exegesism

[exegesism]

Stephanie’s texts to Dick are pure chaos, annoyance and occasional heartfelt moments. Half the time, Dick is entertained; the other half, he regrets ever giving her his number.

“Hey do you think Batman ever gets FOMO when we do cool stuff without him?”

Dick: “Probably, but he won’t admit it.”

Steph: “Should we invite him to laser tag?”

—

“DID YOU KNOW ARMADILLOS CAN GET LEPROSY???”

—

“Would you rather fight Jason after he’s had a bad day, or Bruce after he’s had no sleep?”

—

“If I stole the Batmobile and blamed Jason, would you cover for me?”

—

“You, me, Cass, and Tim. Heist movie lineup. You’re absolutely the getaway driver. Cass is the muscle. I am obviously the wildcard. Tim is tech support and looks nervous in every shot.”

—

“I feel like we don’t do enough stupid bonding activities. Let’s do a three-legged race but with grappling hooks.”

—

“Is it a crime to steal Tim’s coffee and replace it with decaf?”

Dick: “…Do it and send me the reaction video.”

—

“You ever just see Bruce and want to honk his nose?”

—

“Hey I appreciate you. Just so you know.”

Dick: “Oh wow, an actual nice text from you? Who are you and what did you do with Steph?”

Steph: “Ugh, never mind.”

Dick: “No wait come back I appreciate you too!”

[exegesism]

Stephanie’s texts to Cassandra are just as chaotic. Cass responds mostly with emojis, short texts or just silence.

“I saw a guy doing parkour and I think we should out-parkour him to assert dominance.”

“What if we just walked into the Batcave and started redecorating? Like, purple everything.”

“Do you think I could fight a goose and win?”

“I put googly eyes on all of Batman’s batarangs. DO NOT LET DAMIAN SEE FIRST. Shit. If I die, tell people I went out doing what I loved.”

“Cass. I just realized we have never tried to rob a bank as a joke. Hear me out—”

“Cass, I found a cat. I named it Batcat. It is currently in the Batmobile.”

“If we show up to a mission wearing matching outfits, do you think anyone will say anything?”

[exegesism]

Stephanie is the queen of sending people the most unhinged texts at the worst possible times. Here are some I can 100% see her sending to Tim:

“Tim. Timothy. Timbo. Timtam. Timothyothee. Timinator. Answer me.”

“If I die, tell Batman he was like a father to me. And tell Dick he was like a really bad uncle.”

“If we were seahorses, would you let me impregnate you?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm? Be honest.” Tim: “No.” Steph: “I knew it. Love is dead.”

“How illegal is it to steal a stop sign? Hypothetically.”

“Would you rather fight 100 pigeon-sized Jason Todds or one Jason Todd-sized pigeon?”

“I just heard a guy say ‘I’d fight God for a corn dog’ and I’ve never related to anything more.”

“How fast do you think we could get banned from Gotham’s country club?”

[exegesism]

ROMANTIC GESTURES: bold what applies to your muse. italicise what sometimes applies / where there is potential. bold and italicise what always applies and what your muse loves doing. strike down what your muse does not enjoy, can't offer or will never, ever occur (if applicable). feel free to add more to the list as you see fit or make notes on whatever you feel like expanding upon!

holding handsㅤ·ㅤholding onto arm / holding out armㅤ·ㅤbuying flowersㅤ·ㅤcookingㅤ·ㅤcuddlesㅤ·ㅤwriting a poem / song ㅤ·ㅤholding door openㅤ·ㅤtying shoe lacesㅤ·ㅤsharing a milkshake with two strawsㅤ·ㅤoffering their jacket when it's coldㅤ·ㅤkissing in the rainㅤ·ㅤpublicly confessing love ㅤ·ㅤlong walks at the beachㅤ·ㅤdoing the titanic pose on a boatㅤ·ㅤtaking cute pictures in a photoboothㅤ·ㅤ sharing a taxi / uberㅤ·ㅤkissing the back of their handㅤ·ㅤslow dancingㅤ·ㅤgetting tickets of their favourite artist / sports team / otherㅤ·ㅤintroducing them to their parents ㅤ·ㅤlighting candlesㅤ·ㅤflower petals on bedㅤ·ㅤlove lettersㅤ·ㅤstar gazingㅤ·ㅤbrushing / doing their hairㅤ·ㅤpicnicsㅤ·ㅤteaching them something while gently guiding their handsㅤ·ㅤcomplimentsㅤ·ㅤlate night drivesㅤ·ㅤtaking selfies togetherㅤ·ㅤdrawing them ㅤ·ㅤself-made giftsㅤ·ㅤmassagesㅤ·ㅤproposing with a family heirloom ring ㅤ·ㅤlending them their favourite book to readㅤ·ㅤpaying for dinner / coffeeㅤ·ㅤmixtapes / playlistsㅤ·ㅤsurprise birthday partiesㅤ·ㅤfeeding themㅤ·ㅤhanding them keys to their apartmentㅤ·ㅤmaking space in drawer for their clothes when they stay overㅤ·ㅤsharing a blanketㅤ·ㅤcouple costumesㅤ·ㅤtucking a hair strand behind their earㅤ·ㅤrunning after them at the airport / delaying them from leavingㅤ·ㅤmoving cities to be togetherㅤ·ㅤblowing a kissㅤ·ㅤbreakfast in bedㅤ·ㅤdefending them in a fight (verbally / physically)ㅤ·ㅤjoint bubble bathsㅤ·ㅤdropping the L-bomb ("i love you")ㅤ·ㅤdedicating a song at the karaoke bar to themㅤ·ㅤwearing their clothes ·ㅤyawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movieㅤ·ㅤgrant them the last bite (from meal)ㅤ·ㅤlonging, affectionate gazes - stroke their hair while they sleep - drive them aroundㅤ·ㅤsparring / play fighting - listen to them ramble about the things they're passionate about ·ㅤread to / with them

[exegesism]

Stephanie blinked. Once. Twice. The moment she saw the steam rising from the shower, her whole face lit up.

“Oh my God, is it actually hot? Like, hot-hot?” she gasped, pushing past him to get closer. “Finally, some good fucking news.” She reached out, letting the water run over her fingers, practically vibrating with relief.

Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Did you just tell me—” she started slowly, enunciating each word, “—that you have a hard-on because you like boobs?”

A slow, evil grin stretched across her face, sheer delight in her expression.

