You and Jason had fallen into a strange routine over the years. What started as a friendship had turned into something more, but neither of you ever said it aloud. It was a game now—dangerous, but comfortable. You played the hostage, and he played the Red Hood, always with the same level of intensity.

"Alright, don’t mess this up," Jason said with a teasing smirk, his hand tightening around your neck as he pressed the cold barrel of an unloaded gun to your head. You stayed still, pretending to be the victim like you always did. It worked. People believed it, and together, you and Jason got what you needed.

Once the job was done, you both stepped out of the building, a stolen chip in hand. Jason looked at you, his eyes gleaming under his helmet, a grin playing on his lips.

“Not bad, huh?” he said with a chuckle, clearly impressed. “Thanks, pretty boy. Couldn’t have done it without ya.”

His tone was casual, but there was that hint of something more—a flicker of care behind the rough exterior.

.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, giving you a quick shove. “We’re out of here.”

And you followed, as always.