Unorganized

"The cute regular. Their name. Maybe their phone number. Normal people stuff."

"I don't need their phone number."

"You watch the door every Tuesday and Thursday starting at 3:45."

"I'm observing foot traffic patterns."

"You're pining."

"I don't pine."

"You're doing something sad and longing. That's pining."

Jason was saved from responding by the bell above the door. 4 PM. Tuesday.

You walked in, and like clockwork, headed straight for the classics section. You were wearing an oversized sweater, jeans, and the same nervous expression you always had—like being in public was slightly overwhelming and you were trying very hard to manage it.

"I'm just saying," Roy whispered, "that's a person who looks like they could use a friend."

"They look like they want to be left alone."

"Or they look like they're lonely and don't know how to not be."

Jason hated that Roy had a point.

You approached the counter with your selection—Jane Eyre, a worn paperback copy—and set it down carefully, not quite making eye contact.

"Just this today?" Jason asked, keeping his voice gentle. He'd learned early on that you startled easily.

"Yes, please." Your voice was soft, almost musical. "Thank you."

"You've got good taste. Brontë's underrated."

You looked up briefly, surprised. "You've read it?"

"Yeah. The madwoman in the attic is basically a gothic horror subplot in a romance novel. It's great."

The smallest smile crossed your face. "I never thought of it that way."

"Most people don't. They focus on Rochester and Jane, miss the whole psychological terror aspect."

"That's... actually a really good point." You were still looking at him, and Jason realized this was the longest conversation you'd ever had.

Then you seemed to realize it too, because you quickly looked down, pulling out cash. "How much?"

"Six fifty."

You handed him exact change—you always had exact change—and took your book.

"Thanks," you said again, already turning toward the door.

"Wait—" Jason said before he could stop himself.

You paused, looking back nervously.

"I'm Jason. I, uh, own the store. I realized I've been seeing you twice a week for months and never actually introduced myself."

"Oh." You clutched your book. You practcally mumbled your name and if Jason wasn't so focused on you, he would have missed it.

"Nice to officially meet you."

"You too." You hesitated, like you wanted to say something else, then just gave a small wave and left.

Roy waited exactly ten seconds before saying: "That was painful to watch."

"Shut up."

"You like them."

"I don't even know them."

"You want to know them. That's the same thing." Roy grinned. "And they smiled at you. That's basically a marriage proposal in shy person language."

"You're an idiot."

"An idiot who's right."

Thursday

You came in at 4 PM, same as always. But this time, you looked more tired than usual, like you hadn't slept well.

Jason noticed because he was pathetic and noticed everything about you.

You browsed longer than normal, picking up books and putting them back, clearly unable to decide.

After fifteen minutes, Jason walked over. "Can I help you find something?"

You jumped slightly. "Oh. Sorry. I'm just... I can't decide what I want to read next."

"What kind of mood are you in?"

"I don't know. Something... comforting? I've had a long week."

Jason thought for a moment. "Come here."

He led you to a different section, pulled out a worn copy of The House at Riverton. "Kate Morton. Historical fiction, mysterious, but ultimately hopeful. Good for when you need something engaging but not too heavy."

You took it, reading the back cover. "This looks perfect. Thank you."

"No problem. That's literally my job."

You smiled again, and Jason's heart did something stupid.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Okay."

"Why here? There are bigger bookstores, libraries, online shopping. Why come to a crime alley bookshop twice a week?"

You were quiet for a moment, considering. "It's quiet. The big stores are overwhelming. Too many people, too much noise. Here it's..." You looked around. "Peaceful. Safe."

"Safe?"

"Red Hood protects this neighborhood." You said it matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. "Everyone knows that. It's the safest place in Gotham for people like me."

Jason's throat felt tight. You had no idea you were talking to Red Hood. No idea that your safety was his personal mission.

"People like you?" he managed.

"People who aren't good at... people things." You clutched your book. "I have really bad social anxiety. Going out is hard. But I need books, and the library is always crowded, and online shopping feels impersonal." You looked at him. "Coming here is manageable. You're patient. You don't make me feel weird for being quiet."

"You're not weird."

"Most people think I am."

"Most people are idiots."

You laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was so unexpected and lovely that Jason wanted to record it.

"Thank you," you said. "For that. And for the recommendation."

"Anytime."

Two Weeks Later

You started staying longer.

Not talking, exactly, but existing in the same space as Jason. You'd buy your book, then sit in the reading corner for thirty minutes, an hour, sometimes two.

Jason would work on inventory, help other customers, and try very hard not to stare at you curled up in the armchair like you belonged there.

"You could sit with them," Roy suggested during another visit.

"They're reading."

"So read near them. It's called parallel play. Very soothing for introverted people."

"How do you know about parallel play?"

"I have Google and concerns about your social life."

Jason considered this. Then, feeling ridiculous, he grabbed a book and sat in the chair across from you.

You looked up, surprised.

"Is this okay?" Jason asked. "I can move if you want to be alone."

"No, it's..." You smiled shyly. "It's nice. Having company without having to... perform."

"Yeah. I get that."

You went back to reading. Jason opened his book. You sat in comfortable silence for an hour.

It became a routine.

You'd come in, buy a book, sit and read. Jason would eventually join you. You'd exist in the same space, peaceful and quiet, occasionally exchanging a comment about what you were reading but mostly just... being.

It was the best part of Jason's week.

One Month Later

"I brought tea," you said one Thursday, holding up a thermos. "I made too much. Do you want some?"

"You brought me tea?"

"Well, I brought tea. I'm offering to share it. If you want. You don't have to." You were already second-guessing yourself. "Sorry, that's weird—"

"It's not weird. I'd love some tea. Thank you."

You poured him a cup in the extra mug you'd brought, and Jason tried not to read too much into the fact that you'd planned this. Brought an extra mug. Thought about him enough to share.

"It's chamomile," you said. "I know it's kind of boring—"

"It's perfect."

You both sat in your usual chairs, drinking tea, reading in comfortable silence.

"Can I tell you something?" you asked after a while.

"Sure."

"This is my favorite part of the week. Coming here. Reading with you. It's the only time I feel... normal. Like I'm not broken for being quiet."

"You're not broken."

"I know. Logically, I know. But sometimes it feels like I am. Like everyone else got a manual on how to be social and I missed that day." You looked at your tea. "My therapist says I need to work on it, but the thought of going to social events or trying to make friends makes me want to throw up."

"So don't."

You looked up. "What?"

"Don't force yourself to be someone you're not. If you're introverted, be introverted. If you need quiet, take quiet. The world's loud enough already. Someone should get to be peaceful."

"That's... really validating, actually."

"I'm serious. You come here, you read, you exist exactly as you are. That's not broken. That's just different."

"Do you really think that?"

"I know that. I've seen every kind of person in this city. The loud ones aren't better than the quiet ones. They're just louder."

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes. "Thank you. For understanding."

"Thank you for bringing tea."

"I'll bring it every week if you want."

"I want."

Two Months Later

You still came twice a week. You still brought tea. You still sat and read with Jason in comfortable silence.

But you also started talking more.

Small things at first. Comments about your books. Observations about the weather. Gradually, carefully, you opened up.

You told him about your job—data entry, remote, perfect for someone who didn't like offices. About your apartment, small and cozy, full of books and plants. About your cat, Mr. Darcy, who was an asshole but you loved him anyway.

Jason told you about growing up in Crime Alley. About loving books because they were an escape. About opening the store because the neighborhood needed something good.

He didn't tell you about being Red Hood. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He liked being just Jason with you. The bookstore owner. The guy you drank tea with twice a week.

"Can I ask you something personal?" you said one evening, after the store had officially closed but you were still there.

"Sure."

"Do you ever get lonely? Running this place by yourself?"

Jason thought about it. "Yeah. Sometimes. But then I remember why I'm doing it. This neighborhood needs places like this. Quiet places. Safe places."

"You're really good at creating safe spaces."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. This whole store feels like a hug." You blushed. "Sorry, that's weird—"

"It's not weird. That's actually the nicest thing anyone's ever said about this place."

"I mean it. Coming here feels like coming home. You make it easy to exist."

Jason's heart was doing that stupid thing again. "You make it easy to exist too."

You looked at him, really looked at him, and something shifted in the air between you.

"Jason?" you said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Would it be okay if I—can I hug you?"

"You want to hug me?"

"You look like you could use one. And I—I'd like to. If that's okay."

"Yeah. That's okay."

You stood up, crossed the space between your chairs, and carefully wrapped your arms around him.

Jason hugged you back, and you were warm and soft and you smelled like tea and old books, and he thought this might be the best moment of his entire life.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"For what?"

"For being patient with me. For making this place. For letting me be quiet without making me feel bad about it."

"You don't have to thank me for basic decency."

"It's not basic. Most people don't get it. But you do." You pulled back slightly to look at him. "I really like you, Jason."

