Author's Note: Life has been fucking wild, but what's new? We've got a few chapters left! Thank you for always appreciating this story. I appreciate you just as much! I hope you're well and that you enjoy! *heart emojis lol*

The time is melting away, anyway. Each thought begins in the middle and it runs off into an incomplete end. He's always ending. But never closing the latch, never leaving life behind. Always on the precipice of finality, he could never jump, he's brave but it just won't happen. He'd leave his own soul behind if he had to. If he could.

They're swirling and slurring and drawing out — dreams, memories, she's in the corner of every one, burning his conviction to ashes, even when his eyes look right past her. He can't stop dreaming.

There's always chains lodged into his knees, pulling him down. And then he always worships her. And then he wakes and then he's leeching off of her from a distance, heart always pounding faster than the ticking and tocking of the clock on his wall right above his head — when he's not doing his thing he's in bed nowadays. He can't seem to make it through. Can't see it through.

He puts her in his best memories and he doesn't even realize. Places her in the past and wants it to come true. Wants it undone. Wants to be a kid again with her. His face went numb. The stars are spinning. They should be green, but they're not, and then he's back in one summer night with the only two people who understood this shit — some street fair that was actually fun 'cause he got to just exist and there's Barbie and Bird Brain and she's floating up ahead, immortalized, maybe he saw her in his future that night.

He fades into the wind and the quiet echo of the night. The world slowly dies. He will retreat. He will leave. Let it all be done.

Will there be one last goodbye?

"How can I love someone so much?" She inhales, but it stutters. "How can I hate someone so much?"

"Because for all that they've given, they've taken, too."

"How is it possible?"

"It's inside of you. One feeling doesn't need to win out over the other."

"How am I breathing?"

"Because you are already beyond it."

"What do you mean?"

"You know. You know better."

She stares down at her lap, the candlelight flickering across her skin.

"Do I?"

Without even looking, she feels Raven's affection in the shadows that surround them.

"Of course you do."

She heaves, her nimble fingers pressing, shaking into her breaking chest. "It hurts."

Her friend's hand, cool, wraps around her other wrist. She whispers. "I know."

She stares into violet eyes and an innate understanding settles within her. She finds a reason for this pain in her dearest friend's loving gaze.

Like the flames surrounding them, each uttering phrases of love as her soul aches one more time, her heart goes alight.

A promise in the night. "This must end." The warmth of her hand on top of Raven's cleanses her. "I've made my choice."

I'll say my final goodbye.

Dear Starfire,

I just want to tell you that

Please forgive

I wasn't in the right state of

I didn't mean to

I wish you didn't

How could you

You hurt me too

I don't know how to feel

Can we start over

I feel you slipping away

Dear Coriander,

Could we go back to the start, and then

It hurts just as much as

I can't think of anything

I CANT FUCKING STAND THIS YOU SAW !

you saw what he did. Hes not my brother

get away and stay away. im begging you. and dont go its not worth it. can you feel me when i write to you? ill scream louder until you do youre only in the other room. or i hope you are

i hope im still yours. i said always didnt i?

Dear Starfire,

No matter what, I'm always yo

Please don't say goodbye

I'll never leave your side

You know how much I love

WHY IS THIS SO HARD I CANT FIND THE RIGHT FUCKING WORDS TO SAY I HAD A MILLION THINGS TO SAY WHEN I SAW YOUR FACE BUT I COULDNT SPIT THEM OUT

SEE ABOUT ME LOVE ABOUT ME. WHENS IT GONNA END WHENS IT GONNA GO

DONT MAKE ME SAY GOODBYE. IM BEGGING YOU

What destroys him also nourishes him and the only proof he needs is the fact that she's in his bedroom and making him sober just by standing there. Like her presence is sunlight and the rays are coating every crevice and corner of all that exists, curing it, enriching it, depleting it of the sickness that he smeared all over the walls. He feels her from where he sits, on the firescape, back to her, but she's still running down his spine like a live wire, and suddenly he's alive.

So alive that the blood leaks down his nostrils again and slips past his lips. He licks it on instinct but it keeps coming and coming and coming. He doesn't move and he doesn't realize it's because he's scared to see her until time unwinds slowly and he freezes in it. Wants to skip forward or go back, whichever way will better erase everything that's been done to him, whichever way will prevent him from crawling back into her open arms and doing something as violent as asking her to stay by his side.

But everything he does will be tragic, anyway. Everything he is is a shitty story, a bad song, an awful poem that doesn't know when to end. And she's a ballad, an orchestra, the lovely daze of an instrumental he'll never dance to with her on a warm night because.

Because.

He never deserved it. Never will.

No.

