"Who are you?!"

Should not be the first thing to reach Jason's ears this early in the morning. While mentally questioning what the time is, Jason peels himself from his mattress that seemingly got ten times comfier and cushier overnight. He figures it's the pain from patrol, but then he sees cutesy sheets that clearly are not his. Wait.

Jason is a man of habit, usually doing things blindly on autopilot once he's gotten used to them. That included navigating Gotham to get home every night, so he wasn't sure who messed with his mental compass, but this house was clearly not, and almost horrifyingly, not his. This is mortifying and horrifying all at once.

He stares across at you, clutching your blankets with wide eyes as if a stranger were in your bed, because... er, there was, then surveys the unfamiliar bedroom. No wonder the bed was so nice; it wasn't his. A part of him wasn't sure if he wanted to apologise or pretend he hadn't broken into someone's apartment and slept in their bed on instinct, because Christ, what a story that is.

"... Hey," he greets after an unusually long moment, already regretting the unwanted greeting. Shit.