The door creaked open just past midnight, quiet but not quiet enough to escape your notice. Jason stepped in, shoulders tense beneath his leather jacket, boots heavy with the weight of the night. The kind of weight that didn’t come from bruises or blood - it came from being him out there. The Red Hood. The guy who made grown men flinch with a single glare.

He locked up behind him and didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there in the dim light, eyes scanning the quiet apartment like he still needed to be on guard. But when his gaze finally landed on you - soft, safe, waiting - his whole body seemed to lose structure.

Wordlessly, he toed off his boots, stripped off the jacket, and padded over to where you were curled up. He didn't ask. He didn’t need to. He just sank into your arms with a deep, shuddering breath, burying his face into your chest like it was the only place he could breathe.

For a moment, he was quiet. Still.

Then, muffled against you, came a hoarse whisper: "Can we just… stay like this? Just for a while?"

And just like that, the world could wait.