Chapter seventeen: Stockings/socks.
Raven and Beast Boy were led contentedly upon his bottom bunk, her head resting snugly in the crook of his neck as he wound an arm around her. Christmas was fast approaching, but after 3 whole Christmases as a couple, the novelty had certainly worn off. Beast Boy was still as enthusiastic about the holiday as always – to the team anyway. During their first Christmas together Beast Boy had shared his sadness with Raven, his grief over his lost parents, the still lingering misery that ate away at him on special occasions. He'd sworn that Raven had made it better though.
Their first Christmas together had had Beast Boy in frenzy trying to buy his girlfriend the perfect gift. The year later he'd simply asked her what she desired, and the third year they'd done their shopping together. This year, though, they hadn't bought each other anything, there was nothing they needed and didn't want for anything. Of course, they still bought for their friends.
Dropping the 'teen' from their name, they newly dubbed 'Titans' were as hectic as any family around the festive season, and it was because of this hysteria that the couple liked to have moments alone, to get away from it for a little while. Starfire had suggested making a Tamaranean pudding for the Christmas feast, and Raven and Beast Boy had slipped out before they were roped in to the sticky situation.
Beast Boy's room was not adorned in trimmings, and looked much the same as it did every other day, save for the single stocking he'd pinned carefully in the centre of his otherwise empty notice board. It was a classic red sock, trimmed with white faux-fur. At least, it had once been white, but was now looking a rather sallow cream colour, and the fur was matted with age, the stocking itself worn and tattered.
Raven remembered vividly the first time she'd seen it, and how –without thinking – she'd so carelessly asked why he possessed it. He'd told her that it was the only thing he had left of his Christmases with his parents. Though it was frayed and grubby and dotted with rough patches and stains, it was something he held very dear to him. Every time she saw it Raven relived how fervently she'd apologised, and he'd simply told her that he didn't need her to feel sorry for him. It was something he'd grown to live with.
As she lifted her head from his shoulder ever so slightly, she looked across at the stocking, and the inconsolable guilt hit her again.