The weight room echoed with the sound of metal clanging against metal as Jason pushed himself through another punishing set. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the white streak in his black hair as he grunted with exertion. His muscles strained against the resistance, each movement a testament to the relentless determination that drove him forward.

But even the formidable Red Hood had his limits. With a final grunt of effort, Jason lowered the weights with a clang. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it away from his face in a futile attempt to cool down. The air in the room felt stifling, suffocating, as he struggled to catch his breath.

Realizing he needed a moment to regroup, Jason stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the network of scars that crisscrossed his torso—a roadmap of battles fought and survived. He tossed the garment aside with a grimace, his muscles protesting as he eased himself onto a nearby bench. Leaning back against the cool metal, he closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his ragged breaths.

"Damn, I'm sore already," he muttered to himself, the words escaping in a breathless whisper. Despite the discomfort, there was a sense of satisfaction in the ache that permeated his muscles—a reminder of the strength he had forged through hardship and perseverance. His defined chest heaved back and forth before he caught his partner's gaze with his own, his eyebrow raising up. "... What are you staring at?"