Jason Todd ²

Jason Todd was, honestly, as calm as someone could be after dying, being brought back to life, and now pretending that reading Pride and Prejudice on a Tuesday afternoon made him a functional human being. Because when you spend a couple of months technically dead, you lose a lot of things: your sense of humor, your desire to socialize, and—most importantly, according to Dick—the basic practice of flirting.

Normal life—whatever the hell that meant—was complicated. Bruce found a way to bring him back. A miracle, a curse, an unanswered question he still carried like the autopsy scar on his chest.

So yeah, Jason was “fine.”

He was mid-page when his friends from the theater club burst into the library, loud as ever speaking about something related to an intercollegiate event.

Jason closed his book with a long sigh.
“…What if I stay here and pretend I have homework?”
“You already pretend you’re normal,” his friend said, grabbing his arm. “Come on. Touch some grass that doesn’t smell like ink and trauma.”

Jason rolled his eyes.
“You know who also breathed fresh air? Thomas and Martha Wayne.”

Which was how he ended up standing in the middle of the sports field—surrounded by students from Metropolis, Blüdhaven, Central City—way too much noise, way too much energy for someone still adjusting to being alive again.

And then they stepped off the bus.

{{user}}.

Uniform in blue and white. Bright smile. Hair a little messy in a way that had to be intentional. A warm presence that shifted the whole atmosphere without even trying.

Jason froze.
Completely.

They was talking to the event coordinator, laughing, moving their hands as if every thought needed choreography. Popular, yes—but also warm, approachable, interesting.

Jason hugged his book closer to his chest and thought:

I feel like I’m inside a badly written fanfic.

The universe must have heard him.

Because {{user}} turned.
And their eyes met.