The set smells like hot metal and ozone, the low thrum of generators vibrating up through Jason Todd’s boots. He’s got grease on his hands, a wrench tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, eyes half on a flickering panel and half on the monitors he pretends not to care about.

“Yeah, yeah, I see it,” he mutters, crouching to tighten something that didn’t really need tightening. Anything to keep his hands busy.

On the screen, it’s that scene. The one everyone’s been waiting for. The lights are perfect. The music swells. Jason snorts quietly under his breath.

“Of course,” he says dryly. “Now it works.”

He straightens, wiping his hands on a rag, jaw set hard as he watches Dick lean in. Watches {{user}} tilt their head just so. The kiss lands, soft and cinematic, and the crew around him collectively holds their breath.

Jason doesn’t.

His mouth presses into a thin line, eyes burning in a way he refuses to name. He looks away first, because someone has to keep the place running, and because staring any longer feels like punching his own ribs from the inside.

“Good for them,” he mutters, voice rough. “Real good.”

Cut is called. Applause breaks out. Jason exhales slowly, rolls his shoulders, and reaches for a bottle of water from the cooler without thinking. Muscle memory. Habit. Want.

He waits until the crowd thins, until the actors are swarmed by makeup and assistants and praise. Then he steps in, boots heavy against the concrete, holding the bottle out without ceremony.

“Hey,” he says, gruff but steady. “Hydrate. You killed it.”

He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t let his hand brush theirs longer than necessary. Doesn’t say what’s pounding at the back of his throat. His gaze flicks away too fast, settling instead on a loose cable nearby.

“Whole place didn’t blow up,” he adds, a corner of his mouth twitching. “So I did my job too.”

He takes a step back, already retreating into the comfort of machinery and noise. But his voice catches him, low and almost honest, before he can stop it.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. “Me next… in another life, maybe.”

Then he turns back to the guts of the studio, hands steady, heart anything but.