“Ohhh, no, no, no.” Her tone was sweet, too sweet. “We are not done here, Jason.”

She backed him into the corner of the cramped-ass bathroom, blocking the only exit. Jason, towering over her, was suddenly trapped—which was so goddamn stupid, because he could just lift her out of the way, but somehow, the sheer force of her energy made that seem impossible.

“I mean, sure, you’ve always had that whole ‘gruff, rough-around-the-edges, bad boy’ thing going on, but I figured you’d be more of an ass man.” laughter bubbling up in her throat. “But are you—are you five? ‘I just like boobs?’ What the hell?”

Stephanie Brown might have been freezing her ass off, but nothing—and she meant nothing—was going to stop her from seizing this moment.

In the smuggest voice humanly possible, she asked, “Should I get you a t-shirt that says ‘I ❤️ Tits’?” she mused, gleefully.

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.

Because Jason Todd, Mr. Broody, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Embarrassment, had just verbally combusted in front of her.

And she was not letting that go.

Her brain, which had been stuck in an endless loop of confusion and secondhand mortification, suddenly clicked into place.

Jason fucking Todd had just stammered his way through an accidental confession about liking boobs.

And the way he looked right now, face red as hell, avoiding her gaze like it would strike him dead on sight—oh, this was gold.

So Stephanie did what Stephanie does best.

She smirked. Big. Grinning at him, eyes bright, teasing, and way too entertained by his suffering.

And for a split second, she forgot about everything else.

Not awkward, not nervous, not weirded out.

Just laughing, like this was the funniest shit that had ever happened to her.

She tapped a finger to her chin. “I’m not sure, though. I think I need more scientific proof before I draw any conclusions.”

That sounded like a threat.

And then, before he could stop her—

She shrugged off the towel in one swift motion, letting it drop to the floor.

Jason was cornered, flustered as hell, and so easy to mess with right now. It was almost too good.

Her smirk only widened.

Then—with deliberate, calculated slowness—she turned her back to him, stepping into the steaming hot shower.

And before Jason could even process that, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Which left her standing there, bare-backed, shoulders glistening with water, in nothing but a white sports bra.

Regardless, Stephanie laughed, wringing the water from her hair as she turned back to him, smirking so hard.

Stephanie leaned against the tile, smug as hell.

“What’s the problem, Jason?” she asked, voice so perfectly, ridiculously innocent. “Can’t handle it?” She gave him a mocking once-over, tilting her head “Big, bad, scary Red Hood losing it over a girl in a sports bra? Tragic.”

Stephanie just grinned as she bathed in the rising steam, her blonde hair darkening as the water soaked through, strands clinging to the curve of her shoulders. Droplets slid down the line of her collarbone, trailing over fair skin, catching in the fabric of her now basically transparent sports bra.

Her blue eyes glinted under the dim bathroom light, full of mischief and something sharper—dangerous, even.

“What’s wrong, Jason?” she cooed, tilting her head. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, sliding down her neck. “You were talking such a big game a second ago.”

[exegesism]

Stephanie was this close to throwing herself out the window.

Like, really. She was actively debating it.

Instead, she clenched her jaw and violently wrung out her shirt, hyper-focused on the water squeezing through her fingers. "I didn’t do anything!" she grumbled, trying to sound normal. “Your shitty plumbing attacked me—”

First, she woke up way too warm, pressed against Jason fucking Todd like some clingy, touch-starved idiot.

Then, instead of getting her shit together, she ran to the bathroom like a coward—and now she was drenched, her shirt is practically see-through, and Jason just had to come rushing in like some goddamn action hero, which meant—

He was also wet.

Like, really, really wet.

The water had completely soaked his boxers and it took everything in her not to look down. She could feel it—her own brain betraying her, screaming at her to just peek, just for a second—

FUCK.

Shouldn’t that have gone away by now?! Wasn’t there, like, a timer on these things?! “Oh, come the hell on!” she groaned, “Whyisthatdownthere—” she flailed her arms, gesturing vaguely but aggressively at his entire situation. “—STILL A THING? Shouldn’t it be GONE by now?! Like—biologically?”

Stephanie would rather die than acknowledge the suffocating, inescapable, screamingly obvious sexual tension currently wrecking her entire morning.

She was already mortified beyond belief—accidentally getting soaked in front of him, freezing and way too aware of the way his stupid wet boxers stick to him in a way that should be illegal—

She forced herself to act normal. Over-normal. Furiously patting herself down like it was a crime scene cleanup, refusing to look at him, refusing to think about him.

Jason was dead silent.

Which was somehow worse.

Because Jason always had some smug, cocky remark. Some quip, some deflection, some bullshit response to kill the moment before it got too real.

But he was not saying anything.

Did that mean he was thinking about it too? About the fact that they were both soaked, barely dressed, and standing inches apart in a bathroom that suddenly felt way, way too small?

But taking a shower meant getting naked.

Clearing her throat, Stephanie ignored the way her hands trembled slightly. She was freezing.

Like, actually freezing. The stupid broken sink had drenched her down to her bones, and now the AC was kicking in, and she was shivering so hard her teeth almost chattered. She needed a shower. A warm, comforting, not-at-all-sexually-complicated shower.

Which was normal. Totally fine. But now? Right now? When her brain was betraying her and making her think about things she absolutely should not be thinking about?

That felt dangerous.

She had never looked at Jason like that before. Ever. He was—God, he was her ex boyfriend’ adopted brother. That was so messed up.

Her stomach twisted violently. But oh God, the way his voice had sounded.

That low, rough grumble when he told her to move. The way it had scraped against her skin like a matchstrike, setting something dangerous on fire inside her.

And his face when he looked at her.

Not just at her—at her soaked, clinging-to-every-curve, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination shirt. The way his breath hitched. The way his eyes flicked away so fast, like he was fighting for his life not to stare.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she clenched her fists, took a sharp, desperate breath.

This was fine. She was fine. Everything was fine.

She was going to shower, pretend she wasn’t currently experiencing the worst sexual crisis of her life. She pressed her back against the cold wall, overanalyzing the hell out of everything.

If Jason had denied it, if he had just laughed it off and made some dumb joke about morning wood, she could’ve rolled her eyes, shoved his stupid face away and gone on with her life.

But instead? Nothing.

He just looked away, jaw tight, and kept his mouth shut.

What the hell did that mean?!

