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 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.

Jason had insisted on dropping you to your dorm room instead of hailing a taxi — resulting in your face mushed against the leather of his jacket covering his muscled back, your hands wrapped around his slim waist as smoke and the smell of oil filled your nostrils. Bike rides during the night of Gotham was something you never thought you needed until then, air whipping against your hair as the city lulled itself to sleep.

Maybe it was a little bit of an exaggeration but you needed to remind yourself that working with your crush from the library who was not only fucking hot but also seemed smart, should be nothing else other than a transaction.

He would be your muse for the Red Hood painting. In turn you would draw a portrait of him for no cost.

But doesn't love begin with being the artist of your muse? Being the apple of your eye?

You roll your eyes, slumping against the cushion of your bed. It felt like your heart was working vehemently against your mind. You reminded yourself once again, it was just a crush — an attractive guy who wore leather jackets, had tattoos inked onto his skin and owned a bike was at the same time an avid reader, spending his free time at the library.

All you could do was hope he had a shitty personality. That would make it a lot easier to not fall in love during your finals.

But you had a feeling he didn't. At least based on the way he treated you a few hours back. Groaning, you scream into the pillow.

You were so fucked.

This was dumb.

Jason thinks while walking back and forth, in front of the stone wall composed of handmade patterns of concrete, like that of petals swirled towards the center. He had been here thirty minutes earlier than when you had asked him to.

Jason had been rethinking about the sequence of events that lead him here. Was this even the right decision to cosplay as himself ? Wasn't it endangering his identity?

You would never know but something had Jason pulling towards you. It wasn't uncommon to find girls looking at him when he was at the library but he never worked up the courage to speak to them or rather found any reason to do so. But for you, it seemed like Jason had executed all the knowledge of confidence and flirting passed down to him like a well guarded fortune from his older brother — Dick Grayson (and Brucie Wayne, but he would never say that to anyone).

Lush green trees and bushes sprouting flowers of different colors and sizes lay lined around the premises, college students laugh and giggle while professors wearing long coats talk among themselves about the current state of art in the world.

It was truly a profound experience to visit an university campus since he had never had the opportunity to attend one — even high-school. Students hollered around, giggling and swaying with friends, some running across him to attend classes in different buildings, some chatting with professors about grades and assignments.

How would his life have been had he lived through high-school.

Which university would he have gone to? Hudson like Dick or Ivy like Tim? Or somewhere else entirely?

What would have his major been? English? Medicine? Social Justice?

What would have —

"Hi," your cheery voice, tinged with bouts of excitement, pulls him out of his thoughts. Turning around, his breath hitches in his chest.

There you were, the wind blowing at your hair making you pull the long black coat against your body while your lips were carved into a smile.

You had a beautiful smile —as genuine as the golden sun.

A honk from a nearby car startles him enough to divert his green eyes from your mouth. Clearing his throat, he eases a somewhat of a curve to his lips.

"Hey," his voice a little low, trying to mask his anxiety,"Sorry if I was late."

"Oh no, please you were early," you say, voice dipping a little and eyes sparkling mischievously. "My best friend Zara noticed you walking back and forth for ten minutes straight."

Heat crawls up his neck, his hand rubbing the skin as red blossoms at his cheeks. You grin at how the giant in front of you was blushing.

He looked beautiful.

We're not going to think about that, you try reminding yourself.

"Shall we go in?" you ask, pointing at the glass doors of the building. He nods, joining in your walk.

The interiors of the building were just as beautiful as the exterior — a teakwood front desk that had murals on the wall behind, sculptures made out of various materials put on display in every corner of the space. A blend of the crispy scent from the air conditioners, the tell tale smell of clay and paint and sweet fragrance of perfumes fill in the air.

Your studio was on the first floor, a small enclosed box. Students only in their final year of university could use these small boxes as their own tiny caricature of a studio for a few months. Jason could hear some music playing in the other rooms, while some students in groups painted in a common space . The smell of adhesives and paint was so strong, it blurred his movements just for a second.