He swears he can feel her pulse from here, a rhythm like her like water on him, and then he wants her back and wrapped around him.

She could stop the moon from rising in the day. She could kill the sun. Pick every petal off of every flower and craft a new Earth out of it.

But if she's the pathway to paradise, he wants to walk down it. Even just a part of the way. Even one step. Even a chance to look down it and find her again.

This is the last time.

Last chance.

The flowers have long died. He stands and tries not to topple over. His vision goes black around the edges for a moment. It's like they're both holding their breath.

But when he turns, his head spins, and he feels even more like the drunk piece of shit he is. He grimaces. Shuts his eyes and swallows. Leans his cheek on the cool glass of the open window. She must think he's even more insane than she already does.

He crawls his way into his room and doesn't see her.

I'm really fucking hallucinating now?

And he almost panics.

"Jason."

Actually, she's actually here. Sitting on the floor, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over her chest, every question she's ever had ready to pour out of her heaving chest and he's ready to melt or run, he can't tell which.

Before he decides, he makes another choice. And he sits down on his bed before he can make another. Slumps forward with his elbows on his knees and pulls his face right, as aloof as he isn't inside. In the way he knows she hates, but he doesn't have any other choice.

No matter where I fucking go, there's always a fork in the fucking road.

He smiles, his drying blood cracking over his ghastly skin.

How many "last times?"

His brow twitches.

Just say what you need.

Fresh blood trickles down his mouth, down his neck.

For the next life.

He's taking forever, again. At this rate, they'll both die.

I'll let you be my sole witness.

I hope you know that I loved you.

That I still do.

And I still will.

Until I die for good.

He stares at his best friend, the off-white wall that's heard it all, and for her, he bares his fucking soul.

"My name is Jason Peter Todd. I was born and raised in Gotham City. I was the second adoptive son of a man named… Wayne." He can barely hide his disdain. Barely choke back the rage, but he swallows it and keeps going. "Dick was like a brother to me."

"Who is… Dick?"

He chuckles. "Your precious boyfriend." He really tries not to spit it out, but he fails, and he catches her flinching from the corner of his eye. He forces himself to relax, but he fails that, too. "Dick's short for Richard. He probably thought you'd make fun of him or somethin'."

"Oh."

"We only had a few years together, but we were close. Really close."

"Why didn't you tell him?" she breathes.

And the corner of his lips twitch. "'Cause," he says evenly. "He's just like his father."

His pulse is so loud in his ears. The silence buzzing with it, bouncing around in his brain. He feels every single one of her unspoken questions branding his skin.

"Jas—"

"By the time Dick left to start his little crew, I was already replacing him. Y'know, we've only got a few months between us but I always felt like I was covered by his shadow. I could never be like my older brother. I could never be like the Golden Boy. Not that I wanted to be. I just couldn't stand the pressure." He folds his fingers together, tapping the tips over his knuckles. "Don't know why it's taken him this long to give up Robin, though. He's been over it for years."

"You mean…"

He nods, the movement exaggerated. The laugh that comes out after is bitter. "Yup, just like his father. Doesn't know how to let a single fucking thing go. At least not what matters," and the venom flies off his tongue.

He's sure she stopped breathing. He huffs, curling his shoulders inward. Maybe he'll sink into the ground.

Maybe he could pretend he isn't saying it.

I've never said this out loud, is what he wants to say, what he should let her know. But he's raw enough.

"I was sixteen."

She's standing, now. He prays she doesn't come any closer. Prays she stays away.

"A kid. I was a kid when I was locked away in some warehouse." He sucks in a breath, but it doesn't feel like it's enough oxygen, but it's not something he should be inhaling at all. "I was beaten half to death by some psychotic fucking clown who still roams this goddamn Earth before he blew me up. I was sixteen when I was brutally murdered, all alone."

Why is everything spinning slow?

"When I was robbed of everything. When I lost my life. And for some reason. I'm alive. I came back. Like a zombie. Like my last life wasn't fucking awful enough."

He still feels the burn.

"I'm a ghost haunting my own body. Koriand'r, I died."

In the moment, he makes the mistake of turning to her. But he can't help that his soul longs for her.

"I came back to life."

Her tongue lays heavy behind her teeth, her whole body abuzz with the weight of his stare. His pain collides with hers and it laces around her guts.

Wraps around her heart and pulls it to the bottom of her stomach, the thick beat of it matching the ticking and the tocking of the clock. Time is a lie — she is stuck in his past, stuck in this moment. No seconds pass, only the hold of death grows.

The world spins slowly. Heat envelopes her, an unwelcome relic of his final moment. Her limbs feel about ready to pop out of their sockets, to bend and break and collapse. What is this?

Is this her love? Is this his love?

