Learning to Love Slowly

Push-Ups and Hoodies

"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven..." You counted as you watched Jason do push-ups.

The two of you had been sitting in his apartment when you had shown him a TikTok of a guy going for a hundred push-ups, asking if he could do it. He scoffed at your question. "You know I'm Red Hood, right?"

You smirked. "Okay, Red Hood–" For some reason, Jason didn't really like it when you called him that, despite it being who he was. Or a part of who he was as you had said before. "–Can you do a hundred push-ups?"

"Count for me," Jason said and removed his hoodie.

He threw it at you before dropping down into a push-up position. Instantly, he started dropping, going from five to thirty in the span of a minute. You counted and watched, entranced by how hot he was. Under the hoodie, he had been wearing a loose black tank top which let you see more of his muscles on his back and arms. It wasn't often he wore short-sleeved shirts due to his arms and shoulders that had endured cuts and bullet wounds. They were scarred, and, for a second, you wondered how they would feel if you kissed them. Then, you thought of how he would react if he let you. How many noises could you pull from him?

The idea and the smell of his aftershave from the hoodie made you blush, but that didn't stop your eyes to keep looking. On the other hand, your mouth and mind could not work together as you admired him.

Jason said your name when he realized you stopped counting. "What number am I on?"

"Uh, oh," You could feel your face get hot as you tried to think of how many push-ups had passed. "I-I stopped counting."

Huffing out a laugh, Jason sat back on his heels, and for a second, he was nervous. Were you grossed out by the scars, or did he make you uncomfortable? "Why'd you stop?" He needed to know to calm his anxiety.

You hadn't expected him to actually ask you that, but you wouldn't lie to him. After all, you wouldn't have wanted him to lie to you. "You...Well, you're hella hot. Muscles and all. That's why."

Jason sputtered out something about how he didn't know about that and you tried to explain that you weren't staring–but you were. Eventually, at the realization of how silly you sounded trying to reason with your feelings, both of you laughed. You reached out a hand to help him off the floor, and he took it.

He sat on the couch closer to you now, with just enough space so that you weren't pressed together but feel each other's breath blow. Jason reached for the hoodie he threw at you, but you pulled it away from his reach.

"No, I like the smell," You said and pressed it against your nose. "Can I keep it for now?"

Jason felt something tighten in his chest, something that caused more fear than Scarecrow. He thought about telling you no, just so he could get away from the idea that you didn't like how his arms were scarred. But, as you rubbed your thumb on the back of his hand, right on top of a scar, he relented.

"Sure, one condition, I want to borrow yours sometimes."

"Okay, but only the ones that were originally yours."

Jason agreed, then thought further about what you said. "Wait, how many of my hoodies do you have?"