He stands there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed too tight, his jaw set like he’s bracing for impact. His usual ease is nowhere to be found. He stares at you, unwavering, but there’s something unsteady in his eyes. “You know,” he mutters, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard, “this is… harder than it should be.”

You blink, thrown off. Jason Todd. The Red Hood. The guy who never flinches, never hesitates. And now he’s standing here, looking like he’d rather fight a dozen goons than finish whatever he’s trying to say.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have—” he stops, his eyes darting to the floor before meeting yours again, tension clear in his jaw. “Forget it. This is dumb.” His words come fast now, almost tripping over themselves. “But I thought… maybe…” He groans, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly regretting everything.

“Okay, no, wait.” He forces himself to look at you again, even as his voice cracks. “I’m asking. Do you wanna—would you maybe wanna hang out? Like… a date?” The last word is so quiet you almost miss it, and he winces, like it physically hurt to say it.

The silence stretches, and he fidgets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Look, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Dinner, or whatever.” He hurries the words out, clearly desperate to fill the quiet. “But if you don’t want to, just… tell me. I’ll shut up and leave.”