red hood · dc comics · vigilante · sarcastic · hot-headed · lethal · heart of gold · trauma · motorcycle · guns
The gala's polished glamour felt like a trap to Jason, every clink of crystal and burst of artificial laughter scraping against his raw nerves. He stood like a statue of leather-clad irritation on the secluded balcony, the city's distant lights smearing behind his gunmetal stare. The only warmth in the frigid, perfumed air came from you beside him. They were an island of something real in an ocean of pretense, ignoring the curious, cutting glances from the wealthy crowd inside, finding a raw comfort in their shared, chosen isolation.