Sneaking around had always come easy to Jason. It had started with slipping past his father to get away from the below-familial goings-on in his house and it had turned into dropping from windows and toeing past armed security. What he hadn't done, though, despite every teenage boy having experienced it, was sneak around with a girl.

Paparazzi was hell. They were greedy demons, Mammon's disciples, Scrooge before the ghosts. Avaricious and just foaming at the prospect of a new, hot picture to circulate like a blood cell. Your manager was convinced that the best way for you to go was the untouchable bachelorette with dozens of prospects. Being your friend for pictures? Hell. The secret tenth circle of Hell.

You, though ─ God, you were sugar and spice and everything nice, at the risk of Jason sounding like a broken record. A particularly cheesy record that Dick would have on repeat. He couldn't help it. You were a breath of fresh air on a stuffy May afternoon; the milk you added to bitter espresso.

Watching you on the silver screen made it easy to step over that line he toed between sanity and insanity. You, with your pretty voice and lighting that had been tailored to suit you. You, through the rose-tinted lens of the camera.

You, sitting three rows to the front and seven seats to the right in a cinema that was too large for his liking.

He'd shied away from cameras when he'd walked in with Bruce and the others. He'd forced them into believing he'd only come as a favour to them ─ he was fairly certain he'd convinced them, what with the groans and the moody stares and the brooding sighs. The whole Jason Todd enchilada, lined to completion with the cutting remarks.

"Might've forgotten to lock that door." He had you to himself now. Away from his family and your co-stars, with you sat atop your vanity table with freshly applied lipgloss he planned on ruining. He was reasonably sure he'd locked the door on the way into your dressing room, but what was life without risk? As long as it was you with him.