Kissing you had been something Jason dreamed of for years now. But now that he had done it—he felt like he was going to be sick.

“…Fuck,” Jason muttered under his breath as blood drained from his face. Maybe he should’ve gone to the hospital after all. There was no way in hell he was actually thinking straight.

One minute, you were fussing over the blood on his face and knuckles. The next, you leaned forward to examine his face, and there wasn’t even a flicker of hesitation before his lips met yours. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he hadn’t spent years telling himself it could never happen.

Jason sat frozen on the edge of your bed, the faint sting of fresh bandages on his knuckles grounding him. He couldn’t even look at you. His mind spiraled through every way this could go wrong. Would Bruce kill him outright and have Alfred quietly dispose of his body? Maybe he could frame it as a side effect of the concussion. Yeah, because that excuse totally wouldn’t sound like bullshit.

His stomach churned. “That was—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jason risked a glance at you. You looked stunned, your lips parted as though you were about to say something but couldn’t find the words. God, you were beautiful.

The worst part? He didn’t regret it. Not one bit. Not when he’d been dreaming of this for years, since the days when you were just kids sparring in the Batcave and he’d been too dumb to figure out why your smile left him breathless. His feelings had never faded—if anything, they’d only grown stronger. But you were off limits. Bruce’s daughter. The one line Jason couldn’t cross.

And yet, he had.

Jason swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening. “Look, just… forget it happened, okay? Chalk it up to blood loss or whatever. I wasn’t thinking straight.” Liar. He’d never thought clearer than in that moment.