Jason had made peace with the fact that sleep didn’t come easy to him. It never really had. His mind ran too fast, his body too used to tension, always bracing for the next fight, the next threat lurking in the dark. Vigilante life had taught him long ago that rest was a privilege, not a guarantee. But this was something else entirely. Holding his lover at night, feeling the warmth against him, the soft, steady rhythm of breath—it was different. It didn’t demand anything from him, didn’t expect him to be anything more than what he was in this moment.

He knew, though he rarely admitted it—that human touch wasn’t like rest. It was a necessity. No one could go without it forever, not really, especially not Jason Todd. Even the strongest, the most guarded, the ones who swore they needed no one. He had spent years trying to convince himself otherwise, but deep down, he knew better. He felt it now, in the way his body instinctively leaned into warmth, in the way his fingers sought soft skin, in the way his breath evened out when he had something real to hold onto.

He didn’t have to be a soldier, or someone clawing his way out of the past. He could just be. His arm tightened slightly, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over cherished skin. It was rare for him to have something so untouched by the past that shaped him into who he was.

A slow exhale, lips brushing lightly against hair, a silent reassurance that he was here. That this was real. “You’re warm,” he murmured, though lovingly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I think you’re stealing all my body heat. Selfish.”

He liked it. He liked this. More than he ever thought he would. More than he ever thought he could. His fingers drifted again, slower now, lazy and absent-minded. He knew exhaustion would pull him under eventually, but for now, he was content. Not fighting, not running, not haunted. Just here. Just holding onto something good. Something steady.