Transcendental

A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future.

Author's Note: Hello, Mayumi here. So, I'm just going to make this short, thank you for reading my work and I am very excited to see how much this story will grow since it is my first time. This story is inspired by one of my favorite dramas and I do hope you enjoy reading this.

Warning: Some out of character-ness. Mild language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or any DC Comics based materials.

Transcend(ental): to overcome or surpass something (a goal, an experience, etc.) beyond ordinary limits

Chapter 1: Encounter

It was a sunny, but chilly day in Jump City. Parents took advantage of this Sunday sunshine, despite the cold temperature, to take their children out to the park and play. Screams and giggles could be heard throughout the park as the scarf-wrapped children happily played with each other, playing tag in between the colorful jungle gyms.

As smiling parents silently watched their children and listened to their loud squeals, a young red-headed woman sat on a dark brown, cherry bench under an old tree with thin brown tendrils hanging from its branches. She was heavily clothed with a gray coat, a white turtleneck sweater underneath, dark blue jeans, and worn out black sneakers; her clothes complimented her light creamy tan skin. She had her bangs side-swept and her auburn hair was naturally curled to the tips and landed above her waist. Her hair was tossed over her right shoulder, so it did not fall all over her face, and she held a beige wooden pencil, scratching on her sketch-pad as she was drawing a rough and shaded sketch of a mother holding her infant son, tenderly and protectively in her arms, near her chest.

Her concentration was broken as someone cleared their throat loudly. She looked up, her bright, forest green eyes slightly wide and her maroon eyebrows knitted together, scared and unsure of how to approach this man with flawless white skin, a red sports jacket that had sponsor logos splattered all over, a gray wooly scarf, dark denim jeans, and black Nikes. He cleared his throat again, softly this time.

"Um, excuse me," he started, his voice youthful, clear, deep, and smooth like velvet and silk. "There's a hospital nearby, with a rehab center, and I think it's called –," the young man suddenly paused, leaving his sentence hanging. His eyes blinked behind his shades, this went unnoticed by the girl, and shook his head swiftly, his semi-long black hair, which ended at the tip of his ears and the tip of his spine beneath his neck, slightly swishing. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair and muttered to himself, "What was it called again?" After a moment's pause, he chuckled, "I'm sorry. Please wait for a minute . . ."

He repeated the question to himself, in hopes of remembering the name, a couple more times. Meanwhile, the young woman nervously scribbled something on her sketch pad. "Wow, I can't believe I forgot," he exasperated to himself incredulously, chuckling. The young woman hastily ripped the piece of paper and shoved it into his pale hands.

"Huh? What's this?" he asked, surprised and confused while looking at the ripped paper she gave him. "Ah, Sequoia Medical Center! That's right!" he looked up and saw her quickly pack her things, slinging her black messenger bag over her shoulder and ran past him. "Hey! Wait!" he called, but the girl did not turn back and kept running.

She kept running, crossing an empty street. Her hair blowing against the rush chill of wind, she clutched her messenger bag, and her feet crunched against fallen autumn leaves as she headed for her home of an apartment. She took quick steps up the stairs and fumbled with her keys as she opened her apartment door at the fourth floor of the five level building. She slammed it shut and pressed her back against the door, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

As her breathing calmed into a normal pace, she double-locked the door. She took off her shoes, hung her coat on the standing racket beside the door, and walked down the narrow hallway of the small apartment. She opened the door of her small bedroom, it held a bed good for a single person at the corner, a desk with drawers, and a mug of pens and pencils, a tiny closet for her clothes, and a window that had the view of the park and the entrance of the apartment building below. Her room had soft, white carpeted floor and pale yellow walls, the walls were pinned with her drawings, paintings and other artworks.

She dropped her bag at the side of her desk and changed into a gray t-shirt, comfy black sweatpants, and kept her white socks on. She took out her current novel, tied her hair up in a ponytail, and went out to the kitchen to cook dinner.

As she went down the narrow hallway again, the door knob of the apartment wobbled. She stopped walking and stared as the door opened slowly.

Fear struck all over her body and she was frozen.

Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

She thought she saw the arm and hand of a man opening the door. She closed her eyes tightly, then snapped them open.

"Kori?" a red-headed woman called out.

A woman who was her mother.

"I'm home," her mother, Luan Anders, stated. She raised her head and looked at her daughter, "What's the matter?"

