Chapter Text
There was a tea shop in front of Jason’s apartment.
Well, a soon-to-be tea shop, anyway.
Emblazoned on the second story was a polyethylene tarpaulin that read Opening Soon! Tea Brews and Books.
The thought of someone deciding to start a business in Crime Alley of all places was either endearing at best— a sign that he, the Red Hood, has been keeping the area safer and putting Gotham’s ill-gotten wealth to good use.
Or at worst it was a sign of delirium on the owner’s behalf. Either way, it’s another budding place that Jason welcomes with open arms.
Back in the day, families that usually sold things around these parts tended towards survival— bakeries, vehicle repair, odd-jobs and junk shops. If someone told Jason that something as novel as a tea shop was going to be erected in Crime Alley of all places, he would have laughed at their face before punching the living-daylights out of them.
The sound of a place just across the street to sip tea and read books was nice.
Although, the sight of the tea shop in that specific place of all things sends a certain… nostalgic feeling in him. As to why that is, Jason was puzzled himself.
He tucks that thought away for later. For now, he had bigger fish to fry.
For example, the Gotham Public Library’s secondhand book sale that was ending in an hour. So, channeling the power of a thousand Supermans, he zips through the streets like a madman on a mission.
———
Above you, just out of reach, was the current bane of your existence. A secondhand Black Penguin Classic of Anna Karenina for just three dollars.
Have you read the book? No.
Have countless people told you to get a life and read the damn thing? Yes.
Were you going to? Maybe.
(At least, not tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. The life of a graduating student was hard.)
You should probably call someone to get it for you. Yeah.
It’s just that your pride won’t allow it.
So, here you were stuck at just glaring at the book to death. You came into this book sale to get your money’s worth (a measly fifty dollars total) and buy the last set of books you needed for the shop. A vertical deficiency was not going to stop you.
Just as you were about to psych yourself up to jump for what was probably the tenth time to reach the top shelf, a figure looms over you and gets the exact book.
The book, you could not reach. So, you grab onto the next best thing. Their arm, that was rock solid and oh boy you chose the wrong person to pick a fight with today.
Still, for pride and honor, you defend your imaginary rights to call dibs via telepathy.
“That. Is mine.” you hiss in the most scathing voice you could muster. You turn to your supposed opponent and— holy fucking shit Batman.
You suddenly remember that you lived in Park Row, and that guys built like a brick house shat all over them were bad news and a clear sign to run away. A broad chest that was restrained by mortal chains (a red hoodie) met your line of sight.
This was a fight you were about to lose. You also remembered that you never claimed to be the smartest rat in the alley.
And so, you lunge for the book.
“Give it.”
The towering figure looms over you, quiet. You lunge again— with reflexes akin to Shazam, he dodges you and raises the book higher.
“Why.”
Ohgodhisvoicewasscary. Okay, okay. You could do this, bargaining was the third step before success. (You knew the last step was actually acceptance. You choose violence and ignore the voices in your head.)
“I’m buying it for altruistic causes. Give. It.”
You do a quick side-step and lunge again, which is easily evaded by the man you didn’t dare stare in the face, lest you get sucker punched.
“No.”
You have never wanted to punch a guy so bad, so you latch onto the outstretched arm and pull with all your strength and weight. Unluckily for the both of you, an employee sees the kerfuffle and exasperatedly sighs.
“I do not get paid enough for this— ma’am let go of the poor guy.”
“I am buying twelve books,” you grip tighter onto the stranger’s rocky forearm, “granted you give that majestic book to me.”
“Since you’re buying so much,” the deep baritone voice that loomed above shocked you and the employee into stillness. “Maybe you should let me have this.”
“I– I…” you deflate into a sad puddle, reluctantly letting go of his tree trunk of a forearm.
The employee squints, then lets out a really long sigh.
“Ma’am, there’s another copy behind you.”
Slowly, you turn your head around.
Lo and behold, the same exact fucking edition for two dollars.
Suddenly, the spirits of Christmas eve possess your being— you quickly grab the book and plop it into the makeshift box you’ve been dragging around you this whole time, then skedaddle the hell out of there.
