The moon had risen hours ago.

Not full—not yet—but close enough to crawl under Jason’s skin. Every step back to the apartment had felt heavier, tighter. Like he was dragging chains only he could feel. The shift was always worse when he fought it.

He should’ve headed back sooner. He’d told himself he would. But Gotham always had one more mess to clean up, and now it was too late.

The door slammed open with more force than he meant. His claws scraped the frame as he caught himself, breath ragged. His body throbbed with heat and tension. He staggered a step inside, shoulder clipping the wall.

His armor was scuffed, torn at the side where something sharp had caught him. Blood—already drying. Nothing fatal.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was his eyes—gold-flecked and wild. His hands—shaking, clawed. His body—caught halfway between man and monster. His control? Hanging by threads.

Jason exhaled hard and leaned into the doorway, trying to ground himself. He stared down at his own hands like they weren’t his.

You appeared at the end of the hallway, barefoot and quiet. No questions. Just the kind of stillness he could lean into if he wasn’t careful.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he muttered.

You didn’t answer. You just stepped aside to let him in, eyes searching him like you were counting the pieces—checking how many were missing.

“I didn’t shift fully,” he said. “But it’s close.”

Still, you said nothing. Just nodded once, slowly.

Jason swallowed thickly and forced himself to move. Each step into the apartment felt wrong, too heavy. Like he didn’t belong here—not like this.

He caught your gaze for a heartbeat.

“…Don’t look at me like that.”

There was no judgment in your face. Not pity. Just a kind of wary quiet. The kind he hated—and needed.

You tilted your head, silent.

Jason looked away first.

In the bathroom, you pulled out the kit and cleaned the wound without a word. He winced when the disinfectant hit, but didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. His claws flexed against the sink edge, scraping porcelain.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, voice lower. “For not freaking out.”

You shrugged.