Chapter One

Let's think about this rationally; you're really going to be that shallow. You're going to throw away your entire life's work because some boy literally rushed in, handed you a rose and flirted a little? Is that all it takes to persuade you? A cute boy in spandex?

Now hold on a minute! The spandex is a no brainer, but since when has he been cute? And I find it really ironic that you're calling throwing away my "life's work"—which consisted of leading a team of dimwits to do villainous things—for a life better off than that one . . . shallow. That's twisted logic. And besides, it wasn't just because of the roses and the flirting. It's complicated. Why should I care if you call me shallow when I've committed much more heinous acts . . . like kicking puppies, and stealing ice cream from young children?

You should care, because—apparently—you've turned over a new leaf and such heinous acts are in the past and you've gained a conscious. You know. Apparently.

Nothing is definite right now. Just because I'm leaving the H.I.V.E. doesn't mean I'm going to run around in spandex saving the day. In fact, the thought makes me tingle in disgust. So there.

Then why are you waiting and hoping for Kid Flash to come pick you up and provide you a place to stay?

Wha? How do you . . . nevermind. Who are you?

I'm your subconscious.

"Great." I mutter aloud, "I guess I'm arguing with myself now." I must have gone insane. Each step in the opposite direction from the H.I.V.E.'s headquarters confirmed it. I had a duffel bag draped over my shoulder and I was clutching a rose and a crumpled piece of paper in my hand. The paper bared a sloppily written address and a lightning bolt for a signature. He couldn't even give me the decency of writing his name. You'd think the fastest boy alive would have to time to scribble eight simple letters.

I happen to like the lightning bolt. It's . . . endearing.

Cute, ENDEARING? What's wrong with you? There is nothing endearing about this lightning bolt—this-this poorly drawn lightning bolt at that! I probably would have never realized what it was if the stupid rose hadn't given it away that it was from him.

Whatever.

That last comment from the disembodied voice sounded too much like sarcastic singing for my liking. "Stupid Kid Flash and his stupid lightning bolts." I grumbled, continuing down the street and towards his apartment complex. My fingers were crackling with electric pink energy from getting annoyed at myself. And what's worse, the fact that I was annoying myself annoyed me. How does one even do that? The windows of a nearby shop shattered when I accidently kicked a rock it's way. Of course, any normal rock wouldn't break a window just by hitting it lightly. But a jinxed rock would probably do the trick.

At this rate, I probably won't make it to his apartment without first bringing Jump City to the ground and in ashes. I don't think the Titans would appreciate that very much upon returning home from kicking some Brotherhood of Evil butt.

Aw, you're optimistic that the Teen Titans will come out victorious. How cute.

With every appearance you make inside my head you sound more and more like that idiot speedster. Next time you talk why don't you pick a voice a little less annoying? One meant for narrating. Like . . . Morgan Freeman's voice or something. Yeah, that'd be sweet. I might even start listening to you.

Its next response was a little too laced with hope, Really?

No.

Somehow, while I bickered stupidly with myself, I had made it to his apartment building. This was my last chance to turn around and disappear from the world instead of reemerging as a spandex-clad do-gooder.

So you decided on the spandex?

Shut up.

And I walked inside.

"What were you thinking when you hexed my front door to smithereens?" He questioned from the other side of the apartment. He strolled to where there once stood a door to investigate the damage—idiot. It's obvious at first glance—and first glance tells me that it's just a pile of scrap wood—that it's just a pile of scrap of wood. This isn't Monster's Inc. There's no way he's going to be able to tape that back together.

"I was thinking that the hallway was too air-conditioned."

"What about burglars?"

"I figured you didn't really care—you're willingly housing one, after all." Actually, that thought had never crossed my mind until now. But still, it's a pretty good excuse, "And 'sides. You're Kid Flash. You could take them."

"You think that highly of me? I'm flattered."

Don't grace that with a response, Jinx.

"But what about privacy?" He asked after moment.

"You're not going to be strolling around the place nude when I'm here . . . are you?" I inquired, a little unsure now that I thought about it. Something told me that that's something he actually wouldn't mind doing as long as it got a rise out of me. I gulped at the thought. The very horrifying thought.

He grinned, "'Course not."

Something about that smile made me feel like he was lying.

"I'm just really concerned for your privacy." He told me, racing off and reappearing in a second with a broom and dust pan. He quickly cleaned up the ex-door, ran off and reappeared again, this time cleaning utensil-less. While he did this, my brain was comprehending what he said.

I glared at him, "What do you mean?"

He motioned to the sofa, "That's a pull-out. I decided I would sacrifice my living room so that I could provide you with a room you could call your own. You just blasted away the door to your bedroom. I hope you can change your clothes quickly so people won't see you. But what am I thinking? That's . . . my . . . experti—why are you looking at me like that?"

Even to this day, I can't deny that I indeed was giving him a look. A diabolical sort of look. But it was replaced quickly by a pout. A manipulative sort of pout. "Oh, Flash. You wouldn't leave a girl to change in front of a doorless doorframe, would you? A gentleman just wouldn't do it. And you even said it yourself: changing quickly, it's your expertise."

"Well, I suppose that's true. But I'm still not going to let you con me into giving up my bedroom—my own bedroom—because you thought it would be fun to pulverize my door even when I left you a key." He retorted smartly, crossing his arms.

"What key?"

He pulled the folded-up piece of paper with his address on it seemingly out of nowhere and pulled a key from a flap. You'd think I would have noticed that there with how tightly I was clutching it. Maybe I was too distracted with being annoyed at myself. I stared at it dumbly for a moment. Realizing that all my logic, for the most part, had been defeated, I decided I would stoop low. Maybe I am shallow.

I pouted more manipulative-like than before, and I even batted my eyelashes a little. I asked in the feeblest voice I could muster up, ". . . Please?"

He stared at me in disbelief, obviously stunned at the skill I possess for manipulating people. His stare began to shake as he took in my pout and the sad look I had in my eyes. Finally he sighed, and consented, "Fine." I smiled instantly and, without really realizing what I was doing, I reached up and put my arms around his neck in the most awkward hug . . . ever. Then I twirled around and skipped to his room in euphoria. I jumped onto his mattress, took his scent in, and fell asleep not caring that it was three o'clock in the afternoon. I was tired.

And this is how the story begins.

*A/N: Yeah, it's short and to the point. It's just a intro though and the other chapters will not be so short and will (hopefully) not be as to the point. We'll see. I love Kid Flash and Jinx though. I just do. This is my first time posting a story that's not . . . well in the Harry Potter realm. Bare with me. Forreals.

Hope you liked it, and please review.

I don't own Teen Titans.*