“Adiós, compadre!”
———
Jason blinked. What the fuck was that.
Gone with the wind, you happily drag your shitty box filled with books towards the cashier. Beside him, the employee massages their temples with heavy hands.
“I sincerely apologize, she’s one of our regulars here.”
Jason quirked a brow at that.
“Oh?”
“She’s probably bought a hundred books from us by now— something about a book shop in Crime Alley...”
Jason stills.
“Or was it a tea shop…?”
An intrusive thought occurs in Jason’s head. Bugging you, the snarky fucking tea shop owner as due karma, didn’t sound half bad.
“Anyway, feel free to peruse for five minutes, sir. We’re closing soon and I think you’d at least want a manned-counter.”
Jason quietly hums, and thanks the employee. Quickly, he looks for the aisle with a dingy box on the ground. Aisle two. He conveniently lines up behind you. There, he gets a better look at your profile.
You… were honestly not bad looking. (You were cute.)
Honestly, if it weren’t for that feral cat mentality he would have considered striking up a conversation about the books you were excited to scan on the counter. (He didn’t know how to talk to you without looking like an absolute creep.)
So, he silently observes the books neatly arranged inside the shitty box.
Austen, Cassandra Clare, Holly Black, Leigh Bardugo, Frieda McFadden, then finally Tolstoy sticking out like a sore thumb. Goodness, at least there were no signs of Colleen Hoover anywhere near your pile.
“The hell’rya staring at, hah?”
Jason inwardly chuckled, Episode Five: The Feral Cat Strikes Back.
“Your interesting taste in literature.”
“Well excuseeee me for liking girl-fiction–”
“I really liked The Folk of The Air trilogy.”
You paused, then gaped at him like a lost fish in the sea. (You actually looked like a cute seal.)
Jason decided to take the chance and leap. It wasn’t everyday he had normal human interactions such as this.
“A little birdie told me you were the one setting up Tea Brews and Books.”
Your eyes instantly lit up, and suddenly you looked like an excited quokka. Jason decides that observation was best unpacked alone in his apartment. Which was directly across the street from your soon-to-be shop.
Suddenly, you were at his side tugging his sleeve like a kid on a sugar rush. “Do- do you wanna see the shop, my guy? It’s pretty rad!”
Jason bites down a laugh, “sure. Let a stranger into your shop, yeah?”
“Pfft. I can take you.”
You waggled your brows at him, and he couldn’t help but send you an incredulous look in reply.
You both break into laughter, until a chilling voice calls out a name.
“F/N! Dios mio— get your sorry ass up here and pay! I am not working overtime and you know it!”
You crouch and quickly bring your shitty box to the counter, “yes yes yes I know Lala. Blame him—” you jerk a thumb in Jason’s direction.
Lala does a quick up and down of Jason head-to-toe. He really doesn’t know what to do other than to freeze in place at the stern gaze of the elder lady.
“—for fighting over a book with me!”
A beat passes. Lala scans one book, and the counter faintly beeps.
“He’s cute, iha.”
To that, Jason lets out a small chuckle. Getting jacked and being enhanced by the pit did have its perks.
You bloom a bright red, and snatch the bar code scanner from the elder woman’s grasp.
“You take too long! I’ll scan the books myself!”
A few motherly fussing and cussing later, you found yourselves outside the door with a minute to spare before closing.
You shift your weight to carry the heavy (for you) box, and shrug to the direction of Park Row.
“So, stranger. Wanna see my crib?”
“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever talked to.”
In a heartbeat, he takes the box from you and walks towards Park Row.
Your voice slowly catches up to him. “Hey! W-wait up you ass!”
Another thought suddenly pops into Jason’s mind. One that answered the nostalgic feeling that filled him when he looked at the tea shop.
Oh yeah. There was that bakery there all those years ago, right?
———
Letting a handsome stranger into your house wasn’t very Crime Alley-Rat of you.
Granted, you’re a sucker for bookworms that showed the slightest interest in any of your hobbies and hyper fixations.
The tea shop was your biggest hyper fixation yet.