You prop open the glass door, a sheet of paper covered in painted sunflowers along the borders and your name written in cursive, pasted at the center. Jason felt like he had stepped into the aftermath of a paintball match — splatters of paint on the floor, canvases inclined against the wall or propped up on easels, pallettes covered in an array of colors, paint tubes and bottles arranged haphazardly across the room.

"Sorry, It's a little messy," a sheepish grin on your face as you trudge a wooden chair for him to sit. "It just kind of happens."

"I get it, I have a younger brother who does art."

It was not really a lie. Damian was an artist but he was also extremely meticulous — his workspace always clean, the only evidence of the previous activity was the newly painted canvas on the easel. But he did not want to make you feel uncomfortable about a mess that was so inherent to most artists.

Jason sinks into the velvet cushion of the chair while you fumble around to get one of your own.

"Do you want some water or anything to eat?" you ask him, holding a water bottle in hand.

"Water works."

"Okay! Give me a minute to get it refilled." You pick up your phone and start walking towards the door, before glancing back at him once. "Feel free to look around in the meantime."

Once you leave, the room feels a lot more empty.

He stands up and walks towards the array of canvases lined along the wall on the other side of the room.

The first one is of Batman — A portrait of the dark knight standing beside a gargoyle, while his cape engulfs him. Two large wings in the color of white sprouts from the back , stretched wide almost giving one the illusion that the wingspan covers the entirety of Gotham since the width of the wings never end in the painting, extending beyond the confines of the rectangular canvas.

The next one is of Batgirl — Ginger hair flowing along the air as her cape stretches out behind her. She stood on the rooftop of a building, the sky a shade of pink. Across from her, in a tiny balcony was a mother holding her daughter nestled against her hips as she points at Barbara, sparkles in her eyes.

Jason could sense the amount of time you had taken for each portrait, focusing on tiny details and symbolism. He knew your project was about the art of vigilantism. When he had heard the title, he assumed it was going to be about iconic moves of Gotham vigilantes or glorious victories but rather you focused on what they brought to the city — Hope.

Hope of justice by making the dark knight an angel with white wings and Batgirl a true inspiration for women and girls in the city. He could see numerous other canvases sporting Batwoman, Orphan, Red Robin and others.

There was one portrait a little larger than the rest, deducing it was possibly the centerpiece of your theme. A large white cloth laid over the top of the canvas, sprinkling curiosity in Jason. His fingertips touch the fabric, on the verge of tugging it to see what laid beneath. Just as he was about to see what was hidden, your voice fills in the air,making him drop the fabric, back stiffening like he was caught doing something he shouldn't.

But he remembered seeing flashes of red and green.

Probably Robin — Damian.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," you hand him the bottle "It took a little more time than expected because of the long line."

He nods taking a sip of the water while you sit back down on the chair. It was the first time you really could take him in without his eyes locked on your form. The small window of your room was wide open, allowing sunlight to flitter and cast on Jason. He was wearing the same leather jacket as a few days back but now paired with a red hoodie while his thick thighs were spread with the material of the cargo pants stretching across the panes of his muscles.

You swallow, at the sight, eyes tracing the tiny water droplets that slip from his mouth, cascading against his throat.

How were you supposed to focus if all your attention could easily be swept away by just him drinking water?

Irritation courses through you — not at him, but at yourself. Your shoulders slump against the teakwood of the chair, closing your eyes in a huff. You were supposed to be professional. He was like any muse you have ever had over the years.

Just a muse.

You reminded yourself that Jason probably had a shitty personality. He should right? No man could be too hot and emotionally mature — at least in your experience.

The clearing of his throat breaks you out of your inner thoughts, realizing you were staring at him during the whole ordeal.

This was the second time it had happened. There's a few minutes of awkward silence before the sound of a clap resounds against the walls. You stand up, hands on your hips, moving to the tiny table in the corner of the room. Wrapped in a brown bag was the red hood's costume — or what you hope it was.

Since there were no pictures of him, and based on details from people who had seen him and a personal testimony from a friend who had encountered the gun totting vigilante , you put together an outfit. You had asked Jason for his sizes and measurements and started working on it immediately.

