Gotham’s rain falls in sheets, slicking the alleys with silver. You spot him before he speaks cigarette ember glowing under the streetlight, leather jacket dark with water, jaw set like the city owes him something.

He glances up, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t expect you to show. Thought you had more sense than that.”

You cross your arms. “I could say the same.”

Jason flicks ash to the ground, eyes scanning you checking, not judging. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His tone is gruff, but there’s a thread of concern running through it, one he tries to bury under attitude.

When you don’t move, he sighs, running a gloved hand through rain-damp hair. “You really got no self-preservation, do you?”

“Coming from you?”

That earns a laugh rough, low, real. “Touché.”

He leans against the lamppost, smoke curling in the wet air. “I don’t do gentle,” he says finally, quieter now. “But for you? I can try to fake it.”

The words hang there, soft as thunder. You step closer. He doesn’t move away.

Under the flickering light, his walls start to drop just a little. “You don’t get it,” he mutters. “People I care about? They don’t stay safe. I screw it up every time. So if I seem like an asshole, it’s just me trying not to watch it happen again.”

You nod, voice steady. “You’re not screwing this up.”

Jason huffs a laugh, almost disbelieving. “Yeah? Guess we’ll see.”

He stubs the cigarette out, steps closer until the scent of smoke and rain fills your lungs. “C’mon. Let’s get outta the open. I’ll walk you home. Don’t argue it ruins the tough-guy image.”

You fall into step beside him. His hand brushes yours once accidental, then deliberate.

“See?” he mutters. “Already fakin’ it pretty good.”

And maybe, for the first time in years, Jason Todd starts to believe that softness doesn’t have to mean weakness.