She has never seen such sorrow in his eyes. He is begging for something, but she does not know what. She is useless. Helpless.

Oceans of grief layer upon her vision, ready to crash down. She is walking towards the wall, gripping it, trying and failing to steady the ill feeling that twists around her bones. Something about this — too much. Everything.

She tries to turn, to look him in the eye once more, to at least give him that — but the past half year of her life breaks upon her suddenly, and she wants to sink into the debris. He gently stands and walks off, but she has no voice, only the weakest whine of overwhelm. She clutches her heart, hoping it would be enough to hold the pieces together as it breaks for him.

The sound of the faucet turning on takes her back in, but only slightly. Her tongue and teeth are buzzing. An uncomfortable heat permeates her body. A craving for comfort, to receive and give, to prove to him that his second life does not have to be this way, despite the fact that there is still so much she does not know. So much that she might be unable to choke down, unable to accept within her current circumstances, because her life here is too valuable, but something calls. Something rings. The flicker of a lighter, a fallen piece of wood burning small but steadily, a desire, an undeniable, undeniable desire…

Could she ever look at him? Could she give it away?

Does she want him to know?

That if given the chance, she might give it up?

She gasps at the thought, a hand sliding around her throat, an arm wrapping around her ribs. She picks at the edge of her breast plate, pulls it off in the next second, but she still cannot breathe. She strips down, sucking in thin, shallow breaths, kicking her clothes to the side once her bare feet touch the floor. She remains in her underwear, unsure if this is relief she feels, or if she is simply going mad with emotion. It makes sense to be this open, with the fire trailing just under her skin, an itch she cannot relieve, the essence of him she longs to heal, at least try to — at least try before he goes, because she knows he will leave for forever.

He's blinking at her in confusion, the blood from him face gone, hair and shirt wet. She wipes at her nose and her cheeks. She hadn't heard the sound of her own sobbing until his presence played it back for her.

He furrows his brows, and she turns to face the wall to stifle the frustration it brings. She can hear his weight settling back on the bed, almost hears his thoughts and confusion.

"Sorry," she whispers to the wall. "Sorry."

"Kori."

Is he gentle or cold? Alive or dead?

"Baby, please," he breathes, barely audible.

It tears her around, and she finds his eyes warm like summer, warm with all he never had the chance to do. His magnetism draws her in not for the first time, and she is afraid and sorry to know that it will not be the last, if X'hal were to ever place him before her again.

She crumbles to the floor. Crosses her arms over both of his spread knees by the edge of his bed. Rests her forehead on her forearms and stares down at the floor, a tear dripping off her waterline and down below.

And like this, in an act like this, she prays without thought, only a feeling — her heart swells as if she is praying over his grave, his empty, empty grave. She would leave him flowers, anyway.

How much grief is she consuming, now?

"Did you rest in peace?" Her voice only slightly wavers.

"I don't know," he says immediately. "Kori."

She unravels her arms and places them on either side of his knees. She presses her lips to the inside of his leg, over his sweats — his breath quickly matches the fervor that boils within her. The need to alleviate, to forget, to fix, to do it the way they knew best. Her kiss trails up, up, up, but right as she reaches the middle of his legs, he wraps his hands around her upper arms and pulls her up.

He stands before her, holding on tightly, his heaving chest brushing against her still-covered breasts. Goosebumps rise upon her skin as their breath syncs.

"No," he says sternly, and she watches his eyes until his desperation slips and shows. She only catches a glimpse, and she attempts to move forward, but he holds her in place. He growls in warning. "Kori."

"Stop saying my name," she hisses. "Jason Todd."

He flinches just the slightest bit. Even after all of this, how can he still not break? She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. "Do you think this will satisfy me?"

"It should," he bites back, his fingers pressing into the inside of her arms. "You're not entitled to my past, or my present."

"But you decided to allow me into your life. To know that there is more about you that I am not allowed to know. You hurt me. And now I am only left with more questions. More questions you are too much of a coward to answer," she seethes.

He furrows his brows. "That's not fair."

"And this is?!"

He dips his head down and speaks low. "Trust me, baby, it is. It's better this way. It's better that you don't know, baby. Please," he leans in slowly, his hair brushing against her forehead, "don't ask me anymore. You know enough. More than you should. Do you understand?"

She looks up at him, and it is as if the air around them is picking up, ready to pull them in. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

He squeezes her arms. "Yes. Who you've gotten to know is the real me. Trust that. Believe that." He sighs heavily. "Believe in me," he says, strained, as though he'd never been humble enough to ask it before.

