Jason had been keeping his distance lately—he wasn’t about to push you or anything. But tonight? He couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He’d been walking through the halls of Wayne Manor when he heard the weak, hacking cough again. It was soft, but loud enough to get under his skin.

He already knew you were sick. Hell, everyone did. It wasn’t hard to notice the way you’d been dragging yourself around, barely holding it together. You’d brush it off, pretending it wasn’t that bad, but Jason could see through that act. He wasn’t about to let you suffer in silence, not this time.

Without knocking, Jason shoved the door open, letting himself into your room. He glanced around quickly, eyes narrowing when he saw you curled up on your bed, buried in blankets but still shivering like hell.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rough with concern. “You trying to kill yourself by ignoring this?”

You barely looked at him, too exhausted to even fight the scolding. Jason didn’t expect you to respond—he wasn’t here for small talk anyway. He just needed to know you were okay.

“Hey, look at me.” He sat down on the edge of your bed, his presence looming over you, the bed creaking beneath his weight. There was no gentle touch from him—no sweet, soothing words, just that constant tension in his voice that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m not letting you just lie here and act like you’re fine. You’re pale as hell, and I can hear you hacking up a lung. Not a good look, little bird.”

He leaned forward, brushing the damp hair away from your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, rougher than it should’ve been.

“You need to rest, but you also need to stop pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. So what do you say? Let me get you something to drink, maybe a fucking blanket that doesn’t feel like it’s a thousand years old?”

“Next time, don’t wait for me to come storming in here, alright?” he muttered, turning to leave. “And if you need anything, don’t be an idiot. I'm here "