you look like a vampire ready for the slaughter

You tried to go through the usual methods. Five things you can see, four things you can feel, on and on. You had done it before, calmed yourself down from bad dreams. You’d get water, calm your breathing on your own, lay alone in bed making lists of things in your head.

But everything was too quiet. Quite usually would have been welcome, the absences of sirens, and voices, and shouts should have brought some relaxation, some peace. But not this time. You stared at the dark in front of you, like you were waiting for whatever had been chasing you down in your dream to emerge from your imagination.

Your whole body felt tight, the nightmare’s teeth still stuck in your skin like a rabid animal, your skin still felt like static, and your mind seemed to think it was still running away, like you were still in danger, convinced that the usual safety of your room and the familiarity of your bed had suddenly disappeared, and staying here was the wrong choice.

The same thought kept coming back to you, over and over through your attempt to calm yourself. Jason.

Jason was just down the hall, he was real, and he was warm.

The tiles of the floor were cold enough to make you flinch as you made your way towards the door. You were sure of your destination, until your hand hovered just over the doorknob …

The last thing you ever wanted to do was wake him. Jason barely slept as is, he treated it like it was something optional rather than something he needed. Though, he did always tell you that you didn’t have to tiptoe around him. And yet you always told him that you still would, and you did.

You eased the bedroom door open. The hallway was dim, lit only by the low golden glow of the nightlight in the bathroom half way down.

The manor had enough halls and wings that it felt like it could swallow you whole in the dark silence. But the part you occupied had a cozy type of comfort that came when a place felt lived-in. A throw blanket over the banister, a framed photo propped up on a small side table that you hadn’t put there, but guessed it was probably Jason. There was a pair of shoes left by the door where you had kicked them off like you belonged here. Which you sort of did by now. Belonging in the weird, bruise tender way that belonging worked in a family and home rooted in vigilantism.

You kept your breath steady as you made your way towards his room, trying your best to keep your steps soft, but the floorboards still groaned under you like the house had a story it wanted you to hear.

When you reached Jason’s closed door you hesitated again.

Staying in separate rooms had started out as just what felt the most practical. It made sense at the time, you moved in slowly. Staying a few nights here and there, bringing things only as you needed, until eventually you just stopped going home. You still had your own routines, your own stuff, your own life. And Jason had his … Well, everything.

Between the nights he came home late, bruised and quiet in a way that was heavy instead of calm, not wanting to drag his grief through your door, and the nights you had deadlines or early mornings, when he couldn’t stomach the thought of his insomnia becoming yours by association, it had just become comfortable.

The space never felt cold or distant, it was just two people who chose each other, but also chose to continue to live in their own spaces. There were nights you would fall asleep together, where you’d wake up with your back pressed against him, spine curved against his chest like a puzzle piece, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you think, still hazy from sleep, This. This is it. This is what the world was meant to be.

Right now, you just wanted him. You wanted the way he was warm, and solid, and always smelled like something safe and familiar – even if the smell wasn’t always exactly pleasant. You wanted the way that he was real, the fact that he breathed and moved and lived.

You knocked once, quieter than you had planned. Nothing. You knocked again, forcing yourself to be just a little louder this time. “Jay ?”

It was followed by silence again, before you heard a quiet rustle, and then his voice, low and rough, still scratchy. “Yeah ?”

“Can I come in ?”

The pause that followed was shorter than before, like he was processing what you said through the fog sleep had left in his head. “Always.”

You pushed the door open with a creak that sounded too loud in the quiet space. Jason’s room was darker than the hall, the pale glow of the bathroom’s nightlight didn’t quite reach his end of the hall. Dark curtains were drawn over the window, the glow of the city spilling in through the gaps. Jason was a shape in the middle of his bed, half sat up propped on his elbows, hair sticking up in the back where his head had been against the pillows. His eyes were still heavy, but when they adjusted to the space of you standing in his doorway his posture shifted into something more alert.

“You okay ?” He asked. He already knew the answer, he could read your body language like it was a book he’d already memorized. When you didn’t answer with anything other than a noise that sounded like a choked, forced laugh, he shifted again sitting himself a bit more upright. “Nightmare ?”

