He's died twice before. Once when he was murdered. Y'know. Brutally.
The second time, when he came back to life.
Like, yeah, it's his body. Maybe better described as his own reanimated corpse. (It's strange to think that maybe you're currently haunting your own body, but it's not like he really lets himself think much. Or, at least, wants to.)
But he came back, and his eyes were dead, and no one who should know that he's alive knows that he's alive. It's an absolute fucking joke, and sometimes, he laughs about it.
Really, it's a tragedy he never asked, let alone wanted, to be a part of. He asks the walls why it was him that got a second chance, a whole 'nother fucking life in this bitch world, but they only stare back.
And maybe he was starved for human interaction of any kind. Maybe his conscience hadn't completely left him, maybe his heart hadn't shriveled up and died along with the rest of him. Maybe it was because he knew exactly who she was.
He's been thinking about that night nonstop. Hell, he's been dreaming about it, in the time he actually manages to fall asleep. They weren't exactly pleasant dreams, but they endeared him. They were better than his usual nightmares. And honestly, he could still smell the rain. Her blood.
The poor girl was bleeding out by a vacant building on an empty street. The one he happened to be… living in. It felt dirty, and just wrong to touch her, but he had to lift her back inside, to keep her from dying the way he had.
He knows what he said, and he doesn't know why he did. It made more sense to be rotten. It felt safer to be cruel. He was meant to be selfish. That doesn't stop him from regretting being such an asshole.
He didn't know why he cares, either.
Maybe, one day, he'll apologize. But probably not.
It's just that there's something about her, and it makes his mind go on and on and on. Something like a light in the dark, and he can't help but walk towards it, hypnotized. It reminds him of something warm. From his life before.
She was like a vague memory from childhood, and even though you couldn't remember much, it still filled you to the brim with nostalgia. She seemed so… missing, hurt, out of place. Vulnerable, but god damn, he couldn't place the feeling he got when he saw her on the ground.
He doesn't know a lot about her, but he knows enough. Whoever or whatever hurt her really struck her down, caught her off guard. It was kinda… sad.
He had heard his garbled voice through the pager or whatever the hell it was on her belt, calling for her. Then it turned to static. He wasn't gonna pick it up, anyways.
Her blood is still on the carpet. He cleaned her wound pretty good, but he's not really good at cleaning much else. It was really annoying him right now, but he'll die a third time before he gets his ass up and cleans some alien chick's bodily fluids off a floor that technically doesn't belong to him.
The blood stain mocks him.
He'll see her soon. Call it a dead man's intuition.
The gash healed, for the most part. It ran discolored underneath her ribcage and ended at the curve of her waist. She skims warm fingers over it, not knowing how it came to be. Or, really, not wanting to remember. Not now.
Her skin lacked its golden hue. Her eyes appeared dead, gone.
She'd lost some weight, to her dismay. Her appetite had left her weeks ago, nausea filling her instead of the meals she was supposed to have with her friends, all the pizzas and sandwiches and waffles along with her other favorite foods. She couldn't bring herself to enjoy much anymore. Even more disheartening, mustard made her feel queasy. Any attempt to eat made her stomach roll for reasons she couldn't even begin to explain.
She hadn't really looked at her body until now, standing awkwardly in front of the bathroom mirror. Her hip bones jutted out unattractively. Her collarbones were too visible. Face too gaunt, knees too knobby, the embodiment of a sullen girl. It made her feel ill, looking at herself. When had this happened? When did she lose her curves, her muscles, her strength? She is made of angles now. Sharp and clean-cut and a second away from breaking.
A hot flash of shame makes her turn away from her reflection.
She was sick of looking at herself, searching for what was not there. Would never be there. Her vibrancy, it slipped away from her, and her body began to pay the price.
She did not recall much about the day before, but what she did recall was the pain. It was merciless, debilitating, had made her act in a way that she had not in a long time. With a grimace she steps into a steaming shower, ready to wash the remnants of the past few days away. Starfire sighs as the hot water soothes her sore muscles. Showers always felt the most glorious after a long, tough battle.
Or, in this case, a long couple of days she could barely remember.
She dares to reach down to her wound, touching it more firmly than she had before. It still hurt, like a deep bruise that had just begun to heal, but nowhere near as bad as yesterday.
Yesterday.
She cringes at the memory of making Robin expose her. While the circumstances did call for it, he had not wanted to. Not that he did not want to help her. He did not want to see her body. It gives her an odd mix of discomfort and relief to know this. Regardless, the embarrassment spreads through her just as quickly as she scrub, scrub, scrubs her skin, reddening under the dizzying heat that was almost too much for her to bear.
