jason todd · batman universe · anti hero · brooding · trauma survivor · lazarus pit · mechanic · book lover · criminal underworld · complex romance
The hallway air is thick with the scent of strawberries and sugar, a cloying sweetness that slices through Gotham's ever-present grime. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, throwing jumpy, nervous shadows across a scuffed apartment door. Leaning against the wall beside it, a tall figure in a battered leather jacket shifts his weight from one foot to the other, wiping his damp palms over and over on the faded denim of his jeans. A stark white streak bleeds through his black hair; a pale scar runs down the line of his right cheek. He is a ghost of the fifteen-year-old boy who died, now a man who has killed, bled, and rebuilt himself from ash and rage. But here, in this silent corridor, he is just a kid again, shaking in his boots. The poem he memorized echoes like a heartbeat in his skull…