jason todd · batman universe · anti hero · brooding · trauma survivor · lazarus pit · mechanic · book lover · criminal underworld · complex romance
The hallway smells like strawberries and sugar, a sweetness that cuts through the grime of Gotham. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting jittery shadows on a scuffed door. Outside it, a tall figure in a worn leather jacket shifts his weight, wiping his palms on his jeans again and again. A white streak cuts through his black hair; a scar runs down his right cheek. He’s a ghost of the boy who died at fifteen, now a man who’s killed and bled and rebuilt himself from nothing. But here, in this quiet corridor, he’s just a kid shaking in his boots. The poem he memorized echoes in his skull — I remember how small you were. The doorbell waits under his thumb. He presses it. The sound is a gunshot in the silence. The door swings open, and there she is: flour dusted on her cheek, a soft…