Sure, it was not entirely necessary for you to create an outfit from scratch but you knew this would show the amount of effort you took to make sure the heroes of the night appeared as they were. While most people knew of their existence not everyone had encountered them and all you wanted was for every person who looked at your paintings to feel what you did — hope for a world that seemed so preemptive in destroying itself.

It took you a week to put together his costume, all while you finished the paintings of Batwing and Spoiler. Sleepless nights and stressful days had almost made you give up several times before pushing yourself through the negative thoughts. It was going to be less grueling the next two weeks since you would have only one painting to be worked on.

"Here's the costume I made," you hand him over the brown bag. "Not really sure how well it resembles Red Hood."

Though you had worked on this for a long time, there was still this undercurrent of anxiety dreading up from the pits of your stomach at the thought of it being in accurate. What if someone who had encountered Red Hood personally visited your exhibit and mentions how far you were from the truth? What if —

"I think you got most of it right," Jason mumbles, taking the black shirt with the red bat symbol etched onto it. He could tell you took inspiration from the one on Batman's as the wings of the bat were curved rather than drawn in a straight line. The fabric felt different under his fingertips, a lot softer than the Kevlar suit but not as soft to make it look like it was something one would wear to sleep.

You made sure to use whatever art and craft techniques you had learnt over the years to make it appear a lot thicker than it actually did. The black tactical pants that laid neatly folded at the bottom was a different shade and had two pockets stitched in. The utility belt was a cheap find in the dollar store, that you later painted to silver.

The hardest part was the mask. Without any reference pictures, all you could do was imagine it was something similar to that of Spoiler's but in red. There was a pair of red striped black combat boots that you mentioned to tread carefully with, since it was rented. Last but not the least was a couple of kneecaps.

"You know Red Hood?" your voice dips low, as you stare at him wide-eyed. How had you missed to ask the man you saw near Crime Alley whether he knew of the vigilante canvassing the premises.

"Yeah," there's a beat of silence as if Jason was repeating the words to himself inside his head, "kind of."

"And you say it's pretty similar?"

"I think he'd be surprised you got it all right?" It was true. Though there were certain changes from his suit, Jason was surprised to see the minute details you could still capture right.

He could see the upturn of your lips, the way your eyes lit up and lips stretched into a bright smile.

It was blinding.

He wanted to make you smile like that.

But he was being too creepy. This was not love.

Jason did not believe in love at first sight, after all.

But maybe this time, he would be proven wrong.

After asking Jason to try it, you wait for him while setting up the backdrop for Red Hood's portrait. Kneeling on the floor, you try slicing one of the par of angel wings, and splatter the broken end with a little bit of red. While you knew the vigilante was a little different from the others, he saved people. Changed lives, especially those around lower Gotham.

The sound of the door opening has you turn your head back, only to almost loose balance. There he stood, wearing the tight black shirt that had the bat emblem stretched across his chest, red mask covering the lower half of his face while the domino mask covers his eyes.

You were not sure whether he looked like Red Hood. He probably did but you knew one thing — he was handsome. There's a slight pause, only your heartbeat resounding in your ears, eyes peering at him while he huffed, trying to mask his laugh.

"I just said that loud, didn't I?"

Jason nods.

You covered your face, heat coursing through your body. You knew he was smiling behind the mask and,in a way you were grateful for the mask covering his face — after all, if you had seen his smile, you probably would have embarrassed yourself even more by spewing comments that were borderline flirty.

Jason was glad there was a mask on his face. Had it not, you would have seen the darkening of his cheeks akin to the color of the very emblem on his shirt. Though he laughs, it doesn't drown out his own heartbeat.

"What do you think? Is it missing anything?"

It was missing a few things and Jason had noticed them. But he did not want to make it too obvious and seem like a stalker of himself.

"No, I think it's —"

A knock on the glass door causes the both of you to swivel your heads towards the source. There stood your classmate — the one who had encountered Red Hood in the flesh. You had mentioned to her about how there was a feeling of anxiety of not getting him right and she had so kindly offered to look at the costume herself to see if anything was missing.

