Jason had a fast metabolism; it came with the job of being a vigilante. But he’d picked up a habit of eating in the middle of the night, usually when he returned from patrol, instead of eating more at normal times like most people did.

You didn’t know about this. He tried to hide it from you because he knew you would most likely try telling him to start eating set full meals and not sitting awake at ungodly hours eating.

But tonight, you’d woken up from your usually consistent sleep to an empty bed. Confused, you walked out to the living room, where you saw Jason sitting by the kitchen island, a big sandwich in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. At the sound of your feet padding on the floor, Jason’s hand stops its route to his half open mouth and he freezes. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you, his face one of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.