Author's Note: Thank you kindly for your patience. Life got in the way. It was hard to write :( but I'm back, babyyyyyy
I hope you felt some love this Valentine's Day. And if you didn't, here it is now! *various heart and flower and cute emojis* (because this site is ANCIENT)
This is... angst central. Lmfao. Brace yourselves.
I appreciate all your support. Thank you so much!
The day is filled with a sense of dread. It knots her stomach together into something she can only dream to undo. But she cannot even find an ounce of hope inside of her that things will smooth over.
She feels it in the air around her: something is ready to break. This is only the calm before the storm, and she cannot fool herself into thinking otherwise.
It was the tears in her friend's eyes. The looks they exchanged that told her all she needed to know.
Raven had sensed more than he had let on, and she confirmed that later, when he had fallen asleep. Richard and Jason had fought violently. And she very well may have been a topic of conversation. Conversation meaning… violence.
She does not know enough, so naturally, she has been forming possible scenarios in her head — she imagines that Jason would have said something about her…
I would not put it past him.
But if not… what could it be?
Why has Richard been avoiding her the past two days?
She had only tried once to knock on his door after working up the nerve, but she did not get an answer. It stung her chest all day yesterday, and it still does, now. Apparently he is still recovering from his injuries — but Raven had told her that she finished healing him.
She had never felt… afraid to try and speak to him. And oh, how it kills her so.
She longs for harmony. For everything to be fine once again. It felt as though he were punishing her, now — whether or not she deserves it, she does not know. Though it continues to hurt her all the same.
Does she fold? Does she allow herself to regret it all? Does she blame herself?
Should she worry about him this much?
Either of them?
She moves on with her day, anyway. If he wants to speak to her, he knows he can. She enjoys herself without him there, no trouble to deal with in the city — the sky gets darker earlier than usual, and it makes her sad, but her friends make her laugh in no time.
She showers and changes into her pajamas. They are fluffy, soft, and pink, with a matching tank top, something that brings her great joy to wear. She slips into a pair of slippers and finds the ops room to only be illuminated by the tv screen. The video games are currently being played. She hears the banter between Cyborg and Beast Boy and she smiles to herself.
It drops once she turns.
Her slight gasp renders them both frozen by the kitchen counter. She did not expect to see him tonight.
And by the way he continues to stand still, a frown etched into his face, neither did he. More than enough to confirm her suspicions that for one reason or another, he is upset with her.
Very upset.
Her stomach sinks. She needs for something to happen, for something to be spoken.
"Richard," she whispers, and her stomach sinks even lower.
Because all he responds with is a grunt of greeting, his limbs moving like a wooden puppet that has gone stiff.
He tries to walk away, but her instincts do not let him.
Speak to me. Please, do not walk away...
Her fingers curl around his arm in one swift movement. "Ri-"
"What?" he sneers, and it is vile, mean. He tears his arm out of her grasp and she cannot hide her shock, her hand slamming onto her chest. "What do you want now?" he nearly hisses, the sound of the television stifling the noise of his words cutting into her.
She stands stock still, her lips parted and eyes wide open, still absorbing the suddenness of his rage. Her cheeks prickle in embarrassment. Her blood begins to thaw from the way it froze.
For once, she is glad his mask remains. She does not think she could handle seeing such hatred reflect in his eyes, all for her.
Do I deserve it?
She wants to fix whatever is broken. But the moment stretches on and she cannot find her voice. A part of her feels afraid to speak. That he'd mock her for it, throw it right back in her face. The other part wants to go back to the part of her life where this was not even a possibility.
"I-I-I'm sorry…" she whispers — no, she mouths it, her voice is barely air — and he hmphs, turning his face away before a sick, sick smile grows upon it.
A jolt of fear runs through her. I do not know who this is.
"Sorry for what, exactly?" he says bitterly, towering over her suddenly, a wildness behind his movements that leaves her helpless. "For sneaking around behind my back for months? For having fun with a murderer?"
No.
His cruel words, his broken smile.
They wrap around her like vines, and the thorns sink through, ripping holes into every layer of skin and on purpose, on purpose he wants to bleed her out.
Do I really deserve it?
He leans in, her neck breaking back so that her eyes remain on his, begging and questioning — what is she supposed to do?
What starts as a whisper ends in a scream.
"Or are you sorry because you kept fucking going BACK TO HIM?!"
The room goes dead silent, then — only their harsh breaths permeate the air between and around them, and maybe her heart stopped. The awkwardness pains her immediately and she wants to shrivel up and fade away. But in place, they stay, despite the eyes of their friends burning into them.
"There a problem?"
Cyborg's voice does nothing to soothe her, but at least time could move along. She watches his nostrils flare and his mouth close into a deep frown instead of his bared teeth.
"Why don't you ask her," he deadpans, though the anger still remains in the lines of his face.
