#this is unedited and im sooo tired (whats new) but here is my tribute to our boy

[luvrodite]

candles

gn!reader, jason's pov, kind of introspective ?? not so much a fluff fic as it is a stream of consciousness (is that even the right phrase?)

the smell of candle wax reaches his nose, burning, acrid. the flame burns bright spots into his vision, bleeding gaps of yellow and orange that glimmer in the dark when he blinks. jason todd, a year older, unsure as to how much wiser, sits at a table in front of a birthday cake and wonders how he got here.

he thinks about your hands. about the curve of your palms, fingers folding over the plate as you'd carried the dessert. your smile, shaky, unbidden love in the corners of your mouth. adoration had pressed into his shoulders, warmth bleeding from your touch.

make a wish, baby.

it used to be that when he was younger – another lifetime ago entirely, before the fire, before ethiopia, before bruce – he'd play this game. to count all that he longed for. money, mostly. money, money, money. at the centre of it all, green dollar bills. what couldn't you do if you had it? money, so he and mom didn't have to go without, money, so he could take care of her.

he looks up at you, milky eyed, feels the scar on his cheek jump as the muscle twitches.

sweeter than sin, honey soaked, you smile. head tilting, liquid moonlight bottled in your eyes. a wish, he thinks. old aches, a new body, the grief of estrangement, all briefly forgotten – he stares at you, and thinks. a wish.

time passes strangely after the pit. murky, sluggish. it could have been an eternity that he spends, tracing your features in the candlelight, light bleached spots in his vision flickering over your face like burnt film. each breath feels distant to him, air passing faintly through his lungs.

a wish, a wish, a wish.

it seems a foolish thought. all that he so desperately desires, he cannot have. money, he has plenty, but it is worthless in the face of his longing, hard as it is to conceive. what he wants cannot be bought.

he blinks, lids heavy, lashes brushing against his skin. that all familiar buzz in his head, again, the one that threatens to unstitch him inside out, cleave him in half.

– your hands. warm, soft heat, bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.

all is quiet, once more. he moves, stiff limbs breaking an invisible cast to loop around your waist. the weight of you atop his thigh, the startled sound you try to muffle, it lends him a bit of strength. the edges of him feel more solid, and he heaves a breath. a quiet exorcism, an expulsion of the remaining traces of ichor in his lungs.

he blows out the candles.

dunno what this is. thoughts about jason and his birthday, thoughts about love, thoughts about resurrection and rebirth – forced from eternal slumber, the choice to live.

happy birthday jason todd, i love you so dearly.