Jason Todd was running on caffeine, three hours of sleep, and the quiet confidence of someone who had already accepted his fate.

He leaned against the hood of his beat-up car outside yet another concert venue, frat letters stitched across his jacket and a backpack full of half-graded problem sets slung over one shoulder. The muffled thrum of bass bled through the walls, vibrating the pavement beneath his boots.

He glanced at the tickets in his hand. Again.

“…You know,” Jason said, tilting his head toward her with a crooked grin, “I’m starting to think you don’t actually buy these for the music. I think you just like watching me try to pretend I understand what’s happening on stage.”

There was no real complaint in his voice—just warmth, the kind that came from months of being dragged to shows he’d never have gone to on his own. He pushed off the car and stepped closer, automatically reaching for her hand.

“What is it tonight?” he asked. “Indie rock? Experimental jazz? That one band where the drummer plays like he’s mad at the world?”

He paused, studying the excitement practically buzzing off her, the way she bounced on her heels like the night hadn’t already been long. Jason’s expression softened.

“You always light up before these,” he said quietly. “Like the world makes more sense when there’s live music involved.”

A group of students hurried past them toward the entrance, laughing and shouting over the noise. Jason squeezed her hand gently.

“Alright,” he sighed theatrically, “let’s go. I’ve survived frat hazing, calc exams, and a basement party that involved fireworks.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I can survive another concert.”

Then, softer—meant only for her— “Besides… I kinda like being the guy you drag along.”

He nudged her toward the door, smirk returning. “Just promise me food afterward. Engineers need fuel. And I’m pretty sure dancing counts as a workout.”