“You look taller.”

Jason says it from the shadows, voice low and rough, helmet tucked under his arm, rain clinging to his jacket. He’s leaning against the alley wall outside your safehouse like he never died. Like he never shattered everything.

You don’t answer at first. Can’t. Because he’s right there.

Breathing. Talking. Alive.

He watches you with that half-cocked smirk that never quite hides how tired he is.

“I was gonna leave the note on your window. You know, classic dramatic Red Hood shit. But I figured…” His voice falters. Then softens. “…You deserved more than a note.”

You take a step forward. Your heart’s in your throat. He shifts, like he’s ready to bolt just in case this is where you tell him he’s not welcome. That he doesn’t belong.

But then you whisper “Jay?”

And everything stops.

His shoulders fall. His mouth parts. That single word is a key in a lock he thought rusted shut.

“Still me,” he says, quieter this time. “If you want me to be.”