Author's Note: I have wanted to write this chapter for months.
Raven would not tell her anything about the picture.
The blankness in her stare followed by the shake of her head as Raven handed it back to her — the fear crept into her heart and oh, how it has stayed.
Even now, an entire day later, she is just as unsettled as then. So much so that she had not been able to sleep at all. She stares at where the moonlight pours onto her bed.
The rain patters against the window, mocking her. Or perhaps the world is crying for her, with her; it was cleansing itself. She does not want to see what it must unveil to her.
No, she would rather stay in the gleaming summer daydreams. They had slipped from her fingers weeks ago, but she held the memories close.
The petals only crumbled and fell against her chest.
The flower had dried out long ago. She had watered the ones that were still alive, but even those were beginning to close in on themselves.
The seasons were changing before her eyes. What once fascinated her now floods her with dread. What once fulfilled her, left her empty.
What once pacified her became her unease, deep and, regrettably, turning into one of her greatest regrets.
I do not yet know for sure.
But then, her stomach twists at her thoughts. She had ignored her own body so many times, hasn't she?
I do not know, she pleads with herself.
So she waits for him.
She prays that he will forgive her.
There is nothing to forgive.
But there — there is. It is in her hands. A gift from someone he once kne—
Stop.
Her chest constricts painfully. Her limbs seemed to shaked with the intensity of her pulse.
It only spikes at the sound outside of her door.
She is opening it in the next second, searching out into the hallway for any sign of life. The footsteps she had heard were quiet; she may have imagined it.
Perhaps I did. Like many other things.
She sighs, slumping forward as some tension melts away. It is then that she realizes how exhausted she is. When was the last time she had slept the whole night?
"Star?"
Her eyes open in a flash, glowing green as the anxiety swells up once again. She grips the doorway with one hand and her chest with the other, her breath caught in her throat.
"I'm sorry," he says, a soothing hush. "Did I wake you?"
I have not slept in X'hal knows how long.
But that is not what she says. Because she says nothing.
Perhaps it is the way his skin contrasted against the darkness of his hair, tousled and nearly reaching his eyes. The symbol on his suit that she immediately recognized. The fresh smell of rain dripping from him. The look of concern and apology for her.
Or perhaps it is the fact that in just a split second, she could sense his turmoil. That he is hurt, confused, waiting and longing for something.
That for the first time in a long time, she was fully willing to help ease his pain.
It strikes her so suddenly and deeply that she plants her feet to the ground and freezes as the feeling crashes over her. She stares at him forever, only because that was simply how moments felt with him.
It is nearly unbearable.
Tears prickle her eyes.
Oh, what have I done?
His worry only grows. He takes a light step forward and brushes his gloved hand over her shoulder.
"Star?" he says quietly, his voice low.
It washes warmly over her. It thaws her.
She blinks for too long and stares up at him with a heavy smile and heavy eyes. "I apologize, Robin, I —"
She shakes her head and chuckles at her stupidity. Her brain was not functioning properly from her lack of sleep.
"It's oka—"
"Richard," she corrects herself. "No, it is not. That is not your name." She hugs herself and fixes her gaze on the blue symbol on his broad chest. "Not anymore," she breathes.
She is afraid to look at his face. She is afraid of what it could very well do to her heart.
But she must — something in her screamed, begged, needed —
She places her palm gently onto the center of his chest before she can stop herself. She does not miss the hitch in his breath, nor in hers.
Even under the thick material, his heartbeat is strong.
"It was the right time?" she says, though it sounds so foolish and pointless that she wishes she had not.
"Yeah," he breathes, his chest rising with it. "I'm… I'm not going to be Robin anymore."
For some reason, this gives her the courage to look up.
As if he would be someone better. New. That this version of him would not hurt her.
Do not forget, her voice rings in her head.
But she wants to.
"No more Robin..." she says so quietly that she may as well have mouthed it.
And as if the way he stared down at her was not already so hypnotizing, he grips the hand on his chest and holds it there.
"He should've died a long time ago."
He says this plainly, as if it were a fact.
Had she killed that part of him?
Would she kill the next?
She thinks back to the picture, face down on her vanity, at the innocence and sheer happiness of it. She thinks back to the coldness of Raven's gaze and her dismissal, as if to say, this is for you to find out on your own.
If Jason has done — is doing — what she suspects he is. If that is Richard in the picture, next to him. If it is him —
His heart, so strong and steady beneath her palm, even though she knows it is broken.
She retracts her hand.
