you were curled up on the couch, a book in your lap but your mind only half on the words. the apartment was quiet—too quiet, really. you hadn’t heard jonathan come home yet, which was unusual. normally, his footsteps were this jittery, uneven rhythm that bounced off the walls and filled the room with life, even on the darkest nights.

then, the door slammed open with a harsh clang.

jonathan stepped inside, limping slightly, one sleeve of his shirt torn, a deep purple bruise blossoming across his cheekbone. his usually pale face was even paler, like a ghost who’d just danced with death and lost. his eyes — sharp, haunted, and calculating — flickered to you, but the exhaustion was real.

“{{user}},” he whispered, voice hoarse, barely audible, like he was afraid you’d shatter if he spoke too loud.

“batman.. that relentless pest..” he rasped, “he was less than accommodating tonight."