"I really like you too."

"Even though I'm awkward and weird and can barely handle social situations?"

"Especially because of that. You're genuine. You're kind. You're exactly yourself, unapologetically." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "That's not weird. That's brave."

"I don't feel brave."

"You leave your house twice a week despite anxiety. You talk to me even though talking is hard. You exist in a world that's not built for quiet people and you do it anyway. That's brave."

Your eyes were shining. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

You kissed him, soft and careful, and Jason thought that this—this quiet moment in a bookstore in Crime Alley with the most introverted person he'd ever met—was worth everything.

When you pulled back, you were smiling. "I've wanted to do that for weeks."

"Me too. I just didn't know if you... if I..."

"We're both disasters at this, aren't we?"

"Completely."

"Good. I prefer it that way." You settled back into your chair, pulling your book into your lap. "Can we just... keep sitting here? Reading?"

"For as long as you want."

"Forever might be too long."

"Forever sounds perfect."

Six Months Later

You'd moved some of your books into the store's back room.

It had happened gradually. You'd leave one book, then two, then a whole shelf's worth. Eventually, you'd brought a blanket, a mug that lived in the kitchen, slippers that stayed by Jason's reading chair.

You hadn't officially moved in. You still had your apartment. But you were there more often than not, existing in Jason's space like you'd always belonged there.

"I need to tell you something," Jason said one evening.

You looked up from your book. "Okay."

"It's... big. And you might hate me for not telling you sooner."

"I won't hate you."

"You might."

"Jason." You set down your book. "Whatever it is, just tell me."

"I'm Red Hood."

You blinked. "I know."

"You—what?"

"I've known for a while. A couple months, maybe?"

"How?"

"You have the same voice. Same mannerisms. Same way of moving." You smiled. "Plus, you're both obsessed with protecting Crime Alley, and the timing of when you 'step out' always matches Red Hood sightings."

"And you're not... scared? Upset?"

"Why would I be scared? You're you. The suit doesn't change that." You stood up, crossing to him. "And I'm not upset you didn't tell me. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"You're amazing."

"I'm patient. There's a difference."

Jason pulled you into his lap, and you settled there like you belonged. "I love you. I should have said it weeks ago, but I was scared—"

"I love you too." You kissed him softly. "I have for a while."

"Even though I'm a vigilante?"

"Even though. Especially though." You rested your forehead against his. "You protect people like me. People who can't protect themselves. How could I not love that?"

"People like you are the reason I do this."

"That's really romantic."

"I have my moments."

You kissed him again, and Jason thought about how far you'd both come. The quiet reader who could barely speak above a whisper. The bookstore owner with a violent alter ego.

You'd built something together in the quiet spaces. Something real and gentle and perfect.

"Hey," you said.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for making the world a little quieter. A little safer. For people like me."

"Thank you for existing exactly as you are."

"Even when I'm too quiet?"

"Especially when you're quiet. The world needs more quiet people. More gentle people. More people like you."

You smiled, settling against his chest. "Read to me?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"Anything. I just like your voice."

So Jason read to you, and you listened, and outside Crime Alley went about its noisy, chaotic business.

But inside the bookstore, there was peace.

There was safety.

There was love.

Quiet and gentle and perfect.

You eventually did move in officially, though it was hard to tell when it happened since you'd been gradually taking over Jason's space for months.

Mr. Darcy the cat also moved in and immediately claimed Jason's favorite chair.

You still came to the bookstore every Tuesday and Thursday, even though you lived there now. Some routines were too important to break.

Jason proposed with a first edition of your favorite book and a handwritten note inside that said: "You make the world quieter. Marry me?"

You said yes by nodding, too emotional to speak.

The wedding was small. Just Roy, Jason's family, and a handful of close friends. You barely spoke during the reception, but you smiled the entire time.

Your vows were three sentences long, spoken so quietly Jason had to lean in to hear them:

"You make me feel safe. You make me feel understood. You make me feel loved."

Jason's vows were longer, but they boiled down to the same thing:

"You taught me that quiet is powerful. That gentle is strong. That love doesn't have to be loud to be real."

And it was real.

So, so real.

"Here I was thinking your terrorising finally came to an end." Your voice echoes, a teasing tilt laced in its croak from hours of going unused. "It's nearly closing hour, Jay."

Despite the limp that accompanies his gait, clearly wounded somewhere beneath his large frame and thick layers of clothing, his own smirk greets your gleam of teeth. "Couldn't end a shit week without a recommendation."

Your heart skips, like the quick traitor it is. You feign a casual expression, as if you didn't have his next read hidden under your stack of orders you've yet to shelf.

"Bringing in blood to the floorboards again?" You raise a brow, gaze flickering to where his boots left imprints on the scratched-up wood.

"Nah." His smirk widens, stopping before you. "Wouldn't want you making use of free labour again to mop the dust off this place."

"Wouldn't be too difficult if we didn't have to use bleach, genius."

He shrugs, looking down at you with a pleased expression. "Useful skills I teach you, all without a price, sweetheart." His voice rolls over you like thunder, a low gravel for that mocking nickname he picked out for you like you're the only person he's ever given it to.

Your neck cranes to meet his gaze. "Right, next time I need help cleaning blood trails, I'll call my favourite potential vigilante."

"Oh, so I'm a favourite now?" His brow raises.

"You're so full of yourself." Your bite holds no mark, softening in its edge when your fingers trace over his next recommendation stuffed between the stack of new donations. Dragging it out, you hold it out with held breath.

It never gets easier, the silent exchange. The anticipation, the brief few seconds of waiting as his gaze assesses your pick. It had started out exactly like this, and like some idiotic, preening teenager—you had hoped with every right choice you made, it might heighten the chances of him coming back.

This isn't a library, an establishment where he had to return to at some point. No, he could very likely purchase your selection today, decide it was absolute shit, and never return. Yet, he always came back, and you began to lean on the crutch of a belief that he would continue to.

"Call it a profitable relationship." You joke, even as your heartbeat faintly thuds in the pads of your fingertips, digging into the spine of the copy you reserved for him.

He takes it, fingers brushing over yours. That lingering second of contact feels intentional, but the ghost of his touch disappears before you even have the chance to register its searing warmth.

His smirk dials down into something softer, more genuine. This is the part you love most, and secretly dread that you might not receive. That rare spark in his gaze, to receive something so personal based on the assumption of what he might like. All narrowed down from a history of ten minute exchanges every week in the dead of night, shared between an academic victim who likes spending too much of her time waiting for a suspicious individual to sneak into a local bookstore, and said suspicious individual.

"It's a local author." It spills out of you before you can stop it. "I know you've read most of the classics, but you haven't really delved into ones that relate more to home."

His lip curls, a hum stuck in the back of his throat, and you recognise its one of approval. It shouldn't affect you as much as it did.

"Literature that dives into the horrors of Gotham, should I expect an existential crisis tonight?"

"I'll leave the surprise to do its job.” Leaning in over the counter, your gaze drops to his cargo pants. “Any reason for the limp?"

“Jumped down from the fourth floor.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t sure you’d wait up on me.”

You stare at him wide-eyed, waiting for him to call upon a joke—and he merely returns your stare, amused.

“Jason, you’re joking.”

“I never joke about closing hours.” He shrugs.

You're ready to start, because his frequent disregard for closing hours is a whole other thing—but his gaze shifts instinctively to the clock hanging lop-sided by the ladder, before landing on you again. The crinkles of his gaze deepens, softening the shadows. "You better catch the train. Do me a favour and remember to lock your windows when you get back?”

"Yeah, so long as you come in uninjured next time."

"Worried about me? As long as you keep yours, I’ll keep mine." The point in his grin sharpens, fingers giving a lazy wave as his shoulder digs into the door. The bell rings once more, as if to signify the gravity of his departure. "More illegal activities to run. See you next week, sweetheart.”

His shadow disappears past the flickering street lamp outside the store, as if he never existed. Your heart does that little, traitorous sigh—and that’s all the physical evidence you have past the lump in your throat that the exchange even happened at all.

Your first encounter with Jason was less familiarity-conduced endorphins and more of customer service's worst nightmare.

"Sir, I'm afraid we're closed."

You don't know why you bothered with the 'we', when you're clearly the only staff here. Or why you bothered speaking at all. This man who's barged in through the door, despite the 'Closed' sign, is obviously on edge and possibly on the run? Gotham's unspoken law is to never stick your nose into other people's business, especially if the stranger radiates danger right down to his bruised knuckles. All you should be concerned about is the ten minute walk you have to embark on and how all trains in this district stops at thirty minutes past eleven.

His gaze shifts at the sound of your voice, distracted and hyper-focused all at once. You're struck by the illuminating green that disperses into pale blue, when he finally notices that he isn't alone. Intense, and otherworldly—a gorgeous lunatic who looks like he materialised out of the shadows, stepping into the night and ending up on the wrong side of Gotham.

