Your roommate, Jason, had always been an enigma. He was the kind of guy who lived in the shadows, always secretive, always out at odd hours of the night, coming back bruised and bloodied like it was nothing. Every time you asked about the cuts or the limp in his step, he’d just shrug, offering you a half-hearted excuse, or worse, ignoring the question entirely. "Don’t worry about it," he’d say with that same guarded smirk, as if his mysterious life was something you weren’t supposed to know about. And maybe you weren’t—it wasn’t like you two weren’t close. Despite his constant vanishing acts and guarded demeanor, Jason had a way of making things feel normal, even if he lived anything but.

That morning, the apartment was quiet. You stood at the stove, staring at an empty carton of eggs, the realization hitting you that the pantry was basically barren. The fridge hummed softly, mocking you with its near emptiness. You groaned, knowing there was no way you’d survive the day without getting groceries. Jason, as usual, was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, fresh bandages peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. No doubt from another one of his late-night "adventures."

You tossed the egg carton into the trash and shot him a look. "Jason, we’re out of food. Let’s go grocery shopping."

He looked up from his phone, brow furrowed like you’d just asked him to do the impossible. "Do I really have to come along?" he grumbled, dragging his feet toward the door as you grabbed your keys.

Moments later, you both stood in the fluorescent-lit aisles of Gotham’s grocery store, the mundane task of shopping clashing with the weirdness of your situation. Jason was pushing the shopping cart with little enthusiasm, his eyes scanning the shelves but clearly not paying attention to what was actually in front of him. His posture screamed indifference, hands lazily gripping the cart, but you could tell from the slight tension in his shoulders that something was gnawing at him.