he forces himself to look away. for a bit he just stares at the menu. he repeats caramel macchiato five times his head because he can still hear your conversation from here. his blunt finger nails press into his palms, leaving crescent shaped marks in their wake.

get the coffee. that’s all.

he orders through gritted teeth, waits, and tries to keep his eyes firmly on the counter. every few seconds, they drift back.

you look like you’re having a good time. there’s a softness to your smile that he hasn’t seen in weeks, the kind that reaches your eyes when you’re genuinely comfortable. you’re listening to your date talk, occasionally laughing at whatever he’s saying, your fingers curled loosely around your coffee cup. the guy seems nice, too. annoyingly nice. jason can only see the back of his head, but he can tell he’s actually listening to you. he chuckles at your jokes. leans in when you speak. what a prick.

when you finally stand to leave, your date follows. jason quickly grabs the coffee that’s been waiting on the counter and walks out. he even manages to make it ten feet down the sidewalk before stopping.

“…fuck.” he looks down at the coffee in his hand. then he glances back at the coffee shop. he could go home. scratch that, he should go home. you clearly have someone to walk you home.

he turns around anyway. gotham is a dangerous city. it can be shady during the afternoon. and you’re dick’s best friend. it would be irresponsible to leave you in the hands of a stranger. it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s feeling jealous and he misses you.

the door opens. you step outside, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. the guy follows behind you. jason’s molars grind. you exchange a few words he can’t hear. then the guy gives you a quick hug. you smile and look back at him as you walk the other way.

a minute later, you turn toward the sidewalk. your eyes land on jason immediately. there’s a flicker of surprise. then something colder sets in. “jason?”

“hey.” he did his best to act surprised.

you glance at the coffee in his hand. “hi.” you reply a tight-lipped smile. no jason! like there usually is. no warm embrace. just hi. he doesn’t like the taste of his own medicine. “what are you doing out here?”

“needed coffee.” he motions with the cup in his hand. you nod. he’s waiting for you to fill the silence. ask him about his day. crack a joke. tell him some ridiculous story. it never comes.

“well,” you gesture vaguely down the sidewalk. “i should probably go.”

“where are you headed?”

“home.”

“i’ll walk you.” he offers hastily.

you grimace slightly. “you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

you look at him for a moment. then shrug. “okay.”

you start walking. jason falls into step beside you. for the first few minutes, neither of you says anything. it’s weird. he’s walked beside you before. but that was before everything happened. usually, you’d be talking his ear off by now.

now you’re quiet. your hands disappear into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders curling inward as a gust of wind rushes past. jason glances over. maybe this is what he wanted. distance. but god it feels wrong.

“how’ve you been?”

“good.” you murmur.

he looks ahead and swallows. “good?”

“mhm.” a particularly chilly breeze sends you moving closer to jason. he’s sure his face is red. he’s a man starved after weeks away from you. even the slightest proximity can send him reeling. “what about you?”

destroyed. angry. miserable. recently jealous. pathetic.

he settles for a quick, “fine.” a muscle in his jaw ticks.

“that’s good.”

silence settles. the only sounds are your footsteps and the whistle of the wind. jason almost laughs. this is painful. he’d spent weeks wishing he could talk to you again. now that you’re beside him, he has no idea what to say.

“i, uh, saw you with a friend inside.” he scratches the back of his neck. real smooth. maybe by calling him a friend he can manifest it into reality.

your eyes flick toward him. “what about him?”

“he nice?”

you shrug and nod. “yeah. he’s nice.”

jason nods and mumbles, “good.” although, by his tone, it’s anything other than good.

you glance at him and look away. then you glance again. that was not the look of someone happy for you.“you sound disappointed.”

“m not.” the response is uncomfortably quick.

“okay.” there it is again. that little okay. there’s no heat to it. no anger or sarcasm. just no interest.

he looks down at the sidewalk. “you’ve been avoiding me.”

you laugh quietly and shake your head.

