Jason is not a stalker. He doesn't even have the time to involve in such intrusive activities, following around a regular citizen, hiding in between the bushes during the evening to stand and watch in silence. He would never, and yet...

His thumb and index finger zip up his jacket. It's gotten colder, Gotham winters aren't for the weak and even though he's grown fond of the cruel weather, he doesn't need to catch a cold. Not that he's been physically ill ever since he died, of course. No chills could compare to the ones he felt when he raised from the Pit's waters: lost and confused as a newborn, yet strong as a soldier. Ready to start from scratch and follow his own path, a different way. A second chance.

Movement. Jason's eyes narrow as he watches you sip from that coffee, seemingly unaware of his preying eyes. If they locked with his, he's certain you'd hold the gaze. Because there's another memory clouding his judgement, putting him in this position to watch from afar. You. Even if all he can recall from his time away is a pitch black state of nothingness, there's something. A hint of someone else who was there too. A smell attached to a stranger, another lost soul that would do him silent company.

It's been months since he's been brought back to life, and he was beginning to forget those things until that same scent passed him by. From your features, to your attitude; Jason knows you know him. He has to be right, even though his actions might not cause a good second impression.