Did he think about her the same way she was suddenly, inexplicably, horrifyingly thinking about him?

Right. Shower. She needed a shower.

Stephanie clenched her jaw and shoved that thought into a very dark corner of her mind. Her eyes darted toward the door. She didn’t want to go out there.

Not when she still felt like her brain was full of static and her skin was buzzing like she had been electrocuted.

But… was there even warm water?

Freezing to death wasn’t an option.

And that’s when she made the grave mistake of turning around.

Jason was still kneeling, still half-soaked, his hair dripping, his chest glistening, and—

Fucking hell.

She could feel her face combusting. Inhaling sharply, she gathered every ounce of composure she had left, and asked. “… Please tell me the water heater isn’t broken too.”

[exegesism]

Stephanie cut the thought off with another slow inhale. But something in her stomach twisted anyway. Because Jason—Jason Todd— who acted like he was unshakable, who could probably have anyone he wanted—was practically begging her to believe him.

Like he thought she’d be disgusted. Like the idea of her ever wanting him back was unthinkable. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t meant to do it.

And that realization hit like a gut punch.

She exhaled, dragging a hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts before she said something stupid. Her face burned hotter, and she shook the thought away, forcing herself to focus on the situation instead of the mortifying mess inside her head.

“…Yeah,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she wanted it to be. “I know. You weren’t doing it on purpose or anything.”

She forced out a breathless, awkward laugh, trying to play it off like this wasn’t the most intense moment of her life. “I mean, you were, like, half-dead last night. And now you’re… well. Alive. And, uh. Apparently having very vivid dreams.” she cleared her throat, wrapping her arms around herself as she tried again.

And that was what this was.

An accident. An unconscious, totally involuntary accident.

Stephanie then practically bolted from the bed, stomping toward the bathroom. Her face was still burning, her heartbeat still stupidly erratic, and she hated every second of it.

Was she into older guys now? Was this what it had come to? Years of zero male attention, and now suddenly her body had one taste of contact and decided to completely betray her?

How pathetic was that?

She swung the bathroom door shut behind her, gripping the edge of the sink and glaring at her reflection.

Her hair was a disheveled mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils were still a little too wide. She scowled. “Get a grip, for fuck's sake,” she muttered to herself.

With a huff, she reached for the faucet, cranking the handle with more force than necessary—

Only for the entire thing to snap right off in her hand.

“Are you serious—” A violent spray of water shot straight up from the broken pipe, hitting her directly in the chest. “Oh, come on!” The water was freezing, immediately soaking through her shirt and sticking the fabric to her skin.

She scrambled to shove the faucet piece back where it came from, but it wasn't working, and the water kept gushing out, making a mess of everything.

“No no no no— Jason!!” she called out, her voice sharp with frustration. “Your stupid sink is attacking me!”

[exegesism]

Stephanie was malfunctioning.

Like, full-blown brain failure, error messages flashing, system shutting down. Because what the hell just happened?

She gawked. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, brain absolutely short-circuiting because—

Her face felt like it was on fire. She wasn’t even looking anymore, but the image was burned into her brain, permanently seared into the back of her retinas.

And her first actual thought—beyond the screaming white noise in her head—was why the Lazarus Pit had given Jason that kind of stat buff.

And her second?

Oh my God, stop staring, Stephanie!

She slapped a hand over her own face, almost like that could manually reboot her brain, because Jesus Christ, this was so not what she signed up for when she decided to take care of his ass last night.

“Uh.” Her voice cracked. “So. That’s a thing that happened.”

One second, she was barely holding onto the last shreds of her sanity, forcing herself not to think about how good Jason Todd felt against her. The next? He was the one touching, grinding, pressing into her with a deep, unconscious need that made her whole body burn.

“Nope. Don’t talk.” She held up a hand, fingers twitching. “I need… like, five seconds. Maybe ten. To process the fact that I just woke up to you copping a feel in your sleep and then falling on your ass with—” She gestured vaguely, not looking at the very obvious tent situation under the blanket. “All of that happening.”

Stephanie exhaled.

This was… so much. Too much. But also?

What the hell.

Because, honestly? She should be pissed. She should be shoving him, yelling at him, giving him absolute hell for grinding on her in his sleep.

But she wasn’t.

Because the moment she’d said his name—really said it—he had freaked out. Jerked back like he’d been burned, launched himself off the bed, and now? Now he looked like he wanted to die.

Jason Todd was not a man who got flustered.

But right now?

Oh, he was so flustered.

And God help her, but that was almost as bad as the whole ‘stat buffed by the Lazarus Pit’ realization.

Her face was still on fire, her heart was still racing, and her body—her traitorous, stupid body—still hadn’t gotten the memo that this was not a situation she should be reacting to.

So, instead, she just—

Laughed.

It wasn’t intentional. It just happened. A short, breathless, holy shit what even is my life kind of laugh.

Because of course this would happen.

Of course Jason would grind up on her in his sleep. Of course she would like it for half a second before her brain caught up. Of course he would wake up, have an existential crisis, and act like he had personally committed a war crime against her dignity.

God, what even was this morning?

Stephanie pressed the heels of her palms into her face, groaning.

“Jesus Christ, Jason.”

Another laugh—helpless this time, muffled against her hands.

“This is so not how I expected to wake up today.”

The second his hand had flexed over her, the warmth of his palm seeping through her shirt and sports bra like he belonged there, Stephanie’s brain had completely malfunctioned.

She was sure this wasn’t some heated moment. This wasn’t some mutual thing.

This was Jason, running on pure instinct, not realizing what he was doing, and that—more than anything—was what made her finally snap out of it and say his name.

Still sprawled out on the bed, still warm from sleep, her hair a tangled disaster around her face, her cheeks burning, her chest heaving like she’d just run across Gotham.

And worse? Worse?

Her pupils were blown wide.

Like some kind of damn romance novel heroine.

Like she had actually felt something when he touched her.

Which was insane, because what the hell was wrong with her?!

She should’ve been shoving him off, not lying here like some breathless wreck while he stood there half-naked, gripping a blanket like it was his last lifeline.

Stephanie knew she looked wrecked. Knew that if Jason took one good look at her right now, he’d see every single thought running through her head in real time.

And she definitely wondered. What the hell had he even been dreaming about to make him that worked up?!

[exegesism]

Stephanie stirred as the soft light of dawn crept through the curtains, her brain sluggishly climbing out of sleep. Everything was warm—comfortable in a way she wasn’t used to. The mattress beneath her was firm, the blankets heavy but not suffocating, and—

Wait.

