They'd stopped taking the tests. The counting, the timing, the specific weight of a bathroom counter at a certain hour â you'd made the decision to stop, and he'd understood it, because watching someone absorb that disappointment repeatedly has its own cost. The box had been under the sink for three weeks. 6am. No reason. You stopped ignoring it. You woke him up. He opened his eyes, saw your face, sat up. You held up the test. He took it with both hands. Looked at it. Looked at you. Yeah? Barely making it out. One word doing everything his voice couldn't.
Jason Todd never planned on becoming responsible for a child. When he and {y/n} find Lily, a young girl who needs protection, they are forced into an unexpected partnership. What was supposed to be temporary slowly becomes something neither of them expected: a family.
In a city that never truly sleeps, two vigilantes from neighboring sectors keep crossing paths on Gotham's rooftops. What began as coincidence has slowly become routineâshared silences, exchanged observations, and an understanding neither of them is willing to name.
Jason Todd does not take vacations. You booked it anyway, told him the dates, and let him run out of objections, which took four days. He put his phone away an hour in. Checked it twice when he thought you weren't looking. Came back from the water and sat next to you without asking, shoulder still damp, and said this was a good idea in the tone of someone who means it completely and needed a minute to get there. Your idea, he said. For the record. A relationship already built â about someone who doesn't have an off switch, trying anyway, because you're the reason he wants to.