"Hilda, thanks for stopping by." She walks in, standing next to your kneeled form. Her eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing as she eyes Jason. You try to divert her attention from him, knowing any extended staring could cause discomfort to anyone — let alone someone in a costume.

"Hilda," you hiss, grabbing her hand.

"Oh," she turns, hands rubbing her neck. She leans down, whispering "Are you sure you did not ask Red Hood to be your muse?"

You turn to look at Jason. Really look at him. From all your research he did fit the picture of Red Hood, but that was also the very reason you chose him as your muse. After all you asked him the same question when you first met.

"I don't think Red Hood is dumb enough to cosplay as himself," you whisper back, head tilted slightly towards hers.

"I suppose."

Only if you knew.

After Hilda left and Jason changed from the costume, you had essentially dragged him to the university cafeteria. It was already 2 PM — well into lunch and you couldn't leave your muse hungry nor was it good behavior on your part.

The cafeteria in Gotham University was a large one-story building. There were not many people and thus no time lost in waiting in long lines. The smell of greasy hamburgers waft through the place, surrounded by circular tables with chairs that were less than comfortable if you sat for periods of long duration. Clattering of utensils could be heard from the kitchen, the sound of a hiss as a can opens in the nearby table and the gentle murmur accompanied by the occasional shouts fill your ears.

You and Jason sat at the corner of room, near the glass windows as the students walked by. Jason had ordered himself a classic hamburger while you, a small pepperoni pizza. After hours of having your breakfast — a slice of bread coated with nutella — you were extremely hungry to say the least. A pleasant silence envelops the both of you while eating the delicacies on the table.

"So, you are from Gotham?" you ask, now only two slices of the pizza left. You always tried getting to know your muses, in hopes of making each other comfortable.

"Born and brought up," Jason answers, wiping his hands on the tissue. "What 'bout you?"

"Same, but my parents moved to Star City a few years ago." You had just turned eighteen, a sheet of paper stating your scholarship to Gotham University clutched between your fingertips in one hand and the other palm clenched so hard against itself, it took more than minutes for the imprints on your palm to return back to it's original state.

The fight was long time coming — your family wanted to move out of Gotham as soon as possible while you wanted to stay. You remembered your mother saying you were being foolish for holding out hope to meet someone you don't even know. You remember shouting at her that you knew that. You always knew that it was foolish. But you had made a choice — to choose hope.

Just like he had said that day.

"Hey, you okay?" you look up to see emerald eyes locked on yours — soft and warm.

"Yeah, just remembered things." Shaking your head, you take a slice of the pizza. "What do you do for work?"

"I work as a part-time mechanic."

You hum, taking another bite. "And part-time at the library?"

Jason laughs - smooth, deep and genuine. It automatically brings a smile to your lips. You were not sure why you felt this way towards someone you knew only for a few days. It wasn't like you to feel all this for someone you barely knew.

"No, I just like reading." He chuckles again. "You don't right?"

Jason grins like he already knew the answer, which he did.

"Yeah, yeah" you sigh, before your mouth breaks out into a laugh. He was laughing too, sharing a space that was reserved for only a few without even realizing.

How long had it been since he laughed so candidly with someone?

He had a beautiful laugh.

Students across your table turn, sending an annoyed stare at your way as you and Jason try stifling your laughs, though it wasn't successful.

You both decide to leave the cafeteria, to avoid any more stares from distressed students.

"So how did you meet Red Hood?"

Jason stops, his head blank at the question. He can feel your eyes on him, filled with curiosity and wonder.

"He…..saved me."

You could feel it was much deeper than three words. But you decided not to pry further. Silence hangs over like a fluffy cloud as the both of you walk towards the art building. You offer him a smile, trying to ease the mood.

"See you tomorrow?"

He nods.

Maybe this wasn't a dumb idea after all.

General taglist:

for all works: @milkybbun @champagnesbiggestproblem @itachisrealm @batwngs @starr-jazz @arfemiz @goonette5 @currentblasphemy @leovaldez0924 @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @asahisimpnation @yearninglustfully @minandras @unclearblur @angelicwing

(if anyone wants be removed while I post the series, you can comment :))

For Jason: @caterppillar @kisses717 @angel-achlys-r

You did not like books.

