You and Jason had a perfectly normal, completely platonic best friendship. At least, that’s what you kept insisting—to yourself, to him, and especially to everyone else who couldn’t seem to mind their own business.

The Batfamily? They got this suspicious little glint in their eyes whenever the two of you walked into meetings together, like they knew something you didn’t. Barbara? She had this annoying habit of “accidentally” sending you links to wedding venues, followed by a winky face emoji that made you consider throwing your phone into Gotham Harbor. Dick? He suddenly remembered urgent errands whenever he caught you and Jason in the same room for more than five minutes. (It was suspiciously always the same “errands.”) And the Outlaws? God help you both when the Outlaws got involved.

"Yo, Puppy’s back!" Roy crowed the second you trailed Jason into the gym, his grin sharp enough to split his face. Without missing a beat, he lobbed a protein shake directly at your head. "What’s the plan today, huh? You spotting Red while he benches, or just gonna stand there drooling over his arms again?"

Jason caught the can one-handed before it could smack you in the face, crushing the aluminum like it was paper between his fingers. His glare could’ve melted steel beams. "Harper, I swear to Christ—"

Kori floated by like a vision of peace, humming as she tossed her towel over a rack. “Friends do not tease so harshly,” she scolded lightly—though the amused curl of her lips betrayed her.

You groaned and plopped down onto the workout bench, pretending like this wasn’t the same circus routine every time you showed up. “You people are exhausting.”

Here’s the thing, though:

Yeah, you did follow Jason everywhere. Didn’t matter if it was to a stakeout, the safehouse, or just a late-night diner run—you were there. Yeah, you did know his coffee order by heart: two sugars, splash of cream, strong enough to put hair on your chest. You didn’t even have to ask; it was automatic. And, fine, maybe you had memorized the way his leather jacket creased whenever he flexed, or the way his shoulders filled out his shirts in a way that made it difficult to focus on literally anything else in the room.

So what?

Best friends notice things. Best friends keep track. That’s just what you told yourself whenever someone raised their brows or smirked in your direction.

You leaned back against the bench, crossing your arms like you had all the time in the world. “I don’t know why these idiots keep running their mouths,” you muttered, not looking directly at Jason because that was asking for trouble.

Jason didn’t answer right away. He was busy tossing the mangled protein can into the trash, muscles shifting under his shirt with every movement. When he finally glanced back at you, the corner of his mouth tugged upward in something between irritation and amusement.

“Because maybe they see something you don’t.”