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The train rolled into Metropolis Station with a metallic whine, brakes hissing as it slowed. Jason stood near the door with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, thumb hooked in the strap. He’d been bracing himself since the last stop — mentally telling himself he didn’t care, that this was no big deal, that he wasn’t nervous.
Just another city, he told himself.
Bigger. Cleaner. More sunshine than any place needed.
But still a city.
He stepped down onto the platform and squinted into the glare. People crowded the area, moving with that oddly relaxed Metropolis pace. No one looked suspicious. No one looked like they might pull a knife. It was… unsettling.
Then he saw you.
You were standing a little off-center from the main crowd, holding a sign above your head that said WELCOME TO THE FUTURE, JASON TODD in thick blue letters. You’d drawn little capes and tiny stick-figure superheroes in the corners. The sign was crooked, bright, and absolutely ridiculous.
His chest did a strange, quiet flip.
When you spotted him, your whole face lit up and you waved the sign even higher. “Jason!”
He rolled his eyes, but the smile slipped through anyway. He walked over, weaving through the people, and you met him halfway, arms looping around his shoulders before he could say anything.
He hugged you back without thinking. You were warm from standing in the sun. You smelled like shampoo and city heat. He didn’t let go right away.
“You looked so done with life stepping off that train….” You leaned back to look at him. “Rough morning? Or did Gotham finish draining your soul?”
“Pretty sure it did that years ago…”
You snorted. “Uh-huh. Drama king.”
Jason shrugged. “It’s accurate.”
“Well…” You said, bright again, “I’m fixing that. Your Metropolis 101 tour starts now.”
“You made a syllabus?”
“I was tempted.”
He huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head.
You reached for his hand without hesitation. He let you take it. The station buzzed around them — light chatter, rolling luggage, sunlight bouncing off the glass ceiling in wide bright sheets.
Jason glanced around uneasily. “This is weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“You live somewhere with actual vitamin D exposure.”
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You’ll survive.”
“Doubtful.”
But he kept walking beside you anyway.
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You took him to a small café near Centennial Park, a place with yellow chairs and chalkboard menus and tiny plants suspended in jars from the ceiling. Jason stepped inside and froze for a second, looking around like the décor might attack him.
“This place is…colorful…” He said carefully.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s suspicious.”
You laughed. “Sit.”
He sat mainly because you were already ordering. When he looked up at the menu, his eyebrows slowly lifted.
“They name the sandwiches here….” He said. “Why do they need names?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“That’s what fun usually is.”
He pointed at an iced coffee drink, because choosing anything else required too much commitment. You ordered something bright pink with fruit on top.
While you waited for the drinks, you talked — slipping from one topic to the next with the speed you always had when you were excited. You told him about a teacher you’d run into last week, a new bakery that opened down the block, a weird pigeon that seemed to live outside your building now. Halfway through the pigeon story, you stopped.
“Sorry. I’m doing the talking-a-mile-a-minute thing.”
Jason leaned his arms on the table. “I don’t mind.”
“You sure? Because sometimes I get going and then I can’t—”
“Seriously…” He cut in, quieter than before. “You tell interesting stories.”
You went a little pink and immediately grabbed your drink straw to fiddle with it. Jason looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed.
After the café, you dragged him into the park. Kids were running around with frisbees. Dogs chased each other until they collapsed into messy piles of fur. The lake glimmered like a picture in a brochure.
“See?” You said. “Normal people live like this. Sunshine. Leisure. No screaming in the distance.”
“I’ve heard rumors….” He said.
“You’re impossible.”
Jason smirked, but his eyes kept tracking the small things around him — the warmth on the grass, the hum of conversations, the way your face brightened when you pointed out a family of ducks near the water.
He didn’t say anything about it.
He just kept pace with you, storing the moment somewhere quiet inside himself.
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The next afternoon you took him to a neighborhood ultimate frisbee game at a local field. People sat on blankets with coolers and snacks. A few kids ran around with plastic flags. Someone’s portable speaker played old pop music.
Jason stood at the edge of the grass, hands in his jacket pockets, looking painfully out of place.
