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The first time, it was a slip of the tongue. It was as an honest mistake too, one he was surprised he hadn’t made long ago…
That day, like with most days, Jason had preferred to spend it with you.
On one of your many adventures in the winter months, the two of you had found a used bookstore that Jason had come to love, both for the books but also for the hours he could spent with you more or less uninterrupted. It was rundown and smelt heavily of dust and old paper, owned by a little old widow named Mrs. Ruth who liked to pinch his cheeks when saw him. And while Jason thought the location was significantly less important than the company he kept, the rusty shop walls had quickly grown on him, much like the mold near the windows kept growing on the drywall.
It had become something of a secret, one made more special from sharing it with you.
You both hung out there so often lately that Mrs. Ruth had come to expect you, smiling cheerfully when she saw her favorite pair enter the shop. She was nice enough to let you both come in and stay as long as you wanted, just so long as you promised to help her unload new donations whenever they got dropped off, to which you both happily agreed to. A small price to pay for a guaranteed respite from Gotham rain.
“Horror is overrated,” he scoffs on that faithful day, careful hands skimming through the bundles of donated books at his feet.
He was quietly impressed; it was a good haul this week. 15 boxes, each one overfilled with decent quality paperbacks. Must of been a charity thing.
The banter between you both was effortless, but the bickering came just as easily; just as craved.
“So’s being a vigilante… yet here we are.” you fire back, making sure your voice was low enough for only him to hear.
Not that you thought Mrs. Ruth’s 80-year-old ears were perky enough to pick up on your words- often you had to yell while right in front of her- but there was something undeniably more playful about whispering an insult than yelling it.
“I think,” he interjects as he takes a few books out, “you’re just jealous.”
“I think, you’re a dork,” you correct, focusing on sorting the chaos of your own pile, momentarily distracted by the embroidery on an artsy cover.
“And I think I love y-” and he catches himself.
Thank fuck he catches himself.
The words had come too easily. Being with you lately had become way too easy. You didn’t seem to notice his grave slip up- too preoccupied with appreciating the covers of a fresh pile of dramas- and thank fuck for that too, because he wouldn’t have known what to do if you had.
Jason Todd liked you, and it was far past the point of friendly. But he wasn’t ready to accept what that meant. Not yet.
He goes back into digging in his own box, hoping his ears stop burning by time you look back up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The second time, it happens in the quiet sanctuary of the Belfry, and you had been the one to make the first step.
Well, kind of.
That night, you had heard through the grapevine, also known as Barbara Gordon, that one Helena Bertinelli had come to visit Gotham. Her visit (or more accurately, her mission) had been a short and successful one, but she apparently had one more goal in mind before disappearing again.
And that goal had been to ask out the infamous Red Hood to a night out and dinner.
It was the kind of gossip that would have left you sick to the stomach and with a broken heart if not for the smug update Barbara had been quick to bestow to you—while yes the Huntress had asked, the Hood had said no.
And just like that, the huge weight in your stomach had turned to featherlight butterflies. Those pesky bugs had yet to leave, even as you found yourself in his presence hours later.
He had said no.
You weren’t sure when exactly your feelings for him had evolved, but with each passing day it was becoming more and more of a chore to lie to yourself. To lie to him. The only thing keeping your silly crush at bay had been the fear of rejection and potentially ruining your friendship, refusing to ever bring up your feelings for him until you knew with utmost certainty that he felt the same.
Was this it? What this that moment?
He had said no.
Jason’s working on his bike when you enter the tower, his brow furred in the way it always was when he was focused on something.
“So…” you hum in a singsong voice, pretending to look over his handiwork as if you knew what he was doing. As if it actually interested you right now.
Amused, he raises an eyebrow as his eyes follow you, your suspicious behavior not going unnoticed.
Not that you were genuinely trying to hide it.
“I heard through the grapevine that Huntress asked you out on a date.” You smile at him impishly, and he rolls his eyes and turns away.
“By grapevine,” he scoffs, moving back to the machinery, “I take it you mean Barbara?”
You shrug, still playing the part of pure innocence.
“…Well?” You ask, and he just shakes his head.
“Well what, sweetheart?”
The name makes your heart do flips in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he called you a pet name, but it had always seemed platonic in the past. It didn’t feel that way anymore.
“Did you say yes?” You urge despite knowing the answer already, finding yourself needing that confirmation.
