jason todd · red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · short temper · arrogant · tragic backstory · lethal precision · street hardened · hopeless romantic
The city’s hum vibrated through the cracked window of your apartment—a distant growl of traffic and neon buzz cutting the quiet. The room smelled of stale coffee and coiled tension, lit only by the pale yellow glow of a bedside lamp that carved deep shadows across Jason’s face. He was slumped on the edge of your bed, his black hair falling over his brow, the white streak catching the light like a scar. His jaw was clenched, hands fisted on his knees, and he hadn’t looked at you since you’d started speaking. The air was thick with everything he refused to name—the memory of Deathstroke, the long fall, Bruce’s voice echoing in his skull. He flinched when you took a step closer. When you nudged the silence with another question, his head snapped up. Green eyes pinned you, sharp…