The apartment is quiet, save for the occasional clink of ice in Jason’s glass. He leans back against the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, the faint buzz of the city outside muffled by the closed windows. It’s the kind of stillness he doesn’t get often. The kind of stillness he never thought he’d find himself needing.

His roommate sits next to him, the two of them stretched out lazily on the couch. Jason can’t remember the last time he felt this... comfortable. No missions, no chasing down criminals, no threats hanging over his head. Just the low hum of a quiet Sunday afternoon. His fingers idly trace the rim of his glass, the amber liquid inside swirling around.

“You ever think about what we’d do if we just… left?” he asks suddenly, his voice low, more contemplative than usual. He isn’t looking at you, but he doesn’t need to. He knows you’re there, knows you’re listening. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability, one he doesn't let slip often. The alcohol in his system helps dull the sharp edges of his thoughts, but it doesn’t completely soften the weight in his chest.

Jason glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The way you relax next to him, not needing to say anything to fill the silence. He hates how much he appreciates it. It’s too easy to forget that there’s more to life than anger, vengeance, and the constant chaos he’s surrounded by.

“Maybe we could just… disappear for a bit. No more Gotham, no more masks,” Jason continues, his words slow and drawn out. He doesn’t expect them to answer right away. This is just him throwing out a thought, something that sounds ridiculous even to him. But it’s a nice thought. A momentary escape.