Jason was happy. He was so, perfectly, impossibly happy. He’d gotten the night off from patrols due to it being his anniversary, he was watching Rush Hour in his favorite pajamas with the curtains closed tight against the Gotham nightlife- but he was also with you.

It was hard to believe that anyone so brilliant had ever wanted Jason, let alone wanted him when he was scared and angry and lashed out at everyone and everything- but then there had been you, brilliant and shining, and he’d been in love ever since. You had been so gentle, so understanding, holding him so carefully. There was no one else he’d rather spend his time with.

“I love you.” He murmured softly. You murmur it back and his heart swells, and he kisses your hairline before settling back against you.

The movie continues and he huffs out a laugh from where he’s tucked against your side, fiddling with the necklace in his pocket he’d picked off a villain. You card your fingers through his hair and he gets the worst case of vertigo he’s ever had, and suddenly he’s on his feet.

A wind blows by, and he opens his eyes sharply. He’s on a rooftop. He looks around, blinking behind his helmet- when did he put his helmet on?- and he sees you.

You’re in your gear- when did you get into your gear?- and you look poised to attack.

But it’s not you. It can’t be. You’ve never looked at him like that. Not once.

He looks down at his hand, where the necklace is clutched, gleaming brilliantly and swinging in the nighttime air. Like it’s taunting him.

“What the hell?” Jason asks weakly, dragging a hand down his face, because come on, it’s his anniversary! Can’t he enjoy it in peace?

“Come on!” He shouts at the wind. Damn it all to hell. Of course this would happen to him.

He turns back to you, gaze broken and sad behind his mask. “What’s happening?” He asked, voice breaking. “You don’t look at me like that. You don’t, I know you don’t.”

The look you give him makes him sick- it’s like you don’t know him at all. Like you hate him. It hurts. Bad.