His gaze doesn't linger for long before it maneuvers around, scoping his environment as his lips press together, some sealed sigh laced within the charged tension between you two. Eventually, a low rasp leaves his lips. "I'll buy somethin'."

Your brows furrow. "Excuse me?"

His hand shifts, waving you off impatiently. "Hand me a book, or two—whatever. I need more time."

The crease between your brows deepen, that soft irritation earlier rising again. Not only has he come in during closing hours, which is the worst of all experiences in customer service, but he had the audacity to be rude and dismissive about it.

"Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time—"

"Lady." He cuts you off, gaze shifting back towards the streets before looking back to you in warning. "It's not a request. You can charge me however much you want, but I can't leave this store till the coast is clear... and neither can you."

Great, now he's holding you hostage too.

"Are you being chased?" You question impulsively. You have a bugging suspicion that he's prone to lying to you anyways, but his cutting tone makes you unfamiliarly bold. "You're a criminal?"

He snorts, finding something amusing. "In Gotham, some would say it's an honourable profession. There's worse bad guys out there, sweetheart. You're lucky it was me that came in here."

"I wouldn't call it luck." You frown. He doesn't bother with a response, clearly tuning you out, and your growing dislike finds something new to feast on. If you're going to waste a Friday night with some asshole, you may as well squeeze some money out of his pockets. Your gaze flickers over him, scrutinising.

"What are you looking at?" He murmurs, sensing your gaze even when his own is trained on the window, hand tucked under his jacket on what you hope isn't a weapon.

"Just wondering what kind of reader you are."

That finally gets his attention. He looks back at you, surprise evident in his gaze. Without that permanent furrow between his brows, he looks almost younger, erased temporarily of the self-righteousness buried in his bones and the weight of something deadly clutched in his hands.

A moment passes, his tight expression slowly unwinding into genuine amusement. "That's kind of you but you don't have to dial up your customer service. I'm not the kind of guy who leaves reviews."

Your brow twitches, frustration slipping past the cracks of your demeanour. "It's principle. I don't recommend books half-heartedly."

His smirk twitches higher, but you make the wiser choice of storming off, deeper into the shelves before he deigns you with another unfavourable response. Your mind is already slipping into its unfolding map of genres, of the books that encompass your pathway with what you think suits a jerk like him.

"Jackass." You mutter to yourself, opting between a self-help book or a literature pick for the jerk who acts so highly of himself. You decide on the latter, doubting the hunk would even understand the reference.

"Dorian Gray?"

"Yeah, heard of it?" You respond, unamused as you glare down at him.

He's made himself real comfortable, large thighs swallowing up your seat, swirling around on the creaky wheels as he eyes the store with that same assessing look he did when he first entered, as if he was used to mapping out any place he stepped into.

“Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.” He mutters lowly, blue eyes landing back on you.

You blink once, then twice, wondering if you'd misheard him. "You're a reader?"

"Enough to know what you're suggesting, sweetheart." He mocks. "I know a thing or two about mistakes of men, so if you want to cause some real harm, you'll have to hit harder."

"I wasn't—" You falter, because that was exactly what you were intending on. "Fine. You forcefully extended a long, underpaid night shift, and I indirectly called you a jackass. Let's call it even."

His lip twitches involuntarily, not expecting your honesty. "Y'know being direct is what gets you places in Gotham."

"Yeah, gets you running into bookstores and terrorising their staff, you mean?"

"Well, I haven't been insulted through a book before." He shrugs half-heartedly. "I suppose you experience something new everyday."

"Anyone ever told you that you're infuriating?"

"Pretty too." He grins then, something striking and downright filthy. His hand taps on a copy of 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'. "That's what you seem to be suggesting, since you're clearly intent on being honest through your recommendations."

Your scoff escapes you, less annoyed than it should be. "I think my recommendation fits you just fine if that's the only thing you're willing to take from it."

"Oh, I'm more than willing." His grin sharpens. "That's sweet of you, but I'm afraid it's a little compromising, hitting on a customer this soon? You do this with all late night visitors?"

You're tempted to drop one of your heaviest dictionaries right on his skull to sort out the serious issues going on in that head of his. "Customer?" You raise a brow mockingly. "All I see is a stranger wasting my time after closing hours, raising this month's electricity bills, refusing to pay a single cent for his book, and getting out of here as promised."

"We still have—" His gaze glimpses to the clock. "—five minutes if you want to play it safe. You're doing a horrendous job at customer service by the way. Calling me a jackass, trying to kick me out. No wonder this place is—"

Your jaw drops. "You are not insulting the very place you're hiding in like a coward right now."

He raises both hands in surrender. "So charming. Was just going to mention how charming this place is."

Your lips quiver into an almost smile and you shut it down immediately, along with the quick decision that he is dangerous. Disarming with the quickness of his tongue, and unnerving in how he handles conversation like a chess board.

"This entire situation needs more tea." You grumble to yourself, turning your back on him.

There's nothing worth stealing on that counter of yours, unless he's crude enough to steal second-hand books worth cents if he even attempted to resell them in a city like Gotham. At most, he'd take the chipped mug rimmed with your tea. Oh, stupid you forgot your mug.

Your steps retract, a groan caught in the between your lips as you turn around with the anticipation to be hit with his mocking—only to find an empty seat in your view. Your head whips around past the shelves, but there was no sight of a worn leather jacket. Of course, he didn't even bother to announce his departure.

Coming back to the counter, you check for any missing items only to spot a bookmark poking out of one of your books, left in an ajar placement on the counter. On top of it, sat a pile of cash that was worth more than any copy in this entire store.

“Hey—”

He was already gone, you forget. You flip open the book, only to find there’s handwriting on your bookmark. Scratched in impulsively, like a lingering thought he had to put down.

“Jackass left you a tip for the trouble—and the rec. - Jason.”

His condescending tone somehow translates into pen on paper. It should irritate you. Yet, when your fingers lift to trace over the drying ink, you find yourself smiling involuntarily again. Jason. What kind of a man was he? It's a useless question, as you doubt you'll ever see him again.

A likely criminal, a guaranteed jerk—and probably the most exciting visitor of your entire summer.

Jason comes back not a week after. Covered in blood, which after your initial fright, is believed to belong mostly to the other guy. That particular fact he thought to include does little to soothe your nerves.

“You should’ve seen him.” He rambles, in what you could only hope wasn't his disgruntled attempt at impressing you, whilst laying flat on the desk. “Makes mine look like child's play."

The first-aid kit, hidden somewhere in the store cabinet, is squeezed haphazardly onto your office chair. There’s nothing more nerve-wracking than your first attempt at stitching a cut, not anything close to your caliber. If his arms weren't wrecked, you suspect he wouldn't have come all the way to you, an actual stranger. His voice distracts you, and you miss your aim.

Jason hisses, half-shirtless with his black tee tucked between his canines. "No, I said you have to turn it as soon as the point disappears."

Your hand is splayed over his stomach, fingers shaking slightly as you try to focus. "Stop shifting, and just keep quiet for a second. I can't focus with you nagging me."

"Forgive me for being concerned about my wound—"

Your hand comes up to shove the t-shirt further into his mouth, muffling his words. He raises a brow, almost amused, and a trickle of sweat brushes past.

"I'm trying my best to help, when this is clearly something hospitals exist for." You huff, focusing back on the stitch. "Give me some grace, and shut up."

His muscles flex and contract, but eventually, he listens. Your work becomes easier after that, despite it being the worst position you've ever been put in, neck cramping to avoid blocking your only source of light, the flickering lamp above the surface he's laid on, his blood dripping onto the wood.

"You owe me at least five purchases to make up for the blood stains." You grumble. "That requires you to stay alive."

He grunts through the fabric, and you take it as agreement.

“Why’re you back here anyway?” You question, trying to distract yourself. “Of all the places you could’ve gone, you thought that a bookstore keeper would have medical expertise?”

“Not medical expertise.” He mutters, voice too raw to not be honest. “I wanted..”

Your hand places a cloth over his wound, soaking the fabric red. “Wanted what?”

His gaze lingers over you, somehow more haunting with how the blue shade's grown darker, pupils expanded. He winces when you accidentally put too much pressure on the stitch, but that doesn't seem to be all to his sudden stillness. “A recommendation.” He answers eventually.

You stare at him, tempted to laugh. “You came all this way bleeding out, barging in through the door, past closing hours again—for a recommendation?”

He stares at you, and your laugh slips through when you realise that he’s at least half-serious. “I knew you'd be infuriating, but I didn't expect insanity.”

He ends up buying eight later just to prove his point and to make up for the blood stains, only after you promised that they'd all be your recommendations.

The hour's long past operating train schedules, and with the quiet acknowledgement of traumatising your uneventful Friday night, the second time he's reinvented what a normal shift should have been—he offers to walk you back once warmth seeps back into his skin.

