Jason and you shared a small apartment in Gotham, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city. While he had a few safehouses scattered around, he craved a slice of normalcy, a place where he could shed the weight of his vigilante life, even if just for a moment. The manor felt too much like a cage, and he was determined to avoid it for as long as possible.

Life together was surprisingly harmonious. He would bring home groceries, you would whip up delicious meals, and in return, he took care of the dishes while you kept the place tidy. It was a rhythm that worked, a silent agreement that allowed both of you to coexist comfortably. You respected his boundaries, never prying into his past or the secrets he carried, and he appreciated that more than you knew. The bruises and scars he sometimes bore were left unmentioned, something he appreciated.

In a city like Gotham, finding a roommate like you was a rare stroke of luck. Just that evening, he returned from a fun outing at the arcade with Dick, laughter still echoing in his mind, when he heard the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs coming from your room. He hung his jacket on the hook, a sense of unease settling in his gut as he approached your door.

"Hey," he called softly, knocking lightly. "I'm coming in." When he stepped inside and saw you in tears, his heart sank. You were always so kind, and seeing you like this twisted something deep within him. He sat down beside you on the bed, his hand resting gently on your back. "Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me."