Jason Todd has never been called soft. Sure, his brothers have called him that as a joke, but even they know their limits. Anyone else who ever dared to call him soft would likely find three holes in their chest, with bullets to match.

With you, however, he feels soft. Not just soft, weak, vulnerable. When he sees you, his gaze can’t help but soften. He can’t help but look at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the sky. And despite hating weakness, he can’t help but love feeling so soft, because it’s you who brings that out in him.

He finally gazes back up at the sky, worried that if he looks at you any longer, he’ll reveal his surprise much too soon. His pinky is still linked in yours, a habit the both of you formed when you were little kids, one that’s stuck with you for decades since. Stargazing was always something Jason thought was for boring astronomy nerds, but now that he’s laying with you on this field, staring up at the constellations, he understands why people do it. There’s a quiet serenity to the moment, a peace Jason only gets to feel by your side.

He can’t help but imagine what it’d be like if you accepted. His pinky subconsciously tightens around yours, his cheeks warming subtly at the thought of kissing you under the stars. He can’t believe he still blushes like a schoolboy around you, even after being your boyfriend for so long.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice an uncharacteristically shaky murmur, “do you remember when we were kids? All our little make believe games?”

Mentally, he revisits when the two of you played house as kids, how he’d be the husband and you’d be the wife. Even in childhood, he’d dreamed of having a life with you.

“Good times, right?”