Somewhere between sitting cramped behind the shelves as you pick out his recommendations and his tracking gaze over your frame as you rant on about how he desperately needed a self-help book or two, the unspoken tension gradually fades. Eventually, your frustrations die down too—and you realise his company, minus the blood and sharpness of tongue, wasn't the worst thing in the world.

You come to expect Jason’s presence, late in the night although he does begin to respect the concept of a ‘closing hour’. He's usually your last visitor regardless—leaving the two of you alone to... continue on your charade of recommendations. Even when he begins to linger longer than any customer should, offering to walk you back, or make you tea when you're too busy shelfing to bother with a new mug to replace your over-steeped one from the afternoon. Except for today, because Margery, your least favourite customer in the whole of Gotham, decides to pick the one night Jason's visiting to start her practiced act.

Clearly intending on slithering her way into getting something for free, Margery drones on about how important her niece's education is to her, and how anything contributing to children's education should be free of charge. All over a book set costing a measly seven bucks, but you suppose to dear Margery, supporting small businesses in Gotham isn't in her check-list.

“I’m sorry, Margery.” Your voice remains perfectly levelled. “I can't hand the set to you for free, because it's against our policy."

“Can’t you understand my situation?” She huffs, annoyance flared in the fine lines of her cheeks. “No one's even interested in that set, I've surveyed it for days.”

“Which by all existing policies, still requires a purchase, ma’am.”

She scoffs, nails drumming impatiently against the counter. “I want to speak to your manager.”

Your lips quirk up. “Jason.”

Jason shifts then, his gaze lifting from the book in his hand, one which he hasn’t turned the page since he conveniently perched himself right next to your counter ten minutes ago. He places the book down gently onto the wood, bookmark slipping into place, though the slight sneer of his lips conveys none of that delicate care as he slumps against the counter, shoulder brushing against yours.

“There a problem?”

Margery blinks, affronted by his attitude. Or his sheer size towering over her. "You're the manager?"

“Policy’s law.” Jason shrugs. “If you’d like to take this further, to save yourself—“ His gaze flickers to the book set, and his smirk quirks up higher—the perfect composition of a jerk. “Seven bucks, we'll be more than happy to call the authorities.”

“I have never experienced such horrible service!” Her cheeks grow warm, sloshed with embarrassment. “Acting as if I'm in the wrong—you’ll be receiving the worst review!”

"All’s fair in Gotham, ma’am.” He calls out with a grin as he watches her turquoise skirt catch onto the end of the door hinge, releasing another shriek from her lips.

The door slams shut, bell ringing dramatically with the impact, and Jason turns back to you, smile slipping into something familiar and reserved for you. “The review will be wiped the moment she hits post.”

You snort, leaning back against the shelves. “Should I be concerned about your illegal activities invading its way into my work?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Last place the GCPD will look into is some shabby bookstore.”

“Shabby.” You feign offense. "Our most repeating customer doesn't even hold a shred of respect for this place."

“Oh-no, I’m beginning to like the sound of being manager of this fine establishment.” He humours, glancing around as if he hasn't already memorised the interior.

You frown, suspicious of his change in tune. “Why, cause you’ll be the boss of me?”

His smirk deepens. “One of its many perks, I imagine.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Todd.” You glance back towards the door, still unable to rid yourself of the satisfaction of watching that entire fiasco go down. "Though I suppose a thank you is in order."

"Couldn't get her out of her fast enough." He shrugs. "She was taking up our time."

"Our?" You raise a brow, almost teasing as you look back at him. "Didn't realise this was our thing now."

His gaze lingers on you, as if he knew his response would be the deciding factor of acknowledging the thinly veiled string that's begun to loop itself around the both of you. Something about your dark circles, the oil on your nose bridge, or the mess of your knotted hair—whatever he saw in you, seals his decision.

"Yeah." His voice rasps, the most unguarded you've ever heard him. "It is."

It's an instantaneous kick, one that nearly leaves you breathless as you try to regain your composure. He could’ve said nothing. He could have thrown this to the side and said that his weekly visits for recommendations during your shifts, no matter if he was bleeding or bruised at the knuckles coming from a life clearly separate from yours—meant nothing.

Yet, it does mean something. Not just to you, but to him as well.

"Oh." You mutter, because you can't think of anything appropriate to say to that.

"Oh." He echoes, a genuine smile lingering at the edge of his lips. "Haven't received my recommendation of the day, sweetheart."

You blink, feeling strangely light, as if your body has regained all the energy zapped out from long hours of rearranging shelves and stacking boxes. It doesn't help that he's looking at you like that, soft and disarmed in a way you've begun to realise he's let himself be, only around you.

You should've trusted your gut that he was dangerous, but never in the way you expected. Your heart skips traitorously, the little thing already knowing something that you refuse to admit aloud. So, you do what you always do and dig out your recommendation, waiting for that spark to light in his gaze and pretend there's nothing more to why you love it so much.

Weeks turn into months, and Jason becomes your one constant even as your shifts lessen in hours to accommodate your academics. If anything, there's something comforting now about leather jackets, the faint scent of pain ointment, the certain knowledge that Jason is most probably a vigilante, after you noticed his constant vigilance over the district you work in has significantly lessened crime rates.

His shelf at home has built its steady collection, every book representing a particular week, an ever-increasing memoir of the thing shared between the two of you, from the first time he stumbled into the store. You don't know what to call it, only that you wish for it to never stop.

He knows the store like the back of his palm, including the exact hour in which you would get up for a tea refill, or when you need a steady hand on the ladder to reach the highest shelves. It's strangely intimate, the way he slots himself into the quiet mundane of your shifts, but he never complains of boredom or having something better to do with his time. If anything, the slower the day, the more he seems to uncurl like a satisfied feline—accompanying you by your side when there's nothing more to do, catching up on his reads while you have a read of your own.

"I have a recommendation for you." Jason mutters offhandedly, legs resting on the desk, as much as home as you are now, seemingly unbothered that he's randomly switched up the unspoken rules of the thing that's shared between the two of you.

You raise a brow, gaze peering over your current read. "You—Mr. I Can't Read Without Your Recommendations, has one for me?"

He shrugs, taking something out from the inner pocket of his jacket. You never understand just how much he's able—and willing to fit inside the leather confinements, and you swear half of it belongs to his side of the world you're privy to only in the latest of nights, when his hand is gripping yours knuckle-white, and he lets you stay by his side before muttering his review for his latest read.

In his hand, is a book, one in which you recognise immediately.

"Dorian Gray." You muse. "Is it your turn to call me self-conceited?"

His lip twitches into a half-smirk, but it buries itself under what you only recognise now to be nerves.

"Jason?" You murmur, slightly startled as you place down your book.

His own hand, scarred over the knuckles and engulfing the book, places its weight gently in your hands, as if offering something sacred.

"I wrote something inside." He mutters, voice softened.

Your brows furrow, but you oblige—flipping open the very first copy you've ever recommended to him, and find a handwritten note on the first page. It's unmistakably his, and there's a few scratched out lines that you can't make out, clearly something he pondered over for a while.

"I think you've probably figured it out by now, that I am not good with my words, no matter how many books I've read with greater speeches or declarations. Still, you deserve to hear something honest, and I've always conveyed myself better through my actions than I do with my mouth.

When I first entered this store, I never expected to run into you. Fate or whatever people call it, has never been considerate of my path, or who I encounter along it. Yet, you stood right there, clearly out of place with the world I know, and I don't think I'll ever truly comprehend how our paths aligned. I told myself to forget you, but you had given me a piece of you in the book you placed in my hands, and I couldn't stop thinking of that, of you. I tried convincing myself, after considering it for seven days, that seeking you out would make the curiousity dissipate, and not because I wanted to hear your voice again.

Bleeding out over your counter, I knew that I was done for when I realised I was willing to buy the entire store if it meant getting to spend a few more minutes by your side. Every book I carried home, was me getting to keep pieces of evidence, of this thing we share that feels like it's completely ours. Proof that a person who thought about what kind of reader I'd be despite every reason not to care—actually existed.

I'll probably regret this, I do have a talent of screwing up with people, but keeping silent has never been my forte, and I would regret not telling you what I've known since the first, which is that there hasn't been a single book where a line has crossed my mind without thinking of you. That there hasn't been a day, where I don't hold myself back from wanting to see you again. I'm offering you my honesty because I do believe that's the only decency available in Gotham, and I'd like to offer you at least that."

Speechless was an understatement for the shaking in your fingers, the weight of the page in your hand when you finally look up and meet his gaze.

He's nervous, pupils dilated—body locked with tension. He's just poured his heart out to you through the page of the very first book you've given him, and he's staring at you like you’ve changed the entire trajectory of his life, and not the other way around.

“Jason.”

