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You’re not entirely sure when things changed so drastically in your relationship with Jason. Perhaps that just goes to show how little attention you’ve been paying lately.
You rarely see him at all anymore, and on the occasions that you do, he always has an excuse for not spending time with you.
Last week it was that he was too tired and needed to sleep. The week before that it was that he had almost finished whichever book he was reading at the time, and wanted to finish it as soon as possible. This week he seems to have gone with the excuse that he’s had a bad day, and doesn’t want to end up snapping at you.
Distantly you entertain the idea that you would take anything he hurls your way if it meant that he would just talk to you, but you quell that thought before it can spiral into something potentially harmful.
You had watched as he’d clambered through the window, landing with a thump. You had watched as he’d ragged his helmet off his head, catching his ear painfully in the process. You had watched as he’d seated himself on your shared bed, bending down to pull his boots off without even loosening the laces and tossing them unceremoniously into the corner of the room. You had watched and you had offered, in a tone soft enough to not startle him, a warm drink.
He had refused sharply, adopting a stern tone you hadn’t quite heard from him before, and asked -told- you to go to the living room whilst he wallowed in whatever self-deprecating thoughts he’d lost himself in this time. You’d tried to ignore him and ask what was wrong, but it had just made him sneer.
Now, you stand in the kitchen as a pan of water sits on the stove. You can’t bring yourself to turn it on, too caught up in the memories of what it was like before. Before all… this.
You don’t even know what this is, all you know is that it’s different. Too different. You don’t like it one bit.
Enough is enough, you’ve decided, and you push yourself up from where you’ve been leaning on the counter. You make your way out of the kitchen and your legs work on autopilot to carry you to your bedroom.
You stop and think for a moment as you make it to the door. Is this truly what you want to do?
Yes.
You take a deep breath and push the door open.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I told you to leave me alone,” he growls at you, and you let out an involuntary gasp at his tone. He has never been aggressive towards you before, not like this.
You stand your ground, “What makes you think you can talk to me like that? I’m your boyfriend, not a damn robot you can order around to do whatever you want.”
He looks up at you then. The expression on his face makes you think he’s about to dial himself back in and apologise for his tone, but then he bares his teeth in some sort of weird display of disgust and scoffs, “My boyfriend? That’s funny, because you don’t act like it.”
He can tell his words hurt you by the way your face falls.
What hurts you more, though, is that he doesn’t seem to care.
You don’t understand. What changed? You remember a not-so-distant past in which he used to smile fondly as you tried your best to cheer him up. You remember when he used to call in favours with Dick so he could get nights off to spend with you, or straight up skip patrol because ‘if they have a problem with it, well I have two guns and a skewed moral compass. They won’t have a problem for much longer’. You remember when he used to simply exist in the same space as you and enjoy it.
You remember when he loved you.
It doesn’t really feel like he does anymore. At least not you. Maybe he loves the idea of you, but that too feels a little far-fetched recently.
Hell, you can’t even be sure if he tolerates you anymore.
You sputter, confused and beyond upset, “What- Why- Jason…”
“I told you to leave me alone and you ignored me! You think that’s what a good boyfriend does?” His face is thunderous, and you’re seriously confused as to what could have possibly happened to make him act like this towards you. You haven’t done anything wrong, not that you’re aware of anyway. Usually he would have communicated with you if you had made a mistake, and you both had put in a lot of effort to even get to that point in the first place.
You can’t wrap your mind around why he would choose to throw all that progress away like this.
“Well, forgive me for being worried about my boyfriend after he’s clearly had a bad day? What exactly do you want me to do, Jason? I just want to know you’re okay! I care about you,” you say, your voice raising to match his volume.
He catches you off guard when he raises the volume even further as he yells, not really letting you get a word in.
“See, that’s your fucking problem! You care too much! You get too attached! I didn’t ask you to worry about me, okay? You chose to do that on your own. Im Red Hood, you knew what you were getting into when you started dating me, so don’t fucking start complaining now.”
In his angered daze, he forgets that you hadn’t in fact known what you were getting into at all. You’d only found out he was the Red Hood about a year and a half into your relationship when Dick had let it slip, assuming you already knew.
The conversation that stemmed from your finding out his identity was a long, tense one, especially since you and Jason still weren’t exactly the best at communication anyway.
Your voice lowers to a whisper, “What has gotten into you, Jason? It’s like I don't even know you anymore…”
Instead of giving an answer immediately, he stands. His bones groan and crack as he moves, a testament to the years of exertion he has put them under. He pauses at the bedroom door, turning his head to make eye contact with you.
“Maybe you never did in the first place.”
The words have your heart shattering, and you feel the tears welling in your eyes as you look into his own. They’re not cold, they’re not intense, they’re not piercing. They’re warm, and they mock you. It’s infuriating.
As a last ditch attempt to salvage anything that might remain between you and Jason, you reach out for him, but he turns away and slips just beyond the threshold of your bedroom and into the hallway. Just beyond your reach.
“I love you,” you blurt desperately. You’re not sure why you said it, realistically you know it’s not going to change a thing.
Still, that knowledge doesn’t stop it from being any more crushing when he, without looking back, simply says, “Don’t.”