Author's Note: The Writing Gods have blessed me once again.

Hope you're all well!

The last he saw of her is so ingrained into his memory that everything else that should be important isn't. It feels so distant, but it's not. It's only been days since she left.

And so what if he's been smoking non stop 'cause it's the only thing that keeps him focused when she snakes her way back into his mind's eye? That he's a sick bastard 'cause he's gotten off with her underwear wrapped around his dick more than once, more than twice, after he told himself not to?

He feels fucking disgusting. He hasn't eaten since that night, not even a week ago, but his stomach turns like it's been months. Even the thought of food made him want to wretch — all he can take is water and coffee, and then, of course. His best friends, his cigarettes.

I'm losing my shit.

It even seems like Eliza's been avoiding him. Fuck, she must know somehow. Or maybe he's delusional. 'Cause the conclusion is coming from the same thought process that determines that what he did to her was right.

Fuck else should I have done?

But those are the things he's not willing or able.

And of course — what makes him feel the most deranged. The fact that it wasn't goodbye.

He'd see her again. It's the tingle in his gut, the promise she keeps on keeping. And it keeps him going, keeps him tearing at his own lips in anticipation like… like he's sick 'cause he fucking is.

He might not accept what she feels for him, let alone understand it. But he knows it. That no matter how final she made it seem, she would come back, and it wouldn't take too long.

He loves that about her. That she's loyal, even when it hurts, and especially when it matters.

But he hates it, too. Her heart's so big that she'd take its own spilled blood out of concrete, pour it right back in, and tear it out. She'd give herself up if it meant someone else can do better — and who was he to let her?

He's… no one, really. At the end of the day, when he's not going what he's gotta do. Just some poor sucker who got the best and worst luck anybody's ever had.

It's a miracle they met. Divine intervention that they became friends. An angel's hand that pushed them closer. For some reason, she makes him want to believe in something more.

And then he ruined it all by himself.

He laughs to himself like some fucking maniac and rubs his bloodshot eyes that burn everytime he blinks. Another morning's passing by and he doesn't do anything with it.

But the sound of his phone ringing still offends him. He rolls his eyes, the sound so loud in his ears compared to the silence, and he hears the startled clack of Eliza's nails from the living room.

He sighs, knowing his days of resting are coming to an end. He always wants what's about to slip through his fingers the most.

He climbs into his room from the firescape, shoving the stub of his cigarette into the wet paper towel on the windowsill. He takes his time getting to the burner phone, though, hoping that maybe he was just being an asshole and it wasn't that important. But it keeps on ringing.

Hang up, motherfucker.

And he does. Before the ringing starts back up right away.

He sucks his teeth real hard before caving in and flipping it open, accepting the stupid ass call.

"What's up, Harper."

After a rather glorious and secretive trip to the mall of shopping with Cyborg, she is beginning to understand why he did not want anyone else to know about the upcoming party.

It is completely silly and unnecessary, but the thrill of knowing such a wonderful thing is bound to happen left her giggling far too often. They found some decorations and special kinds of candy that they managed to hide in her closet without anyone noticing. She could not find a costume she liked, but she did find something so cute in that little mysterious shop that Raven loved so dearly.

She smiles to herself as she pours two cups of tea and carries them to her door, bumping her hip twice against it. "It is me!"

The door slides open almost immediately, and she floats inside, careful not to spill. "I hope you are prepared for your next cup of tea."

Raven raises an eyebrow at her over her book. "How did you know?"

"I am aware of your schedule," she grins, extending the brand new mug to her, a black ceramic speckled with pretty violet stars and white constellations. She stares expectantly, waiting for her to catch on.

"You… got this?" Raven says, taking the cup gingerly out of her hand.

She nods enthusiastically, her cheeks lifted to her lower lashline. "Yes! For you! It changes when you pour hot liquid inside!"

Raven inspects the design, grazing a delicate finger over the art. Her smile is sweet and slight. "Cool. Thanks so much."

"I know it is not typically what you would choose, but the colors reminded me of you! I am so glad you like it!"

"Is this because of the book? You didn't have to get me anything 'cause of that…"

"Nonsense, friend," she says, wagging her finger as she gently floats onto the bed with crossed legs. "I am merely showing you my appreciation." She gasps slightly. "Oh, I never noticed just how wonderful that little shop of yours is…"

"Got it from there?" Raven smirks. "I figured."