“I’ve never done anything like this.” It spills out of him, as if he can’t contain himself. “Our thing, falling for someone. So, before you say anything—I just want to state that I'm not expecting anything. That's the one of the hardest lessons I ever had to learn a long time ago, so don't feel you have to say something you don't mean. I just can't go on pretending that meeting you didn't change something in me—that it hasn't rewired what genuine happiness feels like. I began to read again, after all these years, because books which I once found comfort in now reminds me of you. That in every line I read, I searched for something to bring back to you."

"It scared me." He admits, and even the act seems to cost him. "To care that much. To have this lack of control over how I operate, how I should feel. You disarmed me in a way no one else ever had, and I didn't think I even had that in me anymore. To feel this terrified and to still want someone this much."

His hand lowers to the note-filled page, the book still gripped between your hands and his expression steadies. "I considered it countless times. To stop this, before I start something I'll never be able to take back. Then I looked at you, and I realised I can never go back to my life 'before' you. That I was already in this, and I'd be willing to do anything if you are too."

"Jason." You call out, and he stops with a trained halt, as if he expected the worst. That was your last straw.

"I didn't even need the note." You burst. "If you had simply told me you wanted me, I would've already said yes. Our thing, I've always wanted to be a part of it."

Before, he was tense—but now, your words seemed to have hit him like a truck. You continue, not wanting him to doubt something you realised should've been obvious from the moment you kept that very first note he left you in your wallet.

"I want to be in this with you, Jason." You confess. "You're the one person I wanted to see every night. I don't know how to say this without sounding like a mess but—every book in this store, I constantly look for something that screams you and I wait in the hopes that you'll like it, and that was the most scariest, intimate thing I've ever done for someone. So—you're an idiot if you think I don't want this as much as you do."

"...You mean I didn't have to feel physically ill to write that note out, and you would've said yes?" He mutters after a moment, a low huff of amusement leaving his lips.

“I thought you said being direct is what gets you places in Gotham.” You quote.

His smile gradually reappears. “Yeah, I suppose it got me places. Running into a shabby bookstore, getting hit on the first night.”

You raise a brow. “You and I remember that encounter very differently."

"Yeah?" He murmurs. "That'll be a problem if we aren't on the same page. Just to give it a test, what if I said I wanted to kiss you right now?"

Shock registers faintly to you, even if that thought's been circling your mind for months. A little smile pulls at your mouth. "Yeah, I think we might be on the same page there."

When he leans in, you smell faintly of gunpowder, something warm and smoky—so distinctly Jason. You don't think you'll ever tire of it, and you love it more when his fingers tangled itself into your hair, brushing against the nape of your neck. When he finally kisses you, a low rumble in the back of his throat in content, you find he was half-right that night you both met. Maybe there was luck involved after all.

"I am keeping that note." You murmur after he pulls away to press something softer against your temple.

“Let me go!” You protested, hitting his arms and kicking your feet out.

“Can you stop fucking screaming for a second!” The man yelled, walking you towards the wall where he flicked the light switch on and set you down, turning you around to face him.

“Jason?” You exclaimed, confused.

“Yes! You hit me in the face,” he hissed.

“I thought you were an intruder!”

“And your choice of weapon was a spoon,” he echoed.

“Use the damn door next time,” you snapped, eyes running over his handsomely bruised face and the blood staining the side of his shirt. “Oh my god are you bleeding?” You gasped, stepping closer to his side.

He looked down and cursed lightly, sucking in a breath. “My stitches probably tore open.”

“Your what-”

“Roy patched me up and told me to come here and wait.”

“That doesn’t look okay oh my god,” you repeated.

“It’s fine,” he said in a shaky voice.

“Come here,” you rushed towards him and grabbed his arm, walking him to the bathroom.

“I can walk,” he muttered, snatching his arm away from you.

Okay well you deserved that.

Once in the bathroom, you gently pushed him down on the closed toilet lid, despite his grumbling protests, saying he didn’t need your help or you for that matter but one harsh glare from you had him shutting up.

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered, grabbing the antiseptic liquid from the cabinet.

“Funny how you were adamant that I don't take off my shirt last time I saw you,” he quipped but did as you asked.

“Shut up Jason,” you rolled your eyes, taking the liquid in a cotton ball before leaning down to look at his sweaty abs, currently slightly red with new blood trickling from his ripped stitches.

“This might hurt,” you informed, pressing the cotton ball to the wound.

Jason hissed through his teeth in response and gripped the counter next to him, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, rubbing the blood away.

“Just… be quick.”

You nodded and continued working in silence, giving him fresh stitches with practiced ease just as you had given to Roy countless times when he came home bleeding whenever you were around. You covered the stitches with gauze, securing multiple medical tapes around it so it could protect the stitches a bit better.

After you were done, you raised to your full height and grabbed a fresh cotton. You poured more antiseptic liquid on it before leaning down to press it against the bruises on Jason’s face.

“What are you doing?” He murmured, giving you a puzzled look when you grabbed his chin to look closely.

“You have cuts on your face too,” you informed, inspecting the cuts on his lip and cheekbone.

“It’s fine,” he retreated, shifting back.

“Don’t move,” you ordered again, hands coming up to hold his face again.

“Didn’t think you cared about what happened to my face,” Jason chided.

“It’s a very pretty face,” you whispered, dabbing the cotton on his cheekbone, making him suck in a harsh breath in pain –or something else.

“You can flirt with me, you can call me when you can’t fall asleep, you can kiss me when you have one too many drinks but you can’t go out with me. Got it,” Jason chuckled without any humour.

“Jason,” you sighed, hands dropping from his face.

You had been going back and forth with this. You and Jason have always had the type of relationship where you could flirtatiously banter with each other but it never went further than that because he was your brother’s best friend.

And Roy had said all his vigilante friends, especially the Wayne family vigilante friends, especially, especially Jason Todd, were off limits. Jason knew that too so he never crossed that boundary with you.

Except for that one drunken kiss you had shared with him two weeks ago when Roy had sent him to walk you home after a night of bar hopping with your girlfriends.

That kiss had only made your want, need for him worse.

Because you knew now how soft his lips felt against yours, how his hands rubbed up and down your back, how he nibbled on your bottom lip, how he whimpered against your mouth when you accidentally bit his lip a little too hard, how he leaned his face down to reach you because he was just that damn tall.

That night had shifted something in your relationship because you two began talking to each other more. He began calling you at late hours when he came home from patrol and you began sending him texts throughout the day about the most mundane things.

So you couldn’t really blame Jason for wanting something more with you.

But everything had come back to the fact you were Roy’s sister and he was his best friend, they were practically brothers. He was at your house every day for years before you finally left for college and stopped seeing him.

With a sigh, you tidied up the bathroom and went back out in the living room, helping Jason sit down on the couch. You handed him Roy’s clothes and eyed him as he contorted his face in a scowl because it hurt to raise his arms to put the hoodie on but of course Jason being Jason refused your help.

“Do you want a sandwich?” You asked, fidgeting with your fingers.

“Sure,” he mumbled and followed you into the kitchen.

You began working on another sandwich while Jason took perch leaning back on the counter next to you. His presence in the small kitchen made it look even smaller with how intensely he was looking at your every move.

“M’sorry,” he sighed, breaking the silence between you.

“For what?” You smiled, grabbing a knife to cut the crusts off your sandwich.

“What I said earlier,” he shook his head. “What are you doing?” he frowned watching the crust coming off your sandwich.

“I don’t like the crust,” you replied with a little shrug.

“You’re a grown adult, you know that right?”

“I just don’t like it,” you pouted. “My mom used to always cut them off, I still hate it. I can’t eat toast or sandwiches if they have a crust.”

“Huh,” Jason noted like he was saving the information and hopped on the counter completely, sitting back and grabbing the sandwich that you handed to him.

You sat down on the island opposite of him and nudged his bare foot with yours playfully.

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you apologised earnestly, taking a bite out of your sandwich.

“I’m not, I’d have done it if you didn’t,” he shrugged, taking a bite out of the sandwich so casually like he hadn’t just made your breath get caught in your throat.

“Oh.”

Silence fell over you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one like before. You cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes while Jason sat on the counter, looking at you with those painfully blue-green eyes that could practically melt you on the spot.

Roy came home soon after that and was pleasantly surprised to see you. He told Jason to crash on his couch for the night despite Jason’s protests and chants of “I’m fine.”

Roy ushered you in the spare bedroom –where you always stayed when you came over. He stood outside your door until you got settled inside and turned your lights off before he made his way to the living room to give Jason a warning glare.

Sister. Off limits. He mouthed to Jason, tossing a spare blanket and pillow at him before retreating into his bedroom. Jason’s response was a middle finger to him.

-

For the next hour, you stayed in bed tossing and turning. Your mind clogged with the thoughts of a certain black haired sea colour eyed boy with the prettiest freckles that got darker every time he got flustered.

