whole hours of Dick Grayson essentially torturing his younger brother about you. Questions about how you two met, where you met, and when you met, had eventually Jason break the dam.

"I am cosplaying as Red Hood for her," Jason's voice is loud as it echoes against the dark walls of the cave. It was only the two of them underground as the rest were either asleep or completing their other daytime duties.

"YOU-WHAT." Dick was now on the floor, hands pressed against his stomach as his hysterical laughter rings throughout the cave. Jason drags a palm across his face, hiding the quirk of his lips. He turns to leave, when Dick immediately stops him.

"Okay, no laughing," he says, while laughing.

"Okay, so….how did this happen?" Dick asks, a fist to his mouth to stop the giggle from flowing past his lips, but his eyes were enough to convey the absolute mirth coursing through his body.

Jason briefly mentioned the circumstances — of how he saw you at the library, then near Crime Alley and the proposal to be the muse for your Red Hood painting — without conveying the full story.

Dick hums, his palm cradling his jaw as his elbow sits on his knee. During the conversation both of them had moved to the couch (really on Dick's insistence).

"So, you like her?"

"No."

"If you say so, because you have been awfully smiley since the day you met her, if I tally the timeline right." Dick's palm clasps against Jason's shoulder and giving it a tiny squeeze before leaving him to embrace the ambience of the bat cave alone.

"If she makes you happy, tell her."

Jason is at the studio early the next day.

Today was the day you were going to paint a portrait of him — not Red Hood, but Jason Todd. Another reminder that this would be likely be the last day he could bask in the presence of you. The door to your space was unlocked, to which he let's himself inside after knocking on it twice.

There you were, face mushed against the teakwood of the table, one hand laid next to your face. You were fast asleep, chest rising evenly with every breath. He wanted to remove the tiny paint streak on your cheek, sway the baby hair away from your forehead but retracted his hands.

You looked angelic.

He moves to the finished painting on the easel — the Red Hood painting.

He knew you would excel, after looking at the paintings of other vigilantes. But it still blew him away when he sees the final canvas. There he stood leaning against the wall at the center, some graffiti etched on the red brick while a street sign with 'CRIME ALLEY' gleamed at the front.

The white angel wing towered large on the left side, as the rays of the sun hit every feather. Like you had mentioned, in place of the teddy bears were children — both boys and girls — running towards the light with wide grins on their faces. The right side of him, where the angel wing was not present, a stump sprinkled with red instead had a large shadow cast on the street. It looked almost black but if you looked closer and titled a little, under the intensity of different wavelengths of light, you could see packets of drugs, sharp shredded knives scattered around the street and blue ribbons clumped together, symbolizing human trafficking.

"Jason?"

Your voice huddled with sleep breaks him out his gaze at the painting. You rub your eyes, yawning slightly before swiftly getting off the chair. Yesterday's clothes stick to your body and you looked like you hadn't slept, which was true as you had only laid your head down on the table an hour ago. The night before was spent on preparing your thesis statement and shifting all your finished paintings that were coated with varnish to the assigned space in the exhibit for your final grading.

You also had helped Serena by giving her company and encouraging her with ideas. She was finally able to finish all of them on time — though they weren't perfect, there were present and that's all that mattered at the end of the day.

"I'm so sorry, Jason," you fumble around to put on your shoes. "Just give me thirty minutes and I will be back. I am so—"

"Hey, it's fine. Take your time. I can look around the currently open exhibitions right?" He asks, hands tucked into his jacket. Even in your haze of looking absolutely horrendous and embarrassed, you did not forget to observe the way his white t-shirt stretched across his chest, moving with every breath.

Fucking hell.

"Yes. You can visit them." you say before, muttering a 'thank you'. You rush out of the building to your dorm to get ready. You had already called Zara to cook some light breakfast that you could just grab before running as fast as possible to your dorm room. All you had to do was brush your teeth, take a shower, be presentable enough.

You could do this. In thirty minutes? Hopefully.