Kori slowly lowered her head to look at her toes, inwardly feeling relieved but her face did not show it, while her mother continued to speak, "I was downstairs and I saw you running home in a hurry. Is something wrong?" Her mother looked at Kori in concern. She licked her lips and answered her mother quietly, "I saw someone I didn't like at the park."

Her mother hung her black coat and white scarf on the racket, revealing a thick blue sweater and black pants. Luan had her red hair in a tight bun and her blue, almost violet shaded, eyes were filled with worry for her now only child. "Who was it?"

Kori leaned against the wall, biting her lip and answered softly, "He goes to my school." She paused, looking down again, "He's just some jerk."

Her mother ran to her, placing both of her hands on Kori's shoulders, "Did he do something to you?"

"He . . ." Kori started hesitantly, her eyebrows knitting together. "He asked me for directions."

Her mother sighed in relief, her hands sliding off her daughter's shoulders, "He just asked you for directions. What is there to be upset about?"

"Because . . . I don't like him," Kori replied in her ever quiet voice and turned her back towards her mother to walk to the kitchen to cook dinner.

Luan looked at her daughter's back. Her violet eyes filled with concern, worry . . . and guilt.

Sequoia Medical Center is well-known in Jump City. Although it is small and hard to find, this hospital has the best surgery methods in the west coast. Inside the surgery department, was a blond man with a hairy chin sitting on a wheel chair. "Good thing I bought this stuff first when I got to Italy," the man chuckled heartily, his green eyes filled with amusement as he took out the bottles and bottles of wine from a black duffle bag. "Otherwise . . . Well, I don't know!"

The young man who asked for directions sat on a lounge chair in the hospital bedroom, smiling as he watched his father figure and dear friend that goes by the name Oliver Queen.

Oliver took out a paper bag and peeked inside it, taking it out, he waved it at the young lad and teased, "Is this the hand-made spaghetti you mentioned, Mr. Richard Grayson?"

Richard chuckled and took of his shades, revealing baby blue eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. He hid an amused smile, "Yeah."

Oliver handed it to him and noted, "They're dehydrated." He then took out a large circular chunk and inhaled it, "This is very pungent. Very stinky." He handed Richard the circular chunk of cheese, "Smell it."

Richard inhaled the scent and scrunched his nose slightly while Oliver babbled on, "But people say the stinkier it is, the better it tastes." He looked at the bottle of wine on the bed, "There should be a couple of glasses somewhere in this room."

As Oliver wheeled his chair out from behind the hospital bed, something caught Richard's eye. He stared at the amputated right leg that was wrapped with white bandages. He kept staring at it as Oliver found a couple of glasses near the door.

"What was your feeling?" Richard asked absently, still staring.

"Uh . . . when I made the turn, it felt like my whole body skid," he paused, and then continued, "I actually don't remember."

Richard pressed on, "What I meant was your leg." He broke eye contact from the leg and looked up to ask him, "Is it really gone?"

Oliver hesitated, and then chuckled sadly and humorlessly, "I had no choice." He turned to face Richard, "The doctors said if I didn't amputate my leg, I might run the risk of losing my life."

He stared at him, silent, feeling sad for his friend. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Oliver chuckled, "Now stop looking at me like that! They said they would get me a new one soon." Richard successfully attempted a small smile.

Oliver held three glasses, he handed one to Richard. Setting the two glasses on the bed, Oliver took a bottle and gave it to him, "This one is for you. As for this other bottle, we'll finish it secretly," he mock whispered then turned his head towards the door that was now opening, "Ah! Here comes the bottle opener!"

A blonde woman entered, holding a paper bag, with groceries and the bottle opener hidden inside, and a bouquet of flowers. The woman had straight, long straw-colored hair with short bangs and wore a black leather jacket zipped up, a modest black skirt, and fishnet stockings. Her blue eyes landed on her husband and teased, "Are you sure you're allowed to drink now?"

"Dinah," Oliver groaned. "It's okay." He held up a bottle and winked at Richard, then looked at his wife, "This isn't wine. This is Italian Olive Oil. Have you ever seen a motorcycle run without oil? Isn't that so, Dick?"

Richard simply laughed while Dinah rolled her eyes, "Okay, okay. Do whatever you want." She looked at Richard and went around the bed to drop the bag of groceries, "Now that you're here, somebody starts laughing. This morning Ollie urged me to call you for directions. But then I remembered you don't have a cellphone so I couldn't call you. He's been picking on me and getting angry at me since then."

