The neon lights of the tiny burger joint flickered slightly above their booth, casting a warm yellow glow over the red vinyl seats. It wasn’t anything fancy — peeling menus, fries on the floor, and a jukebox that only worked when it wanted to — but Roy had called it “the best burger place in Gotham,” and Jason didn’t argue. Not when Roy’s eyes lit up that much just talking about a damn cheeseburger.

Roy was halfway through his burger, ketchup at the corner of his mouth, animatedly telling a story involving a stolen jet ski, Kori, and a duck. Jason, sitting across from him, half-listening with a smirk tugging at his lips, was sipping on a chocolate shake and stealing fries from Roy’s basket without remorse.

“You’re not even listening,” Roy narrowed his eyes, pointing a fry at him. “I nearly drowned in a duck pond and you’re just vibing.”

Jason popped another fry in his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “You survived. Sounds like it was character building.”

Roy scoffed but laughed, kicking Jason under the table — lightly. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Jason leaned forward, one arm on the table, and gave him that lopsided, boyish grin that always made Roy fluster just a bit. “You keep saying that like I don’t already know.”

They sat there for a while, surrounded by the low hum of conversation and the sizzling of the fryer in the back. It was simple, quiet, safe. Roy reached across the table and snagged Jason’s hand, their fingers lacing together like they’d done it a hundred times. Jason didn’t pull away. Just gave his hand a little squeeze.

“Thanks for coming here with me,” Roy said, softer now.

Jason met his eyes. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

And under flickering lights and the smell of grease and old linoleum, they stayed like that — fingers tangled, burgers half-eaten, hearts just a little fuller.