All you could do was nod your head, your throat felt too tight to trust yourself to speak, and you felt the backs of your eyes starting to burn. Which was a rude way for your body and mind to react. You cried a lot, something you were trying to work on ‘fixing’. Jason always said it didn’t need fixing, but you never fully believed him.

Jason didn’t need any other answer from you, he moved to the side, gesturing to the newly emptied space beside him. “C’mon”

You hesitated in the doorway, like you were still waiting for permission, a sign that you were allowed to join him.

A sign Jason gave you, as clear as day: “You’re allowed to be in here. It’s your space too.”

You still didn’t move. “I can … stay in your bed tonight ?”

Jason paused at your question, brows raised before his expression softened in a way that would have made your tummy do flips had you been able to see it clearly. “Of course you can. Come here.”

Finally you moved to cross his room, closing the door quietly behind you, casting the room in darkness again. When you climbed into his bed, you were careful to take up as little space as possible. Jason pulled you against him with a lazy, gentle tug. It was immediate, like muscle memory.

“Wanna talk about it ?” He asked after a few moments of silence

You shook your head, letting your eyes flutter shut for just a moment. “I don’t think I even remember it” You admitted, a bit embarrassed by the fact “Just that it was scary.”

Jason let out a hum of acknowledgement, giving a small nod. “That’s okay.” He assured you, “I get that sometimes too.”

You weren’t surprised when he didn’t push any further, he had always had an immense level of respect for things best left in the dark. He knew that sometimes, the best way to deal with scary things was to just not give them the time to be scary. The quiet between you stretched, your attention turning to the sound of his heartbeat, and the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took.

He was so warm, your cheek pressed against his bare chest, arm draped over him as his fingertips traced up and down your arm, tracing the curve of it in slow, barely there strokes. His fingertips lingered over the rougher patches of skin, light over the scabs and red marks that were still angry.

“You’ve been pickin’ again” It wasn’t really a question

“Only a little.” You mumbled back

Jason nodded, even though he knew – could feel – that it wasn’t only a little. But he didn’t press, didn’t lecture.

“We’ll see about a bath tomorrow” He said instead “See if Alfred has that oat mix that helped last time, yeah ?”

“You don’t have things keeping you busy ?” You asked

Jason shrugged, shifting to press his lips against your forehead “Nothing that can’t wait until later in the day.” He muttered against your skin

Warm he thought

“Oh … I think that would be nice then”

Jason’s fingers moved from your arm to brush over your hair, gently scratching against your scalp, the spots he knew you liked the best. His offer, the care behind it, had brought you some comfort. Your heart slowly calmed, but the bitter taste of fear still felt heavy on you. Your heart had settled, but your mind still refused.

Jason seemed to feel it too, his chin rested on top of your head, you fit into the curve of his neck like you were made to be there. “Want me to try and distract you ?”

“Distract me ?”

“Yep. The tried and tested tactic.” You could hear the smile in his voice “Get you bored enough to go back to sleep.”

You hummed a little laugh, “You’re hardly boring.”

“Sweet talker” he replied, pulling his head back from yours to smooth the hair away from your face. He ran his thumb across the cheek, pushing away the moisture under your eye. Maybe you’d been crying in your sleep, maybe you’d been crying since you got into his room. He didn’t comment on it. “Let’s see … If you had to pick an animal to be your sidekick forever, which would you pick ?”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times “That’s your topic ? I thought the goal was to bore me to sleep ?”

Jason shrugged, “It’s an icebreaker. Gotta work my way up to boring.”

“Okay, okay. That makes sense” You played along “Then … I think I’d pick a goose.”

A puff of air that might have been a laugh escaped Jason's nose “A goose ?” He repeated “Why a goose ?”

“Because they’re scary” You answered, like it was obvious “And their teeth are sharp.”

Jason made a sound of approval, “You know what ? You’re right about them being scary. Y’know, I was chased by one before.”

“You were ?”