"Mhm!" she nods, bringing her own mug to her lips and testing the tea. "Please accept this token of gratitude."

"Of course."

Most days, when there is no alarm blaring and warning them of the mild inconveniences that continue to run rampant in the city, she is here with Raven. They typically enjoy each other's company in silence, unless they are discussing what they are reading or Beast Boy comes in to disturb the peace.

She has grown to like Raven's room more than her own. The deep, rich colors and surrounding candlelight soothed her. Too many things have happened in her room — staying there for longer than she must has begun to unsettle her. Or perhaps it is just being alone with her thoughts that does so…

She flips open a book that had laid on top of a stack on the edge of the bed, though it opens the opposite way from what she is used to. She admires the black and white drawings, so clean and precise, and skims through, finding that it is a romance as the cover suggests. A nervous-looking groom and a beautiful bride with flowers adorning her hair. For some reason, her chest tightens.

She closes it gently before taking the next one, the cover opening to the left this time. The images inside are colored grimly. She hums, admiring the strange yet intriguing art.

A wrapped package lands by her foot. She says a quiet thanks before tearing the plastic neatly and taking small bites of the chocolate, only then noticing the soft melody of guitars from the small radio on Raven's nightstand.

As she looks through each book filled with styles of art she has never seen, her mind wanders safely into its depths, and she observes them, unwilling to have them cause her discomfort any longer. Though that does not always guarantee her success, she still tries, just as Raven had guided her several times before.

Jason — her anger often dissolves into something akin to pity. Not that she truly pitied him. The last ounces of respect she still managed to hold for him would not allow her to. He is strong in ways she is yet to understand. But she cannot help but remember the helpless look in his eyes that night, the flashes of vulnerability that broke through his deliberate cruelty. It haunts her still, and in those moments it does, the anger melts away. Some part of her wanted to stop it entirely, so he wouldn't have to suffer with how he hurt her. But then she remembers herself and how it is not her responsibility to heal him.

She has not stopped caring, not one bit. But she would not force his pain out of him. And neither would she go to him — not because of her pride, which had never halted her in the first place, but because of his. She has done her part.

She sips her tea and takes the next book in the pile, a red hardcover with a gold banner through the middle and a pattern like flowers. She loves the feeling of matte covers. Even the edges of the pages are gold — she runs her fingers over it and opens it to a random page, finding poems inside.

As she flips through, one word continues to stand out: love.

What a strange and simple word, meant to hold all that comes with it. Not even saying it with all the conviction of a desperate prayer could convey what it means to her. It is not enough. Not even in her own language.

Yet it is so hard, especially for humans, to say.

It took Richard so long to say. And now that he has, she keeps recognizing all the different ways he says it again. He has been kind and easy in a way that she has forgotten he is capable of. Except it is deeper now, with a sincerity that broke out once she pulled his mask off.

And as much as she appreciates it, it frightens her. Is her trust in him completely broken? Is she scared to feel what she feels for him once again? Does she expect him to turn back if she were to forgive him and rid him of his guilty conscience? When did she stop thinking so highly of him?

The thing is, she trusts him with everything but her heart. What a strange, strange predicament she continues to be in.

Something else lands by her foot. She lifts the clear package, a little cupcake inside, coated with purple frosting and black and orange sprinkles. She smiles at the little black cat poking out of it. "Where did you get this?"

"Beast Boy. He got way too many."

"So cute!" she says, pulling at the purple ribbon.

Oh, how wonderful it tastes! She loves sweets so very much. If only she could make them herself…

She swallows, an idea coming to her head. She has been watching Cyborg cook quite a bit recently… would he be able to teach her? Surely, if she followed his directions, it would come out just fine. Maybe not the most visually pleasing, but it would be the perfect practice! And perhaps, if she practices enough, she can make them for the Halloween party!

Oh, and it would help her focus… relax… she finishes her tea and opens the next book, her plans for later decided.

He's spent way too much time in his room, staring at his computer. Staring at the pictures Babs sent him the week before, still trying to make sense of it, but his brain is too numb.

He calls her too often, wanting updates but ultimately getting none. He even calls his father, but he also gets a heaping pile of nothing so he forces himself to stop until he overthinks again about what he should do.