Something was… off.

Something 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥 and 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 was pressed against her lower back.

Her brows furrowed, her sleepy haze breaking apart as awareness trickled in. A slow blink, a small shift of her hips—just enough to confirm what she was feeling.

Oh.

𝘖𝘩.

Her entire body tensed in an instant. Because unless Jason Todd had smuggled a 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 kind of weapon into bed with them, then—

Stephanie’s brain short-circuited.

For a full five seconds, she just 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, frozen, her face blank as her mind tried desperately to reboot. But then, oh 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, the realization 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 hit her, and the heat that flooded her face burned so fiercely she was surprised it didn’t set the whole damn bed on fire.

Jason, blissfully unaware in his deep sleep, shifted slightly, his arm tightening just the tiniest bit around her waist.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦.

She was actually going to die.

Her heart was hammering so hard she was convinced it might explode right then and there. How the hell was she supposed to handle this?

How did she 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 without waking him up? Did she even 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to escape? No—yes—wait, what the hell was she even thinking?!

A strangled sound caught in her throat, a hybrid between a squeak and a groan. Jason shifted again, mumbling something incoherent against the pillow.

Oh god. 𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥.

She could feel the heat of him, the solid weight of his body behind her, the 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 clear evidence of his… situation pressing right up against her lower back.

And suddenly, she couldn’t decide what was worse: staying perfectly still and pretending this wasn’t happening, or risking waking him up and dealing with 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

Her breath hitched. Heart racing in her chest.

Okay. Okay. No need to panic. It was just morning… 𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺. This wasn’t 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

Jason was probably dreaming about some ridiculously hot, sultry, 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 woman. The kind with mile-long legs and a voice like whiskey, who wore red lipstick and had that whole 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 femme fatale vibe.

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

Not some disaster of a vigilante who tripped over her own grappling line at least once a week and had a ringtone that consisted of Billy Joel screaming through the speaker.

Nope. Not even 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 about her.

God, it would almost be 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 if it weren’t so completely humiliating.

Stephanie swallowed, her entire body still rigid, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 trying to ignore the very obvious, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 pressing problem that was currently making its presence known against her lower back.

Because if she thought about it too much—𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴, about how his breath was fanning against the nape of her neck—she was going to self-destruct.

Jason shifted slightly again, and she swore she felt his nose graze her shoulder. Oh god.

Her shirt suddenly felt too tight, her pants were basically suffocating her, and every single nerve in her body was hyper aware of the fact that Jason Todd—bruised, battered, covered in dried blood and last night’s regrets—was pressed up against her like a human furnace.

And worse? Worse?

She liked it.

No. No, no, no. That was not happening. She was not going to sit here and have some weird, inappropriate epiphany about how Jason Todd was—

Ugh.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to think about literally anything else. Because seriously, what the hell was wrong with her?! The guy had been vomiting last night. She had wiped blood off his face. He was a mess—a hot mess, apparently, but still a mess.

And yet, here she was, feeling like some dumb, hormonal idiot because his stupidly solid arms were caging her in, his stupidly big hand was resting against her stomach, and his stupidly warm breath was fanning over her skin like it belonged there.

This was not okay.

This was so not okay.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the heat creeping up her neck.

Because no matter how much her traitorous brain was screaming at her that Jason Todd was, objectively, built like a goddamn Greek statue—now was not the time to acknowledge it.

Her brain was shutting down.

She had to move. She had to do something before he woke up, before things got so much worse.

So, with a slow, measured breath, she very gently tried to shift forward. Just an inch. Just enough to put a little space between them.

And then—of course—Jason, still very much asleep, grumbled at the loss of warmth and instinctively pulled her back in.

Stephanie’s soul left her body.

Jason had no idea what he was doing. She just had to 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥.

Which—ha. 𝘏𝘢.

She was already failing spectacularly 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

[exegesism]

Stephanie hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve. Jason barely looked at her, and she should take that as her cue. That was her way out.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to shake him and tell him he was full of shit, that he wasn’t doomed to be alone, that he wasn’t some lost cause. That she wouldn’t leave, not unless he 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 her.

But she also wanted him to actually rest. To stop thinking for five goddamn seconds and let his body heal instead of running himself into the ground.

And if she was still here, he wouldn’t. He’d sit there all night with his jaw clenched and his hands twitching, waiting for her to pry at the edges of him again.

So she looked away, out the window.

The city stretched out in front of her, quiet, too quiet. It was the kind of stillness that made her restless. No sirens, no distant gunfire, no break-ins or car chases or anything that would give her an excuse to be somewhere else.

Just the two of them, trapped in the silence. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

𝘊’𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘎𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

Her knee bounced impatiently.

Then, suddenly—𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴.

Stephanie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden blast of music:

🎶𝙐𝙥𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡

𝙎𝙝𝙚'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙪𝙥𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙🎶

The loud, blaring intro of 𝘜𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘎𝘪𝘳𝘭 by Billy Joel shattered the silence.

Oh, come on!

Stephanie groaned in embarrassment as the ringtone blared on the nightstand, with quick steps around the bed, she fumbled to grab it, her heart jumping just a little.

𝘊𝘳𝘢𝘱. 𝘔𝘰𝘮.

She hesitated, then pressed the answer button.

“Hey, Mom,” Stephanie said, trying to sound casual. She glanced at Jason, who still wasn’t looking at her, she just hoped he wouldn’t suddenly start talking. “Yeah, I’m safe... No, I’m not alone—” she replied to the phone.

“You’re with someone?” Her mom cut in, latching onto that little pause with lightning speed.

She groaned, pressing a hand to her face. “Mom. No. It’s not— I’m just— I’m with a 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. That’s it.”

What was she supposed to say? 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵-𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦-𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦?

“Stephanie,” her mom said in that no-nonsense nurse voice. “I just want to make sure he’s 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 to you. If this is the kind of guy who—”

Her mother’s voice was sharp with concern and Stephanie winced. She had meant to text her hours ago, but between rooftops, Red Hood, and Jason being, well, Jason, it had slipped her mind.

“Mom, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦! It’s not like that, okay?” Stephanie groaned.

“Where are you?” Crystal pressed.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Mom, seriously. I’m safe. I’ll be home later, okay?”

