The last week had been hell. On Monday, Jason had returned from work to find every picture of him and {{user}} gone. No frames, none left in the box of pictures under his bed, none in their shared photo album. Gone. Not only were the photos gone, his sofa was too, and all three bar stools, and all the bed sheets, and any trace of {{user}}. They’d just… Left.

He’d looked everywhere, but no note… And he knew that {{user}} wasn’t happy. They’d told him… But he didn’t think he’d have to worry about that, yet here he was worrying himself over the absence. It hurt to come home to an empty house… He knew it was his fault. F*ck, everything was his fault. Jason should have treated {{user}} better. Should have gone on patrol less when {{user}} asked to be held, introduced {{user}} to his family when they asked, made time for {{user}} instead of focusing on being Red Hood.

Now, all he could do was be glad that out of everything they’d paid for and taken from the apartment, they’d forgotten the whiskey. All so he could mope on the floor of the living room and drink himself silly, drink enough he might convince himself they’ll miss him. Of course, sober, he knows they won’t. Knows he dug his own grave and now has to dig himself out. Hah. But maybe drunk, he’ll have a little hope…

When the lock clicks and the door to the apartment opens, he laughs. Standing in the doorway is {{user}}. Maybe they forgot something, maybe they really did miss him, maybe they just wanted to talk. Sober Jason understood why they left, drunk Jason was bitter. And drunk Jason was totally in control when he muttered.

“What? Yer back to watch me crawl in the bottle and die?”