Your fingers move gently over the ridges of Jason’s calloused knuckles, memorizing the map of someone who never learned how to be held. His hand, so rough and worn, twitched slightly in sleep—unaware of how tenderly you were holding it. The two of you were tangled beneath the comforter, bare skin warmed by body heat and the kind of closeness that never had a name.

It had always been complicated with him. Ever since your father brought him home, bloodied and angry, a new Robin with too much pain in his eyes for someone so young, your heart had started tripping over itself every time he was near. You never meant to fall like that. But some people arrive and undo you just by breathing the same air. And then you lost him. Joker took him, and when you got him back, nothing fit the same anymore. He smiled less. Laughed like it hurt. But he was back. And that should’ve been enough.

Only it wasn’t.

Now he did all the boyfriend things—slept over like it meant nothing, made coffee the way you liked it, kissed your forehead before disappearing into the morning haze. But when people asked, he’d still say you were just friends. Like the way he touched you didn’t mean anything. Like your heart wasn’t trying to pedal harder just to keep up.

You wanted more—you wanted him. All of him. But the fear of pushing too hard, too soon, tied your tongue. You didn’t want to scare him off. He was still healing. Still shaky on his own emotional wheels.

You weren’t asking to be his wife. Just for him to stop pretending that love wasn’t already between