You thought about how defeated he had looked when you were patching him up and he had made that comment.

It was almost painful because you wanted more with him too. Of course you did, you didn’t know exactly when it happened but for years now, you were hiding your crush on Jason Todd from everyone, especially yourself.

And the fact that he made no effort to hide his attraction towards you just made you feel worse.

But you knew you couldn’t do that to your brother. He hadn’t even told you that he himself was a vigilante until you were about to leave for college just to keep you away from this lifestyle so even the thought of you and Jason being together would make him blow a blood vessel.

You couldn’t do that to him. You only had each other and if he wanted this one thing from you, you could sacrifice a little crush for that.

You let out a deep breath and got up from the bed, making your way to the kitchen.

You told yourself that it was because you were thirsty and NOT because you wanted to make sure Jason was sleeping comfortably on the couch.

In the dark hallway, you padded over to the living room. The only light coming in was from the little crack under the front door from the corridor outside. You glanced over to the couch for a beat just to see if Jason was in any discomfort but the way he was flopped on his stomach reassured you that he wasn’t.

So you made your way to the kitchen instead. Filling a glass of water, you leaned back on the counter, taking small sips.

When you turned around, Jason was standing in the doorway.

You jumped at his sudden appearance and put your hand to your chest. “God you scared me!” You whisper yelled.

“Why are you awake?” He asked, ignoring you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged.

“Yeah? Me either,” he sighed, stepping closer to you.

“Are you in pain? Do you need a painkiller?” You asked, already on your way to the bathroom but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, making you stand inches away from him.

“I’m fine,” he smiled, popping those impossibly cute dimples. “You’re cute when you’re worried about me.”

“Is that why you showed up bleeding and bruised?” You narrowed your eyes.

“It was worth it,” he shrugged.

You slapped his chest lightly and rolled your eyes, pretending to humour him when your mind was still fixated on the grip he had on your wrist.

“You should’ve gone to the batcave or something. I doubt my stitches will hold,” you said quickly, trying to change the subject.

“Maybe,” he nodded. “But Alfred doesn’t look nearly as hot as you do in shorts.”

“Jason,” you scowled, stepping away from him and pulling your shorts down.

“Relax,” he chuckled, reaching for you again.

You closed your eyes as you felt his knuckles brush your cheekbones, palm still lingering. You sighed and nuzzled into his warm hand, thinking of nothing but you and Jason in the moment.

“He’s a door away,” you murmured, opening your eyes but not making any effort to pull away.

“Mhmm,” Jason hummed in agreement, bringing his face closer to yours so the tip of your nose touched his.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you whispered, eyes going down at his pink bitten lips.

“Mhmm,” he hummed again before finally pressing his lips against yours.

You let your body melt into his the second his plush lips touched yours, goosebumps rising on your bare shoulders. He hummed softly before wrapping both his arms around your waist and molding his lips against yours in a way like he was made to kiss you.

He rubbed circles on the exposed part of your waist as he continued kissing you like it was the last time he would get to do so.

You brought your hands in his hair, gripping the strands and trying desperately to ignore the warning ringing in your voice telling you that your brother was in the next room.

You whimpered against his mouth as he bit your bottom lip, smoothing it over with his tongue. But it was enough to make you snap out of your daze as you pulled away, resting your forehead against his chin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Yeah me too,” he gulped, rubbing your back one last time before straightening you up.

“Good night Jason,” you sighed and made your way inside your bedroom, not even waiting for his reply.

You groaned lightly and pocketed your phone again, trying desperately to ignore the pang of guilt in your chest.

He had been texting you like before, like that night in Roy’s kitchen didn’t happen. But the look he gave you when he chided you in the bathroom stared back at you each time you thought about Jason. How his eyes looked so big when he looked up at you with false hope.

Maybe he was right, maybe you were leading him on by sending him random updates of your day so you decided to stop altogether so you could also stop thinking about him and possibly move on to someone else, which was probably what he needed as well to forget about you too.

You tightened your coat around your body, feeling the cold breeze hit your face. It made your cheeks sting with how harsh the wind was. You touched your gloved palms to your face right when a swishing sound came from behind you, causing you to stop your movements.

You swallowed the fear rising up in your throat and turned around, fastening your pace. Fingers already on the emergency button in your phone so you could alert your brother.

Your apartment was barely four blocks away, and as a college student with a job that paid below minimum wage, you wanted to save the cab money. It would be fine, it's just a ten minute walk, it would be okay.

That was the mantra you kept chanting in your head but the second you turned the corner, someone landed right in front of you –jumping off the fire escape on the building above you presumed.

You shrieked and backed away but when Jason’s familiar face came into view, you let out a sigh of relief.

He was still in Red Hood clothes, sans the helmet and his leather jacket was zipped to the top –possibly to hide the insignia on his chest. His cargo pants were holster-free, giving the impression of being casual pants. He looked like a normal guy and not his vigilante self which you had guessed was on purpose.

“What the hell? You scared me,” you cried.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asked, ignoring you completely.

“I’m not,” you lied through your teeth.

“I’m not stupid,” he said, voice sounding deeper than you remembered.

“Jason,” you sighed. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy pretending that kiss didn’t happen,” he pressed.

“Yes because it didn’t,” you replied firmly, pushing past him to continue your journey home.

“What excuse do you have this time? You were completely sober,” he goaded, following behind you. “It’s late, let me walk you home.”

“I don’t need you to walk me home, I'll be fine!” You protested, almost stomping your foot in frustration.

“Okay well I’m not walking you home, I just happen to be going in the direction you are.”

“Jason,” you sighed, deciding to ignore him.

“So kiss anyone lately?” He said, way too cheerfully.

You bit your tongue to swallow the whine that was about to leave you and ignored his comment.

“Silent treatment, real mature,” he chuckled.

“I don’t know you,” you muttered, childishly and turned the corner, walking way too fast to outrun him but of course his six feet two tall frame gave him long legs that could catch up to you in no time.

“Well hello then, you may call me yours,” he replied with a cheeky smile.

“Why are you even here?” You gave in, turning towards his stupidly handsome face. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I’d happily waste my time with you,” he grinned.

“Hear me out,” you began, halting your steps and turned towards him completely. “Go home, take a shower, put on a black compression shirt and go to a bar. I promise you’ll get at least thirty girls.”

“Girls who aren’t you,” he checked.

“Yes Jason girls who aren’t me,” you agreed, smiling at him.

“Why would I do that? You’re the one I want.”

“Why?” You groaned. “Is it the thrill? Going after your best friend’s sister because he would never approve and it gives you a rush? There’s literally nothing special about me,” you finished, eyes searching for his to emphasise just how serious you were.

“Now you’re just insulting my taste,” he replied, sounding genuinely offended.

You let out a long sigh of defeat and began walking again, Jason of course following you.

“You’re so cute when you’re mad,” he snickered again, poking your cheek with his gloved finger.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, pushing his hand away.

“You could make me by occupying my lips in some other activity like kissing maybe,” he suggested.

“You planning on giving up any time soon?” You questioned with a roll of your eyes.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Fine then I’ll happily reject you every day.”

“Is it so bad?” He asked in a serious tone once you reached the entrance of your building. “The idea of being with me that you can’t even imagine it?”

“What? No!” You replied quickly, now facing him. “Jason, that's not it.”

“Yeah whatever, I was being stupid anyway. I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning around to leave.

“Stop,” you said, grabbing his wrist.

“Go home,” he muttered, trying to snatch his hand away from the deathly grip you had on him.

“Can you look at me please?” You coaxed, watching him avoid your face.

“What?” He sighed with a bored expression when his gaze finally landed on you, eyes working already to mask up the lick of emotion he had felt.

“You know that’s not the reason,” you said. “It’s my brother, you know him. Hell you literally told me he warned you about dating me. You know he would never ever approve-”

“What do you want?” Jason said, cutting you off. “If he was fucking normal, what would you want?”

“I…” You trailed off, eyes turning down to stare at the cobblestoned ground. “He’s the only family I have Jason, I don’t want to fuck it up by being selfish. Yeah it’s stupid of him, really fucking stupid but it’s also the only thing he’s ever asked of me,” you finished, letting go of Jason’s hand.

“Fine I’ll leave you alone,” he muttered, turning around to leave you all alone on the wet pavement with a hole in your heart.

-

One of the perks of your brother having close connections with the Wayne family was that you were around them a lot. Which in turn made you familiar with all of them but especially Cass and Steph who were among your closest friends.

And because they were Jason’s family who were also raised by the “world’s greatest detective” they were aware of what was happening between you and Jason without either of you needing to tell them.

Which was why Steph so casually invited you over to the Manor luring you in under the guise of a girls night with you, Cass, Steph and Babs.

It was not a girls night. It was an ambush.

