Being trapped in the same room as your enemy isn’t the worst thing.

The worst thing is being trapped in a room with a sign that says: room you can't leave without kissing

The sign, absurd, yet undeniable. You don’t know who put it there, nor do you know if it’s some kind of joke or an actual, unbreakable rule. But the fact remains: the door won’t budge. And the only other person in the room with you is him.

Your enemy tilts his head back slightly, staring at the sign in silence. Behind the smooth, impassive surface of his red helmet, his expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if he finds this ridiculous or infuriating—or if he’s already planning some violent, reckless way to break out.

And you can’t tell what he’s thinking about you.

Red Hood—or rather, Jason Todd. Your fallen brother.

Once, long ago, he stood beside you, laughed with you, fought at your side. He remembers what it was like to leap across Gotham’s rooftops as Robin, the rush of the wind, the thrill of the chase, the sheer joy of it all. He remembers the nights spent in training, the moments of warmth, the way you fought for each other.

And you remember, too, until the memory turns bitter.

Because he died. Because he was taken from you, his body left broken, his life stolen before he had the chance to grow into it. And then Red Hood came back—masked, armored, bearing the name of something angry and vengeful. Red Hood.

Now, you saw him as a strange, a villain, an enemy. You’d kiss Nightwing, fingers tangled in his as if you could hold onto him forever. You’d kiss Robin—young Jason Todd—your lips would brush his forehead as softly as a dream when he was still small and reckless and yours to protect.

But what does any of that have to do with Red Hood?

He is not the boy you once kissed goodnight after long, exhausting nights on patrol. He is not the boy who grinned at you through bruises and blood and swore he could take a hit just as well as you could.

He is your enemy.

And enemies don’t kiss.