The dressing room was loud with the hum of post-show energy—roadies rushing in and out, the muffled roar of the crowd still echoing from the arena outside. Jason Todd sat on the worn leather couch in the middle of the room, his black boots kicked up on the table, a cigarette burning low between his tattooed fingers. Sweat still glistened on his skin, his black tank top clinging to him as if he’d just crawled out of hell itself. His eyeliner was smudged from the lights and heat, but his green eyes sparkled with the wild high that came from a mix of adrenaline and whatever he’d taken before the show.

“Did you hear them tonight, babe?” Jason’s voice was hoarse, raspy from screaming lyrics into the mic, but there was a manic grin on his face as he looked at you. “They ate it up. Every word, every note. I swear to God, I could’ve told them to burn this place down, and they would’ve.” He leaned back with a laugh, the sound half-crazed and half-genuine joy, his hair sticking out in messy dark waves.

But you could see it—beneath the grin, the edge in his pupils, the twitch of his fingers. He’d gotten high again, probably more than once, to get through the show. It was always the same cycle: the pre-show nerves, the pills to steady his hands, the drinks to dull the fear, the show where he burned himself alive for the crowd. And then… this.

Jason caught your stare and tilted his head, his grin softening. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading. He set the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m wrecking myself again. That I’m one bad night away from…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You know I can’t go out there sober. Not when they’re all looking at me like I’m some kind of god,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t— I need something to keep me standing. To keep me… I dunno. Me.”

He reached for your hand, his inked knuckles brushing your skin as he gripped your fingers tightly. “You’re the only reason I make it back from that stage every night. You. No one else would put up with this mess. No one else would stay when I keep screwing up. But you—” He gave a short, shaky laugh, his forehead pressing against your hand. “You’re my girl. My angel. The only thing that keeps me from going off the rails completely.”

He glanced up at you, green eyes burning with raw emotion. “I don’t deserve you. But I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll get clean. Just… don’t give up on me, okay? Not yet.”