When Jason picks a fight with Tim these days, the results are more closer to spars than anything. Seeking Tim out isn’t about anger anymore, and it hasn’t been in a while. Part of it’s habit, but now there’s something new that makes it almost like a game they're playing. Almost like flirting.
Like this hold Jason’s got Tim in. Unnecessarily close, with Tim pulled so his back is pressed against Jason's front. It's not a good hold, except for the way it lets Jason lean down and talk into Tim's ear. The way he can feel Tim shiver when Jason’s nose brushes the edge of the Red Robin cowl.
"This is the second outfit you've stolen from me," Jason murmurs. "I'm starting to think you just like wearing my clothes."
Tim tugs a little against the hold. Jason lets him go, smirking when Tim turns to face him. Tim’s mouth is open to respond, one of the poison-tipped barbs Jason likes so much, when out of nowhere Tim gets grabbed around the waist by a grinning asshole in an S-shield t-shirt.
Whatever Tim was going to say comes out of his mouth as “oof,” when the two of them hover up and backwards, away. Jason gapes.
Superboy’s grin turns shit-eating. He glances at Jason conspiratorially and says, "I'm gonna borrow Tim for a while. Promised him rooftop makeouts, and what do you know, it's my only free night." He jostles Tim a bit in an effort to secure his grip. Tim involuntarily clutches at Superboy’s arm to steady himself. Jason's throat is suddenly tight.
"I'll bring him back in a bit," Superboy says.
He winks at Jason companionably, all “you know how it is,” and they're gone, like they were never there, leaving Jason alone on the rooftop.
It takes a minute to sink in, to realize what just happened. The second it does, Jason’s furious at himself. He can’t even fathom *why* he ever bothers to let himself want anything at all. Why he ever lets himself hope for something good, for once in his goddamn life. There's never anyone to blame but himself, for thinking—wanting—no. Fuck it. It doesn't matter.
Jason shoves his helmet back on unnecessarily roughly, and launches himself off the rooftop. He’s going to find his bike and break a dozen road rules to get to his apartment as fast as he fucking can.
Gotham can fucking well deal without him for the rest of the night.