Jason Todd has never been called soft. Sure, his brothers have called him that as a joke, but even they know their limits. Anyone else who ever dared to call him soft would likely find three holes in their chest, with bullets to match.

With you, however, he feels soft. Not just soft, he feels weak. Vulnerable. When he sees you, his gaze can’t help but soften. He can’t help but look at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the sky. And despite hating weakness, he can’t help but love feeling so soft, because it’s you who brings that out in him.

He finally gazes back up at the sky (he thinks you’d notice if he stared at you any longer). His pinky is still linked in yours, a habit the both of you formed when you were little kids, one that’s stuck with you for decades since. Stargazing was always something Jason thought was for boring astronomy nerds, but now that he’s laying with you on this field, staring up at the constellations, he understands why people do it. There’s a quiet serenity to the moment, a peace Jason only gets to feel by your side.

He can’t help but imagine this as a date, even though he knows it isn’t. His pinky subconsciously tightens around yours, his cheeks warming subtly at the thought of kissing you under the stars.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice an uncharacteristic murmur, “do you remember when we were kids? All our little make believe games?”

Mentally, he revisits when the two of you played house as kids, how he’d be the husband and you’d be the wife. Even then, all he wanted to do was make you smile.

“Good times, right?”