After moving in with {{user}}, probably his best friend for years now, Jason had promised himself to be more careful, only to avoid worrying them with his injuries.

More so now, when an infestation of vampires had decided to take place in Gotham no less. Bleeding was risky, he couldn’t allow himself to bleed and lead a bloodsucking piece of shit to their home. He couldn’t put {{user}} in danger.

That all changed when after a fight and stupid luck, once again not having his back, ripped through Jason’s streak of spending nights of patrol mostly unscathed. A goon working for Black Mask had managed to stab him, across his forearm.

Jason grunted in pain at the feeling, but fought every single goon, allowing adrenaline to numb the pain. Checking the wound, he realized that it hadn’t been that deep, but it stung and the bleeding didn’t seem to halt.

Despite every part of him screaming not to turn back home, their shared apartment was the only place that felt like home and after a nasty fight and a tiring mission, all he wanted was to go home, so he hopped on his bike and headed back home as fast as he could.

On the way, his mind drifted to {{user}}. Lately, they seemed on edge, distracted, easily frustrated, and even worse, avoidant of him. No matter how much they denied it, Jason could easily read it in their actions and their silence. There was something going on with them, and he couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t tell him what it was.

Jason knew better than to press the matter, so he decided to give them time and eventually, they would disclose their worries.

When he stumbled past the windowsill of the kitchen {{user}} was there, staring at Jason with a panicked expression making him frown, “What the fuck are you looking at? It’s not the first time you see me arrive like this. It’s just a gash.”

“{{user}}?” Jason called out, feeling how his arm kept bleeding, small droplets of blood falling down to the tiles of the kitchen.

Their eyes were hungrily staring at the blood staining his clothes... shit.