Crystal sighed on the other end of the line. “Fine. But, remember, honey, be 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.” Her tone dropped to a teasing note, but there was concern underneath it. “Use protection, okay? Just... be careful.”

“MOM!” Stephanie practically shouted, “I’m hanging up, bye! Oh my god,” pressing the end call button before her mom could say anything else. Her face turned an impressive shade of red.

Stephanie flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, burying her face in the pillow as she tried to shake off the sheer secondhand embarrassment clawing at her spine.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t say anything.” she mumbled into the soft fabric. She rolled over to face him, her hair in a mess of disarray. “I just... I just wanna sleep. That’s all.”

Stephanie let her eyes close, the exhaustion from the night creeping back.

[exegesism]

Stephanie hesitated, the words sitting heavy on her tongue. There was a moment where she thought about brushing it off with another joke, another jab to lighten the weight of the conversation.

But Jason was staring at the floor, his fingers clenched, his voice stripped down to something raw, and for once, she didn’t have it in her to deflect.

It was rare to see him like this—stripped down, raw in a way that wasn’t wrapped in sharp words and snark.

And she had put him there.

She cringed inwardly, cursing herself for pushing, for pricking at something she hadn’t meant to touch. It was one thing to joke, to trade jabs back and forth like they always did. But this? This wasn’t a game.

She had stepped over some invisible line, and now Jason was sitting there, staring at the floor like he was drowning in ghosts.

Stephanie shifted, suddenly feeling very, very awkward. She should go. She should just get up, make up some excuse, leave before she made things worse. But not when he had just admitted, without really meaning to, how much love had gutted him over and over again.

She wasn’t often at a loss for words—hell, she usually ran her mouth more than she should—but right now, she didn’t know what to say. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze dropping. “For putting you on the spot like that. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

She just watched him, pulling her legs up, crossing them beneath her. Her throat was tight with something she couldn’t quite name. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. Or something even heavier.

It had started as teasing—just a stupid jab at the way Jason went through women like it didn’t mean anything. Like 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 didn’t mean anything. But she saw it now, the way he curled in on himself, the way his shoulders went rigid, his jaw tight like he was holding back more than words.

And that look in his eyes, the one he wouldn’t even let her see now—yeah. She’d hit something she hadn’t meant to. “I get it, love’s a bitch,” she said finally, biting her lip, hating the way her chest twisted at the memories she was about to dig up.

“Tim was my first real relationship. And it turned out shitty.” She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “After that, I just… didn’t try again. I threw myself into the cape stuff, the volunteer work, college, my job—anything to keep myself busy. Anything to stop thinking about it. Because the second I slowed down, I felt it. That empty, aching feeling, reminding me that I wasn’t good enough for anyone,”

She huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh, rolling her shoulders back as if she could shake off the weight of the conversation. But she pushed through, wetting her lips, she shifted a little closer.

“But I still don’t think that it’s pointless.” Her voice softened. She should’ve stopped there. She should’ve shut up and let him sit in his misery if that was what he wanted. But she didn’t.

“You’re not some lost cause who’s destined to be alone or whatever bullshit you’ve convinced yourself of.” Her words were light, but there was a question buried in them.

Because as much as she wanted to believe love was just another weakness, something dangerous and reckless and not worth the pain—

She wasn’t sure she did.

She hesitated for only a second before reaching out, pressing a hand lightly against his back, a light, feathery touch. He stiffened and she felt the urge to withdraw her hand, but didn’t. “You’re not broken, Jason,” she murmured, her thumb brushing over his shoulder blade.

“And you’re not some wreckage that’s not worth digging through.” “You still have a chance,” she said quietly. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she muttered, looking away.

“Not like you need me telling you how to live your life.” It was so 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥. The whole thing.

The fact that she was talking about love and relationships with Jason freaking Todd, the fact that she had somehow made this conversation worse, the fact that she had to fight the urge to 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to get out of this entire situation. “You’re feeling better, right?” she asked, already shifting to sit up. “I should probably go.”

Because she didn’t belong here, at this moment with him. Because she wasn’t sure if she had made things better or worse. Because she felt 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 for bringing up her past with Tim when Jason clearly didn’t give a shit.

She was just making this weird. And she wasn’t about to sit around and make it even worse.

[exegesism]

Stephanie stared at Jason for a long second, taking in everything he just said—the irritation, the bitterness, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 chip on his shoulder when it came to Tim.

And then, because she was Stephanie, she’d 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩. Not in a mean way. Not in a 𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 way. But in that exasperated, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸? way that she did.

Because 𝘸𝘰𝘸. Jason Todd, tough guy extraordinaire, the one who claimed he didn’t give a damn what people think, just went on an entire 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 about Tim Drake.

Stephanie shook her head, still grinning, but there was something knowing in her expression, like she just figured something 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 out. And then she said it. “Oh my God.” She gasped, eyes going wide in exaggerated realization. “Are you 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴?” She leaned in, eyes sparkling.

“You literally just went on a whole damn monologue about Tim, Jay.” She tilted her head, amusement lacing her tone. Still, hearing him say it out loud, hearing the frustration in his voice, the way he still compared himself even when he acted like he didn’t care?

That 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘨.

Then her smirk faltered, who would be jealous of a relationship where she had to 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 after their boyfriend for affection? Where she gave and gave and got scraps in return?

She shifted until she was lying on her back too, staring up at the ceiling alongside him. She was not about to 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥 Tim. “I mean… you’re not 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨,” dragging out the words, “it wasn’t exactly the romance of the century.” she said finally, her voice softer than before.

“Tim was… he 𝘪𝘴 a lot.” There was a pause. She hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. How the hell was she supposed to put 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 relationship into words?

“I wanted something he didn’t. Or maybe he just didn’t want it 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦. And I didn’t want to feel like I was 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 my own boyfriend just by 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.”

Maybe, if she concentrated hard enough, she could will herself out of this conversation entirely.

It wasn’t like she owed Jason any explanation about her past relationships—especially not her failed, disappointing, why-the-hell-did-I-put-myself-through-that relationship with Tim.

But Stephanie had been young, and stupid, and 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

“Anyway, you know, you really don’t have to compare yourself to him. You’re not him. And that’s a 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 thing.”

Stephanie internally cringed. Of all the things to talk about while lying in bed together—𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?

Stephanie, of course, wasn’t about to let things get too serious for too long. She smirked once again, leaning in slightly. “Besides, 𝘛𝘪𝘮 could never pull off that leather jacket the way you do,” she added, voice teasing.

