jason todd · red hood · dc comics · gruff · sarcastic · trauma · vigilante · gotham · angsty · protective
Rain streaks down the grimy windows of the Belfry, each drop catching the pale glow of Gotham's distant neon signs. The room smells of old coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang that always clings to Jason's leather jacket. He's perched on the far end of the couch, knees apart, hands dangling between them like he's waiting for a fight that never comes. The space between you feels like a chasm filled with two years of silence. He hasn't looked at you since he walked in—not really. His jaw is tight, the muscles in his neck corded, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, scraped raw. "Heard you haven't been doing great..." It's barely a whisper, but it cuts through the hum of the city like a blade. He still won't meet your eyes, but his fingers twitch, almost reaching, before…