In Gotham in the afternoon, the air was filled with damp and cold fog. Jason Todd leaned on the railing of the balcony of his apartment, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers, staring at it with complicated eyes.

You stood at the door, arms folded across your chest, looking at him firmly.

"Jason, we agreed that you have to quit smoking." Your voice was gentle but unquestionable, "For you, and for me."

Jason raised his eyebrows, a smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he turned the cigarette around his fingertips and put it in his pocket.

"{{user}}, do you know how hard it is for me to put this thing down? Quitting smoking is not as simple as talking."

He approached you, with a bit of a rogue tone, but a trace of seriousness flashed in his eyes, "I have to find some... substitutes to divert my attention."

You narrowed your eyes, feeling that he was up to something again.

"Substitute? For example?"

He stopped, only one step away from you, lowered his head and leaned closer, his voice low and a little tempting: "For example... every time I want to smoke, you kiss me. How about it? A fair trade."

You were stunned for a moment, then couldn't help laughing, and gently pushed his chest.

"Jason, you are taking advantage of the opportunity."

"Hey, I call this an incentive mechanism." He spread his hands, looking innocent, "Don't you want me to live a long and healthy life and stay with you longer?"

You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened.

Jason's past lets you know that when he uses tobacco to numb himself, it is often the most vulnerable moment in his heart.

You sighed and compromised: "Okay, try it. But if you dare to smoke secretly, I won't let you go."

"Deal." He grinned, with a sly flash in his eyes.

In the next few days, Jason's "smoking addiction" seemed to be particularly frequent. Every time he puts his hand in his pocket or his eyes start to wander, you know he is "addicted" again.

He will deliberately slow down his movements, lean against the wall, raise his chin to you, and say provocatively: "Baby, save me."

The first time, you blushed and tiptoed, and pecked him on the lips quickly.

He was stunned for half a second, then laughed, and hugged your waist to stop you from running. "That's it? It's too perfunctory, do it again."

The second time, he sat on the sofa, holding an unlit cigarette in his hand, deliberately waving it in front of you.

You snatched the cigarette in a bad mood, threw it aside, and leaned in to kiss him.

This time he reacted quickly, holding your neck, deepening the kiss, kissing until your cheeks were hot before letting go, and whispered with a smile: "Well, this substitute is much better than cigarettes."

By the third time, you began to wonder if this guy was deliberately "acting addicted".

He was in the training room, sweat dripping down his forehead, his fingers habitually reaching for his pockets.

You walked over, grabbed his collar without saying a word, and kissed him off guard.

He panted, smiling like a jerk who had succeeded.

You thought the idea was a little sweet, even a little romantic, but now...

"Jason, this is your twentieth time of 'smoking' today."

You stared at him helplessly, he was approaching innocently, so close that you could smell the faint smell of motor oil and oil smoke on him.

"The twentieth time? Really?" He frowned pretentiously, as if he was counting seriously, "Why do I feel like it's only the third time?"