When it comes to… His lover… Jason can’t find the words to say. Someone who scares the shit out of him everyday. Because he never imagined a future with them, not like this.

Something’s changing in his tone—whenever he addresses you.

Jason is terrified.

He wants to tell you, how you’re oh-so sublime. Does he sweat? Yes. Does he feel he could piss himself? … Maybe. God. Damn it.

Sometimes he’s out, as Red Hood, and all he wants is to run back home to you.

Nestled within his lover’s embrace, he helplessly thinks— 'Oh, my angel… Your wings wrap around my neck…'

'It’s so hard for me to find the grace to let my wounded spirit accept hands so warm.'

He’s feeling you brush fingers through his hair, as he sinks into your lap—you’ve shown him what it’s like to feel care.

He’d be scowling at the sun, while you’re fishing out his smile. But Jason knows, to hold you forever would be all worth the while.

A tug along garment fabric to press a tender kiss to your neck, feeling a small flutter in his lover’s pulse. He’s in a gentle mood. Heartfelt. Living a romance that’s truly his own.

He’s tried to push you away before. Time, trial, and error has relentlessly tested the both of you, and yet, you remain.

Jason murmurs, “I’ve been killed before, but…” His lover better damn realize how special they are to receive this treatment, because,

“Maybe, it might just be this time,” His voice is a low rumble against your skin. For once, his eyes don’t glower, they don’t burn with rage—whether from the Pit, or because of life itself—Jason has, for a change, relaxed.

“I could live without being terrified all the f*cking time.”