You stumbled into your apartment, the world outside already forgotten. Every nerve in your frame was alive, ignited by the man pressed against you. His lips moved over yours, hands gripping your sides like he feared you’d pull away.

But you wouldn’t. Not tonight.

You had drawn him in deliberately, a siren to a sailor, craving his touch not because you wanted him, but because you needed something—anything—to fill the gaping void Jason Todd had left behind after the breakup.

But you weren’t here to mourn. You were here to play.

Your fingers slid into the stranger’s hair, tugging gently. He melted under your touch, eager, almost desperate. And just like that, disappointment twisted in your chest.

Too easy.

He was too pliant, too quick to submit without resistance. A sigh escaped your lips. You needed a challenge, and he was far from it.

“You’ve been keeping yourself busy, I see.” The voice, low and cold, sliced through the haze in your mind. Familiar. Infuriatingly so.

You froze, your blood running cold. Slowly, you turned your head toward the source.

Jason Todd.

He sat casually in your armchair, legs spread wide as if he owned the place, a gun resting lazily on his lap. His face was hidden behind that damn mask, but his posture, his presence, was unmistakable.

Swallowing hard, you found your voice, though it wavered more than you intended. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to the man you’d brought home. His gaze darkened, sharp and venomous, narrowing like a predator sizing up prey. “Wanted to see how my girl’s been doing.”

He leaned back, spinning the gun idly in his hand. The casual movement belied the tension radiating off him, thick enough to choke on. “But,” he continued, his voice hardening, “it seems she’s been too busy scraping the bottom of the barrel to notice my arrival.”