You glanced at him and snorted. “You’re brooding really hard over there.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You brood.”
He muttered something under his breath but sat with you anyway. You spread out a blanket and handed him half a hot dog and some popcorn. Jason took them with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re feeding me now?”
“Keeping your blood sugar stable so you don’t glare a hole through the entire crowd.”
He took a bite and didn’t complain, which said enough.
When the game started, you leaned forward, pointing out which team was which, explaining how the throwing formation worked in this league. You drifted into a mini-rant about how spinning velocity changes with grip style, and then—
You stopped mid-sentence. “Sorry. I’m talking a lot.”
Jason wiped his hand on a napkin. “I like when you talk.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Go on.”
You stared for a second before continuing, a little flustered.
A cheer went up from the crowd when someone caught a long pass and dove for the end zone. A few teens started a wave on the left side of the field.
Jason ignored it the first time it reached him.
He ignored it the second time too.
On the third round, you jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow. “Participate, citizen.”
Jason lifted his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “There. Happy?”
“Very…” You said, grinning.
After the game, you both lay back in the grass, watching the sky shift toward late afternoon. Jason closed his eyes, hands behind his head.
“This is better than I thought…..” He said after a while.
You turned your head to look at him. “Being here? Or being here with me?”
Jason plucked a piece of grass and flicked it toward you. It landed on your shirt.
You laughed, brushing it off and took that as an answer anyway.
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You borrowed two bikes from a friend’s garage and rolled them out onto the sidewalk. Jason eyed the older one with a skeptical look.
“You don’t trust me with the nicer bike?” He asked.
“I don’t trust your definition of ‘normal speed.’”
He smirked. “That’s fair.”
You started down the river path first, riding steadily. Jason followed close behind, sometimes drifting just close enough to bump your back wheel. You shot him a look over your shoulder.
“Stop sabotaging me.”
“I’m not…” His voice way too innocent. “Maybe you’re just unstable.”
“You’re asking to get kicked.”
He laughed under his breath.
The ride was warm and breezy. The river sparkled beside you. People jogged past, some with headphones, some pushing strollers. Jason wasn’t used to seeing this many people relaxed in public. It made him oddly self-conscious.
You stopped at a cart selling ice cream under an umbrella. Jason picked vanilla because it was simple. You chose something with bright swirls and chunks of fruit.
Jason took one look at it. “What is that? Dessert or a science experiment?”
“It’s good…” You insisted.
He took a tiny bite, squinted, and handed it back. “It tastes too fruity.”
“You’re so rude.”
“I’m honest.”
You flicked a tiny bit of melted ice cream at him. It missed by a lot, landing on the sidewalk.
“Great aim…” He said.
“Shut up.”
You sat on the curb, legs stretched out, eating your cones as they melted faster than expected. Jason tried to keep his from dripping down his fingers. You laughed at the way he concentrated on it like it was a bomb he was defusing.
There was nothing dramatic or big about the moment — no tension, no shadows, no danger. Just warmth, bikes leaning against a fence, and the sound of summer traffic rolling by.
Jason realized he didn’t mind that at all.
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You’d been talking about the Superman Museum since the moment he booked the train ticket. Jason pretended he wasn’t listening each time, but he had been. When you tugged him toward the building that morning, he went along with the enthusiasm of someone being dragged into a dentist’s office.
“Come on….” You said, walking backward in front of him. “It’s literally the best place in the city.”
“That’s depressing…” Jason said.
“It’s educational.”
“It’s propaganda.”
You raised your brows. “So is Gotham’s entire tourism board.”
Jason shrugged because he couldn’t argue with that.
Inside, the museum lobby opened into a huge glass atrium stuffed with Superman memorabilia — old suits, newspaper clippings, gadgets behind cases, informational kiosks glowing like little islands. You lit up instantly, practically bouncing on your feet.
“Oh, look— they changed the layout!” You said, already speed-walking.
Jason followed at a slower pace, hands shoved in his pockets. You were pointing out displays before he even got close enough to read the signs.
