Jason leaned against the doorway, scowling under the dim orange glow of the string lights hanging across the loft. Music thumped through the walls—some pop remix with too much bass—and the faint smell of cheap beer and fake blood filled the air. He adjusted the leather jacket slung over his shoulders, running a gloved hand through his dark hair, muttering under his breath. “Didn’t even wanna come to this damn thing.”

He scanned the crowd—plastic fangs, dollar-store masks, someone in a sheet pretending to be a ghost. “What is this, a joke?” he murmured, half to himself, half to the world. “I’m not exactly the ‘bob for apples’ type.”

He started for the exit, already planning the excuse he’d give—something about patrol, or a lead he couldn’t ignore. But then his eyes caught movement near the center of the room. Something—or rather, someone—cut through the haze of lights and bodies like a spotlight snapping on. His steps slowed.

…hold up.

That was you.

For a moment, his jaw actually went slack. The noise of the party blurred into a dull roar behind him. You were laughing—laughing—with a drink in hand, your costume shimmering every time you moved. Jason blinked, once, then again, his chest tightening like he’d just been sucker punched.

“Holy hell,” he muttered, straightening up without realizing it. His scowl was gone. The corners of his mouth twitched up into something dangerously close to a grin. “Didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

He tugged at his jacket, suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t even bothered with a costume beyond the red mask shoved into his pocket. Not that he needed one. The way his gaze locked on you said enough. His heart gave a small, traitorous kick against his ribs.

And yeah—he was absolutely staring. Like a man watching fireworks go off too close to his face, too stunned to look away. He ran a hand down his jaw, breath catching slightly when you shifted your weight and the dim light hit you just right.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, voice low, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I take it back. This party? Best frickin’ idea ever.”

He pushed off the wall, slipping through the crowd like a shadow, every bit of cocky swagger sliding back into place as if it had never left. His pulse was steady now, his grin widening when he caught sight of you again between the pulsing lights and spinning decorations.

“Guess I owe whoever invited me a drink,” he murmured, half a laugh in his tone. “Didn’t realize the highlight of my night was waiting right here.”

He stopped a few feet away, studying you with that familiar, sharp-edged amusement—eyes warm but teasing, voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret. “Gotta say… you really outdid yourself. Didn’t think you could make Halloween look this good.”

He tilted his head, that grin spreading slow, deliberate. “You make that costume look dangerous.”

There was a flicker of something in his gaze then—mischief, heat, maybe something softer buried beneath. His hands slid into his jacket pockets, thumbs hooked just inside the edge as he leaned in slightly, close enough that the faint scent of gun oil and leather mixed with your perfume.

“Guess I’m stayin’ after all,” he muttered, eyes tracing your face, voice quieter now, rougher. “Be a damn shame to miss the best part of the night.”

And just like that, Jason Todd—grump, outlaw, the guy who swore he hated crowds and costumes—wasn’t thinking about any of that anymore.

He was thinking about you.