There had been intimate moments between them, but it wasn’t what Stephanie wanted – it didn’t bring them closer the way she had hoped.

It had felt like another thing she had to 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦, another thing Tim 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 to rather than 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥. There was a moment where she realized that even in their most vulnerable moments, his mind was 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦, and that was the final nail in the coffin for her feelings.

Stephanie, being naturally affectionate and craving closeness, wanted it to be a moment of bonding, a deepening of their relationship. But Tim? He had gone through the motions, 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 but 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵. Not cold, not unfeeling, just… 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.

During, he was 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦—but Stephanie could tell 𝘴𝘩𝘦 was the one feeling more. She was the one trying to lock eyes, trying to savor every touch, while Tim… he approached it 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

It felt good, sure, but it didn’t feel 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘶𝘭 in the way Stephanie had hoped. And after? Tim 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 but he hadn't stayed wrapped up in her warmth the way she wanted.

He had rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨—not necessarily about her, not about the huge step they had just taken in the relationship, but about 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. He had got up sooner than she wanted, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 she had been hoping to just… 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵 in that moment with him.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, already half in another headspace, while Stephanie was still lying there, staring at his bare back, wondering 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺?

Tim hadn't left 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, but he didn't stay for hours, not basking in the afterglow. He was too restless, too in his own head, too 𝘛𝘪𝘮 to just be in the moment with her.

He had kissed her before going, but it was 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥. Saying, 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, and she knew he would—but 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰, just because he thought he should.

And that was when she realised. That no matter how much she loved Tim, no matter how much she had 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 it to work—he was never going to give her what she needed.

“Well,” she said, her voice taking on a sharp, mocking sweetness. “At least I 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 to have an actual relationship instead of burning through meaningless flings and one-night stands like a walking midlife crisis.”

Stephanie wasn’t finished, he was bringing up the past, so could she. She propped herself up on one elbow, her lips curling into a smirk of her own.

“I mean, really, Jay—how many girls have you actually 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥? Or do you just cycle through them until they start expecting 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 from you, then bail the second they ask for more than a good time?” Stephanie tilted her head, feigning a thoughtful look.

“Oh, wait. My bad. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 your type, right? Girls who don’t ask questions, don’t get attached, and don’t expect you to stick around.” She raised a brow, her smirk widening as she settled back against the pillows.

It was a low blow, she was taking out her own frustration on Jason, it was unfair, she knew it, but she had been trying so hard to bury that past and he was digging it up.

[exegesism]

Stephanie stared at him, watching as he haphazardly stacked pillows between them like some makeshift fortress. She blinked, processing the whole ridiculous display, her lips pressing together to keep from outright laughing.

This was Jason Todd—the Red Hood, Gotham’s most feared vigilante, the guy who could take out an entire gang with nothing but brute force and a bad attitude—awkwardly shoving pillows around like some overgrown kid at a sleepover.

It was kind of endearing.

But underneath the humor of it, there was something else. Something in the way his voice had turned bitter, in the way he wouldn’t quite look at her. He was trying so hard to put up this physical space between them, but Stephanie knew—𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵—that it wasn’t just about that.

She wasn’t an idiot. She could tell what was going on in his head, even if he didn’t say it outright. He thought she was uncomfortable, maybe even scared of him. Her chest tightened.

She shifted slightly, sitting up more, her gaze flickering from the stupid little pillow barrier back to him. “Wow, a whole 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭? What a gentleman,” she teased lightly, but there was no real bite to it. Just soft amusement.

She reached over, poking one of the pillows with her finger. “Very sturdy craftsmanship, I feel 𝘴𝘰 safe now.” Stephanie hesitated, then reached out and 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 knocked over the top pillow, watching as it flopped onto the mattress.

“Jay, I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 you’re not gonna do anything,” she said, her voice quieter now, more serious. “You don’t have to build a freaking 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘳 just to prove a point.” Stephanie tilted her head, considering him.

Then, before she could stop herself, she rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a light shove. She almost laughed at his expression. Almost. Instead, she smirked, knocking over another pillow just for good measure.

“So, y'know, you don’t have to worry. You’re not even my type.”

What was her type anyway?

With Tim, Stephanie had always been the one to initiate things. At first, she didn’t think much of it. Some people just weren’t naturally affectionate, and that was fine.

Tim had never been the type to seek out physical touch, but she figured that maybe, over time, he’d open up a little more. She didn’t need him to be 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 or 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳-𝘵𝘩𝘦-𝘵𝘰𝘱—she just wanted to feel 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥. But the thing was, Tim never really met her halfway.

Whenever she laced their fingers together, she could feel the slight delay in his grip, like he had to 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 to hold her hand back.

Whenever she hugged him, she was the one who pulled him in, arms tight around his shoulders, while he stiffened slightly before relaxing—like affection was something he had to adjust to instead of something he 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥.

And when she kissed him…

God, when she kissed him, it was like his mind was 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺. She could feel it in the way his lips moved against hers, mechanical, almost thoughtful. Like he was analyzing a puzzle in the back of his mind, thinking about a case, running through old clues.

She 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 that was just how Tim’s brain worked—he was always thinking, always 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨—but damn, sometimes she just wanted to feel like she had his 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

She wanted lazy mornings tangled in the sheets, stealing kisses between shared cups of coffee. She wanted spontaneous road trips, dumb inside jokes, date nights where they actually 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 on each other instead of the latest crime spree happening in Gotham.

She wanted deep, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 intimacy—the kind that made her feel 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺, the kind built on more than just shared battles and late-night stakeouts. Tim wasn’t like that.

And when Stephanie wanted 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, Tim wanted 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

It was like the closer she tried to get, the more distant he became. She remembered the way he pulled away sometimes, just enough that she 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 it but not enough to make a scene.

How his excuses started piling up—“Sorry, I have to check in with Bruce,” “Can we talk about this later?” “It’s not a good time right now.” How she tried 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 not to take it personally, because 𝘛𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺. He had the weight of Gotham on his shoulders, and she 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 that, but—

But was it so bad to want to come 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 for once? To want to be held just because he 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 to hold her? To feel like, at the end of the day, she wasn’t just something Tim had to 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳?

She hadn’t realized how much it wore her down until she was out of it. Until she wasn’t trying anymore. Until she finally let go of the idea that one day, he’d wake up and 𝘴𝘦𝘦 her the way she had always seen him.