Starfire makes sure to wash every inch of herself from head to toe, practically rubbing her skin raw. She ignores the redness all over her as she steps out of the shower and dries herself off. She slips her uniform on, fighting this overwhelming urge to cover herself up. Never had she been… anything less than proud of her body, yet here she was. As if her heart had not broken enough.
She steps out, passing by her reflection. But then she's knocked backward, tipping over until she's held steady by hands stronger than her spirit. They tighten on her back before pulling away, as if her very being burned. She cannot decide if she misses them or not.
Starfire has to raise her head to look at him now. Even the slight motion makes her feel ill; still, she smiles. "Good morning, Robin," she says softly, hoping to get it over with. He smiles back sheepishly. He instantly reaches to rub the back of his neck. "Morning, Star. You're looking a lot better," he replies, voice far away.
"Yes, I am feeling much better. I trust that you slept well."
"Well, uhh…" he bites the corner of his lip so perfectly, "actually, Star, I had trouble falling asleep last night."
She tilts her head. "And why is that?"
"I was worried about you."
She doesn't know why she's surprised. It must be the way he looks at her. The way he makes her feel so protected, despite driving her beyond the point of sanity. She could almost see his eyes through the mask. Almost.
She laughs softly, sugar sweet. "You do not have to worry about me. I have healed greatly through rest and sun."
"Yeah, sun… definitely sun," he chuckles nervously. She looks down at her feet, cheeks instantly flushing red.
"My sincerest apologies, Robin. I did not mean to put you in that situation. I was in an indescribable amount of pain. I hope you understand."
He does not respond right away, and she is afraid to look up. She feels like a child, admitting guilt and waiting for the punishment. She wishes she could remain unapologetic and thank him instead for listening to her at all, but she lacks the strength and the will.
He had shot her down just days ago, and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out how to get back up.
"Star…" he sighs, almost pitifully, and she despises it. He lifts his arm as if to touch her, but he hesitates. "Of course I understand. I… I should be the one apologizing."
She looks up at him then, head tilted and eyes questioning.
"I didn't want to, y'know… put you in such a… compromising position." He coughs awkwardly, almost comically, but she was not in the mood to laugh. "I just… I know you were… in a lot of pain, I just didn't… y'know… yeah. I'm a jerk. Was a jerk." The poor boy is dying right in front of her. It brings her the slightest, sickest pleasure, but the hot shame stifled it. Starfire manages a small smile of reassurance, and it is met with a nervous one of his own.
When had they come to this? When had they strayed so far away from their ease, their synchronicity, their unbridled companionship?
Why bother to ask herself questions she already knew the answer to?
Her eyes bore into his domino mask, and it slips out before she can stop it: "You are forgiven. I understand that you did not want to see my body."
She could hear how fast he shakes his head, so taken aback at her words. Her brows furrow, almost challenging him. Saying, "is that not the truth? Did you not make it clear that you do not want me in that way?"
He blinks stupidly, stuttering. Unable to justify his reaction. She rolls her eyes, uncharacteristically so, but he brings it out of her. She begins to walk away.
"I shall 'see you around,'" she says, but then his hand is wrapped around her arm. His touch, it burned, it killed, it cured. She eyed his grip on her instead of him.
"Star, you know I don't mean it like that."
"Then how do you mean it? I believe you have made it the obvious."
He squeezes her flesh before releasing her, all so quickly she barely registers it. She shouldn't be so on edge, but she can't help the anger that rises within her. He doesn't know how to respond, how to make it better. He never does. So he does not.
"What's it matter to you?" he finally manages with a bit of venom, more than he's directed at her in… ever. "We're just friends, Starfire. Nothing more, nothing less. Friends don't undress each other. Especially boy and girl friends. Do you know what that leads to? Hm?"
She had stepped away from him, looking down the hall to avoid the discomfort of his sudden outburst. His tone softens, only a bit, but it's enough to reignite the humiliation she already felt.
"It leads to intimacy. It leads to... sex," he huffs out as if he can't believe he has to say the dreaded word out loud. It reverberates in her mind, sinking deeper into her each time, stinging.
As much as he is her peace, X'hal, he is her pain. And when silence remains, he fills the air again, quiet enough so that it belonged only to them.
"I made it clear, Starfire. Don't turn this into something it's not."
He leaves her to stand alone. Not for the first time, and not the last.
That night, the alarm sounds.
She'd been praying for her strength to return under the stretch of moonlight upon her bedroom floor. She wanted — needed — a chance at redemption, a renewed sense of purpose to replace the one that had slipped out between her fingers. She had only just lost herself, and already, she longed to come back.