You needed to hear it from him. Needed it, like your lungs needed air. Like your life needed Jason. And with the way his shoulders suddenly tensed up, he must have sensed your feelings too.
He takes a deep breath before turning to look out you. His eyes are warm in a way that was different then how he usually looked at you. It was almost foreign. He looked vulnerable— scared.
“No. I told her no.” He murmurs, and the butterflies multiply.
“Is she not your type?” You ask just a breath too eager, inching into a territory you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back from.
Judging by the subtle blush that now dusted his cheeks, Jason felt it as well. He makes no effort to stop it.
“…No. She isn’t.” He breathes out, eyes scanning over the fuel system of his bike so he wouldn’t have to look at you in that moment.
You knew what he was doing. You push anyways, and he’s so thankful that you do.
“Who is your type?” You murmur, and take another step towards him.
He looks up at you again, and there is a rawness in his eyes you hadn’t ever seen before. Not fear, not anymore. It was yearning. It makes you take another step closer. And then another one. He takes one too.
He reaches a tentative hand toward you like he can’t decide if he should pull you close, and you reach out to entwine your fingers through his. He shudders; It was a perfect a fit, like his flesh had been molded with the sole purpose of holding yours. Jason looks you over with a desperation that matched yours, his mouth opening to say the words you waited months to hear.
…What you hear instead is the hooting and hollering coming from a discarded intercom, the dramatic voice recognizable even through the static.
“Hello? Hello? Belfry don’t ignore me, I know you’re listening.” Dick’s voice warbles through.
You both pull back, startled. The moment was gone.
“Anyone have any updates on the Croc situation? Or just want some company? I’m lonely. Over.” Dick continues, completely oblivious to what he just interrupted.
Jason hisses at the sound and glares dagger towards it, running a hand through his hair as he curses his brother out with passion and vocabulary only an expert booklover could have possessed. It shouldn’t be funny- you should be fuming that the moment was ripped from the both of you- but when you hear him mutter the term “plague sore” all you can do is laugh.
The sound catches him off guard from his Shakespearean rant, but after a few seconds of basking in the sound of your cackles, Jason tries to laugh too, mostly to diffuse the thickness still in the air.
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
This was the second time he had almost told you he liked you, and he while he had escaped from facing the repercussions once again, he knew in his gut that next time he wouldn’t be spared, and he would have to face you and tell you what he’s wanted to for months.
The prospect frightened him, but with the way your laughter was making his heart beat, he knew it was inevitable.
After all…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Third time’s the charm.
It had been almost a week since the almost confession. The almost kiss.
It was also almost his birthday, and you were clinging to the haphazardly wrapped gift in your hands like your life depended on it. Well… maybe life was too far a stretch, but your breathing certainly depended on the feeling of the crinkly plastic beneath your fingers.
You had wanted to wait for the actual day to give it to him, really you did. But there was a new sense of impatience in the air as of recently, and it seemed it would not be so kind as to spare his birthday.
Especially with what the gift was, and what it meant once you gave it to him.
After the incident at the Belfry, and the almost success of you making the first move, you were only inspired to try once again. Jason wasn’t shy by any means; at least he hadn’t seemed to be in the time you had known him, but he was frustratingly very good at hiding what he really felt when the situation hinted towards romance.
Being the good friend that you were (and hopefully after today, something more), you had decided for him. Enough was enough.
So here you were, knocking on his apartment at 8:16 in the morning.
Immediately you can hear the frantic, panicked thumps of his feet through the door- surely you wouldn’t be here so early if you weren’t okay?- and you felt bad for not feeling bad at all. He opens its and instantly looks you over, his hair disheveled and eyes red with exhaustion.
You had woken him up, that much was obvious, but instead of anger all he had for you was concern.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”
Your heart flutters as you take him in. Woken up in a start and the first thing he had been was worried about you. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. You hadn’t heard the peephole move either. He had recognized you by the sound of your knock.
The butterflies were quick to come back.
“Nothing, I just wanted to see you.”
“W-what?” He rubs his eyes like he didn’t hear you properly.
“I just wanted to see you.” You repeat, fidgeting with the gift you were still hiding behind your back, “I have your birthday gift and I wanted to give it to you.”
You move around him to get out of the doorway, walking into his living room while offering him a sheepish smile. The alertness in his posture slowly fades as he registers your words.
He looks at you bewildered, more tired than ever.
“But… my birthday’s not until next week,” he says sleepy and exasperated, and you can’t help but laugh.
