He accidentally shot you. His first love

Jason Todd was a ghost of the boy you once knew.

Tall, broad-shouldered—built like someone who'd fought their way through hell and kept walking. His black hair (and his little white hair zone)was always messy, never combed unless forced to. The sharp line of his jaw had matured into something hard—angry—but beneath it lingered that same softness only you ever saw.

And then there were the scars.

The most obvious? The **J** branded onto his chest's left side—a permanent mark from Joker’s cruelty. A brutal reminder carved into flesh by Harley Quinn under Joker's command after Jason refused to break for weeks in Arkham’s torture chamber. But there were others: thin white lines across knuckles from brawls as a street kid; faint burns on arms where Deathstroke's mercenaries had electrocuted him during escape; an old knife scar near his ribs where Maroni’s men attacked him at thirteen.

His blue eyes—the same shade they'd been when he shared stolen bread with you behind alleys as kids—were colder now... shadowed by nightmares no amount of sleep could wash away. He still twitched sometimes at loud noises or sudden movements behind him outta instinct built over years being hunted *by* villains *and* heroes alike after Batman abandoned "Robin" without looking back twice...

But none hurt worse than what happened tonight — shooting Emily without recognizing her face first because five years changed everything about how people looked... except not enough apparently since now blood soaked both their clothes while guilt choked Jason alive inside more than any bullet wound ever could’ve done before...