A/N: First story for this account. Just a quick stand-alone to get on my feet with this identity, although for sure I'm posting a Starfire version of this one. (Wouldn't be a RobStar story without her point of view, hm?)
Also, do you guys think that I should add a real story here? Like, linear narrative? Not just the cryptic stuff I'm putting in this chapter? Input would be nice before I add Starfire's part.
DISCLAIMER: Since this is my first story, no I do not own the Teen Titans or any DC franchise (as a matter of fact, any franchise at all) that I may have touched or will touch upon in this piece.
Untouchable.
Yes, that's what he was.
Ever since the beginning he was untouchable. Traveling in the shadows and hiding behind a mask. Anyone who tried to touch him got burned — or at least, punched in the face.
In the beginning he tried to let them touch him. Asked for warmth, asked for hugs. Asked for a little touch.
He was sent to his room where he could touch no one but himself. So he drew his legs up and hugged his knees, fearing that he could not touch.
Which was why he hated his job. He went out at night when he couldn't touch at all — unless it was to incapacitate someone. No handshakes, no hugs, no warmth, not even the warmth of a voice tickling his skin in the cold night air telling him that he had done well.
No one seemed to want to touch him, so he didn't. He tried to stop touching. He tried to stop feeling. He tried to be hard as stone. Cold as one, too.
In the middle of the cement drying someone had stepped on it.
She wanted to touch. She touched him everywhere, and he welcomed it. He felt a need to make up for all the times he'd tried to touch and failed. And then she touched him in places he'd never even dreamed of.
Warm lips, hands all over the body, hot breath that left a tingling sensation on his skin.
Then all of the touches stopped.
She'd gone. Vamoosed. A quick goodbye, one last touch, not enough for him to revel in it, and suddenly he wasn't allowed to touch again.
The cement had dried with her footprint in it.
Desperately he tried to fill it up again, cover up the past mistakes, vowing never to touch.
Vowing to become untouchable.
For the most part he succeeded in his mission — the company he kept didn't want touch in the first place, and were most likely relieved when he decided to stop pushing for contact.
One day something happened and soon he was in another city with four other kids who actually wanted to touch. Two boys who punched him in the arm, slapped him on the back for encouragement, telling him to get the hell out there and do what he did best. One girl placing a warm hand on his shoulder and telling him that he could do it. And that one girl who seemed to thrive on touch — hugs, pecks on the cheek, pokes, you name it, she did it.
But he reminded himself what he needed to be. Untouchable.
He wasn't quite sure what to call the sensation he felt in his stomach every time she touched him. It seemed no matter how hard he tried to stop the touch, she always forgot and touched him again and he couldn't say no after that.
So instead he watched her try and try to break his shell. With those wonderfully strong punches, he might add. He would admit that maybe she'd left a crack or a dent or two. But he wasn't ready to be open to touch again.
Some people mistook it for arrogance.
He heard the two boys whispering, muttering. He pretended he didn't hear while they complained about his 'superiority complex'.
He broke the punching bag that day. Had to go down the musty backroom and get a new one.
No one could hold his hand, no one could hug him and tell him that it's alright and they were wrong when he needed so badly to vent, to just let loose and cry and touch. Instead the gym became his sanctuary. Special code that couldn't be overridden when he was inside, because training to him was like meditation, minus the flowery candle scent.
Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees the two boys sharing high-fives and bumping fists, he is untouchable.
Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees the two girls hugging each other and braiding each other's hair, he is untouchable.
Because, he reminds himself, whenever he sees her congratulating everyone with a warm hug and a peck on the cheek after a job well done, he is untouchable.
Yes, that's what he is.
Untouchable.
A/N: Welp. My poor attempt at being cryptic. Input would be appreciated. Although I'm not new to the FF community I'm still feeling fluttery about creating a new identity for myself ^^;
Seems like this can stand alone although rest assured I'm coming up with Starfire's piece.