Meanwhile Jason roams around the third and fourth floor of the building, a few exhibits open. One was depicting the art of sculpting — the various techniques, the variety of raw materials that are being used, some exhibits of sculpture made by students using different techniques.

He stood and read every description present beside each exhibit.

The next exhibition revolved around the theme of costume designing. Costumes from different eras across the world were presented, along with a paragraph about it. He learnt so much about the types of patterns, materials that he had never heard and had even taken down notes of a few things he did not mind finding more information from the library.

Jason turns around to look at the next design when he catches your eyes. You were leaning against the doorway, a smile on your face and eyes loaded with awe. Perhaps you were admiring the same costumes as he was.

Only if he knew you were admiring him.

"Hey, you've been waiting for a while?"

"No, I just arrived," you say, pointing back at the exhibits."We can stay for a while."

"It's fine, I was just revisiting them again," Jason said, standing in front of you.

"So, shall we go?" you ask, voice drenched in honey.

He bows, extending his hand front "Lead the way, m'lady." You shake your head, fighting the rising heat to the expanse of your face.

How were you not supposed to fall in love with Jason Todd.

"Do you have any specifics? A particular art style maybe?"

You sit in front of the easel, a new white canvas leaned on it. Jason was sitting ahead of you , the white wall behind him. Jazz tunes drift through the air, as you coat the palette with the varied colors you could see on Jason. It seemed like it didn't matter what he wore, because the man looked like he could model for vogue adorned in a trash can. He removes his jacket, now only clad in the white t-shirt. The black ink on his skin is inviting you to color it, streak it with purples and yellows.

"No, up to your imagination. I like whatever you do. "

"Uhh…Thank you," your voice comes out soft as you duck down a little, keeping your head turned towards the canvas so he could not see the silly grin carved on the lips. " Okay so, just sit still and I should be done in a few hours."

You hum to the melody, creating a basic outline of him on the canvas, eyes flicking towards his figure constantly. The last time you did, he was wearing the Red Hood costume in which the domino mask acted as a barrier to his eyes.

But now, you could see those emerald hues, the color akin to some of the lush you found in the campus. Jason looked ahead, staring right at you, which was no mistake of his since a portrait painting required him to do so, but it distracted you easily.

But someone else was more distracted than you — Jason Todd.

Jason was scarred — from the expanse of his cheeks to all over his body. He was used to the stares, the open ended questions — sometimes even the screams of kids. Red Hood's mask had made him a lot more confident than him being himself — as Jason Todd. But you, you had seen his face — unmasked, scarred — yet wanted him to be your muse.

To willingly see his face everyday.

It made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time.

It made him feel something he thinks he doesn't deserve.

Jason did not like being stared at. It was something he was aware of since he was a child but even more so after coming back from the dead. But ever since he had met you, he realized he did not mind it — only if it was you.

The way your eyes locked onto his form, it carried no judgment.

No fear.

You traced over his features, painting every scar, every freckle that encompassed the delicate skin of his face. The portrait was going to be till his shoulders.

Just as the Red Hood painting, Jason did not move much. By the time you had finished the painting, you realized you wanted to paint Jason Todd in all the different art styles in the world. Remember it in all forms like the art he was.

It had taken you barely a few hours to finish his painting. Every feature delicately drawn and colored appropriately with care. The final touch you had added was the golden hues emanating around him, a bordered yellow.

"Done!" you exclaimed, standing up. Jason walks around the easel to see his painting and he was starstruck.

It felt like he was seeing someone else, not himself. Every scar, every blemish but drawn as features rather than some kind of imperfections. You stood beside him with hopeful eyes and teeth digging into your lower lip, as you await his reaction.

"Wow, I—" wide eyed, Jason leans in closer. It felt different from photographs or looking at the mirror.

It felt different drawn by you. "It's beautiful," he says, looking at you now. The artist of him.

"Thank you."

Walking towards the parking lot, the wind caresses against your skin making you tug your coat to yourself.