“jason.” you deadpan. he raises a brow. “you haven’t spoken to me in weeks.” he goes quiet. you keep walking. “figured you just didn’t want to.” your jacket rustles as you shrug.

“that’s not-” he stops himself and bites his lip.

you look over. “not what?” he doesn’t answer. i wanted to isn’t exactly an explanation. you wait a second. when he still doesn’t say anything, you turn back toward the sidewalk. “you don’t have to talk to me just because you feel bad.”

his chest tightens. that couldn’t be farther from reality. “i don’t feel bad.”

your face drops slightly. “okay.”

he exhales sharply. “that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?”

he looks into your endless gaze, and for a second, everything he’s been trying to bury sits right there between you. because i missed you. because i think about you all the time. because seeing you with someone else made me realize how stupid i’ve been. instead, all he manages is “i don’t know.”

your expression softens for half a second. disappointment isn’t the right word because you weren’t expecting anything. “my building’s just over here.” the lobby door comes into view. the hypnotizing click of your boots stop. you turn to jason. he stops, but stays facing forward. he can’t look at you. not after what a fool he’s been acting. “thanks for walking with me.” you murmur.

then you’re gone with the click of the door. he stays rooted in the same spot, staring at the same crack in the sidewalk. when he finally moves, it’s a stomping motion. a deep groan fills the air as he throws his head back.

“fuckin’ idiot.”

“fuck.” his footsteps grow closer and closer. and then he’s standing in front of you. “i hate it when you cry.” your focus shifts to your feet.

you stifle a weak laugh. “that’s too bad.”

“i’m serious.” his heart cracks as he looks at you. your eyes are red and puffy. his hand finds your wrist, fingers wrapping loosely around it. you try to pull away. his grip tightens. “look at me.”

“i said no.”

“yeah. and i’m ignoring you.”

“you’re an asshole.”

“and what about it?”

you shake your head again, eyes still fixed on the floor. looking at him right now feels impossible. if you look at him, you’re going to completely lose it.

“come on.” his voice is quieter now. his thumb lifts, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “don’t shut me out, sweetheart.” his thumb moves to your mouth, brushing your pouty bottom lip.

you finally look up just enough to glare at him. “then stop trying to get yourself killed.” you fold your arms tighter across your chest.

his eyebrows lift. “i don’t try to-” his argument dies on his tongue. he bites his lip roughly, shaking his head and muttering something incoherent under his breath. a sharp exhale draws out of him before he speaks again. “ok. i’ll be more careful from now on.”

“good.” you nod. the tension in your shoulders releases.

the guy across from you is completely oblivious. his hands are all over you, touching and grabbing like you’re his already. his eyes have that boyish glint in them, like he just won the lottery—they always look like that at first. this is the part where you almost feel bad. but your pride is huge—ego even bigger—and you’d be damned if you let frank beat you. so, you grab onto the poor guy’s hand and lead him out of the bar.

you aren’t planning on bringing him home, just walking toward it. frank, who has every route to your apartment mapped, notices right away. you are really pushin’ it this time. he grunts. his steps are heavy as he follows a few feet behind.

a few giggles later, and a figure behind you clears their throat. your stomach is already buzzing as you turn around. frank stands there, annoyance apparent in each micro-expression. his eyes flick to the guy. then back to you.

“ok.” he says in his gruff, sexy voice. “times up.” he crosses his arms, showing off those muscular forearms. were they always that big?

you smile, twirling a piece of your hair. “ok?”

the guy frowns. “uh-”

frank doesn’t even look at him. he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. they drag up and down slow, taking everything in. “get outta here, bud.” is all he says.

you bite the inside of your cheek, looking up at frank with doe eyes. the guy sizes up frank and visibly swallows. “you know this guy?” his voice is absent of the cockiness it once held.

