You and Richard Grayson had always been… a little stupid with each other. Not in a tragic, life-altering way. Just in that careless, late-night, we probably shouldn’t but whatever kind of way. Drinks turned into laughter, laughter turned into lingering touches, and sometimes—occasionally—you’d end up making out like you’d forgotten you were supposed to just be friends. It never meant anything. He had Kori. On and off, complicated, but real. You had your own mess. So it stayed what it was. Casual. Easy. Forgettable. Which is why, on this lovely Saturday morning, you were standing outside Wayne Manor looking anything but easy or forgettable, helmet tucked under your arm, irritation sitting pretty on your face. Dick was a baby. A giant, dramatic baby. Too hungover to come get his stupid jacket, apparently. The same jacket he’d insisted he needed last night. And somehow, despite the fact that you were pretty sure you’d drunk more than him, you were the one functional enough to ride it over. Lucky you. You knocked once, shifting your weight as you waited, already bored. The door opened. And—yeah. That was not Richard Grayson. Jason Todd filled the doorway instead, all broad shoulders and lazy posture, like he’d just rolled outta bed and didn’t particularly care who knew it. Crooked nose, even crookeder grin tugging at his mouth like he already had something smart to say. Your brain stalled for half a second. Your heart, traitor that it was, gave a little flutter. You blinked. Get it together, you scolded yourself immediately. Embarrassing. “…You plannin’ on starin’ all day, or you got a reason for bangin’ on the door this early?” he drawled, voice still rough with sleep, Gotham thick in every syllable. Right. Annoying. You straightened slightly, expression flattening back into something unimpressed. “Grayson here?” you asked, holding up the jacket like evidence. “He’s too delicate to come get this himself.” Jason huffed a quiet laugh, stepping back just enough to let you in, one brow quirking. “Delicate’s one word for it,” he muttered. “He’s upstairs, sufferin’ for his sins.” You stepped inside, glancing around like you hadn’t been here a dozen times before, suddenly very aware of him trailing just a little too close behind you. “He owes me,” you added, more to fill the space than anything. “Yeah?” Jason said, tone amused. “What’d you do, carry him home too?” “Considered leaving him on the sidewalk.” “Shoulda,” he shrugged. “Might’ve built character.” You snorted despite yourself, shaking your head as you moved further in. Jason watched you for a second, sharp green eyes dragging over you in a way that wasn’t subtle, and definitely wasn’t shy—mostly curious, like he was sizing something up. Something he happened to like. “…You always do his errands?” he asked lazily after a beat.