He suspects that she saw him again. Okay, well, he kinda knows because she's only started looking at him like that in the last few months when he catches her off guard like that. And a few days ago, she had that split-second face of guilt.

No, he couldn't let on that he knew. It wouldn't do much for him or for her. He hasn't pressed her for details, nor does he want to. He's scared to hear them.

If, for whatever reason, decides to tell him what — went on. He thinks he would actually run away.

Like a coward.

Or maybe like someone who cares for their sanity?

The bottom line is, he's stuck. And he's been sitting here for days like a lame duck, waiting for something, both anticipating and dreading the blare of the alarm.

But whenever it does, it's the same old bullshit. It's one and done and then back to sitting at his desk, searching records and staring at pictures, trying to comprehend if his grief was really necessary. It might be stupid to think, but he wishes he was spared of the pain of losing his brother.

If it's him… if it is, why… why didn't he come to him?

If or when they meet again… what would he say?

Before he drives himself crazy again, he heads to the training room, where he works himself dead for an undetermined amount of time — but he's out of breath sooner than usual, and he hates it. He pushes himself breathless, throwing punches and kicks until he goes weak and sore. It's not until he plops on the floor that he decides it's enough.

He takes his time catching his breath and eventually standing, his mind blissfully clear. When he's here, he loses track of time. Raven's way never worked much for him — this is how he meditates.

He heads to the bathroom and sets himself a warm shower, because a hot one might make him too dizzy and a cold one would kill him on the spot. He scrubs himself clean and dries himself off, changing into a fresh pair of gray sweats and a dark blue shirt. He slips on a pair of socks and sticks on his mask, planning to actually be with his friends and not alone in his room.

He walks down the hall and to the ops room, following the sound of clattering dishes and nothing else. But then he realizes it must be much later than he thought, because there's only one person here in the kitchen.

He checks the clock. It's about to be 11. And she's baking something.

He can't help but smile goofily at the apron tied around her, and the flour all over it and her face. Sometimes, she reminds him of some cartoon, sweet in a way that always makes you feel better. She doesn't notice him because she's too busy inspecting a measuring cup before washing it under the running water.

He feels like a creep just standing there, but he's also too tired to panic over what to say. So all he does is walk towards her and lean against the wall, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible with his hands in his pockets. "Hey, what are you ma—"

Except he's cut off short by her squeak, and the same measuring cup hangs over her head, ready to be used as a weapon. He holds his arms up, already feeling bad. "Shit, Star, I didn't mean to scare you!"

She blinks her wide eyes and exhales, relaxing her arm. "Apologies!" she says quickly, embarrassed. She turns back to the dishes, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. "I do not know why I reacted that way…"

"I-i-it's fine." Holy shit, he's really back to stuttering again?

After an awkward stretch of silence, she breaks it with a pfft and he can't help but join.

"If I was a villain, would you have cracked my head open?"

"It is a fine option, no?"

"Y'know, Star, I think you're right."

Maybe it's 'cause they haven't really talked in days, or because he just misses her. He gets himself together and doesn't let the silence get to him when it comes again.

He keeps his distance, but still glances over her shoulder and to the used bowls on the counter. "Baking?"

She smiles timidly, nodding once and weakly. "Mhm."

"I bet it's good." There's a good chance he's wrong, by human standards, at least — but he also has faith in her ability to improve.

And it's definitely worth it with the way she looks over, face lighting up. "Do you truly think so? I asked Cyborg for his recipe, and I followed it exactly…"

Okay, he's gotta be right. He grins, feeling proud of her. "Oh, definitely. I can tell you've been working hard."

And then her pretty blush gets even prettier, and he barely knows what to do with himself. He walks past her and opens the fridge, pretending like he actually wants something out of it. "Need any help? I can do the dishes," he says as he grabs a bottle of water.

"No, it is the okay. Thank you."

So, he's useless here. What's he gonna do, sit around and drink a bottle of water? He's ready to awkwardly say good night before she cuts his thoughts off.

"Would you… like some tea?"

Perfect. "Are you having?"

She nods, biting her lip. It kills him inside.

"Sure, then. Thanks."

She sets the water to boil before finishing up the rest of the dishes. He pulls up a random magazine laying on the island and pretends to flip through it as he watches her wipe down the counter and untie the apron. She hands it up and she does it gracefully somehow, the same way she does everything else.