“Yep” He made sure to make a solid pop sound on the ‘p’, just for emphasis “Bruce took me and Dick to the park, one of ‘em chased me around for almost a mile. And Dick ? He just laughed at me. Some big brother, huh ?”

The story may or may not have been true, but the giggle it pulled from you was enough for him. You felt him shift in the bed next to you, his arms loosened around you moments before you heard a quiet click in the dark. The dim lamp on his bedside table flickered on, casting a soft, cool light across the room.

You could see him clearly now. The messy hair falling against his forehead, the faint, scratchy stubble along his jaw and chin, that soft crease between his brows that you’ve become so familiar with, the one that never goes away even when he lets himself relax.

His arm curled around you, pulling your body back against his. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, his eyes gentle as he looked at you like you were something precious that he chose, something that he would keep choosing, again and again.

“How ya feelin’ ?” He whispered

You checked in with yourself. Your chest felt looser, your fingers didn’t tremble against his chest anymore. Your dream was still there, the fear and anxiety still lingering like a stubborn cold. But it felt lighter than it had before.

“A little better …” You answered, “Still a bit on edge, but better.”

There was a pause, just for a moment before you asked, “Do you want me to go back to my room ?”

You felt his arms tighten around you immediately, “No.” He answered, a little too quickly. Before he shrugged, like he was trying to play it cool. “No. You can stay.”

He pulled you closer to him, “I like you here, you silly girl” His hand came up, gently pinching the tip of your nose, just to see it scrunch up in that cute way it always did. “You silly goose”

“Honk Honk” You grinned

His lips pressed against your forehead again, slow and sweet in a way that made your cheeks feel embarrassingly warm.

“You wanna tell me what you’ve been up to lately ?” He asked, like he knew your brain wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. “Anything interesting happening in your world ? Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve heard from you.”

He had a point. Every now and then, the world seems to work against the two of you. Your schedules would never align, and it felt like the two of you were just two ships passing in the night. Always close, but never quite able to reach. Always just barely missing one another, always showing up right as the other left.

It was a cruel trick the world liked to play Jason always thought. And he hated it.

“Well, I had tea with Bruce the other day.” You answered

“Oh yeah ?” Jason asked, turning his head down to look at you, like you were the most interesting thing in the entire world. “How was that ?”

“It was nice …” You whispered, “Can’t believe I caught him having down time.”

“Yeah. That is surprising. You sure it was him ?”

His poor joke drew a small laugh from you, making something like pride bubble in his chest.

“Yes. I’m sure it was him.” You answered with a playful eyeroll. “He asked me how my classes were going –”

It was always strange, in a refreshing way, to talk to Bruce. Someone who, no matter what else was going on, he always cared about the little things.

“He knows a lot about socialization.” You continued, “More than I expected him to, really.”

Jason gave a small, agreeable nod “I bet he does, I imagine he’s seen quite a bit of it … You talk about anything else ?”

“Not much,” You answered with a little shrug “He did say he was happy I stopped calling him Mister Wayne though.”

Jason scoffed at that, “Yeah. I think everyone is. That was weird for all of us.”

You gasped in mock offence, “Well – It was weird for me to call the guy by his first name. I mean, he’s letting me live in his mansion when he has zero obligation to.”

Jason waved his hand in the air, like he was swatting away an annoying bug. “Oh please, the old man would let anyone with puppy dog eyes live here. And you – you precious girl –” He pinched your chin gently between his fingertips “ – have just about the best puppy dog eyes this world has ever seen.”

“And you – Jason Peter Todd – are absolutely impossible.”

“And you love me” He countered

“Yeah …” You agreed softly, “More than anything.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss against your nose, before his lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was so tender it made your heart ache.

“And I love you” He whispered against your mouth

The moment lingered, the feeling of his lips still barely against yours, close enough to feel warm, and count his lashes. The quiet was broken by a little sniffle, the warmth made the anxiety biting at you feel further away. Being near him made you feel a little more brave.

“I’m sorry …” You mumbled, “I just didn’t think I could be alone after …”

“You don’t have to be. You never have to be.”

