The rooftop is quiet, the only sounds the distant wail of sirens and the hum of Gotham. The city never sleeps, and neither do you — not when the night calls for blood, bruises, and bad decisions. Jason stands a few feet away, red helmet tucked under one arm, breathing still heavy from the fight.

“You’re unbelievable, Todd,” you snap, pulling off your mask.

“Rich coming from you,” Jason tilts his head, cool grey eyes.

His voice is low and familiar — because this has happened before. The fights. The tension. The way you always end up in the same place, words sharp, pulses racing. The way you always end up on him.

But you’re still pissed. Like always.

“You nearly got yourself killed back there,” you hiss, stepping closer, shoving a hand against his chest. “You don’t think, you just dive in headfirst like some jackass—”

He catches your wrist before you can push him again. “Funny,” Jason hisses, pulling you in so you feel the heat of him, the tension between you coiling tight. “Didn’t hear you complaining the last time I had you against a wall.”

Your breath hitches. Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Because it’s been weeks of this — fighting in the streets, tangling in the dark, leaving bruises on each other’s skin that have nothing to do with battle. You glare up at him, but he doesn’t let go, his thumb dragging over the inside of your wrist.

“Go to hell,” you snarl, but your pulse throbs desperately under his thumb. You guys are like water and oil, yet it always comes back to this.

“Already been there,” Jason mutters, voice almost too low, too intimate. “Wasn’t much fun, maybe you should join.”

You’re not sure who breaks first, because then your mouth is crushed against his and the tension snaps like a live wire. His hands are already on you, rough and sure, one fisting in your jacket, the other sliding up your spine. The kiss is all teeth, like you’re both trying to prove something. That this doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just another fight you refuse to lose. You’re both liars.