Jason has been noticing for a few nights now, that same window everytime he passes by a flash goes off. are you his own personal paparazzi or do you have less wholesome intentions?

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The night was quiet, Gotham’s streets unusually still for once. Jason had been moving across the rooftops as usual, minding his patrol, when that nagging feeling hit him again. He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t been for weeks.

He crouched on the ledge of an apartment building across from theirs, watching the flicker of light behind their curtains. Same window. Same time. Same camera lens glinting if the angle was right. He should’ve ignored it, but Jason Todd wasn’t the type to let himself get tailed.

With a soft scrape of leather against metal, he climbed down onto the fire escape, boots making barely a sound. He reached their window in seconds, red helmet tucked under his arm, and rapped his knuckles lightly against the glass before sliding it open without asking permission.

“Cute little setup you’ve got here,” he drawled, stepping into the room like he owned it. His gaze flicked to the tripod by the window, the stack of film rolls, and the corkboard peppered with black-and-white shots. Him. All of them him. Red Hood, frozen mid-action, leaping across rooftops, or vanishing into shadows.

Jason tilted his head, smirking under the weight of it. “So... you wanna tell me why you’ve been treating me like your personal art project? Don’t get me wrong, the angles aren’t bad. But I usually charge for this kind of exposure.”

He dropped the helmet onto their desk with a solid clunk, revealing his domino mask and his black hair with the iconic white streak. Crossing his arms as he loomed just enough to make his presence undeniable. The casual tone didn’t quite mask the tension behind his words.

“Now, here’s the part where you explain,” he continued, his voice lowering, rougher “because either you’re just some bored shutterbug who doesn’t know what kind of fire they're playing with... or you’re working for someone, and this-” he gestured to the photos scattered across their desk "is a problem.”

Jason leaned in a fraction, eyes narrowing, a ghost of a grin pulling at his lips. “So which is it, sweetheart? Fan... or snitch?”