But what might actually end his life is when she bends over and opens the oven door. Yeah, he had to force his eyes down. Away from her.

But it doesn't last long — his gaze is so drawn to every single movement of hers. Gently, she closes the oven door and spins, hands resting on the handle behind her and ankles crossed, a kind look in her eyes. "They should be finished in a couple minutes. Would you like to try one?"

His smile feels watery. "Of course, Star," he practically whispers.

She flicks her eyes down and purses her lips to the side, like she's contemplating. "Richard."

"Yeah?"

"Why is your mask on?"

Oh.

Before he can reply, as if he even has a response — she turns back around, finding mugs and tea bags in the cupboard and setting it up for them.

Well — why does he have it on?

He has several reasons. But if she wants it off, well… how can he not comply?

He peels it off well before she turns back around. She seems to take her time shutting off the stove when the water boils and pouring it into the cups. She asks if he wants sugar or honey but he doesn't, and she doesn't, either. This surprises him a bit, for some reason. Anyway, when did she become such an avid tea drinker?

Still, she doesn't turn, letting the tea seep and opening the oven, reaching inside and testing what he is pretty sure are cupcakes. He hears her clap once, twice, before shutting the oven off and casually reaching into, like, 350 degree heat to pull out the batch.

Must be nice, he ponders, leaning over the island and resting his chin in his hand.

"Everything is ready! They ar— oh!" she says when she finally looks his way.

It's been a little while since she's seen him without his mask. He doesn't blame her for being a bit startled. He stands straight and walks over, grabbing the handle of one of the mugs. "Thanks again," he says, smiling.

She blinks up at him, and he's sure the heat in her face matches his. "You are the welcome," she says quietly, twisting to face the cooling cupcakes. Why does she look so small right now?

He looks at her creation, pleased at how they ce out looking pretty good. Some overflowed the rim and pretty much all were lopsided, but that feeling of pride strikes him again.

"Great job, Star. They look really good," he grins.

She gives him the same starry-eyed look as before, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You are not just… saying that, are you?"

He furrows his brows. "Of course not." Then he raises one. "You don't believe me?"

He will admit, it's nice to be this expressive with her without the mask— she giggles, gently prying one cupcake out of the pan. "We shall see, then. You must have the first cupcake," she says as she opens the fridge and pulls out two containers of frosting. "Would you like chocolate or vanilla?"

"Vanilla, please," he says, grabbing a butter knife from the drawer and handing it to her.

She thanks him with a smile and opens the container. Except when she attempts to spread the frosting, it immediately breaks a piece off and she pouts. "Why will it not spread properly?"

He chuckles, not catching it himself. "You need to keep the frosting out for a bit so it's room temperature. That makes it easier to spread."

She tilts her head, looking at the pile of frosting on top of the cupcake with nearly crossed eyes. "Oh."

He can't help but laugh again. "It's fine, just do the best you can. I like frosting, anyway."

She nods, determined to spread more as evenly as possible, but just like before, it fails. It is far from visually pleasing, but the disgusted look on her face more than makes up for it. She pours some sprinkles onto it before presenting the lopsided mess to him.

"Forgive me," she whispers. When is she gonna stop making him laugh?

Before he can stop himself, he swipes some of the vanilla off and onto the tip of her nose. "You're the best."

He pulls half of the wrapping off and takes a bite.

And her eyes plead with him.

He chews.

Swallows.

Smiles.

Takes another bite.

She looks anxious, but hopeful, hands clasped together under her chin. He should probably tell her that they came out really fucking good, but he needs one more moment to admire her face.

He sets the cupcake down on the counter. "Starfire."

She blinks up at him, confused and impatient. "Yes?"

"I was right," he says, swiping a bit of the frosting off her nose and licking it off his finger. "They came out really good. I'm serious. Wow. I love it."

She beams, clapping happily and jumping up and down. "Yes! Finally!"

She reaches for another knife and another cupcake. She spreads the chocolate frosting on it and gives him the same treatment on the tip of his nose. "Hm," she says, tilting her head before taking a bite herself. "Mmm!"

She looks so pleased, and it reminds him of cats when they find a nice, warm spot to rest. She unwraps the other side of the cupcake and lifts it to his mouth. "Try it with chocolate!" she says, still chewing on her bite.

