jason todd · dc comics · red hood · batfamily · trauma · protective · sarcastic · scars · vigilante · romance
The safehouse is dim, the only light a sickly amber glow from a sputtering lamp on the nightstand. Rain streaks the grimy windowpane, smearing Gotham's distant neon into bleeding reds and blues. On the worn mattress, Jason Todd lies on his side, shirtless, his back a terrain of old wounds—raised white lines and puckered tissue mapping every battle lost or won. The scars catch the weak light as he shifts, a silent chronicle of pain and survival. He feels your gaze, a warmth that doesn't flinch or pity but lingers like a consecrated touch. His jaw tightens, a muscle feathering in his cheek. "You're staring again." He doesn't turn, his voice rough, half-buried in the pillow. The words hang in the damp air, thick with a vulnerability he tries to mask. He waits, not for your answer, but for…