"Oh, I'm s—"
She grabs his wrist and gently tugs it forward. "Would you like to come in?"
He stares at her, shocked. A part of her wants to laugh. The other wants to cry.
She does neither. She loosens her grip and waits for him to respond.
"Sure," he says, voice cracking.
She cannot help but smile. "Thank you," though she could not understand why she is thankful.
Neither can he. "No, thank you."
He steps inside tentatively. Once the door shuts, she floats backwards and slides onto her vanity, the picture beside her. It feels as though its proximity burns her.
It dares her to ask. To know. To put it to rest, even though it had only just woken up.
He stands awkwardly by the door. The sight is sweet and it hurts her chest.
"Come," she says softly, smiling. "It is okay."
He runs his hand through his messy hair and bites his lip.
He looks so handsome.
Her heart aches.
"Starfire…"
"Koriand'r," she says without thought. Why did that matter now?
He tilts his head in confusion. "Koriand'r?"
"Yes," she sighs. "My birth name."
He rubs his cheek before an airy laugh escapes him. "Wow, I didn't even think — it's beautiful," he says, and she tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. "That's a beautiful name, Koriand'r."
She fights the tears that threaten to come. She was not in the place to cry, even if his compliment made her feel warm. "Thank you."
He nods and then looks down at his feet shyly. How did he manage to look so grown up, yet so young at the same time?
Either way, this urge to protect him overwhelmed her. He is hurt, and he would continue to be hurt.
He deserves it.
"Come," she coos. "Come, Richard."
"O-okay." He swallows before smiling shyly. "Koriand'r."
And as he walks closer to her, it only makes sense.
"Hey," he whispers, his legs nearly brushing her knees.
"Hello. What is it that brings you here today?"
He smiles and for too many reasons, it kills her. "You tell me."
"Well, if you must know…"
His soft smile and pearly white teeth. "Yes?"
"I was waiting for you."
I am the greatest fool across the galaxy.
"O-oh?" he stutters. "You were?"
She presses her lips together and nods, a blush creeping up to her cheeks.
"I mean, it might be a stupid question… not that I don't appreciate it, Koriand'r, I do—" he sighs in frustration.
But she knows what he is wondering. She is wondering about it herself.
She leans forward, allows her face to get even closer to his. She catches the twitch of his lips, his total uncertainty.
Perhaps that is what plagued her moments before, but her body knows what her mind does not want to accept.
She moves purely on instinct — her thoughts have run out. She wants her mind to die for the night. It has not done her any good for too long.
She takes hold of his forearms and pulls him forward, just until her knees are on either side of him. She squeezes his arms before letting go and placing both hands back on his chest, her nose just so close to grazing his.
"Woah," he whispers.
He looks so nervous, so scared that she wants to laugh. But she bites it back and smiles instead.
"Because," she smoothes her fingers over his symbol, "I want to see you."
Why is it so easy to say now? What is this overwhelming need to have him close?
She missed him all this time — of course she did. Especially when she did not want to. Her best friend, and something else, something more…
She slides her palms down to his ribs, trying with her everything to keep her face from breaking.
He braces himself on either side of her, gripping the edge of her vanity. He seems to tower over her and it makes her feel safe.
"Oh?"
She nods, looking up at him as her fingers splay over his stomach.
And then down,
down,
down.
And for the second she touches him — the heat that pours through her, the gasp that escapes him and has her craving — she forgets herself.
She wants the moment back.
But he grasps her wrists so fast that she whimpers in surprise. His hold is tight, but secure in a way that somehow, it comforts her.
He pins her wrists behind her arched back.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he says in one rushed breath, hair falling over his eyes, even closer as he leans over her.
A warmth spreads through her, beginning from her core and pouring out like morning light. She turns her face and brushes the tip of her nose against his cheek "Mmm."
"Star…" he husks. It sparks up her spine. "Please."
Was he asking her to take the option away from him? To give him permission? To claim this as a lapse of judgment?
To forgive him?
Would you want him to forgive you?
Her mind comes around. It has become someone else, an outsider looking in.
She wraps her legs around him and pulls him in.
The hot breath at her ear shoots down to her core.
"Starfire," he nearly whines.
The way he says her name makes her want to keep it forever.
And she rolls her hips up into his, something like flames scouring every single one of their sins.
His hands burn her hips as he pins them down. Her lips graze his neck and he shudders. The desperation in the bottom of her stomach only grows.
Her arms now free, she wraps them around his neck, fingers lacing through his hair and keeping him there. Despite his efforts, her center still presses against his, aching with life.