She has to come back. She wants to kill the weakness within her.
But the look on his face sends a shiver down her spine, and she is left stunned at her own doorway.
"You're not joining us tonight," he says, and she regrets the way it turns her blood to ice.
"Why, Robin? I am the okay," she says as calmly as she can, but her voice trembles under the pressure. His expression is unmoving, almost scarily determined on having her sit out. It sparked this panic deep down at the bottom of her stomach. Reminding her too much of home.
He's… glowering at her. A flash of heat overcomes her, and then it's gone.
"You're not fully healed. I'm not risking anything."
"I am able to fight," she says. She emits her energy out of shaking hands, eyes glowing and holding his gaze until they flicker and die.
"What," she sighs in disbelief, struggling once again to maintain her starbolts. His frown only deepens.
"You're staying here tonight. That's an order."
She hates that she wants to cry. That the tears brim her eyes.
That he can see them.
She doesn't turn away quickly enough.
He swiftly slips his hand on the side of her neck, pulling her closer to him. His lips graze her cheek, so close it sickens her. So far it unsettles her.
"I'm sorry," he whispers in her ear, and then he's gone.
The tears flow. She curses his name under her breath.
It's a special kind of hell when you make a girl cry.
Even when she looks absolutely breathtaking when she does.
He had no time to look back, and no chance of undoing his deliberate damage. The pressure in his chest alleviated once he got away from her, but still, it remained. And she remained alone.
He cringes at his resolve. His utter lack of compassion towards the most compassionate being he has ever come across in his whole entire life.
"Yo, is Star coming?"
"Nah. She's not feeling well."
He curses his own name.
She remembers her mother's smile, how she hoped she'd one day have one as brilliant as hers. She remembers her father's laugh, deep and infectious, how she'd heard it in her brother at times. She remembers the gleam of her sister's eyes, back when they were kind to her.
She remembers becoming enslaved. Enduring. Surviving but not living. Escaping. Coming to Earth. Finding a new home. Falling in love.
She remembers the tenderness he gave to her name. Every time his lips ghosted across her skin. The peace he always seems to bring to her, growing more precious each time. The adoration and respect. Humiliation.
Regret.
"We can't be anything more than this."
The world dims and she drifts off.
Her hips are in his hands, crushed against him. It always starts off like this, so demanding and without words. It fills her with heat and drains her head.
Thoughtless, he's thoughtless in her daydreams and in her sleep, and she likes him best that way. His fingertips run up the very center of her back and she writhes against him. She feels his smirk under her lips and she sighs.
He is always tender, yet firm. Handling her just enough so she couldn't slip away, and he slips his tongue into her mouth so smoothly she forgets to breathe. It sends her in a spiral, how could it not?
"X'hal…" Merely a whisper, a prayer in the night.
He lays her down sweetly, kissing her hot and wet down her bare neck and chest. She shudders. Anticipating and waiting and losing her mind again. She thinks he takes it away every time, and it leaves her once more when he inches down, closer, closer, closer.
"You're my best friend," he says, but it flies past her with a kiss on her center. She arches her back. She has nothing to say.
He spreads her apart. "Nothing more, nothing less."
He leans in. She crashes down and awake.
The air in her room is humid and thick. She has no idea what time it is, didn't even realize she had fallen asleep. She's sweating all over, and her sheets had come off her bed. The dream comes back to her slowly. It makes her chest ache. The amount of emotions she had at the moment was absolutely not okay, and they are only made worse when she notices the throbbing at her core.
Her breath is too fast now. She tries to breathe as Raven taught her. Slowly and deeply and deliberately and his kiss his mouth on her and then she stops breathing entirely.
She thinks she's been damned to eternal suffering here on Earth.
The dreams — perhaps, nightmares —- had been plaguing her for weeks. He's been her single thought for too long now. The subject of her discontent and pleasure, and she was beginning to have enough. The growl that comes out of her is low. Nearly inhumane. That's what he does to her.
The only one.
And it would be wonderful, romantic even, if she had the same effect on him, and, perhaps, if everything he told her not too long ago was a complete lie and he would just give himself to her already, but nothing made sense anymore and nothing matters when you're suffering from the symptoms of unrequited love. The craving coats her from the inside out, the shame building in the back of her mind. He isn't here to touch her, and he would not anyways, he does not want to see her body, let alone feel it.
So she reaches down and she touches herself.
