Jason Todd has always been impossible.

Not in the petty, childish way where you trade barbs and move on. No, that would be too easy. Too simple. Instead, every interaction with him feels like stepping into a fight you didn’t agree to, a battle where he’s always armed and you’re always a step behind.

You think he’s needlessly cruel, cold in a way that makes most people give him a wide berth. He thinks you’re too soft, too naive, too willing to believe in things that don’t deserve your faith.

So, of course, this would happen.

Of all the costumes in the world, you picked an angel. White corset, delicate wings, soft, ethereal fabric that makes you look like you belong in a Renaissance painting. And Jason? He’s standing across the room in black—dress shirt, dark jeans, those combat boots he never parts with. The perfect fallen counterpart.

You didn’t plan this. Obviously. But the way people keep looking between you, whispering, laughing under their breath—it might as well have been intentional.

Jason doesn’t move at first. He just watches, gaze unreadable, hands loose at his sides. And then, just as you think you might get away with ignoring him, he’s there.

Close. Too close.

“You did this shit on purpose?"

His voice is low, steady. He doesn’t whisper, but he doesn’t need to. His words curl around you, heavy and unyielding, like a weight pressing into your ribs.