“unfortunately.” you sigh, rolling your eyes, even though a grin still graces your lips.

frank’s jaw tightens. “very funny.”

you smile sweetly, making his pants feel tighter. “thank you.”

the guy finally gets the hint and screws off. he mutters something under his breath and speed walks the opposite way.

you watch him go. then look back at frank. “you scared him.”

“good.” he growls, lifting his arm and checking his watch. “he had an hour.” an hour too long that is.

you raise your eyebrows. “oh, so you’re timing it now?” a sense of triumph heats your skin. yeah, you’re definitely winning. as you move closer, you drag your finger up the tanned skin of his arm.

“no.” he mutters. you hum in reply as he looks the other way. something burning hot creeps up the back of his neck and slithers its way down to his pants. suddenly, he grabs your hand.

that just makes your smirk deepen. “you’re obsessed with me.”

he scoffs, taking a moment before replying. “‘course i fuckin’ am.” his bluntness sends electricity through you. frank stares. you stare back. neither of you look away. finally, he sighs. “’m tired of this shit.”

your smile fades a little. “what shit?”

“this.” he gestures toward your skimpy outfit. “you going out. doing this. tryin’ to piss me off.”

you shrug, crossing your arms over your chest. “but it’s fun.”

he stifles a laugh, shaking his head. unbelievable. “you’re something else, you know that?” the roughness of his skin touches yours as he strokes your cheek.

you giggle and nod. “i’ve been told.”

this apartment is far too neat to be dick’s. it also has books…meaning it’s definitely not his. you look around. huh. dark paint stains the walls, each absent of any decor. a desk sits tucked into the corner of the room with exactly one journal and one pen in the center. there’s no pictures hung on the walls, just a framed wayne family photo on the nightstand—probably a housewarming gift.

that’s when the memories flood back. jason. your face immediately heats up. oh god. you remember pieces of last night. the party…and running into him…and telling him he was pretty. you touched his face at one point? somewhere there’s a vague memory of him carrying you?

you bury your face in your hands. “oh. my. god.” getting placed into his car is the last thing you can recall. you groan into your hands and stay there for a while. jason is so sweet. he could’ve left you at dick’s to fend for yourself, but he didn’t. heat blooms on your cheeks. if you didn’t have a crush on him before, you definitely do now.

“jason?” you call out, still halfway under the covers. no response. slowly, you get out of bed—albeit not gracefully—and check the bathroom, then the living room.

there’s nothing. no jason. no note. no glass of water. not even an advil sitting somewhere on the counter.

you stare at the empty apartment for a few seconds. “okay.” disappointment settles in your stomach like a pit. he probably had somewhere to be. he’s a busy man. he doesn’t owe you anything either. after all, he’s the one who helped you.

“okkkk,” you sigh, trudging back to his room to collect your belongings. it’s fine. before you leave, you take one last glance around the apartment. just the same as before.

you don’t see him for three weeks after that.

~

the manor is crowded when you finally see him again. you’d almost forgotten how easy it was to go weeks without seeing jason—almost.

you’re walking into the living room when you spot him. he’s sitting in one of the armchairs, flipping through something on his phone. your face immediately brightens. “jason.”

his eyes lift. for half a second, something flickers across his face. it’s gone before you can analyze it. “hey.”

that’s it.

you slow down. maybe the excitement isn’t mutual. “…hi.” you smile anyway, though your voice is weaker than before.

he’s probably just tired or he’s having a bad day. your mind brings you back to that morning, waking up confused and sad. there has to be some perfectly reasonable explanation for why he disappeared after that night.

you stop a few feet away from him. “i haven’t seen you in forever.” you gush with a giggle

“yeah.” he murmurs, already looking back down at his phone.

suddenly, you’re far too aware of yourself standing in front of him. you swallow, clasping your hands behind your back. either bruce raised the thermostat, or embarrassment is eating you alive. you wait anyway. “so, how’ve you been?”

“fine.”

you shift your weight and nod. “good.” he hums, not bothering to look up from his device. you try again. “um…” an awkward laugh escapes you. “i wanted to thank you.”

his eyes lift again. “for what?”