"No, I wasn't," Oliver grumbled.

Dinah ignored him, "Was the hospital hard to find?" she asked Richard.

"I was just gonna talk about that," Richard stood up, went towards her, and leaned against the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why on earth did you stay in a hospital that is so hard to find? Luckily, someone drew me a map." He took out the paper the girl shoved into him from his back pocket.

Dinah stopped what she was doing and leaned down, "Hey, there's a drawing at the back." She grabbed it from his hands and inspected it, "Very unusual." She noticed it was crumpled then lightly smacked Richard at the side of his head, there was a mutter of 'Ow, what was that for?' while Dinah scolded him, "Look what you did! You crumpled it!" She turned her back to return fixing the groceries and teased, "So careless just like Ollie," and gave the crumpled and folded drawing back to Richard.

"I heard that," Oliver grumbled again.

Richard flipped the paper to look at the drawing. The world seemed to stop around him. His blue eyes softened as he saw the mother and infant drawing. Emotions flitted across his face; reminiscence, sadness, grief, happiness, and then . . . love. The tenderness and love displayed itself in the drawing. It was simple. Beautiful. Innocent.

A charming smile slowly made its way on his handsome face.

"Thank you," Richard smiled at the nurse who carted Oliver with his wheelchair outside for some fresh air. The sun was still out, but the chill subsided, it was warm, and there was a very light breeze.

"Let's stop here. Don't trouble yourself more," he suggested to the nurse, who smiled politely back with a nod.

Oliver grinned and handed Richard the good he bought from Italy, "Remember to stop by when you're free and have a drink with me."

"Thanks, and get a lot of rest when you've got time," Richard placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder, a gesture that said 'Take it easy, buddy,' and held the paper bag with his other arm. "I'll come visit again soon. See you, Ollie," he gave a two finger salute and a grin. He slipped on his shades and turned around.

"Hey Dick!" Oliver called. "I forgot to give you something," he inspected something in his palm. "Think fast," he threw him a key. Richard looked at him in shock and surprise. Oliver smiled widely, although there was a sadness and sacrifice in his green eyes, "You're in charge of it now."

Richard still stood there, speechless.

"You know where it's parked, don't you?" Oliver laughed.

"You're giving me the bike?" he shouted.

Oliver shrugged back in reply, "Anyways, I won't be able to use it anymore. It's useless to me."

Richard looked at the key between his fingers. He pursed his lips, pain striking in his heart as he heard those words from Oliver, "Is there really no chance of seeing you ride a bike again?"

"At least I'm still alive," Olive smiled sadly. "Please take good care of it, Dick . . . alright?"

Richard breathed deeply and nodded, bobbing his head up and down, "Okay, I promise, Ollie." He turned his back and walked away.

The engine purred like a delicate kitten.

The silver color shined by the sunlight.

The wheels narrow and smooth against the road.

Richard rode the bike faster, its engine purring loudly. He grinned beneath the matching silver helmet he wore and sped off to the setting horizon.

Night fell in Jump City. The neighborhood in which Kori lived was quiet, silent. There was a bark of a dog every few minutes and a couple of crickets, but other than that, not a single person or an active vehicle was in sight.

The buzzing sound of a television with no signal filled Kori's living room. She laid on the couch, accidentally falling asleep and a novel was held within her fingers.

The door knob started shaking.

Her eyebrows furrower as the fumbled noise started getting louder. Her eyes opened slightly and slowly straightened her back.

There was a click, indicating that the lock was successfully picked. Then the door started opening slowly.

There was a hand of a man opening the door.

Kori's eyes widened, staring at the door as it opened wider, revealing a man in a white dress shirt and a green tie.

She quickly stood up.

The door was closed.

And still properly locked. Untouched.

She stared at the door once more. A mountain was in her throat as tears threatened to spill over her eyes. She could not hold it any longer and she opened the flood gates. Kori sobbed quietly, placing a hand on her mouth, in hopes that her mother does not wake up and worry. She sniffled, turning off the television, she gathered up her things, and headed to her room, crying herself to sleep.

Jump City Community College.

A young blonde man sprinted through the college's outdoor walkway. He was wearing a green collared shirt over black long sleeves, dark blue track pants, and green sneakers. He clutched his messenger bag and a brown paper bag that held his breakfast and called out while running, "Gotham students are coming this afternoon to play basketball! Three o'clock by the courts!"

