The Gotham skyline glowed faintly beneath the clouds, its neon signs reflecting off puddles and wet rooftops. It was quiet, too quiet and for once, Jason Todd didn’t mind.

His ribs still ached, a deep, pulsing reminder of the night before. The job had been messy, a gang shootout in the Narrows that went sideways, and though he’d come out alive, it hadn’t been clean. He’d wrapped up most of the damage himself, but there was one place he could go to finish the job.

One person. He parked the bike in the alley, killed the engine, and walked to the nondescript warehouse door that had long since become a secret refuge. His knock was quiet but distinct, two short, one long.

Moments later, the lock clicked.

“...You look like hell,” came {{user}}’s voice, calm but edged with concern.

Jason smirked beneath the hood of his jacket. “Missed you too.”

They stepped aside to let him in, sealing the heavy door behind them. The place was warm, softly lit, an odd comfort amid Gotham’s gloom. Weapons, tools, and medical supplies lined the table. The faint hum of tech filled the air.

Jason shrugged off his jacket, revealing the dried blood across his shirt. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said automatically.

“Uh-huh.” {{user}} folded their arms, unimpressed. “That’s what you said last time, and I pulled a bullet fragment out of your shoulder.”

Jason chuckled. “You remember that, huh?”

“How could I forget? You wouldn’t stop making jokes.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t argue as he sank into the chair. For all his pride, all his armor, there was something about being here, with them, that let him breathe.

They moved closer, retrieving antiseptic and gauze, pulling on gloves. “You’re lucky it’s just bruised ribs.”

“I’m lucky you don’t charge for medical work,” he countered.

Jason caught the way their mask sat discarded on the workbench, the face beneath it open, unguarded. He was the only one who ever saw them like this. And in return, they were the only one who ever saw him.

When {{user}} finished patching him up, he leaned back against the chair, exhaling. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know. Taking care of me.”

He then reached up, brushing his thumb against their jaw, a rare, quiet gesture. “You’re the only one who sees me,” he murmured. “The real me.”