I suppose this could be considered an AU of sorts. Hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, much to my dismay.

I guess you could say most people are different in private. I mean, it's not as if I would cry in front of everyone, not that I ever really cry in the first place. But sometimes, it's hard. Sometimes meditation isn't enough to sedate my emotions. Sometimes he's there, but not because I want him to be.

It's difficult when you have psionic and psychic abilities, and your significant other has the empathy and "sixth sense" of the entire animal kingdom. Even if I were worlds away, I think he would feel in his bones if I weren't okay. It's kind of annoying.

I realize how that sounds but if someone weren't ever annoyed by their partner, there'd have to be something wrong with them. This isn't Pleasantville — this is reality and I've got to accept it. So to answer truthfully, he does annoy me.

I'm not the kind of person who wants to be held and rocked if I'm hurt. I don't even want to be talked to. I appreciate my solitude, and there are many reasons why I seek it. My feelings happen to be just one of those reasons; and even after this long he still doesn't understand.

There was a time, though I hate to admit it, that I was glad he was there. Nothing awful happened. It was just this test that I had to take.

Higher education is no joke.

I'm no good with subjects like psychology. I have the basic understanding, but the subject matter itself is so complex I can hardly keep it straight. I asked Gar to come over and help me study for an exam. He was my study partner for the week leading up to the tests. He made flashcards, tea and coffee (for himself), met me at the library and the café on campus, even worked it out with his roommate to have his room to ourselves while we studied there. He never did anything but help me study. He didn't flirt, or try to put moves on me like he's usually prone to do. We were a unified front with the same goal in mind: Help Rachel Pass this Class. He put me to bed early the night before the test, was at my door to walk me to the lecture hall with what he called "Luck Tea" for me to drink. Afterward he wasn't there, and I appreciated that. I needed time to stew in my uncertainty. I didn't want to take any questions. How did I think I did? Was it difficult? Did I feel like I knew the answers?

The days leading up to the reveal of the test scores, it was life as normal. Well, as normal as it can be when you attend a private college for young supers like us. I didn't see much of him, but that was normal, too. I'm grateful that I have someone who can respect my need for space and not immediately suspect I'm using that time to shop around for someone better.

It was raining when I walked to class. Windy. Just before I got there, a strong gust bent my umbrella out of shape. I was immediately pissed but quickly centered myself. It was only the second umbrella the wind on this campus had destroyed. I could easily buy another. I decided not to view it as an omen.

Test score days are always brief. The professor reviews the data from his exams in previous years and compares it to the scores of the current class. Then he calls our names one by one and we go up to receive our exams and view our scores before returning it to him and signing out for the day. Two people out of the hundred and fifty who tested failed this year.

I was one of the failures.

Grief washed over me as I left, and my eyes stung with the threat of emotion. It was raining harder now, in sheets. The wind was blowing all of the rain toward my face. I walked home with my head held low, soaked to my underclothes. I slammed the door, kicked my muddy boots off, stripped and threw my sopping clothes at my half-full hamper, then immediately went to my bathroom to take a hot shower and have a cry. I could feel he was somewhere in the room, but I couldn't bother to talk to him.

When I came out of the shower in my towel, my boots were sitting on an old copy of the college newspaper to the left of the door where I liked them, my hamper was gone (presumably in the laundry down the hall), and the electric kettle in the window sill was just starting to whistle.

He looked up from my bed, blinked sleepily as if he had been a cat for the entire duration of my return home, and chuffed. I sighed and sat by him, picked him up and he nuzzled his soft, whiskered face against my chin. I stroked his back and sides and just as I was starting to give him a belly and chest rub, my eyes started to well again. He meowed softly, started kneading my breast with his paws, and I cried into his neck. The kettle whistled incessantly, and eventually I stood and unplugged it, carrying him with me.

"Thanks, but no thanks." I dripped a bit of snot on the top of his head before I layed back on the bed. He merely licked his paw and cleaned his head before snuggling in beside me. I fell asleep and when I woke, his head was on my chest, his arms holding wrapped around one of mine. He'd shifted back to his beautiful self sometime while we were sleeping, and managed not to disturb me. My bed didn't feel quite so cold that afternoon.

Hope I gave you the answers you were looking for.

A/N| I rarely ever write in first person. I hope it was comfortable to read. If you can spare a moment to leave a spot of constructive criticism, I'd be grateful seeing as I'm rusty returning from a two-year plus hiatus. Drop me a line about questions you would ask in a letter to Rachel and/or with any headcanons you'd like to see incorporated.