And now, lying here, feeling the 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 of Jason’s gaze, seeing the way 𝘩𝘦 was hyper-aware of her—of her movements, her reactions, her comfort—Stephanie realized that what she wanted had never been complicated.

She just wanted 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 who 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 as deeply as she did. Who 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 her the way she wanted them.

[exegesism]

Stephanie blinked at him, her breath still caught in her throat as she processed what had just happened. The way his hand brushed her hair back had been so gentle, so… 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.

It was the softest thing he had ever done around her and yet the moment she felt his fingers on her skin, a wave of unease rushed through her.

Her instincts had been to pull away, but she held herself still instead, unsure of what she was feeling. But his words—the way he stammered out an apology, the way his eyes darted around as if he were waiting for her to react, trying to gauge if he had done something wrong—made her feel something else.

Something warm, something that made her heart thud harder than it should. No. She wasn’t scared, for some reason a bit nervous, yes. He had his demons, his issues and sure, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦.

But Stephanie wasn’t some naive fool. And she could see that he was genuinely concerned, that he was worried about crossing a line with her, a line she wasn’t even sure was there yet.

The concern in his voice, the way he froze when he felt her flinch—it was enough to make her heart soften. She let out a shaky breath, her hand slowly lifting from her side to rest on his chest, where she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“No, no, it’s not that, uh,” she said quickly, almost tripping over her words as she pushed herself up, not meeting his gaze. Sitting back on the bed.

“I just—I'm fine, really. Just... didn’t expect the whole 'sudden touch' thing.” She paused, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, trying to calm her own nerves.

The warmth between them felt heavier now, but not in a bad way, just... more intimate. She smiled awkwardly, shaking her head. “It’s just... uh, it’s me, okay? I’m just not used to... this kind of thing. Touching, I mean.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly realizing how awkward it all sounded. She didn’t wait for him to respond, choosing instead to shift the moment with a quick, playful grin.

“You didn’t freak me out, you gotta try harder than that,” Her voice was a little more composed than she felt. She gave a small, tentative smile, though it was a bit strained.

“Just don’t go thinking you’re the one who gets to dictate my phone usage next time,” she teased, trying to ease the tension. Was she reading too much into this?

It was Jason Todd, the guy with a reputation for being careless with everything—𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦. The same guy who didn't do relationships, who had never stayed in one place for too long, never stuck with anyone.

She couldn’t forget that. She 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 forget that. Stephanie quickly forced herself to compose her expression, to shrug off the flutter of feelings rising inside her.

She didn't want to overthink it. But inside, she was still a bit rattled, trying not to fall into that trap. This wasn’t like how she thought she felt about him.

She didn’t do fleeting, casual stuff. She needed trust, intimacy, the depth she thought could only come with time. And Jason wasn’t that kind of guy.

Stephanie wasn’t sure what to say next, but she could feel the weight of the moment pressing on her. Maybe they had no business being this close but she just wanted him to know that whatever her reaction was, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳.

“You should, uh, try to get some rest,” she muttered, crossing her arms across her chest. Oh, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩.

[exegesism]

Stephanie had been gone for 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴.

Five minutes, and he had already done this to himself.

She had been expecting a lot of things when she returned. A halfhearted joke, maybe. A grumbled, 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵. A forced casualness that Jason used when he didn’t want her to see how deep he was in it.

But this? The bottle was nearly empty.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of it, her breath catching in her throat before she could stop it. Her lips parted, the words forming before she could stop them. A sharp inhale, a stunned silence and then—

“Are you 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 right now?”

It was instinct. The anger, the frustration—because she 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, because she 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥, because she had 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘥—but none of it mattered.

Jason was already checked out. She could see it in his face, in the way he leaned back, eyes dull, posture slumped, like he was just waiting for her to be done.

But then she saw him stand—saw the way he wavered, the way he clenched his jaw like he was holding himself together with nothing but stubbornness—and something in her fight faltered. Jason could take a hit.

He could take 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴. But this? This wasn’t just him being reckless, wasn’t just him throwing himself into a fight.

This was Jason trying to turn himself 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

And that scared Stephanie more than she wanted to admit.

She followed, her socked feet light on the floor as she trailed behind him. She caught his wrist, gripping tight enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin under her fingers. Alcohol-flushed. Just a little too warm.

She said his name. Not sharp or loud. Just—𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯. She felt him tense. Saw the way his shoulders pulled in tighter, like he was bracing for something—like he was waiting for her to say the things he had probably heard a hundred times before.

The lecture. The guilt trip. The 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. But she didn’t have the anger anymore. Just a deep, gnawing ache in her chest. A part of her wanted to yell anyway. To demand 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 he thought he was doing, what he was trying to prove by drinking himself into oblivion the second she left the room.

But that wasn’t what this needed. So she took a breath. “…I’m not leaving,” she murmured. Stephanie swallowed hard, tightening her grip—not enough to hold him back, just enough so he 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘵.

Then, quietly—so quietly she almost wasn’t sure she had spoken— “If that’s what you want, I won’t talk,” she murmured. “I won’t joke. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.” Her voice wavered.

Because this hurt. Because she 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, how to fix it, how to get through to him when he kept shutting her out. She watched the way his fingers twitched, the way his throat bobbed slightly, like he was swallowing something down.

So Stephanie did something she wasn’t even sure she had planned on doing. She moved closer. Not enough to crowd him, not enough to push him.

Just enough that he’d have to feel that she was still there. Her grip on his wrist loosened slightly, shifting so her fingers brushed against his palm instead.

“…C’mon, Jay,” she tried again, quieter now. “Just—just sit down. Please.” Because if he kept trying to walk away—𝘪𝘧𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺—she wasn’t sure if she could take it. “I don’t want anything from you, okay? I 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.”

[exegesism]

Stephanie let out a breath, slow and measured, like she was physically stopping herself from saying something too soon. Like she knew if she wasn’t careful, if she came at this the wrong way, Jason would shut down completely.

She’d seen it before—how he lashed out when he felt cornered, how he acted like giving a shit was some kind of liability. Like letting someone in was just another way to get hurt. She could hear it in his voice now, the way it cut sharp and quick, trying to end the conversation before it could go anywhere deeper.

For a second, Stephanie didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t stupid. She knew how Jason was. Knew the way he bristled at kindness like it was a knife to the ribs, how he recoiled from anything that even 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 at genuine care.

