Poetic Justice

I never pointed out to her the irony of breaking up with me for being a thief, when it was something I stole that won her heart in the first place.

A poem, of all things.

It's funny how poetry is the most embarrassing thing in the world, until it has the power to pry your sleepy eyes open in the middle of an American Literature class, all because your professor recited a configuration of words you didn't know existed.

But by the time I finally sat up to listen, the professor was speaking farther and farther away from the poem, and I couldn't recall any of the words I had just heard. Only the way they made me feel.

Whatever he said, it forced me to look at her.

She was sitting a few rows down in a seat that hugged the left wall of the classroom, leaning her head against the window. It was an 8am class and the sun was just beginning to pour in, its light spilling wildly through her auburn hair like fire.

Now I'm not an idiot; I knew Kory Anders was way out of my league. But that's the power of a pretty girl way out of your league, she can have you in the campus library at 11pm flipping through a whole damn book, trying your luck anyway. When I found the words that clicked, I tore the whole page out, jammed it into my pocket, and left.

The next morning, I watched from my seat, hood pulled over and face propped in my hand, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but failing to stop the furious bounce in my leg. She rushed in a few minutes late, wringing the rain out of her hair and sliding into her usual seat, surprised to see something waiting for her.

I'd Sharpied everything out except for those twelve words, and from where I was sitting, I could only see thick bars of black on the paper. I remember watching her pick it up, and suddenly thinking what a shitty idea it was. As far as plans for picking up girls went, this plan wasn't just plain terrible, it was fancy terrible; it was terrible with raisins in it. I lost the rhythm of normal breathing, mortified with the realization that I'd actually written my name on it.

And just like that, the curl of her lips hit me right in the gut, and I swear I was seeing stars.

...

...

I remember the first time I kissed her, I stole that too.

It was during a time when I thought a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger at a college party was as close as I was ever going to get to a sun like her. I thought I was dreaming when she grabbed ahold of my jacket as I was pulling back, drawing me to her for more.

Starfire. My pet name for her. I'd wait outside until her classes ended and call out to her, loving the way she'd wrinkle her nose at the name. I liked to whisper it into her ear at the worst moments, like in the cinema, waiting for a change of scene to illuminate her face so I could see the flush in her cheeks. It's the name that spilled out of my mouth—along with a string of dark words—whenever she'd spend a night at my place and the writhing of her body under me left me with no self-control.

I dated Kory with the uneasy feeling that it wouldn't last. It couldn't. There was no way the universe would let me have someone like her for long. I stole that time anyway.

But Kory Anders was a criminal justice major, and the boss hated that the most. It's just a matter of time, he assured me. Just because she's climbing up your leg now doesn't mean she'll stay when she gets wise about the job.

He was right, of course. She didn't stay long when she found out the truth. But by the time it was over, love had already infected the bones.

I don't know. I'm drunk.

...

...

I slide the empty bottle back at the bartender and drop the cash on the counter, grabbing my pack and leaving with a wave of my finger. I can't stay long; the cash—40k in clean stacks—burns through my bag and all I want to do is throw it in the safe at my place until the boss and his men pick it up in the morning.

I figure I'll sober up after a good shower, and I'm relying on muscle memory to get me back home. By the time I fall out of the elevator in my building, I argue sleeping in the hall for a second, until I worm my way to my door and jam the key into the doorknob repeatedly until finding the hole.

My jeans and shirt are off without a thought and I'm yanking the fridge door open, squinting through the light to see what could help me with my drunchies. I don't even recall buying lasagna, but I don't think too hard on it as I inhale the whole thing in seconds.

By the time I drag my body to the bathroom, I'm stark naked, and I let the shower run hot until I pull myself in, wincing a bit when it hits a fresh wound I'd earned from tonight's heist.

A memory opens: me piling suds on top of Kory's head while she runs her fingers over my body.

"Where'd you get this one?" She asks, thumbing at a fibrous scar on my shoulder.

"Motorcycle accident," I lie, as I sculpt cat ears out of the bubbles.

"And this?" She's pointing at my chest: clean white lines the boss rewarded me with for being stupid on a job.

"Boy scout dare," I say dismissively. When my masterpiece is done, I bend down to kiss her forehead.

"What do I look like?" She asks.

I step as far back as the shower will allow me so I can marvel at her, grateful that I get to be the guy who sees this brilliant girl naked, wet, and in cat ears. "Like a kitten, Kitten."

And suddenly I'm on my knees for her, pulling her leg over my shoulder and letting the numbers on my water bill rise.

Holy shit.

It's the scent of the shampoo that sobers me right up. I look around in horror: epsom salts, bath bombs, bottles and jars of girl potions in an array of feminine colors that make me want to vomit at the realization. I rip the curtains aside and hurl my body out of the shower. In a panic, I'm pulling my boxers on and rushing out of Kory's bathroom.