“Okay, this is the Fortress of Solitude model— the new one, not the old blocky one. And over here’s the first prototype suit he ever wore. I mean, not the real one, obviously, but it’s still cool. Oh! And this— this is a replica of the first Kryptonian crystal they ever found in Antarctica.”
Jason stared at the crystal. “Looks like fancy glass.”
“It’s alien fancy glass.”
“Gotham’s got cooler stuff.”
“Oh really? Cooler than a Kryptonian memory crystal?”
“Jonah Hex used to keep dinosaur bones under his bed….” Jason said.
You stopped. “Jason. That is not real.”
“It’s in a book somewhere.”
“Comic books don’t count!”
“They absolutely do.”
You shoved him with your shoulder, exasperated but smiling. “You’re impossible.”
Jason smirked. He liked bothering you, especially when you got animated like this.
You led him into a room decorated like the inside of a Kryptonian archive — soft blue lighting, metal panels, floating holograms. Jason slowed without meaning to, eyes tracking the language patterns scrolling across the walls.
“This is the Krypton history exhibit….” You lowered your voice a little, as if the room demanded it. “It’s the best part.”
Jason stepped up to a holo-table showing Krypton’s star maps. His fingers hovered over it, curious despite himself.
“So this is….legit stuff?” He questioned. “Actual Krypton history?”
“As legit as we can get. They pulled most of it from the Fortress database.”
He focused on a projection of Kryptonian armor, the kind that looked like ornate metal sculpted for another species. “Huh.”
“Huh?” You echoed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“It’s…interesting…”
You lit up. “Oh my god. Did you just admit something here is cool?”
“No….” He said quickly. “I said it’s interesting. There’s a difference.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He turned away before you could see the small, traitorous smile tugging at his mouth.
You dragged him toward a wall lined with Superman memorabilia — photographs, rescued objects, even a replica of the Phantom Zone projector. You gasped when you saw it.
“This wasn’t here last time!” You said, nearly pressing your face to the glass.
Jason considered the exhibit. “I bet this thing doesn’t even work.”
“Of course it doesn’t work.”
“Rip offs.” He muttered.
You groaned loudly. “You cannot insult every single item in here.”
“Why not? We're being scammed.”
“You’re—” You cut yourself off, laughing because arguing with him was useless. “I can’t believe I’m dating someone who thinks Jonah Hex is cooler than Superman.”
“He is.”
“Jason. He doesn’t even have powers.”
“Exactly.”
You covered your face for a second. “I need new taste in boys.”
Jason nudged your arm gently. “Too late.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed.
He caught the look. And he liked it more than he’d admit.
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Dinner with your parents had been….something.
Jason hadn’t known where to put his hands the entire time. Your dad kept trying to ask about “school” and “hobbies,” clearly trying to read between the lines of a kid from Gotham. Your mom was kinder but kept offering him more food like he wasn’t eating enough. Jason thanked her every time, always quietly.
He wasn’t used to sitting at a table like that.
Not with the warmth.
Not with the soft questions.
Not with how normal everything felt.
Afterward, you both slipped out for a walk. The night was humid but calm. Porch lights glowed warm yellow. Crickets chirped. Couples walked dogs down the block.
Jason walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders a little tense.
“You were quiet at dinner…” You said gently.
“I didn’t want to say something stupid.”
“My parents liked you.”
“They were staring at me the whole time.”
“They stare at everyone.”
Jason snorted under his breath but didn’t argue.
After a moment he said, “This place is weird.”
“How?”
“No one’s on edge. No one’s waiting for something bad to happen. People….smile here. It’s strange.”
“That’s kind of sad….” You said softly. “That it feels strange.”
He shrugged. “It’s nice. I’m not complaining.”
You bumped him lightly with your shoulder. “I’m glad you came.”
“I said I would.”
“You’ve said it before.”
Jason glanced down. “Yeah. Well. This time I mean it.”
The two of you wandered into a small neighborhood park. The grass was short and soft, benches scattered under tall lamps. You sat down on one; Jason joined you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
You watched him for a moment, then said, “I missed you.”
Jason shifted, eyes on the ground. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“Long enough.”