She’d seen it before, had learned to navigate around it instead of through it. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Because this time, it wasn’t just some deflection, some sarcastic, 𝘩𝘢-𝘩𝘢, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘩.

This time, his voice had that sharp, final edge, that warning that told her to back off. To drop it. That was what got her. Not that he didn’t want to hang out. Not that he shut her down. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

That maybe he didn’t trust her enough to believe she actually wanted to be here. Stephanie let the silence stretch between them for a second longer than was comfortable, just to see if Jason would give any sign that he hadn’t meant to shove the door 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 hard in her face.

He didn’t.

So she exhaled, slow and steady. And when she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before. “Jesus, Jay,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I was just messing with you...” Her fingers drummed against her arm.

She wasn’t mad, exactly, but—yeah. It hurt a little. Not that she’d let it show. Thinking about whatever was running through his head, whatever thoughts had curled around his ribs like barbed wire the second she’d made the joke. Stephanie sighed, tilting her head back against the couch.

“Relax. I’m not gonna, like, force you into a candlelit dinner or some romcom montage.” Her tone was light, even if her chest still felt tight. “I was just saying, y’know. We could actually do something that doesn’t involve you bleeding all over some shitty couch for once.”

She didn’t say it outright, but the words were there, hanging unspoken in the air: 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰.

𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘴.

But Jason wasn’t the kind of guy you said that to. Stephanie wasn’t a stranger to rejection. She could take a hit, brush it off, keep moving.

Hell, she 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to.

When you spent half your life fighting for people to take you seriously, you learned to roll with the punches. Learned to laugh it off, act like it didn’t bother you. But for some reason, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬.

Maybe because she hadn’t been expecting it. She felt it like a slap to the face. Or maybe because, deep down, she had thought—hoped—that Jason wasn’t trying to push her away.

The playful confidence in her posture wilted, her grin faded.

Had she… misread this?

The anxious pit in her stomach tightened as she chewed at the inside of her cheek, scrambling through the past few minutes, the past few 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, trying to figure out if she had done something wrong.

Said something the wrong way. If she had pushed 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 without realizing it. Maybe she had been too flippant. Maybe she had made it sound like she was pitying him or forcing herself into his space instead of 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 to be there.

God, was that how he saw it? Did he think she was just here out of obligation? Her arms curled a little tighter around herself, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeve.

Normally, she was good at this. Normally, she could read people, figure out what they needed and be that. But Jason was different. Jason didn’t let her in. He didn’t give her anything to work with.

And now she wasn’t sure if she had pushed too hard or not enough. The silence stretched for a second too long, and Stephanie felt herself starting to spiral. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘱? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦?

She shook herself before her thoughts could swallow her whole. “…Right, uhh…” she said finally, trying to keep her voice light but it wasn’t as effortless as before. The words felt thinner. Like she wasn’t sure if she should be talking at all.

She rubbed at the back of her neck, shifting slightly on the couch. 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, she told herself. She forced a small smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Guess I’ll just take my payment in emotional damage, then,” she joked, but it was more subdued.

She stood up, stretching her arms over her head in an attempt to shake off the weirdness in her chest. She 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 to stay, wanted to make sure he wasn’t gonna drink himself unconscious or bleed out in the night.

But maybe he didn’t want her to. Maybe she was overstaying her welcome. “…I should probably get out of the suit before I start falling asleep in it,” she said, voice a little forced, trying to sound normal, like she hadn’t just spent the last minute overthinking 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

She hesitated. Not long, just for a second. Just long enough for Jason to say something. But when he didn’t, she nodded, more to herself than to him, and made her way to the bathroom to change.

[exegesism]

Stephanie exhaled sharply through her nose, dragging a hand down her face. Jason was an asshole. A stubborn, self-destructive, pain-in-the-ass 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦. She watched him sink into the couch, whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers like a lifeline.

Like it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. She rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. If anything, there was something almost fond under the layer of exasperation.

He was here. He wasn’t out there getting into worse shit. That was a win. Exhaling slowly, she rolled her shoulders back like she was physically shaking off her frustration. “Yeah, yeah, I know you're good for it,” she said, waving a hand.

“Not that I really expect to see that money anytime soon, but sure, let’s pretend you’re a man of your word.” She could already hear the argument in her head—the one she 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 be having with him.

The one where she told him this wasn’t the answer, that it never was, that he was only making things worse for himself. But Jason already 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 that. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t oblivious. He knew exactly what he was doing—what this looked like.

And if she pushed too hard now, if she 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 instead of just 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦—he’d just push back. So instead, Stephanie walked over, grabbed the second bottle from the floor before he could protest and flopped onto the other end of the couch.

She held it up, turning it over in her fingers, she squinted at the label. Then, finally, she raised an eyebrow at him. “𝘎𝘰𝘥, you have shit taste.” She twisted the cap off, sniffed it and immediately made a face.

“What, did you go out of your way to find the cheapest battery acid they had? Ugh. Smells like something that could take the rust off the Batmobile.” Steph swirled the bottle once, watching the liquid catch the dim light of the safe house.

She wasn’t a heavy drinker. Barely touched the stuff most nights. She shot Jason a look, tilting the bottle just enough for emphasis. “𝘐 pay, 𝘐 get a cut.” And before he could argue, before she could think too hard about it, she finally brought the bottle to her lips—tilted it back just enough for the taste to hit her tongue—before coughing immediately.

The burn was immediate, sharp and hot in her throat and she 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵. “𝘕𝘰𝘱𝘦.” She shook her head, grimacing. “That is—Jay, that is 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭, Jesus. I’ve had cough syrup that tasted better.”

She coughed once more, made a dramatic gagging sound and shoved the bottle back into his lap.

“Yeah, no, I take it back. You 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 owe me more than just the money for this crap. But cash is boring, and honestly? You don’t carry it half the time, so I’d probably never see it anyway.” She wiped at her mouth, scowling.

“Could be snacks. Something fried. Something that 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. Or a night out. Somewhere 𝘯𝘰𝘵 crime-infested and 𝘯𝘰𝘵 involving you bleeding all over the place. I think I earned it. I cover your whiskey, you owe me some quality time.”

She settled deeper into the couch, arms crossed again, kicking her boots off and stretching her legs out in front of her. She was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 leaving him alone like this, that much was obvious. Her mask was already off, her gloves peeled away and tossed onto the table. He wasn’t the only one getting comfortable.