She wonders if maybe this was the cure to every single one of her problems, but the thought fades with a soft breath and alleviation. She feels herself for the first time after a long while (all because of him as well, when she hadn't known what else to do). She never had any other reason to. Never had she wanted to rip someone out of her brain as much as him.
Taste, smell, smile, feel, his look of awe, his utterly damned perfection. She rubs herself slowly, slowly, the way she imagines he would, and the sparks shoot up her spine. She holds onto glimpses of him in her mind's eye and the heat floods through her stomach, hotter each time, reminding her of just how empty she is, has been. A whimper leaves her and it's heavy in the heavy air. She spreads her wetness all over herself and ignores the disgust creeping up behind her.
The disgust at giving in so easily. Being so weak. Of wanting him inside of her, in every sense of the word, while he does not.
"Don't turn this into something it's not."
Except this is what it is, what it's come to. An insatiable longing that has extended far beyond the matters of the heart. The slipping away of her sanity, the unnecessary amount of pain that has scarred her indefinitely. She moves her hand faster. Pushing the thoughts away. Making herself feel good. Pretending he's doing it for her. She has to will herself to stop long enough to slip her underwear off. She spreads her legs slightly wider now, sinking into her bed while her fingers sink inside of her, but it hurts too much. Will it hurt when he…?
If. Would it hurt if he was in her?
She dares to imagine further.
As she readies herself to break the spell, to release him from her body for the night, she sighs gracelessly and its weight settles around her. It is then that she realizes there is someone on the other side of her bedroom door. They are calling her name.
Before she could even think to respond, she closes her legs and her eyes, hoping and praying that he just goes away. He's bothered her enough already. Anxiety prickles her guts. He does this to her. Only him. No one else.
The door opens. She feigns sleep. Hates him in the moment.
He does not make a sound, not a single movement, at least none that she could sense. She feels his gaze dead set on her. Oh, how exhilarating it was. Empowering, even.
How… gross it felt. To be so vulnerable under him. Knowing that she was his, right now. He needs to come closer.
He needs to stay away.
She controls her breath, makes sure it's dainty and sweet, almost putting on a show for him. Trying to make him believe. Or maybe, trying to keep him looking.
Have him want her.
She mewls a bit, squirms onto her side. Enjoys the way his breath catches, closer now than before. His fingertips, bare and trembling, just barely graze the dip of her waist, and then her chin, so afraid to wake her. It almost feels like a secret she wasn't meant to keep, his delicate touch under soft summer moonlight. She fights the temptation to open her eyes. To let him let her in.
Except, he's already pushed her so far away. Watching her fall off the edge. It strikes her how torturous this moment truly was, how helpless she felt against him. She wishes she were actually asleep when he runs a gentle line from her jaw to her chin. The tension makes her want to twist and turn, but she's stuck playing dead to the world.
"I'm sorry."
She more feels his apology than hears it. His breath tickles her ear, and it makes the corner of her mouth twitch. For what he was sorry for this time, she didn't know. Truthfully, she forgot she was mad at him for a second. Her mind was still hazy and her body laid taut from her lack of release. It almost hurt.
He slips his hand under hers and lifts it. She looks up at him, finally, with an emotion she cannot name. He doesn't seem surprised. He presses his lips softly against the top of her fingers, right under her same ones that had been inside of her moments ago. For a dream she had had of him.
And as he lays another kiss at the tips, she is reminded of a simple fact: there is only one person in the whole entire universe in which she would willingly submit herself to.
He is kneeling at her bedside, and he is tasting what he does to her.
She has no energy to move. No will, either. No thoughts in her head. A thick stillness fills her instead.
He licks his lips and stares at her.
"Blue," she says, thoughtlessly.
"Hm?"
"Your eyes."
His response is a deft kiss to the center of her palm.
Then he lets go.
And just like that, she's alone again, despite his standing there. His mask looks down at her, expressionless. She curls her arms to her chest. It is only a small comfort compared to what she so desperately needs, but it was all she could do.
She sees him through his mask, though she could just barely make it out. Something unreadable displayed itself in his gaze, but still, it was intense and brilliant and undeniably blue.
And yet, he does not give himself away. Not to the moment, not to her, not to anyone or anything, and a familiar sting cuts through her chest.
She can't live like this. With a pile of rot sitting on her heart. There was no sense in it, in praying he'd stay by her side.
If he wanted her, he could have had her long ago. It's this split second of contemplation that the exhaustion weighs her down completely, and she gives up.
Gives in.
"Good night, Star," he says so quietly, she's not sure it's real. It doesn't matter. Or, more accurately, she didn't want it to matter.
She falls back asleep and dreams of home instead of him.
