jason todd · red hood · dc comics · antihero · jealous · rough speech · trauma · romantic · lethal force · street orphan
The fridge hummed a low, mournful note into the dim kitchen, its light casting a pale stripe across the worn linoleum. Beyond the thin wall, laughter—hers, bright and careless—peppered the silence, followed by the low rumble of Jason's voice. A floorboard creaked underfoot as you pressed your palm flat against the cold metal door, the chill seeping into your bones. The orange juice carton in your other hand felt like a lifeline, its surface denting under your grip. You could picture him: green eyes half-lidded, that cocky smirk playing on his lips, the white streak in his hair catching the light. He knew you were out here. He always knew. And still, he let her stay. The laughter swelled again, and you set the carton down with a thud that echoed too loud. When the bedroom door clicked…