He shakes his head and drops his forehead onto hers, his breath heavy and flowing through her. "Don't do this to me."
And perhaps that breaks her heart a little, somewhere in the corner of it — she hides the pooling tears with her lips pressed to his cheek, lingering long after she should have already pulled back.
Of course she knows why she should not do this. Of course she hates herself for doing it anyway.
If only it could all be undone.
But was this not grief? Would she be able to forgive herself for longing to be in his arms, to be wrapped around him and forget, forget, forget…
"Forgive me," she mumbles into his skin, a tear falling free.
His arms immediately wound around her waist, something she recognizes as fear. She did not intend to scare him. Her insides twist and turn. "What? What happened?"
Perhaps he thinks she is acting out of pain. Perhaps she is, but that does not mean that she does not mean it.
He feels so strong compared to her. She could give in, and he would take her to bed. It is so late — how is the sun not up yet?
Summer is gone. It left you long ago.
He left you long ago.
"Starfire…" he says soothingly into her hair, "Koriand'r… talk to me."
She wishes he already knew. That she did not have to speak now. That he told her everything before, when he should have.
Her arms weaken around him and fall onto his shoulders. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and inhales. It is everything familiar and safe and warm.
He rubs her sides, rubs circles into her back. An emptiness punctures her heart.
Always her heart. So reckless, unable to ever still.
"Hey," he says, hand smoothing down her hair. "Hey, look at me," he continues softly. "Please?"
It takes her back to before. When she would do anything he asked of her. She lifts her head and locks her glassy eyes with the white of his mask.
Oh, how she hates that mask. How she always did. It hid her from the truth.
Her answer is right behind it.
He strokes his thumbs over her cheeks, his gloves rough on her skin, but she needs the touch.
"You can tell me. I won't be mad. I promise."
Why does she feel like she is breaking inside?
He brushes her tears away, falling freely now, a downpour of sorrow. All of her sorries. "It's okay…" he coos. "I got you. You're alright."
But is she? Would she ever be?
From here, this close, with the moonlight, full and open. Just slightly, she can see the blue behind his mask.
Remember when… remember when?
She lifts her shaking hands and places her fingers gently on the edges of it. His breath stops. Then he swallows thickly.
She was so weak the last time, when her heart had burst with the agony of her anger. When she hurt him.
She is going to hurt him again. Already, she regrets it. Hates it. Despises it.
But she could not carry on without seeing his eyes.
He nods slightly, encouraging. "It's okay," he mouths, squeezing her sides gently.
She cannot tell if her heart stopped or if it was beating so fast that there was no pause between its beats. It thrummed through her fingers, her veins, her parted lips. The fear that runs through her is unlike anything else she has ever felt.
What else can she do but suffer with it?
Gently, she peels it off. She refrains from shutting her eyes and hiding in him. He would hold her. He would put her to sleep and pretend like this never happened. He would do that for her.
Her hands are trembling almost violently now.
His eyebrows and eyelashes are thick and dark. Beautifully so.
She sets the mask aside, useless now. He kept his eyes closed, and she is glad for it.
She had not noticed how he replaced his hold onto her thighs. Gripping her like it will carry him through. She welcomes the slight pain of it. It keeps her grounded as she brushes her fingertips over his eyelids, as terrified and awed as she is relieved.
All he must do is open his eyes.
And she will know.
Before she can stop herself, she cups his face into her hands and presses feather-light kisses onto each eye. And then on the space between them.
"It is okay," she echoes.
The world stops turning.
The sob rips through her as she shatters.
In all the time she has known him, she has never seen tears in his eyes. She has never seen the clarity of them, or the way they contrasted against the darkness of his hair. All at once, his eyes have become her greatest gift and greatest tragedy.
She wishes she never went to Jason's home. She wishes Richard opened up to her years ago. She wishes her chest wasn't so empty and relieved as her stomach was filled with such agonizing dread.
Or perhaps Jason should have just let her bleed out that night. It would hurt less.
"I am sorry," she cries. "I am sorry."
"Why?" he whimpers, eyes fogging over with unshed tears. "Why, Starfire?"
She pulls his head down to the crook of her neck and wraps her arms desperately around his head, like it would protect him.
The pieces click together. Why else would Jason approach her? Hold her close? Make her want to be vulnerable with him?
While she was not sure of his relation to Richard, it is… it is clear that Jason wants something out of him.
He manipulated her, and she let him.
X'hal, he shot her.
She wants to wail, but she manages some semblance of self-control. What you could not manage to have before, when it mattered.