He let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I missed you too.”
It felt like an admission pulled out of him, but a real one.
Silence softened between you. The city was quiet in a way Gotham never was. Someone’s wind chimes clicked softly nearby.
He thought about the first time you met — two years ago when you came to Gotham to visit your sister. You’d gotten lost outside a bookstore, looking very out of place. Jason had been passing by, hoodie up, trying not to draw attention. You’d asked him for directions with zero fear in your voice. He’d been confused by that for days.
The two of you ran into one another the next day, and the next, and when you left, you somehow kept talking. At first weekly. Then almost every day. Things shifted quietly, naturally — a slow slide into something that made sense, even if the distance didn’t.
“It’s really good having you here….” You said. “Like...here here.”
Jason turned toward you. “Yeah. I know.”
You leaned in, testing the moment.
He met you halfway.
The kiss started soft. Almost cautious. Your hand slid up to touch his jaw, and he leaned in more, his shoulders relaxing. The second kiss drew him in deeper, your fingers curled in his jacket, his hand finding your waist.
A gust of wind came out of nowhere — sharp, sudden, sending loose dirt swirling around your ankles. Jason pulled back, startled.
A blur passed overhead.
Red and blue.
You laughed breathlessly. “Superman has terrible timing.”
Jason brushed dust off his sleeve. “He absolutely did that on purpose.”
“Why would Superman care that we’re kissing?”
“He’s everywhere. He probably saw.”
“That’s so embarrassing.”
Jason huffed out a short, rare laugh. “I’m not embarrassed.”
You pulled him back in by the collar. “Of course you’re not….” You said, and kissed him again.
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Morning came too early.
Jason walked beside you toward the station, your fingers laced with his. You weren’t talking much. Neither was he. There was a heaviness in the air, the kind that happens when something good is ending too soon.
At the platform, you dug through your bag and pulled out a small pin shaped like the Superman emblem.
“It’s for you….” You said, holding it out. “Just….something to remind you of here. And of summer. And sunshine. And — you know.”
Jason stared at it. “I’m gonna get roasted if anyone sees me with this.”
“Then hide it….” You said with a smile. “But keep it.”
He hesitated. Only for a second.
Then took it.
“Thanks….” He said quietly.
The announcement blared over the speakers, calling people to board. Your expression tightened, sadness slipping in before you could hide it.
“Hey….” Jason said, stepping closer. “Don’t look like that.”
“I know. I just…” You bit your lip. “I’m really gonna miss you.”
He reached out and rested his hand at the back of your neck, thumb brushing your hairline. “We’ll see each other in the fall. That’s not far.”
You nodded, trying to smile but not quite getting there.
Jason leaned in and kissed you.
He pulled you into another hug, arms around you, holding tight — tighter than he meant to, maybe.
You held on even tighter.
When the final boarding call sounded, you let him go slowly, fingers dragging along his jacket sleeve until the last possible second.
He stepped onto the train, turned back once to look at you, then forced himself to find a seat.
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The difference hit him as soon as the train slid into Gotham Station. The air felt heavier. The sky darker. The city’s familiar hum — rough and restless — settled around him like an old, worn coat.
Bruce stood near the car pickup area, hands in his pockets, looking exactly like someone from a noir movie. Jason walked toward him, backpack slung low.
“Welcome back…” Bruce said. “How was the trip?”
Jason shrugged. “Fine.”
“And she’s doing well?”
“Yeah.”
They started toward the car. Bruce waited for more. Jason didn’t offer it. He just turned the small pin over between his fingers — the bright red and yellow symbol looking almost out of place in Gotham’s washed-out light.
He didn’t put it away.
Didn’t tuck it in his pocket like he meant to.
He just held it.
Bruce glanced at him briefly, then focused on the road ahead.
Jason stared out the window while the city passed by — graffiti, cracked sidewalks, dark alleys. He was already missing you. Already thinking about fall break. Already wondering if he could convince Bruce to let him spend every summer with you until he hit eighteen. Maybe even after that.
The city swallowed the horizon, gray and familiar.
But in Jason’s hands, the pin stayed bright.