"Yeah, we'll see you there! Just don't be too crazy on the first day of school, Gar!" one of them called back.

Garfield Logan kept jogging, and then slowed down into a stop, staring at the red-headed girl who held his interest. He watched as the mysterious Kori Anders shied away from a boy handing her a blue flyer and walked straight, her back towards him. His dark green eyes focused on her auburn curly hair that cascaded down her mustard yellow long-sleeve shirt, stretching to her knuckles, and dark blue jeans. He caught a hint of her beige scarf swaying as she walked.

There was a roar of an engine from a distance.

Gar turned his head, paused, and then walked to the other side of the walkway. The engine purred louder as it was getting nearer. Walking students dispersed to the sides as the motorcycle emerged at the middle. He spotted the driver on the sleek silver bike and saw the familiar red sports jacket.

"Dick? . . . Dick! Why are you-," Gar's question was cut short as Richard drove past him, grabbing the small brown paper bag. "Hey! That's my breakfast!" Gar yelled after him.

Richard drove around one of the buildings and parked his bike on the appropriate parking space for motorcycles. He took off his helmet, revealing the same black shades, and shook his messy black hair that was slightly spiked. He grinned as he locked his bike on one of the stands. He heard someone panting loudly, turning around he smirked as he saw a cherry red-haired man, wearing an electric blue dress shirt, a red tie, and white pants, slowing down into a stop in front of him, trying to catch his breath.

"Oi!" the man panted.

"Hey, Mr. Mod," Richard greeted casually. "Why are you running so early in the morning?" He hid a smug smile as his teacher fixed his glasses and wiped the sweat of his forehead.

Mr. Mod breathed heavily for a few seconds then exasperated in his British accent, "You . . . I . . . Did . . . Did you know . . . know what your speed was?"

Richard chuckled and simply replied, "I didn't pay attention."

He was still panting as he said, ". . . I . . . I did! It was . . . at least . . . 120!"

"120?" Richard exclaimed in mock surprise. "It felt like 40 to me."

"I . . . I warn . . . you . . . Don't let me . . . catch you again . . ." Mr. Mod clutched his heart.

Richard was struggling not to laugh and he decided to torture and tease his favorite teacher a little bit more, "What can you do, Mr. Mod . . . Are you gonna put up a speed meter in school?" He chuckled, "I'd be embarrassed if all the pictures were me." He walked passed him and patted his shoulder, "See you later."

Mr. Mod was left in the parking lot, trying his best to not have a heart attack.

Richard walked through the school, holding the paper bag of food in one hand, munching on an apple with the other. He caught an eye of a brunette as she walked by in a blue miniskirt. He turned to stare at her derriere and raised his eyebrows before turning forward and walking straight to the bulletin board with the homeroom classes.

He stood in front of the board, looking for his name above the crowd of students.

"You don't need to look for yours."

He turned around and saw his best friend, Gar.

"We're in the same class," Gar said, then rolled his eyes. "How lucky am I?"

Richard grinned widely, "You are so out of luck."

They turned around to walk to their homeroom. Gar caught sight of his breakfast bag and snatched it from Richard, "Give that back to me," he peeked inside, and then shouted, "It's all gone! My apple, my veggie sandwich . . . Everything's gone!"

"I ate it," Richard said simply, then burped.

"You dick."

"I know."

Gar sighed, hopeless, "Why would you even keep the bag when it's empty?"

Richard laughed, "How could I fool you then?"

"Dickhead," Gar grumbled.

"I know," he replied again.

Gar sighed once more, crumpling the bag into a ball and shooting it near a bin and started walking up the flight of stairs, "That reminds me. Gotham peeps are coming this afternoon to bet on b-ball."

"How should we split it?"

"The usual, 6 – 4."

"6 – 4? Make it 7 – 3!"

"Come on, Dick! For the sake of gas money!"

"You bought a car?"

"You bought a bike?"

"It's a motorcycle- Wow," Richard said, leaning downward. "Nice pair of legs," he noted as a girl zipped up her black knee high boots on the stairs. "Those legs look familiar . . ."

The girl turned around, her short purple hair swishing. Her violet eyes settled on him and gave a flirty smile, "Dick!"

Richard immediately regretted looking at her and bowed his head low, he muttered to Gar, "It's Rachel Roth."

