Description: Jason takes you away from your desk after three days without sleep, at least forty cups of coffee, and six 700-page textbooks. Bless that man.

Words: 859

Notes: I love Jason. Have I mentioned that before? Because I love him. Ask me to pick between the boys and I will AUTOMATICALLY PICK MY JAYBIRD.

"Jason, I need to study." You emphasized desperately. Jason continues walking, shifting your weight on his shoulder as he marches out of your hidey-hole in the conservatory of Wayne Manor. You huffed, crossing your arms and staring at the floor as it flies by. You hated to admit it because that meant you would succumb to it, but being carried down the hall over Jason's shoulder is so much more fun in comparison to studying—even if it's a subject you love.

Jason couldn't help but think you'd started to become Tim Drake. Coffee had been your life's blood for the past three days, and you had stated: "sleep is for the weak" at least twelve times by now. He'd gotten back from patrol maybe a half an hour ago, at two in the morning, and you were still hunched over a textbook by lamplight. It is definitely time for an intervention.

The Red Hood only whistles, boots hushed by carpet and voice by sleeping brothers. You shiver when a rush of cold air greets you, and Jason breaches the quiet lawn, then finally speaks,"You need to take breaks, babe. Otherwise, you won't learn anything."

"...I've been taking breaks." You defended yourself quietly. Jason snorts, settling your bare feet into the grass,"Yeah. Sure."

It is only now that you notice he has a blanket under his arm, and even in your sleepy, study-messed haze do you understand what he's doing. You raise an eyebrow,"Stargazing?"

"Well, you'll be looking at the stars and I'll be looking at you, beautiful." Jason winks, taking a step forward so your chest brushes his. He's trying to distract you, take you away from your thoughts of problems and information. It's working. More sincere and sweet, Jason's fingers rise to place a lock of hair behind your ear,"But you really do deserve a break."

"That's really sweet of you, Jason." You smiled tiredly. Before you can deliver your "but...", Jason shushes you with a chaste kiss, dropping your chin and nodding deeper into the garden,"Then let's go. I have a lot more romantic shit to say and you're the only person I can say it to."

You catch up with him, resting your fingers on his back as you walk,"Aw, Jay, are you feeling all mushy?" You tease. He sends you a glare like a stamp-collector sends letters; reluctantly, because they want to keep the stamp.

In Jason's vast collections of moments he's shared with you, it is these ones, with quiet laughter and teasing, your hand someplace on him and your cheeks deep with color, that he enjoys the most. When Jason first met you it took every ounce of himself not to fall in love with you. When Jason first heard you laugh it took every ounce of himself not to kiss you. And when he saw you, floating between reality and dreamland as you gazed at him, it took every ounce of him.

With a wave and a dramatic flourish—almost in the manner that Bruce dives behind his cape—Jason expands the blanket and guides it into the grass. You crawl over it and get comfortable, feeling the stiffness of earth and rock only a layer beneath you. You don't dare bring up your need to study again. He's right. Maybe it's about time for a break.

"How much sleep have you gotten, baby?" Jason asked. He stretches out, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. He'd traded his uniform for some sleeping attire. You shrug,"I don't know. Maybe three hours."

"In the last three days?" Jason asked, incredulous. When you slowly nod, Jason rolls his eyes and mutters something you're too tired to catch about "Drake" and "sleep". He free's one of his arms and opens it for your enjoyment, coiling it around your shoulders when you lay your cheek against his ribs. He whispers as his fingers play with your hair,"Go to sleep. I'll carry you in."

"What if I can't—" You yawn,"—sleep?"

"Then I'll knock you out or something." Jason chuckled. You smiled into his shirt, fingers spread over his chest gently shifting as you try to get more comfortable,"I'm fine with that." You confessed.

After a pause, you add slowly,"...But what about all the romantic "shit" you were gonna say...?"

"Okay, okay, don't laugh at me," Jason starts, giggling,"But I found this quote that I thought really described you."

You hum in response, the soft chirp of crickets and the gentle light of fireflies floating behind your eyelids. Jason flushes. He exhales, threading his fingers into your hair and untangling each knot,"You shouldn't try so hard to be perfect." He whispered.

Jason glanced down at you, the deep purple waves beneath your eyes, the tangled mess of unwashed hair he was currently trying to fix, and the tiredness within you desperately grappling for sleep. He sounds like an idiot, he knows he does, but damn... you're a mess, but you're hismess. The best mess.

"Trust me," Jason's voice gets quieter as you sink deeper into him,"Perfect should try to be you."