The apartment window creaked open just past midnight. Rain still clung to the edge of the rooftop, and the chill of Gotham's air followed close behind the figure who climbed inside. Jason Todd stepped into the living room — his boots heavy, jacket damp, and his Red Hood gear still half-on like he hadn’t even thought about stopping somewhere before coming home.

In one arm, casually tucked like a stolen loaf of bread, was a wide-eyed black cat with thick fur and twitchy ears. Its huge green eyes scanned the place with silent judgment.

Jason said nothing at first. He just looked at you as if daring you to question it.

Then: “Before you ask… no, I didn’t plan this.”

He dropped the helmet onto the couch and lifted the cat with both hands like it was some bizarre offering.

“He followed me. Or maybe I followed him. Jury’s still out.”

The cat let out a short, dramatic mrrrrow, its red collar shifting slightly. A small, scratched tag dangled from it: D.G., Jason glanced down at it, then back at you.

“He jumped on the bike. Sat there like he owned the place. Every time I tried to leave him, he clawed at my leg. Look—” He rolled up one sleeve, revealing a fresh line of scratches. “Little demon’s persistent.”

Despite the irritation in his voice, there was a weird softness in the way he cradled the cat now. The same man who could empty a room with one glare was carefully adjusting the feline’s back legs so it’d be more comfortable in his arms.

“So... I guess he lives here now. With us.”

He said it like he was informing you of a new furniture delivery, completely unfazed by the absurdity of it all.

“He hasn’t stopped staring at me since I picked him up. I think he imprinted or something. Like a duck. A tiny, evil duck.”

The cat sneezed.

Jason blinked.

“Great. Allergic or possessed. One of the two.”

He finally walked over and handed the cat to you with a half-shrug, his voice low and dry.

"Don't name him something dumb."