"I don't know, she's not the one yelling," Cyborg replies, voice dangerously even. Someone is yet to move. Her chest constricts as she catches him blinking behind his mask, as if he were processing what had just happened himself.
"She's the one who's lying," he says. "She's the one who's driving me fucking crazy."
Something switches on. Something hot and it burns her insides. "Me?"
"Who else?" he barks back, the hardness in his expression burning away with her.
She lifts her finger to his chest. "You should not be the one speaking of this! How dare you?!"
"What, call you OUT?" he scoffs. "You know what you did… and even after I asked you to stop."
"I DID NOT GO BACK!" she screams, and it rips out of her throat. "How DARE you accuse me of such a thing?!"
He growls but this time, she does not feel afraid — she sees his red, the red he always seems to see, and it fuels her. It is a different kind of rage, one that's been torn out of her like the spine out of a back. She narrows her eyes and steps forward, bringing her face closer to his.
"Enough of this! Speak to me privately if you have something you wish to discuss, do not just stand here and yell at me when I have no knowledge of how you are feeling!"
"Are you fucking kidding me? How could you NOT know?!"
"THERE ARE MANY THINGS YOU HAVE NOT TOLD ME, RICHARD!"
"I could say the same about YOU!" he yells, his voice rough and gravelly, his hands just as rough around her arms and she shakes her once, twice, and then he's tearing away. "DON'T!" he cries, shoving Raven away with his back.
"Fuck is your problem?" Beast Boy calls, his footsteps quick and hard on the floor, but Raven stops him with a hand on his chest. She must be doing to Beast Boy what she had attempted to do to him…
"You better calm the hell down," Cyborg nearly growls, and even though she has not looked away from him, she can feel his protective glare.
But they are once again stuck in place, their bodies and breath shaking as they wait for the other to speak. His lips twitch and her heartbeat stutters, an obvious understanding dawning on her.
"May we speak privately?" she says, willing her voice to remain steady, but she fails at the end.
His shaking begins to turn into some sort of shiver. His frown slowly falls. He had not expected her response. "Why?"
"Would you rather continue to disrupt our friends with our yelling?" she says sarcastically, her anger getting the better of her.
"You sure?" Cyborg says, and it causes him to tense up.
"Am I sure? Am I supposed to be afraid of you?" she nearly whispers, an odd mix of protectiveness and disappointment swirling around inside. "Yes, I am. We must discuss something important," she says louder to Cyborg, reassuring him without turning away from him.
In just a minute, he had made all his friends angry and wary of him. She expects better from him. Better than going back to his old ways. She cannot help but think of Jason — how he controlled his anger well, weaponized it. Used it against her.
But Richard — he is a wounded animal, crying out for help. Wondering why she has not been his best friend and told him the whole truth. Letting it make him look, sound, and act… X'hal forgive her, crazy.
Maybe she was not afraid of him. But for him.
Whether he deserves to be absolved from his wrongdoings is something she cannot consider at the moment. All she knows is that in spite of her total and utter disappointment in him…
Gently, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs it. "Shall we?"
He tilts his head in confusion, and already, the regret is breaking through. Without a word, she leads him to his room, where she figures he will be more comfortable, and takes him inside, and she takes him down, her palms encircling his face.
"What is it?" is all she has to whisper, and all she has to do is peel away the mask and hold his eyes and he becomes all hers.
The tears pour out, but they more so resemble pools or an ocean. She runs her fingertips across his brows, his silent cries running down his face, her palms protecting them from the light. She closes a hand on his forehead and the other on his jaw, smoothing his hair back as she leans in to whisper in his ear.
"Este în regulă, draga mea."
Her ribs and chest are breaking into his with the strength of his hold. He could wrap his arms around her twice with how tight he is cradling her waist. He buries his face in her neck and inhales, his breath coming out into what is soon to be sobs. She places a hand on the back of his neck and buries the other in his hair, cooing in his ear and filling the open space of the side of his face with soft kisses.
She already feels his shame, but she definitely tastes it in his tears as she glides her lips down his cheek, down his jaw, right underneath to his neck. He covers himself with her, drags her into his lap, their legs tangled.
And just as he tore screams out of her, now he tears her tears. His sobs rack both their bodies. She thought she had gone numb, but he just broke her bones, her sanity, her heart...
"Este în regulă, dragă." she says, voice cracking as hot tears drip down her face. She rubs his hair, his neck, his back. Over and over and over. "Draga mea."
He shakes his head into her neck, denying her words, yet revelling in them — somehow, he brings her closer, his hand reaching around her back and cradling the back of her neck. "Vorbeste-mi," she pleads quietly, but he only drops his head to her chest and continues to cry.