“I just think personally personally,” Steph began, sipping on a margarita as she sat crossed legged on the coffee table in her purple silk pyjamas. “You should give it a chance, if you like him and he likes you then that should be enough.”

“Plus he’s been moodier than usual lately,” Cass added.

“Not that it’s any of my business but they’re right,” Babs chimed in from the kitchen where she was preparing more margaritas.

“This is not what we’re talking about today,” you groaned, pushing your face in the sofa cushion. “We’re supposed to drink margaritas, do face masks, give each other manicures and prank call Dick.”

“Sorry can’t do that, he's on a mission today with Bruce and Roy,” Babs replied with an apologetic smile. “You do know who we can call though?”

“Jason!” Cass and Steph cheered in unison.

“I can’t,” you sighed. “Roy will find out and I can’t deal with that.”

“Do you like him, yes or no,” Steph asked, turning to face you.

“Well yeah but–”

“And do you find him attractive?”

Your mind went to his sharp jaw and bright blue eyes that always looked too innocent, his silky black hair that had two beautiful white curls that resembled a heart and always fell on his forehead, his smile and how it filled you with warmth every time he gave you a genuine one instead of masking it up and his lips and how soft they felt against yours.

A sigh left your mouth as you pictured his biceps always in that compression shirt that he refused to take off. You were beginning to suspect he had more than one because every time you saw him he had that damn shirt on, putting his ripped muscles on display. It should be illegal to wear compression shirts when you have biceps that look that delicious.

“Okay well that answers it,” Cass giggled, throwing a popcorn at your face to bring you back to Earth.

“Sorry,” you murmured, face flushed with heat.

“Sick,” Steph muttered under her breath.

Just as you were about to start the game of monopoly, Tim and Jason strolled inside the living room, looking like they were busy in a conversation –well Tim was talking while Jason just looked bored.

“Hey you’re right on time! We were just making more margaritas,” Steph smiled, handing Tim a glass as he sat down next to her.

You, on the other hand, stuffed your face into the sofa cushion the moment you smelled Jason’s familiar cologne, indicating his presence in the room.

“What’s wrong with her?” You heard Tim ask, probably gesturing towards you.

“Shut up twerp,” Jason’s deep voice echoed.

A good five minutes passed before you realised you couldn’t half breathe anymore and were forced to raise your face and greet them.

“You guys are crashing our girls night,” Cass stated.

“A man can’t even hang out with his girlfriend and sisters anymore?” Tim huffed.

“And him?” Cass continued, pointing towards Jason who was now sitting on a beanbag chair with his sweatpants clad legs spread wide and a grey half sleeved shirt covering his torso.

“Dick’s away and he was being moody on patrol –needs to get laid. So I brought him here instead,” Tim shrugged like that was the perfect explanation.

“I’m right here,” Jason interrupted. “And I get laid plenty.”

Your ears perked up at that despite yourself and you mentally gave yourself a smack for being affected by it. He can get laid as much as he wants with whoever he wants, he can have a different person every day of the week and you wouldn’t care. It didn’t matter at all.

You picked up your margarita glass and downed the whole thing in one go.

“Okay then,” Steph muttered under her breath and picked up a headband from the side, pushing it over Tim’s forehead to keep his hair away from his face. “Time for face masks boy wonder.”

Before you could look to the side to ask Cass to help you with yours, she shot up from her seat on the armchair and sat down next to Barbara on the carpet, already tearing open the clay mask packet.

“Jason you could use some,” Barbara said, passing him a headband.

“Yeah she’ll help you,” Cass added with an innocent smile and pointed towards you.

You decided you would make new friends.

“I’m fine,” Jason grumbled under his breath.

“Okay if you wanna live with dry skin and undone eyebrows and dark circles and pimples and blackheads,” Steph went on, focusing back on plucking Tim’s brows.

“I don’t have pimples,” Jason mumbled under his breath, suddenly feeling unsure as he touched his face.

“Come here,” you said for the first time that night and gestured for Jason to come sit next to you on the sofa.

He gave you a look asking if you were sure and you nodded in reply before he got up and settled next to you.

He pushed his hair back with the hairband Babs tossed at him earlier and leaned back with his eyes closed like he was getting ready for you to do whatever you pleased with his face.

You fought the urge to smile at his sincerity and failed miserably.

You grabbed the tweezers from the coffee table next and turned towards him, getting close enough to smell his smoky and minty scent. With a palm flat on his forehead to stretch out the skin, you began plucking stray eyebrow hairs, causing his eyes to fly open in surprise.

“Ow,” he frowned, rubbing his eyebrow. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes you will feel pretty once you’re done,” Cass replied in a voice full of excitement.

“I don’t need to get my brows done to feel pretty, I’ve been told compression shirts do the trick,” Jason muttered, causing you to grab his cheeks with your free hand and pull more than one hair out from the side –without any prep– in annoyance, making him turn his face away from you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, getting up. “I’ll get more um chips,” you said, grabbing the big bowl from the table and rushing towards the kitchen.

You opened the upper cabinet where all the snacks were kept in the pantry, standing on your tippy toes before you heard heavy footsteps coming towards you.

“What was that?” Jason drawled, leaning against the counter.

“What?” You shrugged, tearing open the chips packet.

“Are you jealous right now?” He added with a smirk that you could hear in his voice.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?” You snapped, eyes finally landing on him.

“Okay,” he bit the corner of his lips. “Just making sure.”

“Well I’m not,” you repeated, giving him a clipped smile.

“Because if you were then that would’ve been unfair,” he went on.

“I’m not jealous,” you asserted. “I don’t care how many times you get laid Jason and I don’t care if you have to bribe girls with your biceps to get them to sleep with you, I genuinely truly don’t care.”

“Uh huh,” he hummed. “You sound totally not jealous.”

“Because I’m not,” you said, gripping the bowl tight in your arms.

Jason stepped closer to you, taking the bowl out of your tight grip before setting it down on the counter next to him. He brushed a stray hair behind your ear and gave you one of his charming smiles, a genuine one.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

“I don’t know how else to look at you,” he replied, hand coming down to lace with yours. “It’s okay I get really jealous when I think about you with other guys too. Plus you look really hot when you’re trying not to be murderous.”

You closed your eyes and let out a long defeated breath before letting your forehead fall against his chest. The deja vu from a week ago in your brother’s kitchen hitting you hard.

“Whys it so hard to keep you away?” You murmured, palm coming up to rest on his chest.

“Because you don’t want to,” Jason replied and wrapped both of his hands around your lower back before resting his chin on your head.

“You’re right I don’t,” you agreed, the effects of the margarita you downed making you just a bit braver. “What are we gonna do?”

“What do you want?” Jason asked.

“You,” you replied, voice muffled in his chest.

“You’ve always had me baby,” he chuckled.

“What about my brother?” you pressed, eyes coming up to look at his face.

“We’ll talk to him together once we’re both ready,” he suggested, leaning down to look at you.

“What if he doesn’t ever approve?” You asked again, eyes searching for answers in Jason’s.

“He will,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Gosh why are you so irresistibly insufferable,” you groaned.

“Well lucky for you, you will have to suffer me,” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose.

“So… getting laid plenty huh?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

A pink flush creeped up Jason’s neck at that, making his whole face blush. His freckles looked darker suddenly while he bit his bottom lip to hide his smile.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrow.

“I wanted to see your reaction,” he admitted.

“And are you satisfied with my reaction?”

“Oh plenty,” he mused before planting another kiss to your nose.

“How heavy is the damn bowl of chips?” Tim's voice came from the living room.

“Jackass,” Jason huffed, pushing off of you and grabbing the bowl of chips. “Please don’t fuck up my brows,” he pleaded, earning a chuckle in response as you both made your way to the living room.

“Finally!” Tim groaned, making Steph hiss at him.

“Sorry about that, your cabinets are way too high,” you smiled apologetically, taking your previous seat on the couch.

This time when Jason put on the headband again and leaned back while you did his brows, you didn’t pluck one too many stray hairs out of spite.

After his brows were done, you put a clay mask on his nose and forehead before he did the same on your face, giving you little pecks on the forehead when no one was looking.

You giggled as he struggled to keep the mask on the brush, always picking up too much which caused it to drip on the expensive couch but before Alfred could come in and kill him, Jason put a tissue over it.

He finally managed to get it done as he sat with his head leaned back on the couch and an arm draped around your shoulders with a smile prominent on his lips.

You took a selfie of all of you in matching sheet masks and one of only you and Jason as you sat next to him, face resting against his.

Jason offered to paint your nails on your non dominant hand which you gladly agreed to. You two sat on the floor with your palm flat against the floor as Jason swiped the nail polish against your nails.

He darted his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, brows furrowed as he concentrated on keeping the colour from spilling on your fingers. When he was done, he gave you a triumphant smile, looking way too proud of his work which was honestly not that bad considering it was his first time painting nails.

