In order to recognize how I feel at this moment, you have to take a stroll backwards in time, a couple days perhaps.

It began with the usual morning activities, admiring my lean and wiry nineteen year old body while thinking to myself, 'What a stud.' Fumbling through my room, which I kept cleaner since a year ago aside from the heaps of clothing, I tried to find it. Today would be the day, the day that I finally grew the nerves to give her The Necklace.

Yes, The Necklace, with capitals and all. Guy de Maupassant wrote it. I totally forget his first name, but it's beside the point at the moment.

See, two weeks before then, I had said that I once read a story about a French lady who lost a necklace. She had the gall to snort. Sure, the whole, 'I can show emotion now' is cool; I mean, more of a chance that she'll laugh at my master jokes. But it also makes it just that much more obvious that she thinks I'm stupid… I'm not though! I know what gall means!

Anyways, there I was, standing outside the main ops. room, when the door opens from the inside. She looks back at me with a look that crosses between bored and confused. After a second of just standing there, staring at each other, I smile and hold up a very thin book.

Oblivious as usual, she raises a brow. "And?"

"And? And this is it!"

"I fail to share your enthusiasm."

"The Necklace, by Guy De Maupassant. Remember how I told you about the French lady losing her friend's necklace? Here it is!"

She reached out for it, flipping through the pages as she skimmed. "Figures. Twenty-eight pages. Don't strain yourself, Gar." Shoving the book into my chest, she marched right past me.

I can't help it, my eyes follow her until she turns around a corner and then I'm left standing there, staring at that corner for the next five minutes. The woman cannot be pleased! I groan as I turn around to get myself breakfast. As I look down at the book, I realize I have a tear the size of my fist at the lower right of my Adidas shirt.

"When did that get there?"

.:..:..:.

So when the next day came rolling around, I was excessively tired. The day before, just as I was finishing my tofu eggs, we were called out to stop Cinderblock from robbing a bank. Then shortly after, some gang fight in the middle of the airport. And after that, we had to deal with some whack job who had strapped bombs to himself and threatened to blow up a neighborhood, all while some giant moths attacked us at the same time.

It got intense.

But this is off topic. In short, we didn't get home until three in the morning. I woke up around eight after I heard a loud crash. Since I was too lazy last night to really change, I was running into the kitchen in just my white and purple costume pants.

"What happened?"

"Beast Boy?" Raven blinked, "Oh, nothing. I just dropped a pan."

I scrunched up my nose. "You're cooking?"

"No, I just washed and dried my dishes, so I figure I may as well do everybody else's. Since they'll never get done otherwise," she glanced at the sink, "Just finished putting them away."

"Oh… okay."

She smirked and approached me. I had no idea what she was going to do, so I stiffened a bit with every step she took closer. I soon realized that she was walking past me, not towards me. But as she brushed past my side, she hit the palm of her hand on my chest twice.

"Nice shirt," she said as she exited the room.

And once again, I found myself staring after her shadow.

.:..:..:.

I had spent the rest of the day thinking. She was killing me. I couldn't think about anything not about her. I couldn't sleep without dreaming about her being next to me when I woke up. I couldn't go anywhere without her being there to make me feel stupid for drooling at her retreating figure.

Why does this feel like a crappy romantic sitcom?

I didn't sign up for this! But no, I was dragged along this crazy parade and forced to work with such tyrannical women. What did I ever do to deserve this?

Finding myself asking more questions than discovering answers, I give up. I stand from my bed and head into the ops room to play some late night video games. It's eleven maybe, and I didn't expect anybody to be up. Nightwing, perhaps, but he would be in his room.

So imagine my immense glee at finding Raven sitting at the end of the couch, tea in hand. She seemed a bit vacant, as if thinking, staring past the far wall.

After a bit of consideration, I move from my spot in the doorway to grab a bag of Doritos and plop down beside her. A bit closer than I had intended, but I didn't mind. She didn't even notice.

"Staring at people is unbecoming, Gar." Spoke too soon.

"Just wanted to make sure you were alive."

Her head turned slowly. "And if I weren't?"

"Uh…"

She smirked lightly and stood up, "Yeah, I get that a lot," and she moved to the kitchen to take care of her mug. "Have any extra laundry that I should add to your load? I'm waiting for Starfire's to finish, then you're up last."

"You're sure doing a lot of chores, Raven."

She shrugged and glanced at me, "It's my turn this week."

"Oh, well. Nah, just what I got in there. Probably a big enough load anyways."

She snorted, again. "You're telling me."

I huff and take a handful of nacho flavored chips from the bag, getting my hands all cheesy. I watch her, again, as she goes to check on the laundry. "So much for gaming."

The silence is my only company for the next five minutes until Raven gets back.

"Alright, so you think you can handle waiting another thirty minutes until your clothes are dry? I'll take them out, but I'm not folding."

I shrug noncommittally, "Sure."

She nods and searches around the room for a book. Once she does, we sit together in complete silence until a dim beeping is heard. "Done," she announces and leaves for the laundry room.

When she comes back with a basket stacked high with clothes, I resist the urge to groan. I have to carry all that back to my room.

"I can trust you to take care of it?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Her lips turn up at the sides by just a fraction, "Great. See you tomorrow." She heads for the hallways, and just as the door closes behind her, she calls out, "Nice shirt decals!"

"What…?" Crazy woman. But as I look down at my plain white tank top, I notice a couple lovely orange hand prints smeared along the front. "Great."

.:..:..:.

So here I am now, jaw dropped open and as of five seconds ago no longer bleary eyed with tire. I suppose it happened yesterday, when she did my laundry. That's when she took it. When else? Coming down here for breakfast at such an hour as six thirty has brought me to that time where Nightwing has come and gone and Raven has just arrived.

It was early, so nobody really bothered to change out of their pajamas. I wore regular, dark purple sweats this morning. It was a relatively warm night so I felt no need for a shirt. Besides, as of late I've been having bad luck with shirts.

Karma won't rest until it has made its point, though, and whatever I did to offend the world I sincerely apologize for; because Raven was wearing her pj's, too. Well, not hers. A large black, short sleeve shirt that hung loosely around her shoulders and ended just above the knees.

Speaking of knees, mine are weak.

"Raven?"

She turns from her plate of waffles, butter knife in hand. "Yes?"

"Uh-hum. Hi."

She smiles crudely, "Hi. Like the shirt?"

That woman… that woman kills me.