His words landed like a blanket, making the tension between your shoulders finally ease. He kissed your temple, lingering as he took in a few deep breaths.

“Sleepy yet ?” He asked as he pulled back

You shook your head, “Not really … But I feel better”

“Good. Good. That’s good progress.”

You tucked yourself against him again, wiggling closer into the familiarity of him. “What … What have you been reading lately ?” You asked, realizing your brain wasn’t quite ready to quiet itself just yet.

Jason’s expression flashed to surprise, before shifting into something almost shy “You wanna know what I’ve been reading ?” He repeated, like he wasn’t exactly sure he had heard you right.

“Yeah.” You answered softly, “You’re always reading something, between everything else. I think it’s nice to find time for stuff like that … I like that you have something that makes the world feel kinder to you.”

Jason’s eyes darted away, like your words had hit a sensitive spot by accident. He cleared his throat before reaching towards the nightstand, and you watched as he picked a hardcover and held it up in the lamp’s light for you to see. The dustjacket had been removed, the book’s binding frayed in the corners and along the spine, exposing the fibers of the paperboard beneath it. But the title was still clearly printed on the front.

“Pride and Prejudice,” He said.

Your head tilted to the side, like a small, curious animal “Haven’t you already read it though ?” The question was genuine, not meant to poke fun, or ridicule him. You’d always found it sweet the way he liked to read, the way he gravitated towards the classics. There was something that felt so admirably human about it, about the way he appreciated the time, the story, the worlds that were so carefully handcrafted.

You loved it about him, one of the many reasons on your evergrowing list.

“I have” He answered, “But it’s still a good book, that doesn’t change just because I already know the story. Plus, it’s familiar. I can turn my brain off and still enjoy it.”

His thumb ran over the edges of the book as he spoke, “You want me to read to you ?” He offered, seemingly out of the blue “I should be just starting a new chapter, not too far in. You haven’t missed much.”

Your brows furrowed. In all the time you knew him, Jason had never offered to read to you. “You’d do that ?”

He nodded, “Wouldn’t have offered if I wouldn’t”

That was true, he had never been one to throw around empty promises or hollow words. At least he never had with you.

“Okay … Yeah. I think – I think I would like that” You answered, your voice small.

He shifted again, propping the pillows up behind him so he could sit against the headboard, making a space for you to lean comfortably against him. You had been intimate with Jason before, but this made your heart race in an entirely new way – pressed against his side, head rested in his lap while he had one hand rested on top of your head while the other held the book open.

It was far from the closest you’ve been to him, but this felt like something special.

Jason cleared his throat, and began reading.

His voice was soothing, low and steady as he read. He read like he knew the story by heart, like he understood all the subtle humor, like he was part of the lives that lived between the pages. You let your eyes close, your breaths evening out as you listened to the story and the sound of pages turning.

You spoke after a few minutes, “So … What exactly is the prejudice ?”

Jason pressed his thumb against the page he was on, turning his attention back to you. “It’s a few things.” He answered “Mostly it’s Elizabeth and Darcy. Elizabeth judges Darcy based on rumors, doesn’t get to know him. And Darcy thinks Elizabeth is beneath him because her family is a lower class than his.”

Your brows furrowed, confused, “But her father’s a gentleman, isn’t he ?”

“He is” Jason nodded, his explanations didn’t come with any air of superiority. He answered like he welcomed your questions, like he’d been waiting to tell you. “But they’re on the lower end of the upper class, she doesn’t have the connections or significant wealth.”

You nodded with a hum of understanding. “That makes sense … So do you like him ? Darcy, I mean”

Jason shrugged, leaning his head back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. “I guess so.” He finally decided “I respect him. I like that, eventually, he’s man enough to admit when he’s wrong. He put in the work, showed up when he needed to. Not to spoil the story, but eventually he reflects, and lets himself grow. I appreciate that.”

He paused, before adding “But my favorite ? Is Elizabeth.”

Your head raised from his lap, just enough to meet his eyes. “Elizabeth ?” You repeated, for some reason the information had surprised you “How come ?”