“for taking care of me that night.”

his jaw tightens. “you don’t have to.”

the sentence catches you off guard. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. still, a smile stays on your face. “i know.” embarrassment creeps into your cheeks. “but i wanted to.”

he looks away. “you were drunk. i did what anyone would’ve done.” when he looks back at you, his gaze is hardened—the exact opposite of how he looked at you the other night.

something in your chest sinks a little. “right.” you nod. “of course.” he probably doesn’t remember it all. that’s for the better. except then you remember the way he looked at you. the way he laughed. the way he carried you like you weighed nothing. you smile softly. “i hope i didn’t embarrass myself too badly.”

“you did.” he retorts blankly. the smile you’d been holding onto slips before you can stop it. he doesn’t even look up. “you were a mess.”

“oh.” for a second, you don’t know what to say to that. so you laugh, quiet and awkward, hoping it’ll make the moment feel less uncomfortable. “well. that’s comforting.”

“you shouldn’t drink that much.” something in his voice has changed. it’s colder now. “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

the words make it uncomfortable to breathe properly. “i know.” hesitantly, you nod. you blink faster, hoping he doesn’t notice your glassy eyes.

“good.” and that’s it. no apology. no little smile to let you know he’s teasing. nothing.

you look down at your hands, suddenly very interested in the way your fingers are tangled together. you should’ve just said thank you and left it alone. “well…” you pull your mouth into something that hopefully resembles a smile. “it was nice seeing you.” you turn before he can see how quickly it disappears.

“you too.” he replies, causing you to stop. for some reason, that hurts more than it should. you look back and he’s still staring at his phone. like he can’t even bother to look at you.

you deflate with a sigh. “bye, jason.”

“bye.”

the second you’re out of sight, jason drops his phone onto the armchair. his hands drag over his face. “fuck.”

he wanted to say hi. he wanted to ask if your head hurt the next morning. he wanted to apologize for leaving without saying anything. he wanted to tell you that he hadn’t left because you were annoying or because you’d embarrassed yourself.

he left because waking up next to you had scared the hell out of him. for one night, he let himself forget who he was. he let himself have something nice. then he looked at you sleeping peacefully in his bed and realized exactly what kind of life you’d be stepping into if he let you get close.

all the violence. the secrets. the blood. the nights where he didn’t come home. the parts of himself he still didn’t know how to fix.

he wasn’t dick. he wasn’t charming and funny like him. he can’t hold his temper like him. he’s not pure of heart like he is. you deserve someone like that—someone jason will never be.

he looks toward the hallway you disappeared down. his chest aches. he knows he’s already hurting you. imagining that makes him ill.

and he’s still doing it anyway.

has always been observant. being spider-man practically requires it. remembering faces, routines, exits, all the tiny details people don’t realize they’re giving away. but he’s not sure if he started seeking you out, or if it happened coincidentally.

lurks outside of your work during lunch time just to see you shuffle across the street to your favorite cafe. it should end at that, but it doesn’t. he knows which route you take home. he knows which days you seem tired. he knows your position at work. he knows your full name and address.

tells himself it’s harmless. he’s spider-man. he’s just keeping civilians safe. it’s part of the job. except…he’s not just protecting you. he’s observing and waiting. waiting for his chance.

becomes irritated when you change your routine. he won’t admit it, but he’ll spend half the night wondering where you went. he’ll even swing across the city telling himself he’s going to check one thing. one thing becomes two. then suddenly he’s perched on a rooftop across from your apartment, staring at your naked silhouette through your sheer curtains.

beats a guy half to death and frames him as a burglar after he sees you out with him. the police don’t question it because why would they? your friendly neighborhood spider-man is keeping the city safe.

notices that you’re becoming paranoid. you keep turning around, watching behind your shoulder. he stays out later because of that. watches you closer. it takes him a week before he realizes you’re becoming paranoid because of him.