But God is dead, my friends. I hear mumbling out in the hall and the doorknob starts to wiggle before I can reach my shirt. A line of light cracks open as two figures enter and I dive wildly into a nearby closet of her hallway.

"Hm. I thought I locked this," Kory says absently, and I hear the door shut.

"You think someone got in?" Asks a vaguely familiar voice. "Let me look around for you."

"What a gallant way to get yourself into my bedroom," Kory commends with a laugh.

"I can get you a better place in my building, Anders," says the voice, not giving into her tease. "Something about you living here rubs me the wrong way."

"And me living in your building will rub you the right way?" Her voice is playful. The other voice stammers and she's laughing again. "Relax, handsome. I'm just a forgetful girl. Let me put on some music."

An Elvis Costello song begins to play as their exchange ends and the whole thing makes me bitter, because (1) I hate the way Kory is comfortably Kory no matter what guy she's with and (2) I fucking introduced her to Costello.

Insert kissing scene here, I imagine, as the room goes silent for a while and there's the soft sound of fumbling and small giggles escaping Kory's mouth.

"Anders… the essay."

"Mm? Oh sorry," Kory says, and I see her figure pass by. She returns with an open laptop balancing on her bicep as she taps her password in. "I'm having a problem with these three paragraphs, and as far as citations go, I'm completely lost."

I hear the dip of the couch and the clacking of keyboards, and suddenly they're both in their own collegiate zone when I begin to think: I'm naked in a closet, with my clothes scattered in various rooms of my ex girlfriend's apartment; I have a backpack of stolen cash in the same room as two criminal justice majors; and in the kitchen lay my jeans, its pockets holding an unsilenced phone that can go off any minute, a wallet with all my IDs, and a Glock 17.

I'm in the middle of contemplating how truly fucked I am when I hear the guy's voice. "Damn, I forgot a laptop charger."

"I think I have an extra one. Sit tight."

I don't have much choice when Kory opens the closet door and sees me. So I pull her in and slap a hand over her mouth. "Keep quiet, cutie—oof." I receive a knee to the baby-maker and it takes everything within me to keep from keeling over. I watch the recognition hit her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She asks when I drop my hand.

"Accident. I swear."

She eyes me with suspicion, but accepts the answer, and I begin to wonder how badly I must reek of alcohol for her to believe me.

"I'm fine," I say, looking away. It comes out defensive.

"You're naked..." she points out mildly. "And wet."

I shrug. "Made it to the shower."

The look she gives me is a mixture of anger, wonder, and pity.

"Listen," I say, suddenly irritated. "I don't wanna ruin your cute little study date here. Just help me get my shit together and I'm out."

"I want my key back."

"Fine."

A voice calls from the living room. "Anders? Charger? My laptop's living on a prayer."

Kory gives me a look and pulls a white cord from a shoebox on the overhead shelf and steps out of the closet. "There's an outlet behind the couch," she tells him. "Let's move it aside so you can plug in." She says this loudly and slowly and I recognize my cue. I hear the sound of the couch sliding over carpet and—like a college girl in a co-ed dorm who forgot her towel after a shower—I run.

I slide into the kitchen and I see that my jeans are inside-out in front of the fridge, and I fish for the balled-up sock in each leg before slipping them on. My phone is still tucked in my back pocket, and I quickly switch it to silent mode before it becomes any type of inconvenience. I give myself a pat down and freeze at the realization that my gun isn't in my pockets.

Fuck.

Kory appears down the hall, looking into the closet and discovering I'm no longer there. When she turns and sees me in the kitchen, she lifts up a shirt in her hand and raises her eyebrows, simultaneously saying Is this yours? and Are you serious?

When she steps into the kitchen, I snatch the shirt from her and shrug it on.

"Where are your shoes?" She asks.

"I have no clue," I answer honestly.

Kory throws a sharp expression over her shoulder and walks back into the living room.

And just like that, my phone flashes a notification: Change of plans. Picking up stash tonight.

Shit.

I'm in the middle of typing up an excuse that I think will hold when I hear Kory's voice. "I don't know if my works cited page is in MLA format."

"Well I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

I glance at a butter knife on the counter and imagine harakiri-ing myself with it. But something catches my eye: a piece of paper tacked onto the refrigerator with a magnet. I move to touch it, gaping in disbelief, when I hear Kory's voice again.

"D-dick."

My blood chills at the name as I fly to the edge of the kitchen entrance and peer into the living room. Kory's pinned to the floor with her dress hiked up to her hip, running her hands through black hair as he licks my girl's neck. I see her tremble in pleasure and all of a sudden I'm down for a good throat punching.

"Dick, let me get us some wine," she says, then shivers.

