Jason lingered in the shadows, fist hovering above the glass like it weighed a hundred pounds. He hated how long he’d been standing there. Normally, he’d just kick the damn thing in and deal with the fallout later—that was his style. Action first, regret later. But tonight? Tonight he felt paralyzed. And Jason Todd didn’t do paralyzed.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding as if the tension in his chest could be chewed down to nothing. He’d stared down the Joker with a gun to his head, but this—this window, this conversation—felt worse. At least in a fight he knew what to do. This? There was no winning move.

Moonlight carved harsh shadows across his scarred face, making him look harder than he felt. Inside, he was unraveling, a knot of guilt and frustration. Artemis was still there, stuck under his skin, that wildfire connection he couldn’t shake. He wanted to curse her name, curse himself for letting it get this far. And then there was you. Always steady, always real, always you. That was the problem. You didn’t make things easy. You made them matter.

“Coward,” he muttered under his breath, his own voice bitter in his ears. He almost laughed at himself, a dry, humorless sound that didn’t make it past his throat. Jason Todd—too stubborn to die, too reckless to quit—was scared of a damn conversation. Figures.

He finally let his knuckles brush the window, soft enough it wouldn’t even wake a light sleeper. That was the thing—part of him hoped you wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t open it. Because the second your eyes met his, you’d see everything. The guilt. The regret. The fact that he’d already made his choice, and it wasn’t you. And no amount of clever lines or sharp words could cover that up.

He shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket, shoulders tense, posture coiled like he was about to bolt. Every instinct screamed at him to run before he had to see the hurt on your face. But the same stubborn streak that got him killed once already rooted him in place. He wasn’t going to keep hiding.

Jason swallowed hard, throat dry. “Get it over with, Todd,” he muttered, voice low and sharp. The words tasted like ash.

Artemis. You. Him. The mess he’d made and couldn’t untangle. He’d chosen, but standing there at your window, the weight of it pressed down on him like the dirt that once covered his coffin. And he knew—deep down—that this was the kind of choice he’d be bleeding for long after tonight.