She laughs bitterly, folding her arms awkwardly so that her hands can grab at his chest. "You ask for all this and give me nothing in return, not even to accept what I offer to give… you do not even allow me to care." Her nails scratch at his shirt, sinking in briefly before fresh tears blur her vision. She clenches her fists. "I hate you," she seethes. "I hate you," but there is not enough conviction, only her wobbling chin, only grief, only what he forced her to lose, what he took away from her, the light in her eyes, the fire in her heart, a different life. "I hate you," she tries to convince herself again, but it is a whisper, a whisper that dies with them.

I hate you for coming into my life. I hate you for making me feel alive. I hate you for keeping your heart closed. I hate you for leaving me. I hate you for giving me up.

But none of it comes out — only rivers flow down her face.

Then his hands come gentle upon her cheeks, a soft pout of his lips, an almost playful expression, almost mocking as he furrows his brows and whines. His thumbs wipe first at her tears, for long minutes until they still. She stands there and lets it happen to her, lets her face be cradled by the rough palms of his hands, and shamefully, she savors it.

His thumbs brush over the ends of her brows, by the corners of her eyes. Then over her cheekbones, his pout deepening. "Don't be sad." His face drops. "I'm begging you."

She shakes her head slowly. "You are begging me?"

"Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"I apologize, but I am not like you or your brother. I allow myself to feel my emotions. I allow myself to grieve." The spark of anger comes back fresh, but somehow, he stalls it with his soft touches. Is she so malleable?

"I'm not telling you not to grieve," he says softly, thumbs caressing her cheeks, "just don't fight me, Kor. Don't try to make me stay." He frowns sadly, his eyes matching brilliantly in a way she has never seen. "And don't go looking for me. Don't try to piece anything together. You won't find a thing. I'll know and I'll scrub every trace clean. You won't find me, Kor. If anything, I'll find you."

"How can you be so arrogant to assume I would do such things?!"

He smiles. "I know you."

She stills.

"You think I don't?" He chuckles. "You think I didn't savor every moment, every second, play it back in my mind? You deserve to know at least that."

She blinks. "That you know me?"

"That I know you. That I paid attention. And that I—" but he pauses, and she holds her breath.

He takes his time leaning in. His lips just barely graze her ear. "You have no idea how much you've done for me, baby doll. There's no one else like you. There never will be."

"Do not say goodbye." She chokes back a sob, the lump in her throat thick. "Do not die again without seeing me again, Jason. I will never forgive you."

Is it longing? The way he is looking at her now? He tucks her hair behind her ear, as if every part of her were delicate. He runs his fingers over the same piece, like a meditative trance, and she wants to fall in so she can forget what he is saying now. "I can't make you any promises."

She yanks his shirt until his face is nearly crushed against hers. "Why?!"

"Anything could happen to me."

"Shh!"

"Let me go. You don't need me. Alright?" He grabs her wrists and tugs them so that she releases his shirt. "What did I say? Don't fight me on this. I've got obligations elsewhere, Kor. You can't keep me from them. I'm not staying."

"What if I asked you to?!" she bursts.

He swallows thickly, taken aback. "And what if you do? Is that what you really want?"

Now she swallows, almost feeling like a child getting scolded with his intent stare. "Perhaps," she finally says after a pregnant pause.

"So things can stay the same? You wanna keep on living this double life, not even knowing who I am, what I really do?" He scoffs. "Even after you condemned me without even trying to understand?"

"You give me nothing to understand. This is something you should have told m—"

"I'm not your boyfriend, Kori," he says darkly.

He leaves her paralyzed once more.

"I'm not your partner, your significant other, your husband, whatever you wanna call it. You knew I kept all of this to myself. You understood the nature of this… relationship didn't you?"

He seems to crumble slightly at her look of disgust. It does not satiate her, but it does give her a small sense of power that she has been missing this whole time.

"And what would you call this relationship, Jason?"

He stares blankly down at her for a moment before releasing her wrists. She holds her fists to her sides, daring him to look at her anywhere else other than her face. She crosses her arms under her breasts and watches him resist looking down.

How much more will he contradict himself? When will his actions match his words?

Never, a voice rings in her head.

Instead of answering, he tears his eyes away and walks behind her. She cannot deny the pain that stings throughout her chest. She cannot make sense of this.

Why is she still trying to?

He holds her clothes out in front of her. She takes them.

Throws it back in his face.

"I am not done here."

"I am."

She has to physically restrain from spitting at his feet. "And I am not."

"What did I say?"

"What did I say?"

"Put your clothes on and go home. Now."

"No."

The look he gives her almost frightens her, but her resolve is even stronger than the tension between them. He takes her jaw in one hand, firm but gentle, a dark fire in his eyes.

"If I had a choice, baby," he rasps after a long stretch of silence. "I'd stay."