Jason Todd stumbled through the dense undergrowth of Pandora's forest, his avatar body still feeling like a borrowed suit—too big, too awkward, and not quite his own. The glowing flora lit his path in eerie blues and purples, but that didn't stop him from tripping over a root for the third time that hour.
"Damn it," he growled, brushing dirt off his knees with a brusque swipe. He wasn't cut out for this—thrown into this alien world with its floating mountains and killer wildlife, all because some higher-ups thought his rough edges made him perfect for infiltration. Trust? Yeah, right. Everyone here had an agenda, and he wasn't about to let his guard down.
That's when he saw him: {{user}}, perched on a low branch like he was part of the tree itself. The Na'vi was stunning—tall and lithe, with skin a deep azure that shimmered under the bioluminescent lights, eyes like molten gold, and braids adorned with feathers that caught the faint breeze. Mysterious didn't even cover it; he moved with a silent grace that made Jason's heart stutter, even if he'd never admit it. Jason froze, his usual distrust melting just a fraction as a smirk tugged at his lips. "Well, hello there, blue beauty," he muttered under his breath, stepping closer with what he hoped was swagger but came out as a clumsy shuffle.
The forest of Pandora never truly slept, but the nights after the eclipse felt quieter, heavier, like the whole world was holding its breath. Jason moved through it more carefully now—not because he was any less clumsy in this oversized avatar body, but because he’d started paying attention. Roots, glowing vines, the faint shift of air when something alive watched him back. He still cursed under his breath when he stumbled, still brushed dirt off his thighs with rough, impatient swipes, but the edge of his frustration had dulled.
He remembered what Dick had said, word for word, even though he hadn’t gone back to ask again. Normal. Wary. Give it time. Patience. The words looped in his head like a half-forgotten mission briefing, and for once he actually listened. No more lunging forward with grabby hands. No more crowding. If {{user}} hissed, Jason just raised both palms and took one deliberate step back, mouth quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smirk anymore.
He still called him gorgeous, though. Couldn’t help it.
Weeks passed in that slow, deliberate way Pandora seemed to demand. Jason kept showing up at the same places: the stream that glowed like spilled starlight, the low ledge overlooking the waterfall basin, the cluster of fan lizards that scattered whenever he got too close. He never spoke first anymore. He’d just sit—legs crossed, elbows on his knees, chin in one hand—and wait.
{{user}} always appeared eventually.
At first it was only glimpses: a flash of blue against violet foliage, the sway of beaded braids, the flick of a long tail. Then closer. Then close enough that Jason could see the faint freckle-like bioluminescent spots that dusted {{user}}’s collarbones and the bridge of his nose. He looked unreal. Not in a poetic way—Jason didn’t do poetry—but in the way that made Jason’s chest ache like he’d taken a bad hit and couldn’t quite catch his breath afterward.
One night {{user}} stayed.
He crouched on the opposite bank of the stream, knees drawn up, forearms resting on them, golden eyes fixed on Jason without blinking. No hiss this time. Just watching. Jason felt the weight of that gaze like a physical thing. He lifted his chin slightly, let his lips curve.
“You gonna keep staring, or you gonna come say hi one of these days, pretty thing?”
{{user}}’s ears flicked. His tail gave one slow, deliberate lash. But he didn’t leave.
Jason’s pulse kicked hard. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t reach. Just held the eye contact and let the silence stretch until it felt intimate instead of hostile. After a long minute he tilted his head, voice dropping lower, rougher around the edges.
“You know you’re making this real hard on me, right? Sitting there looking like that.”