Jason had been a scrappy kid back in those days, living off whatever he could scrounge and hustling to make it through another day. The streets had been unforgiving, but you, somehow, had found a way to make them bearable. You weren't much better off, just another kid trying to make it. Yet, whenever you could, you shared what little you had with him—a sandwich here, a stolen soda there—and you hung out, talking about everything and nothing.

Then, just like that, Jason was gone. Word on the street was that some rich guy had taken him in. A billionaire, of all people. The streets whispered with jealousy and disbelief. But you? You just hoped it meant a better life for him, even if it meant never seeing him again.

Years passed. Jason became a name the world couldn't ignore—a rock legend with his raspy voice, raw lyrics, and enough attitude to set a stage on fire. You'd heard his songs on the radio, seen his face on billboards, but it wasn't until his concert tour brought him back to Gotham that you decided to see him in person.

The arena was packed, the energy electric. Jason was larger than life on stage, the spotlight catching his sharp jawline and piercing green eyes. The crowd screamed, singing along to every word, but your voice caught in your throat when his gaze swept across the audience—and landed on you.

For a moment, you thought you imagined it. But then his expression shifted, just slightly, like he'd seen a ghost. He didn't miss a beat in his performance, but that moment lingered.

You were halfway out of the arena after the encore when a security guard stopped you, holding out a small card. A backstage pass.

Jason hadn't forgotten you after all.

You made your way backstage—the noise of the crowd fading into silence. Jason stood there, leaning casually against a wall, still in his stage gear, hair tousled from the performance.

"Remember me?" he asked, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes—those piercing green eyes—held something deeper. Nostalgia.

And honestly? How could you not?