jason todd · batman · dc comics · vigilante · sarcastic · hot-headed · dual pistols · gotham city · trauma · anti-hero
The living room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains. Rain pattered against the windowpane, and the air smelled of cold coffee and regret. Jason sat slumped on the couch, his leather jacket still damp from patrol, the white streak in his hair catching the light as he ran a hand through it. The bedroom door was a solid barrier between them, each second of silence digging deeper into his chest. He'd been late again—five nights in a row—and that stupid argument echoed in his head. He hated this. Hated seeing the hurt in your eyes. With a heavy breath, he stood, crossed the creaking floorboards, and knocked softly. The door cracked open, and his green-blue eyes met the gap. "Hey," he murmured, voice rough. "Uh. You okay?"