You wanted to say something to Jason.

The words lie on the tip of your tongue, but they don't leave your mouth. You wanted to thank him. But most of all, you wanted to tell him about the growing feelings of pink in your heart. Did he feel the same about you?

Jason hands twitch against the pocket of his jacket. He wants to say something too, but can't.

Won't.

He couldn't destroy your life.

You were filled with hope, shining brightly like the sun. Yellow colored every space that had the fortune to be touched by your presence, human sunshine trying to fill in the grays of Gotham that Jason had always believed was all the city will ever be.

He couldn't come into your life and destroy your peace.

He couldn't make you believe there was no hope.

He couldn't make your life be painted with Grey.

He couldn't.

Though it had only been three days in the presence of each other, it felt like you had known each other for months. As you reach the parking lot where his bike stands, you extend a hand towards him.

"Thank you for everything." Eyes filled with so much warmth, Jason wants to bask in it. He was happy that he was the reason for the warmth. In a way, that was all he needed.

He was glad he made you happy.

But that did not erase the ache in his heart. He was going to miss seeing you .

Being near you.

"Thank you," he murmurs, feeling your delicate skin against his scarred one. Holding them for a minute longer. Finally he pulls away, walking to his bike.

He climbs over the bike, hands fiddling with the black helmet. Before he places it over his head, he looks at you one last time, cataloguing every part of you to his core memory.

Jason doesn't believe in hope but for you, he believes it one last time.

"I hope you meet the person you're waiting for in Gotham."

And he is gone in the wind.

You hope you do, too.

You really hope you meet the Robin again.

"Mrs. Wayne, I can—" Rina, one of your husband's secretaries, asks, having spotted you among the crowd, her arms hovering over the flowers.

"It's okay, Rina. I got this," you smile, holding the bouquet a little tighter against your chest. "Thank you."

She nods, though the concern etched onto her face doesn't waver as she gazes at your form walking towards the elevator specifically reserved for Bruce Wayne and a few select people. You press the button for the top floor, readjusting your grip at the base of the bouquet. The silver-stained doors slide open with a hiss as you walk past Daniel, another of Bruce's secretaries, who immediately offers to help, to which you politely decline.

Knocking on the glass door with your knuckles, your hands fumble around for the handle due to your limited vision. Bruce Wayne notices almost instantly, leaving the paperwork behind as he rushes to the door. He takes the bouquet out of your hands without question and sets it on top of his desk.

"So who gave you the flowers?" Bruce asks, trying to mask the green in his heart while his eyes try to find any message card tucked away in the assortment. It wasn’t unusual for you to receive such gifts as a part of your work in betterment of the city, though it stills irks something in him.

"It's for you?" His hands still, deep blue eyes locking onto yours.

"…for me?"

"Yeah, I saw them on the way here, and it reminded me of you." You say, plopping onto the leather of his office chair.

"Roses reminded you of me?" Bruce is genuinely stumped, eyes wide and glazed with confusion.

Batman is remembered for a lot of things — the dark knight of Gotham, Justice, vigilante, while his alter ego Brucie Wayne — Wealth, playboy and  glamour.

But for the first time, the one person who knew him — all of him — remembered Bruce Wayne because of roses.

"Yes, my beautiful husband. These red roses reminded me of you." Your voice is soft as you look up at him with your chin on your palm, elbows on the desk.

"Thank you, sweetheart"

Bruce leans down and kisses you on the lips, before laying a soft one on your forehead.

JASON TODD

Jason was away in Star City for a mission, staying at Roy's place. He would be back later today, and you had decided to surprise him. The past few months had been very hectic for Jason. From missions that sometimes lasted months to patrols that never synced with your work timings, you hardly got to see each other.

That's why you had decided to plan a mini reading event that would last for a few days, after taking off from work and mentioning it to the Outlaws and his family.