He slides his hands to her lower back and lifts her, legs dangling as he holds her tight to him. "Shhh," he hushes into her ear, kissing the tears he manages to catch with his lips. "Shhh…"
The noises that come out of her are ugly and broken. She clings to him for dear life.
He carries her to her bed and sits her down on it. When he pulls just slightly away from her, she holds him tighter.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promises, and she believes him, despite her desperation.
He kneels down in front of her and holds her waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her belly. She grabs his forearms and squeezes her eyes shut, tears leaking down her face.
He leans in and kisses her chin. She whimpers, the wave of emotion it gives her overwhelming.
"Come here…" he says, and without sight she finds her way into his arms. She folds her own against his chest and cranes her neck, welcoming the cascade of kisses upon her cheek, and the butterflies that fill her tummy with each one.
Was this all she has ever needed? Her heart stops beating right out of her chest almost instantly; the sharpness of the pain quickly dulls to an ache.
He nuzzles his nose against her cheek before placing his lips on the space between her brows, just as she had to him. "I hate seeing you cry," he says, voice wavering. "But you look beautiful when you do."
Her heart flutters. She blinks her eyes open and softens at the way his brows are furrowed heavily over the deep blue. Would she ever get used to this?
Will he find you beautiful after you tell him what you know?
A part of her knew he would, no matter what.
The other part faltered with the fear that he would not.
But at the end of the day, from the beginning of her time here, he was and is her friend.
Her best, best, best friend in the whole entire universe.
And even if it tore her apart and caused him to hurt the way she does now, she had an obligation to tell him the truth.
She ignores the split second where his actions made sense in her head — it is not the time to ponder upon the past.
She has made a huge mistake.
She takes his face back into her hands and strokes his cheeks with her thumbs. "I have something to show you," she whispers, voice cracking.
His expression softens. He turns his head and kisses her palm. "Show me."
She lets out a shaky breath and attempts to stand on her own, but her legs are too weak. He has her up in the next second, strong arms secure around her.
"Thank you," she whispers. He kisses the top of her head and grazes her back as she breaks away from him.
She is slow to take the picture, hold it to her chest, and walk back to him.
She feels so small beside him, now.
He lifts her head with a finger under her chin.
They stare into each other's eyes for a dizzying amount of time, akin to the end of it. Until he finally breaks the silence.
"Whatever it is," he slides his hand around the back of her neck, "I'll love you anyway."
Did he have to say it?
She breaks again, but it is bittersweet and it is lovely.
She laughs despite herself, and the fresh tears falling down her cheeks. He catches them before they reach her neck.
Though she knew it, hearing it… hearing it… seeing the love… heavy and palpable in the ocean of his eyes...
Oh, how it feels like she is dying.
And coming back to life.
"I may not deserve it."
"I'll be the judge of that," he says immediately, his smile reassuring but sad. "I meant what I said. Every word."
The night they met again. The letter.
She nods. "I know you did."
"You don't have to forgive me."
"You don't have to forgive me, either."
His lips twist into a frown. "I'm sorry, Starfire.
You might think I'm insane, but I'd forgive anything you do. Especially after what I did to you."
She shakes her head. "That does not sound healthy."
She would know.
He shrugs. "As long as you're happy. And okay." He sucks in a sharp breath, looking pained. It hurts her. "God, I love you. You have no idea how
much. I'm sorry I didn't say it before. I had to…
I had to be me."
She knows. "I know."
"Thank you for taking off my mask." He kisses her forehead. The warmth of it flows through her, and it lingers. "Thank you."
You always set me free.
And now, she must do it herself.
She turns the photo so that it's hidden as she presses it to his chest.
"I will explain," she states plainly, willing herself to stop acting like she is still a little girl.
He peers at her through his hair. The anxiety swirls around them. She feels it choke them both.
Time slows down as he lifts it to his face.
She thinks for a second that he breaks his neck with how hard he snaps it back in complete and utter disbelief.
"Where did you get this?" He sounds as if he thinks he is dreaming.
"... Jason," she says quietly, afraid of the weight his name carries.
"... What?"
She is weak. The tears do not end.
"Jason."
She can see the pain, clear as day. Clear as the sun rising behind them. The shock, confusion, betray—
The photo flies to the floor. He cups her face and presses his forehead to hers so hard that it feels like a bruise will form.
"Starfire," he says roughly.
"I am so sorry."
"No, Starfire, listen."
He sucks in a shaking breath. And then the world crashes down.
"Jason is dead."
