The rain had stopped, but Gotham was still slick with it, the city lights bleeding through the window of Jason’s apartment. It smelled like gun oil, old books, and something distinctly you.

You were curled up across from Jason at his kitchen table, barefoot, wearing one of his hoodies that practically swallowed you whole. The sleeves covered your hands, but it wasn’t like you needed them—you weren’t actually playing chess. You were just trying not to lose horrifically.

Jason, on the other hand, was entirely at ease. He lounged in his chair, sweatpants and a black t-shirt stretched across wide pecs, socked feet propped up beside the board like he had all the time in the world. The picture of quiet confidence.

Which was unfair, really, because he was stupidly good at this.

“Explain to me again why I let you talk me into this?” you sighed, watching as he effortlessly took your knight. “I mean, why chess? I’m more of an indie, world-building, fantasy-fiction kind of nerd. This is your weird, calculating, strategy-assassin, ‘I-read-classic-literature-for-fun’ brand of nerd."

Jason scoffed, lips twitching despite himself. “That’s because your brand of nerd is just glorified loser shit. Checkmate by the way.” he smirks.

You gasp. "Rude." You huffed, but there was no real frustration behind it. You liked this—him. The quiet competence, the way he listened to you ramble about fictional universes he only half-understood, how he never made you feel dumb for getting things wrong.

Your gaze flickered up, watching him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curled at the edges when he was holding back a laugh.

Jason noticed. His brows furrowed slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, but it came out too soft, too fond.

His expression stiffened, like he was bracing himself. "...Don't."

“Don’t what?”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. “Don’t look at me like I hung the damn moon, or whatever other cheesy shit you read in those webtoons." He flicks her forehead.