And he does, his eyes never leaving hers. He's closer now, a good few inches between them, a space he wants to close but really shouldn't. "Delicious," he says, lower than he intends to.

Did she squirm a little? She shakes her head once and turns around, her back to him as she reaches for the mugs and pulls out the tea bags. She throws them in the garbage. "Thank you for your kind words," she says, shy again.

But now, he can't help himself. He feels something here. And it keeps him in place. She spins to face him, looking up with big, shining eyes.

He doesn't break his gaze away for even a split second as he reaches behind her and grabs the half of the vanilla cupcake, breaking a good chunk off and bringing it to her lips. "What about vanilla?"

She opens her mouth slowly, the inside of her lip grazing his fingers as she accepts his offer.

And all of this does something to him. It stirs up the same feeling he's denied himself countless times, spreading low in his stomach.

How did he ever deny her? God.

But now isn't the time to… do this to her. When there's still so much unsaid, undone.

But if she wants it, too… I won't stop her.

He's been bold at time like these ever since he kissed her. Goood. He brushes his thumb lightly over her lip before drawing back. "Which one do you like better?" he says, low enough only for her to hear.

She swallows thickly, like he's not actually asking what he's asking.

Then that's all it takes for the thoughts to burst in his head. It's not how he meant it, but suddenly… suddenly.

"I am afraid that I like both," she says, voice low and nearly cracking.

He puts his arms on either side of her, hands gripping the counter. He has her caged in his arms, but he's left space for her to move and all she needs to do to leave is say so.

Why does this hurt so bad right now? He should be fine with the way things are. It's more than he deserves.

"Koriand'r," he says, her name so smooth off his tongue, because it makes sense for the moment. He drops his head a bit lower, just enough for the tips of his hair to touch her forehead. "Forgive me for asking…"

And she knows what he's about to ask. Her expression grows harder, but it's not what he wants out of this. He's not looking for a reason to be mad. He just doesn't want her to feel like she can't tell him things.

That's your own fault, isn't it?

"Please, I'm not accusing you of anything. I don't want to pick a fight. I know you might be expecting that," he sighs, "I just need you to be honest with me. Is that fine?"

After a long moment, she nods, her face softening.

He speaks before he can bite his tongue. "Did you see him recently?"

Her eyes fall, and so does his heart. She nods. "Yes."

"Oh."

She looks like she wants to apologize, but holds it back. He doesn't know what to think of it. If he even deserves it, or if she really did something to warrant it.

"Did you find anything out?"

She shakes her head. "No. I-I tried, but…" She looks down, pressing her index fingers together, over and over. "Nothing."

He wonders how she can just go on not knowing, especially when he has some of the answers to her questions, he's pretty sure. Yet she doesn't want to hear it from him.

Yeah, it makes sense to want to hear about someone's past from the person themselves, when they're willing to tell you. But if it's… him. Why won't he tell her?

He doesn't know the extent of their… relationship, but as far as he can tell, it's —

Don't think about it. Don't.

There's a sadness in her eyes that he wants to erase.

What the fuck could he have done to her?

The anger pools quick through his veins, but he stifles it for her sake. This feels unfair, now.

But he can't end this without letting her know.

He leans forward, sliding his cheek against her warm one before planting a full kiss on it. He shifts his head and bends a bit lower to plant another on the corner of her lips.

"Just be careful, okay?" he says, mouth hovering over hers before pulling back and cleaning up whatever he can. He takes the cup of tea and smiles at her as reassuring as he can. "Thank you. Good night, Star."

But as soon as he reaches the hall, her hand wraps around his arm and tugs gently. The surge of hope that shoots through him feels almost pathetic.

"Y-you are not… mad?"

"No, of course not, Star." He sighs, eyes boring into hers. "I don't want you to not tell me things because you think it might hurt me."

"But it did."

He can't deny that. He chuckles and then gulps. "That's not what's important right now. But I'll be okay."

Her expression twists into one of guilt, of sorrow. She tilts her head. "Richard…"

"Don't worry about it." He smiles softly. "Sweet dreams, Star," he says as he enters his room.

What does it matter anyway? It's not like he knows what to do about anything yet.

He sits down at his desk and turns his computer on again.