She rocks him gently, his arms sliding back down to wrap around her waist, her own wrapped around his head, another attempt at protecting him from the world. She shushes him calm. Brushes his hair with her fingers. Lays her chin upon his head and patiently waits for him to open up. The noises from his throat die down to heartbreaking whimpers and then finally, to nothing. She does not know how long it took, but it was a while. Long enough for her own tears to dry.
Carefully, she slides her bottom down his leg until it hits the floor. It tears his head away from the safety of her chest and he looks up, dazed and dizzy, and then sad. She strokes his cheek and he sniffs, leaning into it. And after a moment, she removes her touch, her heart swelling as the pain pours back onto his expression. He drops his chin to his chest and covers his face with both hands, rubbing too harshly at his eyes. She sighs. Something is always bleeding, festering…
She crawls in front of him and wraps her fingers around his wrists. "Hello?" she says in a hush, trying to pacify him before the tears rush out again.
She thought he would be more defiant, but he crumbles. He does not look at her, but he allows her to bring his hands to his lap and keep them there.
She leans in. Brushes her nose against the tip of his. He blinks once, twice, heavily, confused, and then she succumbs as the world comfortably crashes down.
With the softness of the nights he kept her sane, she kisses him. For the first time. For the first time he has allowed her.
He is still, still in shock, sighing as if it were a question — she connects their foreheads and she feels his wrinkle. She dares herself to keep her eyes on him, his lashes fluttering as he finds the courage to look at her right back. She places her palms on either side of his thighs and his wrap around her elbows as the realization strikes him.
But only stuttered air leaves him — she kisses his bottom lip to shush him, easy and quick. And then his top, fully and towards the corner, feeling him afraid to close his own kiss over her.
And it's swirling around. Her mind, her chest. This is a few broken pieces away from heaven. It does not matter that it is not perfect, but she chooses to leave the regret aside. To ignore the pain that strings him to her for just a night. And it does her in. Makes her kiss him one more time. And then once more, until his lips meld into hers like it did a few nights ago, the traces of disbelief and uncertainty burning away into desperation. Until it breaks into a dry sob and the greatest sorry she has never heard. Because all it is is noise shooting down to her stomach and dragging down like a shallow knife. Her nails tear through the nape of his neck, but she does not mean it — she soothes it with lukewarm fingertips, feeling how he feels too alive but he seems to crave it — he could break her, how close and hard he has her again, even closer now, hiding his face where her heart rattles her to the core.
She strokes his hair, his neck, once more and over again. She speaks words in every language she knows, thoughtlessly. A wetness stings her skin where his eyelashes flicker. And after what felt like hours of half-breaths, he goes slack with one final sigh. She still does not let go.
She cradles his face back in her hands. She kisses him right beneath his eye. And whispers in his ear with the sacredness of his love.
"Ești obosit, iubirea mea." She kisses the beginning of his brow. "Hai să ne culcăm." Kisses the end of his lips.
He is giving in. She slides herself away from him, sad from the loss herself, his immediately uneasy expression like the lump in her throat — she takes the water bottle on his desk and pours some in her hand before swiping it over his overheated face. She swipes her thumbs over the corners and creases of his eyes. The heels of her hands over his hairline. Her fingertips behind his ears. Her palms behind and in front of his neck. When her fingers brush over his lips, he reaches out to kiss them.
Her legs feel weak, but she forces herself onto them and extends her hands to him. He takes them with the faintest hint of a smile, his own legs shaking. She takes the back of his neck and kisses his cheek.
"Let us go to bed," she rasps.
She pulls back his comforter. Grabs the water bottle and takes a sip before offering it to him. She makes sure he drinks some before shutting off the lights, the sliver of the moon taking her into the end of his bed. When she reaches her arm out, he follows, sliding in beside her.
With wistful, half-lidded eyes, he stays on her. She stares back and takes him in effortlessly. Her hand automatically finds his hair, her laying on her side and him on his back. She strokes him like a lullaby until he takes her wrist and without looking away, presses a heavy kiss to her palm. It pours into the veins of her hand to every stem and dying petal of her body.
Her hand drops to his neck and his eyes begin to droop. She slides in closer. He meets her in the middle, his lips pressing onto her cheek.
His voice sounds cracked and tired. "Într-o zi, mă rog să mă ierți."
Whatever it is, whatever it was. Whatever it might always be. It breaks her again. Again, again, again, again, breaks her tired.
She dreams of him while they sleep in each other's arms. And in it, she is falling.
Author's Note:
:)
...ANYWAY.
Translations:
Este în regulă, draga mea - It's okay, my dear
Este în regulă, dragă - It's okay, honey
Draga mea - My darling
Vorbeste-mi - Talk to me
Ești obosit, iubirea mea - You are tired, my love
Hai să ne culcăm - Let's go to sleep
Într-o zi, mă rog să mă ierți - One day, I pray that you will forgive me
Forgive my google translations *broken heart emoji*