No hate to them but you just preferred visual cues more — movies, films, documentaries, art museums.

Everyone in Gotham city knew that — your family, friends, your cute golden retriever Butter who nuzzles into your lap routinely before bedtime, the stray calico cat you pass everyday on the way to university.

Yet here you were — a full three days of attendance at Gotham Public library, holding books as thick as five canvases clamped together and littered with words you will barely ever read. But unlike other people in the cream colored room with wooden borders and portraits of Gotham history hung up on the walls, you were here for something else — more like someone.

On Tuesday, for the first time in twenty-two years of living in the city, you had finally stepped foot into the two story marvel with its carved pillars of stone parading the pointed arch that outlined the entry way. It wasn't like you had never visited a library — you did occasionally visit the small bookstore tucked away in the corner near your old home or the university library at the center of the lush campus— but not this one. You had awed at it's architecture, taking photographs every time you passed by it on the way to meet your parents back in Star City but never had the opportunity to bask in it's ambience.

Until Tuesday.

It had all started with your best friend — Zara — pleading with you to embrace the fresh air rather than stay within the closed quarters of a tiny four walled box of the university's Art Studio, where you had stayed almost for fifteen hours a day, running on five cups of coffee (Bless your heart!). Streaks of red and yellow etched on to your forearm, kneeling on the wooden floor as you added the final touches to your portrait.

"Come on," her voice tuned into a high pitch whine "You need to get out — How long has it been since you went anywhere except the studio and our dorm room?"

Kneeling back on the balls of your feet, you dip the brush onto the scraps of golden paint left in the palette before spraying speckles of it on the canvas by dragging your thumb against the fibrils of the brush.

"Please, just for a few hours." Zara pleads, leaning against the walls, her eyes scrunched in annoyance.

You shake your head before sighing, eyes still locked onto the canvas before you. Hair strands stick to your forehead and the numb feeling returned to your legs from sitting too long in one position.

Perhaps, going out was what you needed.

That's how you had ended up leaned against a wooden shelf full of Zoology books dated from centuries ago in a very haphazardly put together outfit. Your best friend had insisted that whatever books she needed for her thesis was only within the esteemed collection of the public library.

Large sturdy bookshelves lined the walls, the corners turned into comfy reading nooks. Clicking of pens and the scrape of pencils against papers filled the rooms as students and senior citizens sit among the dozens of spaced desks surrounding the central area of the library. 'No talking' signs covered every few inches of the wall, though swiftly ignored till the librarian hisses at the patrons who disregard the rule. Crystal chandeliers glint in the light from the arched stained glass window like the stars shining in the night.

But what had caught your attention more than the glinting gems of the chandelier was the man — more like a Greek god — sat against the cushioned nook. He was easily over 6ft paired with muscles straining against the linen of his black t-shirt while ebony black hair was tousled with slight graying littered out in the front. Emerald-green eyes scan through a thick hard bound book — a classic, you assume — with vigor and with every scrunch of his dark eyebrows marked the intention to complete the artifact.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there still, eyes locked on the man till Zara nudged against your shoulder, pointing towards the front desk. In a way, you were glad the man hadn't noticed you considering you weren't in your best state with all that dark circles as clear as day painted on to your skin, and your outfit was just a hoodie paired with sweatpants.

A sigh escapes your lips at the thought of leaving. An irony from a few hours ago.

You were going to miss seeing that beautiful man.

But curiosity lingers like dust particles that sweeps into nooks and crannies of the mind. He hadn't left your head since you had gotten back, even enveloping the very few hours of sleep you already barely get. And that was how you ended up in Gotham Public library for the second day in a row. After hours spending in the studio, you decided to just entertain a small visit to the library, dressed in a better outfit than last time.

There was a minuscule of possibility that you would see the man again. But o.1% of probability was still a chance. And you were not the one to lose hope.

The minuscule of probability had come true.

