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It’s a familiar and comforting sight, his back—the way his muscles flex under his shirt, the broadness of his shoulders, his confident posture.
One time, long ago when she first noticed him, when he’d first found her, she thought that although his frame was small, smaller than her own from years of being hungry, he was sturdy, unshakable–he carried himself like he knew things years beyond their age and that made him someone she would follow whole heartedly because she knew that he would never lead her astray, that he was a light amidst all the darkness.
(It’s pretty dark right now)
She’d spent years trailing closely behind him, trying to match his pace so that she would not get left behind and end up lost. Many a time he’d find her turning her head this way and that, stumbling into an unknown room of Wayne Manor, looking for her class in the wrong hallway, and he’d always guide her back to familiar waters, looking over his shoulder to make sure that she’s still there, following him.
(He’s not looking back now.)
There isn’t much that she remembers. It’s all fuzzy when she tries to think of the events that could have led up to this moment–waking up, getting ready for the day, those things seem to be irrelevant pieces of the puzzle. She imagines that maybe she was attacked, kidnapped, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time–whatever the reason, it does not explain where they are now, why it feels like they’ve been walking forever and, most importantly, why he’s not looking at her.
Jason? She calls, to ease her worry, but no words come out. She stumbles—her foot, it hurts, why does it hurt?—and Jason’s stride falters.
He stops, she sees him beginning to turn–
(Look at me, please)
–But he doesn’t look back.
Why doesn’t he look back?
A beat passes, the quietness of their surroundings is deafening to her, before Jason resumes their trek, his movements faster, more determined.
—And she follows, she’ll always follow, forcing herself to catch up so she’s just a few steps behind him, because even if she doesn’t know what’s happening, she trusts him, she’ll follow him anywhere.
(But why won’t he look back?)
…
The first time he finds her, she’s curled up in a corner of an unfamiliar alleyway with scrapes all over her hands and knees. He’s breathing heavily, his hair is pushed back, slick from sweat, and the soles of his new shoes are scuffed up.
He looks every bit the boy from the streets he used to be, but dressed in better, though now dirty, clothes.
She thinks she looks worse, with tear streaks down her cheeks.
It surprises her that he knows her name, rasps it out with a heavy exhale.
She doesn’t quite know what to say to him, his bright eyes gazing down at her, because he’s a boy and she doesn’t yet know how to talk to boys.
To her, boys are mean, cruel for no reason. No good reason, at least, because no matter how much her aunt tells her that they pick on her because they like her, she hates them—hates how they tug on her hair and point out the gap between her front teeth. She hates how they chased her into hiding in this alleyway only to abandon her when they could not find her, leaving her hopelessly lost.
If to be liked was to be hurt, to be scared, then she wishes no one liked her at all.
Jason Todd is a boy, a boy who looked for her, a boy who says her name like breathing.
“That’s you, right?” He asks, patiently, kindly.
“Yes,” she replies, shakily.
He smiles, brilliantly like his eyes, and holds out his hand, small and calloused.
“I found you.”
…
It feels like days have passed since she and Jason have begun this mysterious journey.
Days of walking in darkness, days with nothing to listen to but the sounds of Jason’s heavy footsteps. Her steps are much softer, careful in order to avoid tripping, quiet because she was raised to dance in silence, to glide rather than to stomp.
Every so often Jason would stop, almost like he’s waiting for her. Even if she’s always right behind him, he stops all the same, head tilted like he’s listening. For what, she does not know, but the further they get from where they’ve come from, Jason’s usual stride seems a little less confident.
Jason? She tries again but nothing.
So they walk.
(She’ll follow him, walk for however long she needs to, because it’s Jason)
He still doesn’t look back.
…
Jason once said that her gaze was like fire, that he’d feel her stare before he’d hear her come, that although her gait is silent, her eyes beckon. Her eyes, he had said, were more than just windows but were open doors, inviting him to see her, know her.
–And she’s embarrassed, shy.
Because then he must know–
(How can he not know?)
–how often her eyes drift towards him when they’re in the same room, how she seeks him out.
He must know why.
He must know.
He must.
(Look back.)
…
Light!
Their journey is reaching its end and it’s been so long since she’s seen light, almost felt like she’d never see it again, and now it feels like she could touch it with the tips of her fingers if she’d just reach out–
But she won’t, she won’t touch the light first because it’s Jason, Jason is ahead of her and the light shines onto him, casting his shadow over her, keeping her from its warmth, but that doesn’t matter, because it’s Jason and all of a sudden, despite him being just a few feet in front of her, he seems so much closer now, and she’s excited, because there’s light and there’s Jason and—
And her foot, the foot that’s been injured since before their journey, it hurts, the pain more real now than it felt before, and she can’t put any weight on it so she loses her balance, she’s falling, she–
“Jason!” She yelps because it’s he who she calls for when she’s scared, when she’s in trouble and Jason–
Jason, he turns, he turns and he finally looks at her, finally, his bright, brilliant eyes find hers, his arms reaching out to catch her and–
Darkness.
…
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“It’s the way you look at me.”
“And what way is that?”
“I imagine the same way I look at you.”