You entered the shop with a faint ching from the door chimes, and blindly copped the wall for the light switch. After a few seconds, the shop blooms to life.
You bite down a smirk when you hear cement-for-arms slightly gasp at the sight.
Flowering vines and fairy lights intertwined along the multiple posts littered around the shop. Above were dim mood lights that glowed a golden hue. On the walls were a mishmash of pinecones and cacti against a metal mesh. There were a few windows as well that let in the daylight, which shone onto the tables at just the perfect angle. Picturesquely creating a shadow of a cross onto the tables.
Behind all of that were books. Lots of books.
There were at least twenty per row, and five compartments each per shelf— Jason’s collection back at his apartment couldn’t even compare to the amount of books you’ve amassed.
In the center was a humble brewing hub, a cashier, and a door that led into what Jason assumed to be the kitchen.
Jason didn’t need to speak, you gloated before he could even think of complimenting you.
“I did it aaaaall by myself, thanks!”
Yep. Jason really didn’t want to inflate your stupid ego.
“It’s decent, I guess.”
“Oh, oh!” You tug on his arm, dragging him towards a stairway behind the door (it was not in fact a kitchen) towards the second floor. Then you skipped the second floor entirely, although Jason could faintly make out a few shapes— a couch, a TV, and more books. Another flight of stairs brought you all the way up to the roof.
You smiled brightly at Jason, tugging at his sleeve towards what he assumed to be a green house.
Swinging the door open, not bothering to leave it open for Jason, you entered the green house.
Jason stared at the door. Chivalry was fucking dead in this tea shop.
Gently, he opened the door and stood at the entrance because of two things.
One, it was too cramped and he had to maneuver himself into entering.
Two, because it was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.
Orchids and lights hung haphazardly in a jungle-esque way, and various wild vines climbed up to the roof. Assorted potted plants and flowerbeds littered the green house. In the corner was a tree that was probably rooted at the bottom of the complex, but was accommodated for by the greenhouse’s architecture and pierced through it— its greens and blooms hovered above the roof.
“I’m hooome!” You sang, crouching down to a pretty piece of purple kale.
Jason assumed the plants you were talking to were herbs and vegetables, since you violently plucked out a stalk of what looked like rosemary.
The green house was so cramped that with one side-step, you were immediately at his side.
“Soooo,” you poked his arm. “Whad'dya think, music man?”
This time, Jason didn’t have it in him to deny.
“It’s beautiful.”
———
You convince the handsome stranger—who you now knew as Jason, over for dinner and tea. You learn that he lives across the street, hence the familiarity with your soon-to-be tea shop.
This was all for the sake of promoting the tea shop. Yes.
(Not because you wanted to gloat about your humble shop and yap.)
(Okay maybe you were feeling a little lonely.)
This time, it’s Jason who strikes up a conversation with you.
“Out of all the places you could choose to set a shop at,” he hovered at a safe distance away, “why’d you pick Park Row?”
You stir your petals into the hot water, watching the water bloom blue.
“I figured that it wasn’t fair that impoverished parts of Gotham were devoid of the nice things in life, such as tea and books.”
You tapped the metal spoon dry, and set it on the counter. You deftly heft up two tea cups on your right arm, and gently place them onto the tea tray. With a tray of veggie grub on one arm, and freshly brewed tea on the other, you made your way towards your personal kitchen counter to join Jason.
“Also,” you poured the rich blue liquid into the two cups, and pushed a teacup and saucer to Jason who quickly caught it, “most of the tea leaves and shop goods’ll come from the local urban farmers in the city.”
You took a sip, and sent him a smile.
“And in these parts? It doesn’t take much to warm a person’s stomach for a night or two, I think.”
You took a swig of your tea as if it were wine, and hunched over the kitchen counter.
You were too focused on your tea to realize that to your right, your new found friend was beaming with pride.
Pride, as a fellow street rat that loved Park Row.
Pride, as the Red Hood who fought tooth and nail to protect his home.
Pride, as a Gothamite who wanted to believe that this was the first few blooms of hope in this dreary city they called home.