Rachel Roth walked beside them as they went up the stairs. She was a pretty, petite girl, a book worm and a beauty who loves dark poetry and dark colors. "What a coincidence. We're in the same class." She wore a dark purple leather jacket and a black pencil skirt. She hooked her arm around Richard's as they walked to class, "Dick, don't you feel like we're destined together? . . . Dick, why aren't you answering? . . ."

The three of them entered the classroom. Immediately, the students started to greet him, considering how popular he was, and Rachel pestering him with questions. "What have you been doing during the break? I called you but you never answered."

"Hey, Dick."

"What's up?"

"Yo, Richie!"

"Grayson."

Rachel firmly put a hand on Richard's shoulder, "Were you afraid the call was from Karen?" But Richard continued to ignore her and he pointed to two empty seats, "There're seats over there, Gar."

"Hey, it's only two seats," Rachel complained.

"You said you wanted to sit there, right, Gar?" Richard asked, desperate to not sit with Rachel.

Gar did not answer as Richard shoved him to the seats.

"6 – 4."

"No."

"Oh, Rachel-."

Richard glared at him, giving in, and Gar smothered a smug smile, knowing he got his 6 – 4. He sat on the third row while Gar sat behind him. He took out his English novel then scanned the room.

"Hey, Gar," Richard whispered as Gar leaned in, indicating that he was listening, "There's nothing to complain about the bodies of the girls in this class."

"It hasn't been 40 seconds since you came in and you've already done physical exams of all the female bodies in this room. You truly are gifted," Gar laughed. "Let me give you a sincere suggestion. Don't waste your talent. Transfer to a medical school."

There was a pause, then Richard answered in a thoughtful tone, "That doesn't sound bad."

Gar shook his head, smothering his laugh, "Don't take it too seriously."

Meanwhile, a girl who sat next to Richard tried to pack her things quickly and change her seat. Unfortunately, the teacher arrived with a stern and British-accented, "Class begins." The girl sat down and sighed quietly.

Mr. Mod entered the room, as soon as he does, his eyes landed on Richard who winked at him. He rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses, "Today is the first day of a new semester. This is a sophomore class, am I correct? I will be taking attendance unorderly due to the random schedule system . . . And Grayson, no shades.

Richard smirked and slipped them off. As Mr. Mod started calling random names, his blue eyes looked around the room, feeling bored and drumming his fingers on his desk.

His eyes settled on the girl sitting next to him. She had auburn hair that was behind her ears and flowed down her back. She was hunched on her desk, reading a novel. He looked at her face, and suddenly realized the familiarity.

"Hey!" he whispered, smiling. "Hey, it's me!" He called the girl, but she did not respond, ignoring him. "I asked you for directions. It turns out we go to the same school."

The exchange was noticed by Rachel, as she stopped mid-talk chatting with her friend.

"Kori Anders!" Mr. Mod yelled.

"Hey, what's your name?" Richard continued in a hushed tone. "Hey!"

"Kori Anders!" Mr. Mod yelled again.

"Here," Kori responded reluctantly, ignoring her seatmate. Mr. Mod looked annoyed as he continued the attendance.

Richard stared at her, saying her name, "Kori Anders . . . Kori. Anders."

"Yes, that's her name. Stop repeating it," Gar mumbled behind him.

Richard turned to look at him, "So, you know each other?" He decided to converse with her, lightly tapping her shoulder, "Kori," he rolled her name in his tongue. It was a unique name. "Don't you recognize me? I asked you for directions and you drew me a map? Remember?" He kept badgering her, pointing to himself, but she hunched closer to her book, shying away and ignoring him.

"Richard Grayson!" Mr. Mod called.

"You forgot about me? Why aren't you talking?"

"Richard Grayson!"

"Ding-dong," he started poking her lightly at her temple with his index finger. "Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong."

Mr. Mod grabbed a chalkboard eraser.

"Kori," Richard said, gently grabbing the back of her neck to face her to him. He stared at her forest green eyes as she stared at his sky blue eyes, "Why aren't you answering? I was asking you a question?" he asked softly.

"RICHARD GRAYSON!"

Richard looked up, and then quickly ducked his head as the eraser went straight at him. As he ducked, Mr. Mod had hit Gar instead. His blonde hair was white with chalk.

Mr. Mod cringed.

Author's Note: I would greatly appreciate reviews! If you have any questions or anything that you want to clarify at all, please feel free to message me. Thank you very much for reading, and I shall most likely be updating tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, for the next chapter. - Mayumi Y.