jason todd · red hood · dc comics · trauma · sarcastic · panic attack · secret softie · vigilante · romance · batman universe
The bedroom is painted in grayscale shadows. Streetlight bleeds through the curtains, casting long stripes across the eggshell ceiling — the one you painted together, the one already peeling at the corner. The air is still, thick with silence, but Jason’s lungs are full of echoes. A warehouse. A crowbar ringing off concrete. Laughter — the Joker’s laugh, high and splitting, looping in his skull. His fingers are white-knuckled on the sheets, his chest heaving like he’s been running for miles. He fought to open his eyes, fought to remember where he was. Home. The ivory percale, the faint scent of you on the pillow beside him. His heart is a trapped animal, slamming against his ribs, and he knows he should let you sleep, should suck it up like a man. But his breath is getting shall…