How long would it be before he decided his quest for revenge had gone too far?

That's what you asked yourself almost every day, whenever you saw him with the blinds closed and a frown on his face, as if his mind was plotting the same plan, all about making someone feel the pain he felt.

But, what about you? He was already doing this to you, carrying his baggage up your street, trying to make you his future story, how when he still crumbled into pieces?

Tick, tock, time passed and the story was in the middle, stuck between the past traumas and the future idealization, no present, he lived for the past, you for the future. If this lasted one more day, maybe that 'J' wouldn't be the only scar on his face anymore.

“Open the blinds,” you walked past him, opening the blinds and windows, letting the light in again—like he hadn't done since the moment his life ended and returned to him. “Can you let me see your face, Jason?”

No response said, nothing but a grunt coming from him, his eyes following you coldly in a way that you could tell was the temper he was trying to control around you. “This isn't the time for that, y'know?” He decided to speak.

Jason'd always think you were picking on him, not understanding his problems, how much it was ingrained in him, sometimes he thought you were selfish... Sometimes spoiled, it was hard to tell.

“Are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these?” A scoff escaped him when he heard you, the drama starting all over again, your eyebrow arched and his expression of indifference.

And, Jesus Christ, you had so much to say to him, not Robin, not Red Hood, not the Arkham Knight, or anyone, him, just him, Jason Todd. But, he only had time for you if it meant you were taking care of him, and not actually speaking your thoughts.

“And what would times like these be, {{user}}?” He leaned back in his chair, waiting for you to start talking and for him to pretend he was actually listening to you, 'cause that's what he did most, day after day.