As the first step, you had decided to welcome your best friend with an assortment of flowers and copies of some of the books off his TBR carefully covered in wrapping paper. Jason had been wanting them for a long time but hadn't had the chance to buy them yet.

You had just finished wrapping the books when Jason texted you about reaching Gotham and that he would be at your place in an hour. With a curve to your lips, you set down the phone after replying with a thumbs up.

You met Jason after a quick detour to the bookstore. Five-minute conversations about books had turned to hours of texting, to later hanging out at each other's places. Over the course of your friendship, he had revealed his nightly activities and even introduced you to some of his teammates and family.

Both of you are good friends, though you both ached it would be more than that.

A few moments later, a knock on the front door has you cleaning haphazardly after realising how messy your living room was. Jason is early, like he always is. He's clad in a leather jacket, red t-shirt stretched across his chest, that you couldn't really indulge in the sight as he pulls you into a hug. The fresh smell of his shampoo and perfume fills your nostrils as you nuzzle into his chest.

"How have you been, Jason?" you ask, now looking at his face. Red sprouts in blossoms across his face as his chin tips down. That's when you notice — his right hand tucked behind.

" I'm sorry for how long it took to finally meet." Jason murmurs, before his right hand comes into view, holding a bouquet of pink peonies and two books wrapped in gift paper.

"Wait, you got —" you laugh, before running back into your room. Jason's eyebrows furrow, deepening the creases of his forehead as he sees you disappearing down the hallway.

"Please tell me, we did not get the same books." You mumble, now appearing in the doorway with the bouquet of books and peonies. Jason laughs, his palm ruffling through his hair.

" I got Taiwan Travelogue for you," Jason says, pointing at the neatly wrapped book in his palm.

" Oh my god, I got you the same along with some other books."

The air is tinged with something both of you can't place, or rather, won't place. Heat rushes through your body, the distance between you seemingly crackling with intensity so loud, though you both just ignore. You both knew each other so well, you bought the same books for each other. So why hadn't either of you taken the next step? Did he perhaps not like you?

If Stephanie had been here, she would have screamed at both of you.

"Just fucking kiss, you idiots."

Except, the words felt too real — almost like someone was actually shouting it in reality and not just in your head.

Turning back to the window of your living room, you almost drop the bouquet at the sight of not only Stephanie but also Cassandra, Tim, Dick, Duke and Damian all fighting to view inside through the small window.

Jason drags a palm across his face.

TIM DRAKE

You and Tim have been in a long-distance relationship ever since you moved out of Gotham for your job. There were a lot of ups and downs, through the course of your relationship — especially owing to the distance. But you traversed through it — Communication being the key.

But now you were here, in the Wayne manor.

After a few gruesome months of work, you had finally returned to Gotham City for a small vacation, which Tim wasn't aware of. You wanted to surprise him, and though he had his tendencies to keep track of you for safety, with the help of dick, you had managed to trick Tim into thinking you were still far, far away and not doors away from the bat cave.

Standing in front of the grandfather clock, you texted your boyfriend a link. The link being a website, you had coded yourself from scratch through tutorials and tutorials.

you: [link]

Tim has always been suspicious of links, especially since he was hyper aware of all that could go wrong with just a single click. It wasn't unusual that you sent him a link, considering the fact that you liked his opinions on some of the things you liked to buy. But just a link—with no follow-up message, was a little worrying. As Tim contemplates the link, you send another text just in time.

You: Open it fast!!

Tim huffs, a small smile on his face. The link did not open to a shopping website or something that you had learnt along the way but rather a webpage with an animated flower in the middle, a small button with the words 'Start' below it.

He clicks on it, albeit a little apprehensive and amused, when he sees the following words along with a picture of your face — eyes large and lips jutted into a pout replacing that of the flower animation.

Do you like me? — Yes or No?

Tim clicks on the 'Yes' button. The picture changes to that of you , smiling wide. His lips curve immediately at the sight, all the sleepiness bundled in his eyes, vanishing in an instant.

