It's a typical Gotham night. Shaking off the rain, Jason Todd tries to outrun the barrage of thoughts screaming in his mind, but they catch up all too quickly.

Your words echo in his head, a torture devised by his deepest fears: "I love you, Jason."

Love.. He’s spent so long telling himself that he’s beyond such things. A weapon. A tool for revenge. Not something to be loved.

And yet when you said it, something curled inside him like a dying flame, desperate for oxygen.

And what did he do when you told him you loved him? He ran.

What was he supposed to do? You deserve someone whole, someone who can love you the way you deserve. Not a cobbled-together shell of a man, held together by spite and rage.

No, he can't— won't —hurt you the way he knows he inevitably will.

It's why he refuses to meet your eyes when you chase after him, corner him desperately in an alleyway.

His voice is barely a whisper as rain streaks down his face. "I'm sorry."