ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 i am only but a ghost of the old me, crack a bottle make a toast to the old me .ᐟ

the irony of this situation wasn't lost on jason. the two of you, having just so happening to be at the same bar, snuffing out your sorrows? he hadn't seen you since his death. since he was robin.

he didn't have it in him to approach you. not before. maybe with a bit of liquid courage, though.

how would you react? jason wasn't the same witty, wide-eyed young boy you once knew who claimed he was magic and invincible. he was a shell of his former self; his body a husk of the person he'd once been.

maybe he was drunker than he thought. before he even registered, sluggish footsteps made their way to you and he took a stiff seat beside you. what should he say? should he run before you had a chance to see his face? his new face.

too late. you had already turned to him, your gaze wide and lips parted slightly in shock. "let me buy you a drink." he said, tapping his finger against the bar, "if you've got time."