The man was there, again seated against the wall in the same reading nook. Today he had been wearing a red hoodie, paired with dark black jeans and looked just as beautiful as yesterday. He held the same book, now a few more pages in while his hand gripped a black pen, dotting something on the outline of the pages.

Ever since then, let’s just say you have been a regular .

It’s day 3 at the library.

You really wanted to ask the man out, or at least talk to him but what if he thinks you were a creep?

“Staring doesn’t help now, does it?” Your best friend had remarked last dinner, stirring the boiling pot of pasta. “I know it’s not easy, but just maybe say hi.”

The librarian – an old woman, with round black rimmed spectacles, looks up with steely eyes as she assesses your figure disappearing within the large shelves of books. She probably knew you were here for anything other than books.

Only a reader can identify another one.

The library is less crowded today. More space to view the man seated against the wall of the library, opposite to you — only two huge bookshelves in between. Sunlight flitters through the stained-glass window, casting a deep yellow on his skin that rivaled the very golden color of the painting hung up on the wall next to him.

You realized you had a problem of staring at him the same way as when you did at the magnificent paintings in the museum ever since you were a kid, when your eyes locked with teal ones paired with a very tantalizing smirk on his face. Panic stricken, your eyes swift past him to the window, letting out a makeshift yawn before directing your attention to the book that laid on your lap.

Act cool, you think.

It had been a minute already since that disastrous eye-contact. Surely, he would have returned back to his reading, right? You sneak a glance from the top of your book only to find the space empty. You look around, peeking through the shelves trying to find the mystery man before a deep voice from behind startles you, almost dropping the thick hardbound classic onto your feet.

“Hey, how’s the book? I have been meaning to read it for a while now.” A low pitched voice with a hoarse edge from behind akin to that of a soft thunder in the distance, startled you out of your search for the handsome man.

You yelp, left hand clutching your chest as the book—Wuthering Heights, you think— almost falls to the floor. Your heart thumps, reverberating against your body, quickly averting your eyes to the source of the voice, a bunch of not-so-nice words sitting at the tip of your tongue, only to quickly die in your mouth.

Of course, he had a deep voice.

The same man you had been ogling for the past three days stood right in front of you, a few inches apart. The smell of gasoline and motor oil fill your nostrils. He was even more handsome up close, emerald eyes with a sparkle, few scars spread against his cheek, lips curved into a smile — genuine but with a hint of something underneath.

Amusement?

Curiosity?

Maybe both, you couldn’t really decipher.

“Huh?”

“How’s the book you’re reading?” he repeats, eyes twinkling with mirth.

He leans against the bookshelf, folding his arms causing the black compression T-shirt to stretch across his elbows.

They really do wonders if the right person was wearing it.

“Oh, uhh, it's great." The spine of the book feels brittle under the tremble of your fingertips. "Only a few pages in though. Can't really tell yet,” you beam, with way too much energy for someone who was lying straight through their teeth.

Fake it till you make it, right?

He looks at you, the corners of his mouth turn up even more — now more of a smirk than the delightful smile he had given you the opportunity to relish in moments ago.

Had he seen through your lie? You were not that great of a liar, but it was a —

“Sweetheart, the book’s upside down.”

Oh.

Oh.

Warmth spreads across your face like wildfire, uncontrollable. Your mind clouds as his green eyes bore into yours like he was the vast amazons and you were just a creature stepping in for the first time.

The words leave your mouth before you mean it.

“I-I am actually d-doing a research on whether one can read books upside-down. It’s called the upside-down hypothesis,” you ramble, heart at your throat, hoping he believes your stupid theory .

He looks even more amused if that was possible, eyes glinting in the light turning his eyes into that of clear green algae that lay in the sea.

Fuck.

He probably saw right through you.

Hot and Intelligent, you deduce.

“Well, uhm, nice to meet you, got to get back home. It's late you know," your voice raises to an unusually high pitch, ears burning hot against the skin. It was barely 4pm on a Sunday. You still had ample amount of time to get back home but he didn't need to know that. "Gotham. Murder. Batman.”

