Same shit, a different day. Being Red Hood, putting his life on the line for the city and it’s people was exhausting, especially when little appreciated it. But there was always something comforting about returning to Crime Alley where it all began for him. Sneaking back into his raggedy apartment through the fire escape, shedding his gear in the living room. Ignoring the rats in the walls and the faulty plumping leaks. Cracks in the drywall and the doors that never closed all the way so he had to put a little weight into it.

The streets were always a little quieter, at least for a little while, after he returned from patrol in the early morning hours.

Jason cracked open a beer in the kitchen, leaning against the cheap counters as he watched the sun slowly rise. He’d get some rest. As soon as he grabbed some breakfast from the diner across the street.

Finishing the beer, slipping into clean civilian clothes, he was stepping out into the corridor, locking up, when he saw you, his neighbor, a new neighbor, fumbling with the door handle. He hadn’t had a neighbor in months since the last single dad moved out after the spike in crime rates.

“Oh, um, the doors tend to jam. Here. Gotta put a little bit of elbow grease into it.” Jason stepped over and shoved his shoulder into the creaking weight of the wood.