“Think she’s one of the strongest characters in the whole story.” He answered, he didn’t even have to think about it. “She’s witty, sticks to her morals. She can hold her ground, and call people out on their bullshit. And she’s loyal – to herself and the people she cares about.”

“Huh …” That really did make sense, for Jason to enjoy a character like that.

“Lately though, I’ve been liking her more than usual.” He went on, drawing your attention back to him. “She reminds me of you.”

“Of me ?”

“Yep.”

“Does that make you Mr. Darcy ?” You asked, a little giggle in your voice as you imagine Jason as a high class gentleman in a too fancy suit using too fancy words.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The strong internal code, the brooding arrogance that only thinly veiled how much is truly cared. The touch exterior, like the shell of an animal, evolved to protect itself above all else.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sharp scoff from Jason, “Oh, please. I am way cooler than Darcy.” His chest shook gently with a low chuckle, “But, if you’re Elizabeth, I suppose I could be Darcy ... Just for you though.”

You smiled softly, relaxing back against his lap as it felt like finally the last of the nightmare had let go of you. Jason continued reading, and you let your eyes close once more.

At some point, you spoke up again, barely audible over the growing sleep in your voice “How come y’ were awake so fast when I knocked ?”

“Because it was you.” He answered, without pausing to consider it

You felt your throat tighten again, not trusting yourself to not cry again to risk opening your eyes again. Jason continued reading, pages turning with careful touches. Your mind drifted into the depth of the story.

The nightmare tried to come back, tried to wrap its fingers around your throat again, but it found nothing there but Jason, his comfort and his voice, a steady security that fear couldn’t get through. Your fingers curled loosely around his side, snuggling in just a little closer to him. Jason didn’t comment, only continued to read, his voice steady and gentle, his free hand mindlessly pushing stray hairs from your eyes.

You could only form half-baked, sluggish thoughts as his voice lulled you closer to sleep.

This, you thought, was why the separate rooms never mattered. Because the space was never something that couldn’t be crossed, it was only ever there when it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were always welcome here, where you fit in like a missing piece.

“You read nice …” You mumbled, before the night could fully take you.

“Yeah ?” He almost cooed, setting the book back down on the bedside table. “Good enough for you to go to sleep ?”

You nodded, slow and tired, barely registering when Jason moved to flick the light off, and position himself to lay next to you again. He kept himself propped up on an elbow, the other returning to the steady, familiar motion along your arm.

You curl onto your side, limbs trembling, every movement sending bolts of fire through muscles that feel like they’ve been crushed under invisible stones. You’ve had flare-ups before. Hundreds. But somehow it still surprises you how completely it can consume you.

How helpless it can make you feel.

You bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. The ceiling above you blurs as your eyes sting, but you don’t make a sound. You’ve learned how to be quiet. How to endure. How to exist inside the pain without letting it spill over.

But it’s not just you anymore.

The door creaks open, and soft footsteps cross the floor. You know the sound of his gait by heart—familiar, confident, always sure in its purpose. You don’t even have to look.

Finnick.

He kneels by the bed without saying anything. You feel the mattress dip slightly as he places one hand on the blanket near your waist—not touching you yet, just a silent offering.

“Talk to me, love,” he says gently. “How bad is it?”

You don’t want to answer. You hate this part. You hate the sound of your own voice when you’re like this—small, hoarse, not yours. But you know you don’t have to be strong with him.

You never do.

“Everything hurts,” you whisper. “It started in my knees this morning… now it’s everywhere.”

Finnick’s face softens, even though you can’t quite meet his eyes. His fingers move slowly, carefully, drawing a slow line along the edge of the blanket. “Bad flare, then.”

You nod, blinking back another wave of tears. You hate crying in front of him, not because you think he minds, but because you don’t want your body’s betrayal to become his weight too.

But he’s already moving.

“I’m gonna help you get in the bath, okay?” he says softly. “I’ve already drawn it. Lavender oil. Just like you like.”

You let out a small, broken sound. “You always know.”

He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Of course I do. I watch you. I love you.”

He says it so easily, like it’s not something you ever doubted, even when your body makes you feel unworthy of that kind of love. Like your pain doesn’t scare him.