“Okay, bye," you say, hands waving before turning steadfast towards the exit. You wanted to turn, try memorizing his face since it was going to be the last time you see him after all. Before you could put more thought to it, your head turned like reflex, catching a glimpse of black hair and his green eyes that stared at you with amusement. Groaning you turn back to finally step out of the premises.

Why did you have to embarrass yourself in front of a man — a beautiful man at that?

You were never going to step into the library again.

You were never going to meet that man again.

But fate had other plans.

Tapping your knuckles in a rhythm against the circular wooden table, you sigh, eyes wandering across the room. Plain white canvases are stacked on top of each other, while bottles of paint lay scattered across the floor. You had pinned various pictures of Gotham vigilantes onto the corkboard perched at the center of the wall, facing you.

You had your final thesis exhibition less than a month away and you still had three paintings to be done. The only silver lining was that you had references for at least two of them. Countless photographs uploaded by fans and haters alike had given you ample amount of data to take advantage of.

Except for one vigilante — The Red Hood.

There were no pictures of him in the internet. None. Almost like if anything did pop up, some force behind a computer screen, took it down immediately. The only inkling of information you had of him were from the people themselves, talking about how the vigilante had saved them or saw him in passing.

Thus, the information you had was scarce.

All you knew was the man was 6'4 , all muscles and had a red bat across his suit. Nothing really that could help you paint a whole canvas. You could use your imagination but your thesis was centered around vigilantes and the one thing you had to make sure was that they were as true as it could get.

You had decided to do your final projects about the heroes you grew up with — The art of vigilantism. It would be your first major project and the fruit of all the hard work of over four years. What made this assignment even more special was every individual would exhibit their work at the Art building of Gotham University and three students out of a class of two hundred would be picked to exhibit the same at the Metropolitan Museum of Gotham.

It would be your dream come true to feature your works enclosed within the walls of the very museum you visited religiously every year since you were a child.

But it was more than that. Your dream was to exhibit your art all around the world, to deliver stories from different sections of life, to let imagination take over when looking at abstract pieces.

But most of all, you wanted one person to see your art.

The second robin.

But in order for that to even be a possibility, you had to complete the painting of Red Hood.

And so, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Was this a dumb idea?

Probably.

But you don't think there was anything else you could have done. Black shirt, black pants, black hood, black mask. You looked like a robber waiting for your next victim to mug. But this was also the easiest way to camouflage against the dark alleys of Park Row. Hanging around your neck is an expensive camera you brought in the first year of university after saving money since you were thirteen by selling artworks and winning competitions.

The smell of rotting flesh and chemicals fill in the alley. You scan your surroundings, taking a peek at the empty street as your heart hammers in your chest. Where was he ? You were on time — he should be patrolling the premises . There weren't many people around and based on the various testimonials of people on Reddit , this was where Red Hood would appear. And if you were lucky enough you could take pictures of him mid fight or maybe even ask —

There's a sudden crunch of gravel that fills your ears and before you could react, a hand clamps onto your shoulder. A shriek passes your lips as you turn to face your would be mugger or worse, only to meet glaring emerald eyes.

There he stood, your library crush who was staring daggers at you like you were a criminal. He looked a little different under the flickering golden light emanating from the electric pole a little ahead of you.

Wrapped in a leather jacket, holding a black helmet in one of his hands. His eyes, the same ones you saw with amusement dancing was now muddled with slight anger and annoyance. You don't think he recognized you — of course, he didn't if you had your face covered, with only your eyes peaking through.

"What are you doing?"

You hold your hands up before pointing towards your mask. He nods, albeit his grip on your shoulder not loosening. You remove the black mask obscuring the lower half of your face. He immediately removes his hand, his eyes softening as he takes a quick step back.

"Whoa, you're that girl from the library," His frown morphs into a smile, biceps flexing as his palm threads through his hair. "What are you doing here at this time?"

"Well, I was just—" you put your head in your hands. What were you going to do. "I was just here to take photos of the scenery , the graffiti art , murals—"

You take a look at him, trying to come up with a good excuse that would also support your facade from the library. But it felt like someone had vacuumed your mind of all your thoughts except for the goal you had initially, when you decided to come to Crime Alley. You peak a glance, your head tilting a little to look at his face — Wait a minute.

