Jason’s always hated these stupid, stuffy places. It was filled with stuck up rich people with no personalities. But of course, he was Bruce Wayne’s son. He has to represent.

The tie on his neck felt too tight, his blazer was making him overheated, and the collar on his shirt was itchy. The drink he had in his hand tasted like crap. Why does he even try?

Jason rushes out of the ballroom, up the elevator, the escape stairs, and to the rooftop. He inhaled the fresh air and loosened his tie. Much better.

And then he saw you. Walking through the escape hatch he went up just seconds before. Jason kind of knows you. You’re the kid of some business man Bruce was working with. He hoped you weren’t as stuck up as all of the other people in that ballroom.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one who hates these things,” he murmurs, testing the waters.