“I know that, I’m here to give it to you early! What kind of friend do you think I am, I have your birthday memorized.”
“Oh.” He says, and he offers you a small smile back. “Can I have it, then?”
“Tsk. Patience is a virtue, you know.” you chide, but there’s no real bite behind it. You don’t think you would be able to wait another minute either to be honest. His gift is still tucked away behind your back, but it wouldn’t have take a masterclass detective to figure out you were hiding it back there. You’re looking at him with a giddy smile, practically bouncing with excitement.
Jason isn’t able to stop the growing smile that spreads across his sleepy face. Patience is absolutely not his virtue. But your excitement is just so damn infectious, so damn sweet, standing there with your mysterious little gift behind your back and that soft goddamn smile on your face… God, he’s smitten. Yeah, he could be patient for you, even at 8am in the morning. If that’s what you wanted him to be.
“Are you ready?” You ask, butterflies swarming.
“Yeah, yeah. Ready.” he laughs, eyes fixed on you in intense anticipation.
Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you slowly move the gift from behind your back and hand it to him. You bite your lip nervously, watching as he takes the colorful thing and begins to gently rip off the wrapping paper.
It was now or never.
He’s quick with his fingers, the wrapping paper falling away to reveal an old, lovingly torn book that has been clearly reread a hundred times, littered with multiple sticky tabs and annotations all around the edges. The spine was breaking and the pages smelled like dust. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have meant anything, maybe even have been junk. But Jason wasn’t just anybody, and he recognizes what it was immediately. He freezes.
You begin to fidget. You know that he knows what it is, but you can’t help but want to explain yourself anyways.
“It’s…it’s the first book you ever recommended to me. The one you bought for me back at our bookstore? I wrote all my thoughts and annotations in it since then; shit, I must of read it a dozen times. I also got Mrs. Ruth to sign it inside and write a few things on her favorite parts, since she had been so stoked that I was reading it… You know, just to make it more special…” and your voice fades away.
His fingers, rough and calloused, pause over the book’s worn cover. He remembers every damn detail about giving you this book like it had been yesterday. And now here it was, returned with your touch all over every page.
Your face is warm, and you’re glad he’s too busy staring at the gift to notice how utterly dorky you look right now. You continue to speak to fill up the quiet room.
“I know I don’t share my feelings with you all the time. Or I guess, I don’t say what I feel, even when I feel it for you. And feel it bad. When I know you feel it too.” Tentatively you beckon to the book.
“I found it easier to write out my thoughts than just deal with them silently, and I figured you would appreciate that, especially with this book. I know you mentioned being super curious on what I thought about it, so I wrote everything. Thoughts, feelings, plot guesses, who I liked… all that. Just… Everything.”
Jason stares down at the book in his hands, completely stunned. His jaw clenches, like he’s having to physically keep himself from getting too emotional. No one has…no one’s done anything even remotely close to this for him before. No one has put this much goddamn thought, this much care, into a gift. He feels his chest tighten, a lump starting to form in his throat as he gently opens the book to a random page. He immediately sees the first annotation and it’s like a hit straight to the goddamn chest.
You look over and see what he’s looking at, a cheesy smile taking over when you recognize the page. It was at a section where the main character finally confronts her soulmate to tell him she loved him, after finally having the courage to do so. On the page, you had made a note: ‘I hope to be this brave for you too, one day’.
He doesn’t move, just stares down at the silly gift that looks much smaller in his large hands. You gulp, slightly nervous that this gift was stupid, or too much, or too clear, but it was done. The ball was in his court now.
There was no words that could be taken back. No Nightwing’s to ruin the moment. Just you, him, and a gift that could change everything. One you hoped would.
His voice comes out rough when he finally speaks again.
"Honey…” And he sounds completely fucking wrecked.
Your heart beats frantically in your chest.
Jason can’t help the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly as they trace over the words you wrote. Your hope, your vulnerability, your fucking heart, splayed out in ink for him to see. He had spent countless nights worried you would never know of his love for you due to his own cowardice, and yet here it is, returned right back to him, written down in a way that he can hold onto forever.
He looks back at you, his expression completely raw. You look back at him, with a burning that is just as bright.
He slowly puts the book down, and walks over to you like he’s being pulled by an invisible leash. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in, and does what he should of done about two incidents ago.
“I love you,” he says, and he’s ready this time.
He closes the distance and pulls you in for a kiss.