"How tall are you?"

The sudden question has him stumbling a little as he feels your gaze skimming across his body.

"around 6 feet 4 —"

"Hmm, you are as tall as him and you clearly go the gym" you poke at his muscles while he looks bewildered like an animal in the zoo. It was like a light bulb had just switched on above your head, a bright smile crawling on to your lips.

“Can you cosplay as Red hood for me, pretty please?”

There's a brief moment of silence except for the howling of some neighborhood dogs and rustling of rodents in the trash. He stood there, open mouthed and wide eyed like his brain hadn't caught up to what you were saying.

"I'm sorry, what?"

You don't know if it was the fact that you had just realized he could probably say no and you had no backup plan for what you were going to do but you felt like your chest was closing in, waves of deep black dread, pools in your heart.

“Can you cosplay as Red hood for me , pretty please? Myentire futureisdependedntonthisportrait —" Your voice had changed from confident to almost on the verge of a full blown panic attack —flashes of your dream crumbling right in front of you— words jumbled against each other as they left your mouth.

"Hey Hey, slow down" He grips your shoulders swaying you to look at him. "Take a deep breath with me."

He inhales a gulp of air, as you follow for a count of five times. Each time ending with your chest a little lighter than before. You slump against the brick wall, swallowing saliva to relive your parched throat. He leans against the wall next to you, just silent but still there. You don't know how long the both you just stood there, basking under the streetlight.

"Thank you." you murmur, turning to look at him. He nods.

"Okay, so why do you want me to cosplay as Red Hood and make a painting of him?" He asks, hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket. "I thought you were a literature student."

Heat settles under the skin of your neck, hot with embarrassment. How do you even explain this? You sigh, giving up. It looked like he was going to reject your proposal of cosplaying as Red Hood. There was nothing to lose if you were never going to see him again.

"Well I'm not. I'm sorry," your voice softer."I-I had to come up with an excuse before I embarrassed myself even more which I suppose wasn't helpful at the end of the day anyway. But I though you were hot— I meant attractive. I was building the courage to ask you out but I - I kind of fumbled clearly."

He grins, lips splitting into pearly teeth.

"I'm an art major and my final thesis is based on the vigilante's of Gotham City including Red Hood. I haven't personally seen him , so I thought maybe I could take photos to use as a reference."

He hums before looking up towards the night sky.

"Okay."

You whip your head to look at him, his eyes fixed on yours.

"Okay?" you repeat, shock still gripping your voice at the edges.

He hums.

"Oh my god, thank you so much." You grin, jumping with a punch into the air. "In return, I can do a portrait of you — all free of cost."

"Okay."

You had just achieved the first step towards your dream. Giggles bubble in your throat from the sheer excitement but you calm yourself down as to not get too ahead of yourself. Moreover, you still needed to know that man and ensure he was not a criminal before taking him up as your muse. You introduce yourself with a hand extending towards him.

"What's your name?"

"Jason. Jason Todd" He says, his hand shaking yours . You could feel the tiny scars on his skin, the hardened roughness under the pad of his fingertips though they laid softly against yours in his touch.

"I have a question, why do you think I'm not the Red Hood."

You hadn't really thought about that. After all, wasn't the red hood supposed to be wearing something red. And surely there was more than one man who was over six feet and three inches in all of Gotham. But most of all…

"I don't think he is dumb enough to cosplay as himself."

Well, clearly Jason was dumb.

A/N: Would love to know how you guys feel about this chapter!! Also a HUGE THANKS to Z (@batwngs) for proofreading this and hyping me up !!

General taglist:

for all works: @milkybbun @champagnesbiggestproblem @itachisrealm @batwngs @starr-jazz @arfemiz @goonette5 @currentblasphemy @leovaldez0924 @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @asahisimpnation @yearninglustfully @minandras

(if anyone wants be removed while I post the series, you can comment :))

For Jason: @caterppillar @kisses717 @angel-achlys-r