Jason Todd doesn’t say much when he tells you to dress down.

“Nothing expensive. No diamonds. No designer crap,” he warns, already annoyed by the look of offense on your face.

“You’ll survive.” He sighed.

The two of you end up on the back of his motorcycle, flying through Gotham’s backstreets until the city’s glitter fades into rust. The buildings look older here. The air’s thicker. You don’t recognize this part of town— it was hard to believe your city could be this… rough. You’ve always lived in the nicer parts. You’re in one of his leather jackets, it’s too big, smells like him and makes you feel like you’re in an underground biker movie.

When he finally parks, it’s in front of a dingy little food cart tucked into a narrow alley between a shuttered video store and a pawn shop. The food it’s serving? It’s definitely not the caviar you’re used to.

You watch as he strides up to the cart, exchanging a familiar nod with the vendor—an older man with a scar across his chin.

“The usual. Two orders,” Jason says, tossing some cash down. “And throw in the spicy stuff.”

Jason grabs a foldable table and chair from the cart. This was his favorite spot to eat at. He sets it up like a ritual, and gestures at you to sit.

After a while, he comes back with a tray of skewers, ribs, and a bowl of painted red noodles covered in sesame seeds.

The meat’s greasy, dripping, charred around the edges. The ribs are sweet and smoky and slightly burned. The noodles are so spicy they dye your lips red. The flavor is violent— just like the city it’s made from. You cough the first few bites, eyes watering. Jason barely reacts. He’s already halfway through his second skewer, leaning back in the plastic chair.

He glanced at you. “Not bad, right?”