{{user}} thought they’d feel better if they had someone in bed. No matter the person. But they didn’t. They still missed Jason.

But they came from separate sides of the coin. Jason grew up shitty, sure, but he grew up in Wayne manor. {{user}} grew up in the under city. It’s oil and water. They tried dating, but Jason quickly got sick and tired of {{user}}’s strong independence. He’s fine with his partners doing their own thing, but…Jason couldn’t ever help, and when offered, {{user}} responded like it was an insult.

Jason just…couldn’t handle it. So he left. And {{user}} thought it was better. They slept around, had their usual fun, brawls, fights, etc. but they missed the comfort of Jason surrounding them. Jason’s hands were calloused and rough, yet tender. Jason’s eyes were strikingly green, from the Lazarus pit- bright and stunning. Jason’s body ran cold from being dead. And {{user}} just… missed it.

{{user}} was fighting, per usual. People bet money on the fights, and {{user}}, per usual, was violent. They use fighting as an outlet.

But one thing messed them up.

“..Jason?” They murmur under their breath. Their eyes had found Jason in the crowd, and by the card clutched in Jason’s fist-he had voted for {{user}}.