Finnick shifts the blanket back and moves with a slow, practiced grace. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. He just helps—first with sitting up, one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then with the slow walk to the bathroom, his body curved protectively around yours.

You lean heavily on him, each step agonizing, but he steadies you like he’s done it a hundred times. Because he has.

And he’ll do it a hundred more.

The steam from the bath curls into the air like ghostly fingers. The scent of lavender hits you first—soft, soothing, familiar. He’s placed a small candle on the sink, and the flame flickers low, casting golden light across the tiles.

Finnick helps you sit on the edge of the tub and slowly begins to undress you, his fingers careful, never pulling or tugging. He treats your body like something sacred, even when it feels like it’s failing you.

When he slides your shirt off, you gasp—more from the pain than the chill. His eyes flicker to your face immediately.

“Too fast?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just sore. Like I got dragged through coral.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You scoff lightly, but the warmth in your chest flares stronger than the ache in your back. “You’re biased.”

“Completely,” he grins. “Hop in with me?”

You nod. “Please.”

He helps you into the bath first, lowering you in inch by inch. The warmth of the water soaks through your bones, easing the worst of the stiffness. You exhale shakily, and your head tips back against the edge of the tub.

When he slides in behind you, the bath ripples. His arms wrap around your middle, pulling you gently against his chest. You melt into him—into the warmth, into his steady breath, into the kind of quiet that isn’t lonely.

His chin rests atop your head.

You sit like that for what feels like forever. The water hums around you. His fingers trace slow, absent-minded circles on your stomach, sometimes drawing shapes, sometimes just resting flat against you.

“I hate when it gets this bad,” you murmur.

“I know,” he says.

“I feel like a burden.”

He leans down, kissing the shell of your ear. “You’re not.”

“I know you say that, but—”

“No,” he cuts in softly, not unkind. “You are not a burden. You are the love of my life. You are soft and brave and stronger than anyone I know. Your pain doesn’t make you less lovable. It makes me want to hold you closer.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He lets the truth of what he said settle around you like a second skin.

After the bath, he lifts you from the tub and wraps you in the softest towel he could find—one he bought from a traveling merchant after months of searching for something gentle enough for your flare days. You’d made fun of him at the time, called it ridiculous. But now, with the terry cloth cocooned around you, you feel your throat tighten with quiet gratitude.

He dries you slowly, carefully, then helps you into a loose nightshirt and carries you back to bed. He tucks a warm heat pack beneath your lower back, adjusts the pillows behind you, and presses a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink a little,” he says. “You always forget when it hurts.”

You sip, wincing, then settle back.

Finnick sits beside you on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “Massage?”

You nod once. “Please.”

He warms oil between his palms before sliding his hands under your shirt, palms gliding gently over your lower back. His thumbs move in slow, rhythmic circles, never applying too much pressure, just enough to coax the tension from your muscles.

You close your eyes and let yourself fall into it—the scent of lavender and the sound of his breath and the feel of his hands grounding you.

“You’re so good to me,” you whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “You deserve good.”

You laugh, a fragile sound. “I don’t always believe that.”

“Then I’ll keep telling you until you do.”

His hands move up your spine, slow and steady. You feel each breath of his against your back, every soft exhale a promise.

Eventually, the worst of the pain recedes into a quiet throb. Still there, still humming beneath your skin, but not screaming anymore. You sink into the mattress, boneless and heavy, the warmth of his body a balm.

He lies down beside you and pulls the blankets over both of you. You curl into him, your face pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

He brushes his fingers through your hair. “Sleep, love.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt worse when I wake up.”

“Then I’ll be here when you do,” he says simply. “And we’ll fight it together.”

You let out a slow breath and nod, your hand finding his beneath the covers. He squeezes gently.

As your eyes drift closed, you think—not for the first time—how lucky you are to have found someone who doesn’t flinch from your pain. Who doesn’t run. Who doesn’t try to fix you, but instead chooses to stay.

Finnick kisses your forehead one last time. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too,” you murmur back, the words curling into the space between you like another blanket.