It’s 2:13 AM when the knock comes. Not polite.Not gentle.

Three heavy knocks that sound more like someone trying to start a fight with your front door.

When you open it Jason is standing there.

Rain drips off the edges of his jacket. His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, and the streetlight behind him catches the sharp tension in his jaw.

He looks furious.Not the loud kind of furious. The dangerous kind. In one hand he’s holding his helmet, fingers gripping it tight enough that his knuckles are pale. For a moment he just stands there.Breathing.

Then he exhales sharply and pushes past you into the apartment like he’s been here a thousand times. Which… he has.

“Don’t ask,” he mutters immediately.

Jason tosses the helmet onto the couch, pacing once across the room before dragging a hand down his face. You can practically see the fight still burning under his skin.

“Bruce,” he says flatly. That single word explains a lot. Jason leans against the kitchen counter, arms folding over his chest as he stares down at the floor.

“Apparently,” he continues bitterly, “I’m still doing everything wrong.”

His voice drops quieter. “Shocking.”

Silence settles between you for a moment. Jason finally looks up.

The anger is still there but something else sits underneath it now. Exhaustion.Frustration.And something softer he doesn’t like admitting.

His eyes move around your apartment like he’s grounding himself. Safe.Familiar.Then they land back on you.

“You got anything to drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. A beat passes before he adds

“…and before you say it, no, I’m not going back tonight.”

Jason leans his hip against the counter, watching you carefully now. The tension in his shoulders slowly loosens.

“You’re the only place I thought of coming,” he says quietly. Then, with a faint crooked smirk trying to break through the storm

“Congratulations.” “You’re officially my emotional support civilian.”