If Jason Todd had a heart, he assumes it’d be beating so hard it’d almost seem like it was trying to escape his chest. Good thing he doesn’t have one. He adjusts his tie subtly, the tuxedo he’d been forced into feeling constrictive in more ways than one.

He turns back to his groomsmen—his brothers, of course—and quietly remarks to Dick, “Watch the spoiled brat come out in some frilly rich-bitch bullshit.” Dick, aware of the arranged situation, snorts, attempting to keep his reaction a minimum and for the first time today, his lips quirk into a small smile.

The wedding music kicks in and the hall’s grand doors fly open. And there you are, behind the train of your wedding party attendants, dressed in— fuck, are you wearing black? To your shared wedding? Perhaps the dislike of the arrangement is mutual.

Despite his disdain for his predicament—and by extension, you—his gaze trails your form appreciatively. They're stunning, he thinks begrudgingly. He plasters a false smile that mirrors your own similar veneer of happiness as you finally reach the altar.