Chapter Text
Being a hero was not his cup of tea.
There was the obvious dangers of being hurt... of dying in a gruesome way. The way that sometimes you were going to be the one doing the hurting and killing, in the name of justice, of course!
(Insert eye-roll)
Not to mention the danger to friends, family.. strangers.. literally anyone who knows the person you are under the mask.
So no, being a hero was not something he wanted to ever become, thanks… So how did he end up in a relationship with a hero?
(Even if legally he's a vigilante. He's a Hero! He's Crime Alley's Hero!.. He's Aster's Hero..)
It had begun like any other day. He had reluctantly rolled out of bed to the familiar sight of the cheap, barely-a-step-above-a-closet Gotham flat and did his daily routine
Bathroom, morning tea, back to bathroom to quickly care for his hip-length, brunet hair, then shooting out the door to begin his long walk to work.
Pass the many passed out drunks and addicts, wave hello to the women and men working the corners, avoiding the groups who may or may not be gangs like the plague.
All to see his place of work going up in a brilliant orange blaze, not a firetruck in sight.
“..Are you fucking kidding me?!” He can't help but shout, this being the fifth time this year that something has happened to the places he worked.
It's May.
This is his fifth job this year, in the fifth month.
He knew that by moving to Gotham, he would get excitement and drama, unlike his sleepy little (in comparison) home in Wales. But this? This is too much.
At this point he thinks he's cursed.
Maybe he could make a career out of it, ‘Hire me to take down your enemies companies within a month or your money back, guaranteed!’
Heh.
.
..
…
He should probably be more worried about his place of work going up in flames, but it's a multi-billion chain.. not to mention that he's the opener today, so no-one should be inside.
Hopefully.
The inherent insanity and distain for the wealthy of Gotham has gotten him at this point, hasn't it?
Call him a Gothamite at this point, he guesses.
With a roll of his ocean blues he retraces his path back home, mentally preparing to go on the job hunt once more.
Once back inside his meagre flat, he pauses in the doorway as he senses something wrong. He glances around quickly, though having the luck to have not been robbed yet he's aware enough about the procedure.
His wandering gaze freezes as it falls upon a broad man sitting lazily on his plush blue sofa, the spongy cushions dipping beneath his bulk. The cherry red helmet a stark contrast against his stained cream walls.
Though he's sure the vigilante knows he's there, the man is nonchalantly flipping through one of the books from his Macgyver'd shelf.
Aster clears his throat, “Uh… Hi?” He speaks lamely, staring at the vigilante casually reading through one of his books as if he was meant to be here.
After another few moments of ignoring the tenant of the flat and perusing through the book he places it onto the coffee table, the helmeted head finally raising to look at him.
“Aster Blaith, 20 years old, both parents dead, 2 half-sisters who you're not close to. Moved to Gotham from Wales a year ago. Half finished Biology degree abandoned in favour of tending to your mothers failing health, started said degree at the early age of 16. Anything I missed?” The man's mechanical voice has a mocking edge to it that Aster can barely detect.
Aster can't help but blink rapidly at the deluge of information, his information. His jaw drops slightly before he manages to pull himself together.
“..Red Hood, Unknown age though theorised to be in his early twenties. Strained though working relationship with The Bats and Birds. Began working as a vigilante/crime lord in Gotham 3 and a half years ago. Anything I missed?” He replies, giving the man what he hopes is a confident, if nervously teasing, grin.
The vigilante makes a sound akin to a chuff, which Aster will take as a win, before he stands from the sofa, making Aster now have to look up at the man, his average 5'8 height now seeming small.
“Funny.” The man grumbles before he crosses his (Impressive) arms. “Fitsons & Creeds, A Walmart, Jones’ corner shop, Killjoy Bookstore and now, a Target. Five different careers in five months, All of those places having unexplained accidents. You, the only thing connecting the places. Care to explain, smart-ass?” The man intimidates, stepping closer to make his point.
“...I honestly have no idea, believe me. I think I'm cursed at this point.” Aster sighs, circling around the crime lord and sitting on the sofa the muscled man had just abandoned.
He cranes his neck up to make his eyes meet with the white sockets of the Helmet. “Look at me and tell me that you believe I'd have the energy or money to arrange accidents against my former places of employment… I barely have the money to rent this piece of shit place!” He gestures around to the cracked and stained walls, sinking into the plush cushions of the only (Slightly) expensive thing in his flat.
The Hood stares at him for a few seconds longer before he relaxes, his tense posture marginally loosening. “I know. Checked your bank account. Just had to check, otherwise the Big Bat himself would've come instead. Pretty sure we both prefer it to be me.”
Aster can't help but shiver at the thought, “Yeah… Creepy furry fucker.” He mutters, before startling at the bark of mechanical laughter that sounds through the flat.
“Hah! True that!” The man speaks, visibly holding back another chortle before pulling himself together.
“See you around, kid.” The Hood says, sliding open the window he must have come through originally and quickly disappearing into the distant, smoggy daylight.
“I'm not a kid!” He shouts out the window, the typical honking and hollering of drivers drowning out his voice. “And you better not have dog-eared my book!”