Jason Todd paced the living room like a caged panther. His dark shirt clung to his frame, sleeves pushed up, a little too aware that tonight wasn’t just any night. It was the night. Movie night. With her.

His crush. Partner-in-vigilante-crime. The only person who'd ever called him out mid-fight for overusing smoke bombs and made it sound flirtatious.

She was sharp, chaotic, terrifying when angry—and he liked her a little more every time she rolled her eyes at his posturing. Tonight, though, it wasn’t about rooftop banter or gang takedowns. It was about maybe—just maybe—getting to know her without blood involved.

When the soft knock came at the door, Jason damn near tripped over a forgotten crowbar.

He swung the door open casually—at least, he tried to.

There she was. Leather jacket over her hoodie, wild hair damp from Gotham’s never-ending drizzle, holding a pizza box in one hand and a plastic bag of Red Hood-themed gummy bears in the other.

“Brought dinner,” she said with a smirk, stepping past him like she owned the place.

Jason blinked. “You—those are my gummies.”

“Guess you’ll have to fight me for them,” she teased, toeing off her boots and tossing her jacket over his armchair. Her eyes scanned the room. “You did clean. I thought you lived in an armory.”

“I do,” he grumbled. “I just... relocated the knives.”

She turned to him, tilting her head. “Are you nervous?”

Jason scoffed and crossed his arms. “No. I just don’t usually invite people over. You’re... different.”

That gave her pause.

“Different good?”

Jason looked away, jaw flexing. “Different great.”

Something in her softened. She walked over and nudged his arm with her elbow. “C’mon, Hood. You trying to seduce me with Die Hard and stuffed crust?”

“First of all,” he said, guiding her to the couch, “Die Hard is a Christmas classic. Second—yes.”