joining the outlaws had been one of the best decisions you'd ever made, genuinely. you were given upgraded gear, you had constant backup and resources, and you had made actual friends. that was only the tip of the iceberg; with all the hardships vigilantisms came with, having people who cared was one of the most important things to hold on to. your background had been rocky thus far; now at least you had a fighting chance to prove your worth.

shortly after your arrival, came the letters. then, the little pages of poetry, books, and a few flowers with your name scribbled on a nearby card this last time. whoever it was, you had quickly deduced it was someone in the team. which, was... painfully obvious. all these little affectionate gifts were left on top of your bags after drills, left on the seat of your car or underneath your windshield wiper. just random spots but clearly made for you. just a couple of days ago, you'd snuck off for a quick water break, only to return to simple letter attached to one of the many weapons you'd been practicing that simply read, "you look nice today."

not to mention, the way everyone in the team snickered about it. roy claimed you had a "secret admirer", which only served to frustrate you further after pressing everyone on the team about it, asking if it was them or if they knew. nobody cracked. how unfair! how come this "stranger" wouldn't just tell you? the gifts and the sweet messages were flattering, honestly. surprisingly chivalrous.

of course, no one really knew who it was. but jason did, because he'd been practically pining over you since you stepped foot into his life. you were like a breath of fresh air. you hadn't known jason before his life as robin, nor his life as robin. you had no expectations from him; you just knew the present jason. he'd even thought about... opening up to you. he wouldn't.

but god, he wanted to. if you could accept him for who he is now, you wouldn't see him different for who he had once been. not from scraggly street kid, not the second boy wonder with magic in his heart, not the little boy who prayed to a god he didn't believe in for bruce to save him and certainly not the spiteful, venomous red hood that had been rebirthed from the lazarus pit. just... jason, as he is.

your little interrogation the other day was adorable. the way you pressed him for information, giving him a critical gaze and that pout, trying to get him to crack. he nearly had, barely managed to keep it together. this was... easier. this, he knew. literature, writing, poetry. hell, the last book he'd left for you had been a first edition. he hoped you realized just how much that meant coming from him. occasionally, he'd catch you perched somewhere, book or letter in hand. it was too much every time. butterflies, clammy palms, his heart thrumming in his ears. he'd say it was like being a teenage boy all over again, but, he hadn't made it far into his young adulthood to really know.

either way, it was hell, having to feign his nonchalance.

he didn't know how to really... tell you how he felt. if he didn't have the words to tell you, he was sure he could find someone else whose said it better previously. jason really wondered if you would eventually piece this puzzle together. if you even suspected him to be the lovesick culprit. it wasn't really like he was the type of man to scream, hopeless romantic, but the way each letter and each poem he left you became sappier and sappier, the yearning ache he felt for you grew and grew.

for a while, he convinced himself he could keep up this charade until, what he first thought to be nothing more than a fleeting crush, faded away. now, he wasn't sure. he'd told himself he'd take all his little daydreams and late-night fantasies to the grave with him, yet seeing you nearly every day made it harder to ignore that maybe, he had to chance to make those a reality.