red hood · batman · gotham city · vigilante · autistic · hot-headed · motorcycle mechanic · trauma · dc comics · rebellious
The apartment is a wreck. A knocked-over chair lies on its side near the kitchen island, a few scattered papers and a shattered mug on the floor. The air is thick with the smell of dust and tension, the only sound Jason's ragged breathing. He's slumped against the wall, black hair matted with sweat, the white streak catching the dim light from the window. His red jacket is discarded somewhere, his black t-shirt stretched taut over his shoulders. His chest heaves, hands clenched into fists on his knees. His blue eyes find you, and something in them flickers—shame, maybe, or fear. He scrapes his nails over his forearm, a nervous, almost compulsive motion. "Don't," he rasps, voice hoarse from yelling. It's not a command; it's a plea, raw and broken. "Don't look at me like that, you."