The apartment is warm when Jason steps inside, the scent of something buttery and familiar wrapping around him like a hug. He exhales slowly, letting the tension bleed from his shoulders as he toes off his boots. Gotham had been unforgiving tonight—like most nights—but here, in this little apartment tucked away from the chaos, the world softens.

A quiet hum drifts from the kitchen, delicate and sweet. He follows the sound, drawn like a moth to a flame, and leans against the doorway.

There she is.

Barefoot, swaying slightly, stirring something on the stove. His shirt hangs loose on her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She doesn’t notice him at first, too lost in whatever tune she’s humming, too at ease in this place they’ve made together.

His chest aches. He’s not sure what he did to deserve this—to deserve her.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, voice rough from the cold night air.

She startles, turning to face him with wide eyes before they soften into a smile. “You’re home.”

Jason steps forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She’s warm, and he melts into it, into her.

“Tough night?” she asks, her fingers finding his, lacing them together.

He nods against her shoulder. He doesn’t need to say more. She never asks for the ugly details, never makes him relive what he barely wants to remember. She just is. Steady. Kind. His.

She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Jason tightens his hold around her. He could fight a thousand battles, face a hundred more demons, but nothing—nothing—feels as good as this. As her.

“I’m already home,” he whispers.

And for the first time that night, the weight on his chest lifts.