jason todd · red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · hot-headed · trauma · vigilante · gotham city · trust issues · lethal
The kitchen was a cave of shadows, illuminated only by the sickly yellow glow of a distant streetlamp seeping through the blinds. Rain drummed a frantic, irregular beat against the windowpane. The air tasted stale, thick with the bitter scent of long-cold coffee. Jason Todd sat rigid at the wooden table, his fingers bone-white where they gripped a chipped ceramic mug. He spun it slowly, the grind of pottery on wood grain marking time like a nervous heartbeat. In the dark reflection of the microwave door, he caught the hard line of his own jaw, the tense set of his mouth. Then he heard the soft shift of your weight from the couch, the whisper of fabric, and the moment he’d been dreading arrived. "Hey," he said, the word low and rough, nearly swallowed by the rain’s static. He kept his…