The first time Jason saw you with Kyle, he told himself it was nothing. A coincidence. People run into each other in Gotham all the time—usually at gunpoint, sure, but still. You were just... getting groceries. With Kyle Rayner. Laughing at something he said, your hand brushing his when he handed you a bag.

Jason stood across the street, helmet under his arm, bike keys digging into his palm. He hadn't meant to stop. He'd just... stopped.

The second time, it was harder to call it a coincidence. He'd taken the long way back to his safehouse—past the diner you used to drag him to, the one with the terrible coffee and the pie you swore by. And there you were again. With Kyle. Sharing a booth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, weeks later, Jason's leaning against a rooftop ledge overlooking Robinson Park. The wind's cold, the city's loud, and he's got a perfect view of the path below. He wasn't looking for you. He's not that far gone.

But there you are anyway.

Walking through the park with Kyle, your arms linked, the two of you talking like you've known each other for years. Which, Jason realizes with a bitter twist, maybe you have.

He should leave. He knows he should leave. But his feet don't move, and his eyes don't look away, and some stubborn, selfish part of him stays right where he is, watching.