The night went on with more pedicures and a round of Monopoly and Uno –the latter getting a bit competitive when Jason put down a draw four next to you, making you pull out four cards from the deck before you pouted at him.

When it was finally time to sleep, Tim and Jason disappeared into their respective rooms while you, Babs, Steph all crashed into Cass’ room. Steph and Cass took the bed while Barbara took the air mattress, leaving you to sleep on the loveseat.

Just as you were about to put your phone down after scrolling through tiktok, Jason texted you, asking you to come to his room. When you teasingly asked him what you would get for sneaking out of your friend’s bedroom to go to his, he sent you a photo of his biceps.

Jerk. He knew what he was doing.

“Hey,” Jason greeted you at the door with a victorious grin as he moved aside to let you into his childhood bedroom.

You quickly rushed inside and looked around the empty room with confusion on your face. It was empty as in void of any teenage memories, the room only had a bed and a desk and a bathroom and closet in the corner and nothing much. You frowned at the lack of posters and photos on his walls but didn’t say anything.

Before you could utter a word, you were lifted into the air by Jason’s arms around your thighs as he threw you on his old queen sized bed and plopped down on top of you, holding himself up by his elbows on the side of your head.

“Hi,” you said, biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

“Bite your lip again and I’ll do that for you,” Jason dared.

“All bark no bite,” you chastised, flicking his forehead.

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, raising his brows.

“It’s me waiting desperately for you to finally kiss me,” you replied.

“You could have just asked sweetheart,” he said with a cheeky smile before leaning down to finally connect your lips with his.

The kiss started out slowly, not at all like the last kiss you two shared –which was ravenous. He took his time as he brushed his knuckles over your cheek, slowly swirling his tongue in your mouth and letting out quiet, satisfied hums.

You snaked your arms around his shoulders and played with the slightly damp stray hair at the nape of his neck, making him let out a sigh against your mouth.

He pulled away and looked at you. His hand trailed down to the hem of your t-shirt, pausing for a beat to ask you for permission. You nodded your head slightly with a soft smile before he pulled your shirt off your body, leaving you alone in a plain bra.

You mentally scolded yourself for choosing to wear the most plain looking white cotton bra in your closet but one look at Jason’s hungry eyes told you he didn’t care about that at all.

His lips came crashing down to yours again as his hands roamed up and down your bare body, rubbing every inch of the bare skin he could reach. He grabbed your wrists next, pinning them over your head before his soft, open mouthed kisses travelled down to your collarbones.

He looked up at you through thick black lashes while he pressed a hot kiss right above the little bow in the center of your bra.

“Jason,” you whispered, voice bordering on whiny.

“Yeah baby?” He asked, lips travelling even lower to your stomach.

“Take your shirt off,” you commanded, squirming underneath his touch.

“Say please,” he teased, coming back up.

“Jason come on,” you fully whined, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, finally taking his shirt off and revealing his sculpted torso.

He stayed like that for a bit, with his legs on either side of your hips, holding his weight up as he stared down at your bare upper body. His chest rose up and down frantically as his eyes stayed fixated on your face, checking for any changes in your expression.

You put your palm flat on his hard abs, trailing it up towards the faded scar on his chest, finally resting on his pec, right above his beating heart.

Jason’s hand came to hold yours over his chest as his breathing finally got slower. He held your wrist for a couple of seconds before bringing your hand up to his lips to plant soft kisses there.

You straightened up on the bed next, causing him to lie flat on his back as you straddled his hips, making his lips part.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m far from that,” Jason scoffed, hands coming down on your thighs.

“Now who’s insulting my taste?” You retorted, looking down at his pouty lips.

“Just,” he shrugged, trailing off.

“Just what?” You pressed, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“You’re here,” he breathed out. “With me.”

“Technically I’m on top of you without my shirt,” you replied in a playful voice, hoping to ease the tension in his eyes.

“And it’s a sight, I’ll never forget,” he smirked, rubbing his hands on your bare thighs.

You gave him a wicked smile in return, pressing a kiss to his forehead and cheeks before making your way down to his jaw and throat.

The vein in his neck made an obvious appearance as you pushed his head back with your fingers underneath his chin to give you a better access to his neck. You felt his hands grip your thighs tight when you sucked on a particularly soft spot on his throat, drawing blood just below the skin which caused him to groan lightly in response.

“Oopsies,” you cursed, looking at him apologetically.

“Marking your territory already baby?” Jason drawled.

“I’ve heard people talk about Bruce Wayne’s younger son in my class, they need to know he’s now taken,” you said, making him chuckle.

“Take your time because once you’re done I’m not stopping,” Jason warned, laying completely still underneath you as you kept alternating between giving him hickeys and soft kisses.

A sharp knock came on the door, making you jerk away from him.

“I swear if it's Steph–” He began but you put your palm on his mouth to shut him up as you eyed the clock on the bedside table which read 1:30 AM.

Who the hell could be bothering you at one in the morning.

When the knock came again, you got up from the bed, putting your shirt back on as Jason made his way to the door, bare chested. You quickly rushed towards him, hiding behind the door as he slightly cracked it open.

“Hey,” came Roy’s voice, making your eyes widen.

“Oh hey, did you guys just get back?” Jason asked, gripping the door.

“Yeah it went longer than we expected and we couldn’t even finish the mission, we gotta get back tomorrow and Bruce said we need you as well,” Roy sighed.

“Okay,” Jason nodded. “You gonna crash here?”

You scowled at that, uneasiness flooding your body because if Roy came inside, he would see you standing behind the door of his best friend’s childhood bedroom where you were about to let his said best friend do unspeakable things to you.

“Yeah– Is that a hickey?” Roy gasped with a chuckle as he stepped closer to the door to come inside but Jason didn’t let him come in.

“Why? Haven’t seen one before?” Jason drawled.

“Not on you I haven’t,” Roy replied. “Do you have someone in there right now?”

“None of your business, Harper,” Jason grumbled. “Go crash with Dick he always needs a cuddle partner after hard missions.”

“Congratulations, you will be less grumpy now,” Roy commented before he muttered a quiet good luck, followed by a chuckle before he finally turned around to leave.

By the time Jason shut the door, you were sitting on the floor with a look of disgust on your face. Jason kneeled in front of you and put his fingers under your chin to make you look at him.

“You okay?” He checked.

“My brother just congratulated you on getting a hickey and wished you luck for sex without knowing it was his sister in here,” you finished.

In response to you, Jason howled a laughter so loud he fell forward on the floor, clutching a hand around his stomach.

“It’s not funny!” You protested.

“Sorry,” he managed, still silently laughing.

“Just come to bed,” you huffed dramatically, getting up from the floor and making your way towards the bed.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, turning the lights off before he got in beside you. “Good night angel,” he murmured, hands clutched around your stomach as he pressed a light kiss to your head.

“Good night,” you replied with a smile, hand curling over his.

-

“And where were you last night?” Steph turned towards you, keeping her voice low so no one else could hear.

Just as you were about to come up with a reply that would get her off your back, Jason strolled into the kitchen, going straight to get a cup of coffee.

In a tank top. Putting his hickeys on full display.

“Well that answers my question,” Steph laughed, turning back to her pancakes.

You rubbed a hand over your face once Jason turned around and you saw red and purple marks scattered all over his throat and collarbones.

You scolded yourself for feeling just that risky last night, because right now you regretted it deeply once you realised he would never let you live it down, even in ways he couldn’t outright tease you about it.

“Good morning Jason, hot date with a vampire?” Dick asked through a mouthful of pancakes.

“Close,” Jason smirked, sipping his coffee as he leaned back on the counter.

You wished for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Here you go miss,” Alfred said from behind you, breaking you out of your mental fistfight with yourself as he placed a plate of toast and pancakes in front of you.

“Oh no thanks,” you smiled politely. “Just coffee will do.”

Alfred nodded his head before taking the plate back to the counter where he continued making more pancakes.

“Put on a shirt Todd, it's sickening,” Damian grumbled from next to you. “Animals know how to behave better than you people.”

You eyed the butter knife on the table, contemplating stabbing yourself with it.

Soon enough, everyone got engaged in their own conversations, seemingly moving past the discussion of Jason’s sex life. You sighed softly in relief as you eyed Roy who looked oblivious enough.

As you sipped away your coffee, a plate of buttered toast with the crusts cut off appeared in front of you. You looked up to your side to see Jason slide the plate right in front of you with a small smile reserved just for you before he plopped down on a chair next to Roy.

The heat in your cheeks rushed to your whole body as you picked up the toast and began eating it. Your eyes landed on Jason and Roy sitting together as you contemplated how to tell Roy about you and Jason without him blowing a vessel.

Jason turned towards you and gave you a reassuring smile as if he had known what was going through your head and as you looked at his charmingly beautiful face, giving you reassurance from across the table, you decided maybe he was worth it.