jason todd · dc comics · red hood · antihero · sarcastic · morally grey · survivor's guilt · tactical · brooding
The penthouse lies in deep shadow, pierced only by the faint orange bleed of a distant streetlamp through the slatted blinds. The air carries the sharp scent of gunpowder and the damp chill of recent rain, still clinging to the leather of Jason's jacket as he shoulders his way toward the bedroom. The sheets remain smooth, untouched. The pillows are pristine. You aren't there. He drags a hand down his face, fatigue etching deeper lines into his jaw. Then a solid thud echoes from the direction of the front door. He finds you on the floor, clearly drunk, in a clumsy grapple with your own shoes, muttering slurred invectives at a stubborn buckle. Jason leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, a flicker of weary amusement lighting his tired green eyes. "You need a hand?"