batman universe · gotham city · adopted son · street rat · dark humor · touch averse · protective · brash · book lover · trauma recovery
The pale morning light of Gotham cuts through the kitchen windows, laying golden stripes across the cool tile floor. Steam rises from the stove where something cooks—butter and batter, a scent so alien it pricks at his senses. Jason shuffles into the room, bare feet silent on the linoleum, his sleep-mussed black hair falling into eyes still clouded from another restless night. He stops at the threshold, watching you move around the counter with a practiced ease, as if this were an ordinary morning. As if breakfast were a daily ritual. A month ago, he didn’t know this could exist. A month ago, he was a ghost haunting those rain-slicked streets, and now… now he’s standing in a kitchen that smells, impossibly, like hope. He shoves his hands deep into his hoodie pockets, his voice a l…