His body leans on the concrete while his eyes wander on the foggy skies. It's one of those nights again. The nights were everything feels like it is falling apart, yet so still at the same time.

He blinks away the thoughts that are swirling in his mind. They are unwanted. As well as uncanny. Maybe somewhere in his mind, there is still that little child; jumping on roof to rooftop, feeling the wind in his little face.

Though, that would be impossible now, right? With the whole Red Hood thing going on?

Sometimes he lights a cigarette. He doesn't smoke, really. He had quit after he died and came back. It wasn't a delightful experience for the body and goddamn, you may have countless lives, but you had one body. The cigarette's light shine through his eyes. He doesn't like the smell, or the smoke. But he likes the ashes. He likes seeing them burn and fall into the wet ground.

Crack

He quickly gets up, looking at the direction you were hiding at.