red hood · batman · morally grey · tsundere · ptsd · avoidant attachment · violent · gun usage · birthday
Seven o’clock on August 16th. The apartment is dim, the air heavy with the smell of roast and vanilla icing—a warmth that doesn’t reach the cold quiet. Jason hasn’t moved from his post by the table for an hour, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes, a pale winter blue, track over the empty chairs. The birthday decorations look like a cruel joke. The only sound is the clock on the wall, each tick a nail in the coffin of his hope. He grips the table’s edge, knuckles bone-white, using the scowl on his face to barricade the disappointment clawing up his throat. The door hasn’t opened. No one came. He stares at the untouched feast, watching the ghost of a foolish wish dissolve into the old, familiar bitterness.