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jason todd was scared. he could admit that to himself. he knew this feeling, at least at its surface. it was weird, he thought. the shift in his brain, like he could feel the chemicals swimming in his body to alert him that something, whatever it may be, is off. or maybe nothing was peculiar, just at the very least different. but jason couldn't quite name this odd fear that coursed through his veins. so naturally, he was scared of succumbing to a feeling that—despite its palpableness—he couldn't explain. a feeling that encompassed his entire body, mind, and soul. how could something he’d never felt before be so… real?
jason remembers the first time he felt it. it was around you, as was with every other time. you patched him up after a particularly grueling patrol. the kind that made his limbs sluggish and rendered him mute. he was entirely worn, boots treading quietly into the familiar comfort of your apartment without so much as a knock. but you welcomed him with open arms and an already-opened first aid kit. he remember the sight made him smile, the first small quirk of his lips in hours. somehow you always managed to do that to him.
your careful hands guided him to the dining table, the furniture abnormally small next to his stature and immediately got to work. you stayed silent as well, only speaking up to make sure you weren't hurting him. he always shook his head with a small frown, humming a low denial at your quiet concern. when you got particularly worried, pulling away from his body—jason found himself reaching for you, a small touch of reassurance to your forearm, shoulder, head, anywhere he could touch to ground himself in you. and to make you believe.
it’s okay, you can’t hurt me.
jason watched you. he loved the way your features slowly lost their tension. how they leaned into the truth that you were not hurting him.
you could never hurt me.
more often, he started to think about you in this light. he noticed his internal dialogue sounded like it was pulled straight out of those novels he’d read, the kind where characters slowly fall to their paradisiacal demise. the kind where devotion is absolute, bubbling between two souls. he could be doing anything: lying in bed at night, jumping over rooftop obstacles, simply stirring his morning coffee, his mind would still drift to you. and of course, these thoughts were strongest here—with you. despite his consistent self-protests and that persistent part of him that urged to keep you at a safe distance, jason thought of you almost poetically. you had infiltrated him mentally, what could he do? if his thoughts were spread across a page for people to read, it’d be easy to find its thoughtful rhythm and sincere connotation. without much effort needed to interpret his thoughts, anyone would undoubtedly label it as—
he looked away. anywhere, just not at you. his distraction ended up being your window which was propped open by a few old trinkets. he forgot you had asked him to fix it for you. his frown etched deeper, fist slightly clenched in his lap where you were sat on a stool, making it easier to reach his wound. he made a note to get that done for you sooner rather than later. the crack allowed gotham's unmistakable night breeze to sneak in and jason wondered if the air was to blame for the bumps rising along his sweat-sheened skin. you had just finished suturing the skin beneath his ribs.
“how does it feel?” you questioned, breaking the silence that was otherwise filled with his quiet, steady breaths.
jason stands up, twisting his torso for measure.
“woah—woah!” you stood up abruptly, hands now free of any supplies. “did no one tell you to not move so much after a wound like that?” your brows were furrowed so tightly, eyes widened with a panic jason recognized all too well. with a soft shake of your head, your palms reached out for him and pressed against his abdomen lightly. your touch could mirror that of a feather, coaxing him back down onto the chair.
“sit, jason,” you said.
“my bad,” he said.
if you didn’t know him any better, his indifferent tone would’ve made you roll your eyes. but tonight he was quiet, and that snarky lilt to his usual comments wasn’t there. you didn’t push for a reason. part of you could feel it, too: the shift in the room. like a slow realization you couldn’t name.
the wood creaked under his weight and naturally, you followed him until you were standing between his spread thighs. like this, you were the one looking down at him. his eyes, full of something that made your heart lurched, peered up at you. another gust of wind flew in, causing the loose strands of your hair to brush against your cheek. in that moment, he felt his breath hitch and his throat close up. the two of you simply watched one another, an unnamable tension thick between your locked gazes. like your eyes’ were magnetic, stuck together and unable to look away.
“you never answered me.” you broke the silence again, albeit barely with the softness of your syllables.
your eyes flickered down to his cut lip, back to his eyes, then back down. it was a split second, but with how close and attentively jason was watching you, he’d be an idiot to miss it. slowly, with a tentativeness that held jason’s breath, your hand grazed the fresh stitches beneath his pectoral. his body tensed—you almost moved away, to distance yourself as quickly as you had gotten in this position in the first place—but unlike the hesitancy it took you to touch him just now, jason felt your shift quick. he grabbed your hand before your body could catch up to your mind. before you could even decide. then, with a hesitancy that mirrored yours, he flattened your palm against his skin. you felt him; warm, damp, alive.
“s’good,” he said, breathe barely enough to disrupt the air between your bodies. “you did good. like always.”
your face burned, cheeks abnormally hot against the cool atmosphere in your kitchen. there was nothing cool about this, you were positively heating up and you knew your palm was undoubtedly adding to the sheen of his skin.
“yeah?” you whispered shakily, as your other hand reached up to cup his jaw. jason let you. he didn’t freeze this time, his body welcomed this—all of this with honesty. its then he realized that he’d let you do anything.
you swallowed dryly, moving to trace your fingers across his battle-worn face. over the shadowed lines and creases of a man whose faced it all. he leaned into your touch the slightest bit, exhaling through his nose with a sound full of comfort. and those goosebumps again, they danced along his arms that—he hadn’t even noticed when—were holding you close, keeping you from moving, from pulling away from him.
he wanted to submerge in this, in you and never come up for air.
now, jason lets himself. it’s another night where he finds himself on the couch, freshly patched by the hands belonging to none other than you. one of his arms slings over your lap as you sit on the edge, carding a hand through his charcoal locks. he squeezes the flesh of your hip, humming a soft appreciative sound.
eyes closed, he’s completely at peace.
the wound doesn’t hurt as much. they never did when you’re around because you had that special ability to take it all away, to share his pain with him as if it was your own. jason didn’t know what he did in his past life to deserve someone who could shoulder him.
because with you, jason learned it’s okay to feel these emotions and bask in these reactions. that adrenaline that coursed through his veins whenever you stepped into the room? or when your eyes find his in the crowd? when you smile at him like no one else is around? it wasn’t the same type he felt while chasing down criminals or reloading his firearm—leading a life that he tried so hard to keep you out of, no matter how far. but you did anyways, insisting to seep into his life and paint his life brighter than he ever saw. with you, the blues and blacks of gotham were a touch more bearable while the pinks and yellows of your love compared to nothing else. now he knew that his body and mind were experiencing a nurture it never had before.
he blinks open, meeting your gentle gaze. jason smiles, you were always watching him. the lines around his eyes soften, the creases around his ears soft under your touch.
“you look comfy,” you purr, bending down to peck his lips.
“that obvious?” he chuckles into the kiss, slipping a hand around your nape to keep you close. he never wanted you far.
jason todd wasn’t scared—not anymore.
jason todd was safe.