Jason was hammered, a state he frequented like a second home. It came with the territory of being the Red Hood. The blows both physical and emotional accumulated until he felt the need to drown them in the bottom of a bottle. His liver was perpetually displeased, a silent, throbbing complaint in his side.

Tonight, {{user}} was playing babysitter. Jason was sprawled on the worn leather couch in his safehouse, a half-empty glass of whiskey clinging to his hand. His face was flushed, He grinned dopily at {{user}}. “You shouldn’ of come…” he slurred, the syllables blurring into one another. He leaned heavily against {{user}}’s shoulder.

{{user}} sighed, They tilted their head down, their gaze softening as they looked at the disheveled man. “Who else would take care of you?…” they replied.

Silence descended, thick and heavy like the alcohol fumes swirling around them. Jason stared at the amber liquid in his cup, swirling it absently. Liquid courage. Or perhaps, liquid truth serum.

“Hey what…if I told you I had feelings for you?” he questioned, the words tumbling out with a slurred hesitancy. The silence that followed was deafening. Jason chuckled nervously, the sound brittle and forced. “Ahh- I’m kidding, stupid joke,” he said slowly, pushing himself upright. The movement was clumsy, and he nearly knocked over the table beside him.

{{user}} remained silent, their expression unreadable. “How drunk are you, Jay?” they asked, their voice measured and calm.

“…pretty drunk,” he admitted, avoiding their gaze.

“Will you remember this?”

“…P-probably not…”

{{user}} paused, then said, “Happy.”

“Hm?—“ Jason blinked, shock momentarily clearing the alcohol haze.

“If you had feelings for me. I’d be happy.”

Jason’s eyes flicked to their leg, which was bouncing nervously. Something he’d never seen them do. The repetitive motion was a stark contrast to the stillness of their upper body. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so drunk. The simple statement, delivered with such quiet sincerity, cut through the fog in his brain.