"Don't need it," he mumbles, as he runs a trail of kisses down her chest. But she slides herself gracefully out from under him and brings his lips to hers. "Two minutes," she whispers into him. "Promise."

They end up making out for a little longer and I pry myself away from the sight, grabbing the wine glasses from the top shelf and pacing wildly back and forth. She enters the kitchen, a little flushed, pulling her dress back down. "I've moved your shoes to the door. Get ready to go."

"Grayson?" I say, almost spitting out the name as I place the glasses in her hands. "You're hooking up with Dick Grayson?"

"It's truly none of your business."

I open the fridge door for her and she ducks for the wine. "He's a prick, Kory. He's Daddy's Money. He's the type of guy who can pay his way through the system if he hits a kid with his Lambo under the influence. Wealthy people like Grayson think they're above the law."

"You're a thief. Do you happen to see the pot and the kettle in that?" She asks as she grabs the bottle, but her eyes widen in shock, and she pulls out my gun from the fridge. Kory looks back at me incredulously and I immediately take it from her.

"At least I work for my stash," I mumble sheepishly and tuck the gun in my jeans. Kory orders for the bottle opener. Without looking, I pull at a drawer and gesture for her to hand me the bottle.

"He's a criminal justice major too," she defends, as I twist through the cork. "Top of the class, volunteers on the weekends, networks of friends—"

"Well I've never been a billionaire before, but I bet I'd be good at it too."

"No, instead you move through life with a gun in one hand and the orders from your boss in the other." The cork shoots off into nowhere with a clean pop and she holds out the glasses for me to fill.

"So that's what happened between us?" I mutter, as I pour. "Dating a bad guy is conveniently checked off your college-girl bucket list without you having to be aware for most of it. And now it's time for Boy Wonder, who walks around campus with his Father's money and a huge—"

"Dick," Kory calls out to the living room. "Switch the music for me, will you, handsome?"

"...ego," I finish, staring at her balefully. The song changes, and the smile Kory is giving me is smug.

And see, that's the thing that undoes it: a look between us that goes on a little too long. Long enough for my nerves to unsteel themselves and her stare to soften. And suddenly all I can think of is that poem I stole from the library that one night, and the way the morning spilled through her hair as she leaned against the window. All those nights and showers and words that happened between us before the rough hands of my job pulled me away from her.

"Starfire," I hear myself say.

Kory bristles. "That's not fair."

January embers.

I take the wine glasses from her hands and set them aside before lifting her up onto the kitchen counter.

"That's not fair," she says again, and I'm kissing her.

Elvis Costello sings from the living room about how the sun may rise and burn through yellow skies, and I trace my fingers over her jaw and revel in the way she kisses back into me. "I begged you to quit," she says with a breath as her hand finds the back of my neck.

"Can't, cutie. Turn around."

But suddenly Wonder Boy cuts through with a, "Kory? Do you need some help in the kitchen?"

Kory rips herself out of the moment and pushes herself back onto the floor, shaking her hands in panic.

"I've had a few punch-ups with Grayson before, I'd be happy to do it again," I say through my teeth, the adrenaline from finally kissing her again pulsing through me.

"Get out," Kory says instead.

I look at her, and suddenly I hear footsteps heading toward us.

"Anders?"

Kori runs back into the living room, and from where I'm standing, I see her barrel into him, smashing her mouth into his. "Bed," she orders.

Grayson is chuckling through the kisses. "What happened to the wine? What about the paper?"

"Bed," she answers, a pleading in her voice. And Grayson graciously responds by picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. I watch breathlessly as she moves her mouth to his neck, glaring at me over his shoulder and cocking her head to the door.

When the bedroom door closes, I pick up my heart off the kitchen floor, grab my bag and shoes, and leave.

…

…

Kory makes a point to come to class early so she can get the key from me. She inspects it, and I'm offended that she thinks I'm stupid or desperate enough to give her a fake.

"How do I know you didn't make copies?"

I snort. "I'd rather die than watch Grayson rub his billion-dollar boner on you ever again."

When class starts and the professor begins to talk about literature of the Harlem Renaissance, I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket and unfold it, looking at the blackened out lines and the twelve words that started everything.

Kory had it hanging on her fridge, and I had to steal it back, a poetic justice type of deal.

...

...

Your hair is winter fire

January embers

My heart burns there, too.

― S. King

A/N: Written around a Stephen King poem that reminded me of Starfire, and a quote from Dorothy Parker (This wasn't just plain terrible. This was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it!)

Some trivia about my AU:

The college they go to is Justice University (College Team: the Titans) and both Starfire and Robin major in Criminal Justice and minor in Linguistics. Red X is undecided and has to pay his way through this very expensive school through shady jobs.

"Vic," "Gar," and "Rachel" are criminal justice majors too. The five of them are still a happy little family.

Also posted on my AO3 :) Comments really appreciated!