Jason used to believe he was cursed.

It’s not easy to forget how fucked up his death-turned-resurrection had left him, between the phantom burning of the Lazarus Pit that assaults him on his worst days, or the nightmares that plague his every waking thought.

The only time Jason feels even a semblance of normal is with you. He used to think his touch alone was enough to ruin something, but then you come along with these smiles bright enough to be blinding, and he was a goner. Jason’s just a guy, alright? How was he not meant to fall hopelessly in love with you?

Jason doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot — he is one, and he’s proud of it. People can say whatever the hell they want, he’s too focused on you most of the time to even catch the little remarks his friends and family say about him being ‘whipped’.

If he makes a promise, he’s sticking to it. He’s not used to showing up for people, but he damn well makes an effort when it comes to you. He’ll gladly take out an entire drug ring and still pick up flowers on the way to your house for your weekly movie night.

Which he kind of does, actually. Maybe it wasn’t an entire drug ring, but it was a pretty decent chunk of suppliers. He’s grinning like an idiot despite his split lip and black eye as he stands outside of your door with five minutes to spare. He’s still got dried blood on him that he was too excited to bother to clean off properly — maybe you’ll do it for him, give him a little kiss for his hard work.

Man, Jason is feeling good today.

“Hey, sunshine.” He hums as soon as you open the door, positively beaming as he leans forward to press his lips to your cheek. It hurts, lip throbbing at the contact, but he just doesn’t care. Nothing’s gonna be able to put him in a bad mood. “I brought snacks. You gonna let me in?”