The web page refreshes to the next question, another picture of you — with your hands on your hips , lips pressed into a tiny frown — with the following words at the bottom.

Do you love me? — Yes or No?

He huffs, shaking his head as the words 'of course' leave his lips softly. He clicks on the 'yes' button again. Now, the frown on your face was replaced by your smile and eyes crinkling as your hands form a heart.

But the next words still him. What did you even mean by that?

Then why don't you open the door?

A small creak of the staircase has him turning his head swiftly. There you stood, in all your flesh and bones, with a bouquet of pink,red roses, and some pink lilies in between. You were here, physically just a few meters away. The minute it truly strikes Tim, he is already at your side, hugging you with his head tucked into the crook of your neck as you let out soft giggles.

"Hi, Tim." you ruffle his hair, as he kisses your neck before cupping your face and placing a kiss on your lips. You hand him the flowers, which he gently takes it and murmurs a thank you before placing it aside.

"You're here," Tim whispers. He had missed you, missed the warmth that you gave him. Sure, you guys spoke every day, but this was different.

"I am," you say, giggling, locking your wrists around his neck while his hands plant gently at your waist.

"You made the website? The one with the flowers and your pictures?" He asks, placing another kiss on your lips.

You hum.

" A lot of tutorials , and a little help from my roommate." It had been a pretty hard project for someone who had no experience in coding, but you wanted to surprise Tim through something that he loved.

"God, you're so fucking talented. I should worship you." Tim murmurs, before he starts kissing you again as giggles echo in the Bat cave.

DICK GRAYSON

Dick Grayson was used to doing things by himself.

He would be there in a minute to help others, but would never ask for help for himself. He would drop everything if he heard or even got a whiff that someone he loved was not doing well. But he hid the same about him from others. After all, he could do it by himself. He would be fine.

That was until he met you.

You made sure he took care of himself and let out his emotions frequently instead of bottling them up. It had been a while since you had a date night with your boyfriend, and so you planned one.

You made sure to act as oblivious as you could, sneaking to buy all the ingredients to make his favourite dishes. You had also informed his family beforehand so that dick would not have to patrol for the night in Bludhaven.

When Dick Grayson steps inside the apartment, he is greeted with scented candles, lit up in the hall way. The smell of cream cheese and crab meat waft through his sense, already knowing what's for dinner, which suspends all his worries away. Dick walks to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as he sees you making some spaghetti and at the same time, stuffing the mushrooms with the crab filling.

You look up at the clock in the hallway only to see Dick Grayson leaning against the door like a model posing for cameras.

"You're early," you say, washing your hands under the sink to give your boyfriend a hug and a kiss.

" Pretty chill day at the station." Dick murmurs against your lips, "What's the special occasion?"

" Nothing. Just thought about you and decided my beautiful boyfriend deserved this." Tugging his hands off your hips, you move back to the kitchen while Dick whines at the loss of contact. " Now go and change into something comfortable."

Once Dick is in his sweatpants and a T-shirt, he is back in the kitchen, already insisting he helped you in some way or another. It takes a lot of convincing (and threats) for him to go back to the living room. Dick really wants to help you.

After a few minutes, you set the dishes down on the table — crab stuffed mushrooms and spaghetti, a pair of wine glasses and two tubs of chocolate chip ice cream for desert. 'How to lose a guy in ten days' play on the large screen, as dick gets comfortable with the cushions laid against his back. You disappear once again, to which dick immediately pouts before it widens into a smile when you come back again — with a bouquet.

You hand him the assortment of red and pink roses with a kiss on the cheek.

"To the best boyfriend in the whole world."

Dick Grayson flusters, a deep red akin to that of the red roses. His dimples deepen when he sees each stem of the flower having a tiny piece of paper attached. He reads one of them and immediately looks at you wide-eyed. Dick does the same for another piece of paper , before he pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

Each of the tiny pieces of paper attached to the stem had handwritten verses from some of his favourite poetry that he loved to read.

