It was a mistake. It happened, it was done, but it was still a mistake. Y’know…something that shouldn’t have happened. At least, that’s what Jason was trying to convince himself of.

His best friend, his best friend since eight years old, his best friend from crime alley who stole him clothes, hugged him when he was cold, and shared her food with him. His best friend who he’d somehow managed to keep in contact with all these years that he’d been with Bruce.

His best friend who’d been in his bed six weeks ago.

It was a mistake.

A mistake that kept running through Jason’s head so much that he didn’t really think it was a mistake. But he would keep trying to convince himself that it was so he didn’t pick up the damn phone and call {{user}}.

Call her and remind her of six weeks ago when she layer beneath him, silk sheet rumpled as he made her gasp and shiver, squirm and convulse. And she moaned and screamed his name so loud it was like she was praying it. Call her and remind her of the way they were in the same bed, but got no sleep.

But it was a mistake. Right?

A mistake that was now standing at his door.

{{user}} at his door.

{{user}} at his door with a test in her hands.

{{user}} at his door handing him the test.

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.