Dick's heart flutters at the amount of effort you had taken, taken for him. He swiftly places a hundred kisses all over your face, while you giggle, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt.

The night ends with your tummy full, movies watched, slow dancing to music, Dick reciting the verses dramatically— with his hand on his chest and arms pointed at you — and hearts filled with love. As you sleep next to him, he looks at you and wonders how he got so lucky. After all that had happened in his life, he didn't know how he still deserved you. The flowers were now in a vase on the table, and the notes — delicately packed into a box. Best believe, Dick is going to read these notes when you exchange vows during the wedding.

He presses one last kiss onto your forehead before shuffling closer to you. Dick was going to pay a visit to Poison Ivy and ask all the ways he could extend the lifetime of those flowers.

So he started planning out the best date and time to propose to you. He probably looked a little crazy to his siblings as he set up a cork board in one of his many safe houses with ideas and dates.

Dick was the only one that thought his planning was sweet, everyone else thought he was stressing out about your answer. And maybe in a different time he would be but after three years of you staying and reassuring him that you wanted him he was sure that you would say yes.

He had the ring custom made with your anniversary etched on the inside of the band and a garnet in the center alongside two small diamonds. Dick and Roy had helped him pick it out, they argued most of the time but in they end helped, three months before he planned to propose.

There were multiple phone calls from his brother and best friend to hype him up in the two days before he planned to propose. He had outwardly scoffed at them calling him to tell him that you would obviously say yes but inwardly he appreciated the support.

When you walk out of your shared bedroom he almost gets on one knee there. You look radiant and Jason almost forgets his whole plan. He restrains himself because him proposing before dinner wasn’t planned.

First, Jason takes you to the bookshop where you met and has become a semi-frequent date spot.

It’s a small hole in the wall shop that really only people know in the upper east side know about. He knows the owner, an older woman named Meredith whose family had this shop for generations, and she was extremely excited to know that you two were getting engaged. She keeps it a secret for him but does give him a discount on the books you end up buying.

He really enjoys watching you read through the backs of books with a slight pinch between your brows. You eventually end up getting two since you couldn’t decide between them.

After you finish up at the book store he takes you a couple blocks down to an Italian restaurant that he knows is a front for the mafia but makes the best cannolis he has ever had so he lets it slide. You talk about your work, friends and anything else that comes to mind and Jason is happy to watch you talk.

When the check is dropped off by a gruff looking guy who gives Jason a knowing smile you reach for it and Jason lightly smacks your hand away from it.

“Nope.” He states simply.

“Jay-” You go to protest with a frown on your face.

“Nope!” His voice increases in volume as he takes the bill away from your hands.

You give him a huff and an eye roll before giving in. Jason feels particularly accomplished as he walks up to pay the bill.

Once the bill is settled Jason leads you back to your building and up to the roof.

He had some help decorating the roof since he was with you for most of the day. Steph and Cass had taken point on that because Steph had told him that his taste was tragic, Cass had agreed before pulling out Bruce’s credit card that she swiped off of him somehow.

“Jason.” You gasp softly at the lit up rooftop decorated with pillows and blankets for stargazing. “This is beautiful.”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I just came up with the idea, Steph and Cass set everything up.”

You squeeze his hand softly, “You still thought of it and that’s what matters.”

Jason takes a deep breath, reaching for the ring box in his pocket. “I also have something else.”

You get a confused pinch between your brows that evens out into shock as Jason gets down on one knee.

He goes to say the long speech he had planned, the one where he told you how much you mean to him, how you love him the way he is, how you make him want to live again rather then just survive. Jason had pondered what to say for months.

But now as he look up into your shocked face and teary eyes his brain stutters to a stop.

“Please?” Jason breathes out, no other words in his mind.

“Yes.” You sob and throw yourself into his arms. “Yes! Oh my god Jay. Yes.”

Jason holds you with a smile on his face that’s so wide it hurts because you love him when he has a plan and even when he doesn’t.