#i also have a two part fic that. remains halfway unwritten

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

push push push woo! hint that mine is about siblings and also will be missing the part 2 where everything comes together. because I HAVENT WRITTERN THE PART 2 YET ahem gonna get part 1 80% good and done. part 2 in two to three weeks i can stop stressing bout it. anyway hello fellow crammers how do you do -zoinks

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[heathcliffdt]

Whatever Souls Are Made Of

Summary: It had been three years since Gar last saw Rae, and he was still reminded of her in the most trivial little things. A post-Christmas fic.

It had been three years since Gar last saw Raven in person. Of course there had been a few calls here and there, but both sides were courteous enough not to sustain the calls for longer than necessary. Sometimes, he wonders if Raven was just being her usual self—he knew her, he knew that she was untrusting, she was skeptic, she doubted. And despite the fact that Garfield was among the few whom she trusted, he didn’t become complacent. He didn’t want to intrude or to impose. 

Besides, it had been three years already. 

What did he know about how she was doing?

He knew nothing anymore. He was brave enough to admit that. He was a realistic and pragmatic person now; he grew up. Should teen Garfield be present, he would pride himself that he had permeated through the brazen thick walls Raven had built around herself.

Before the team broke up, Garfield became confused. He was spending more time with Raven—they would hang out in her room, she’d show him some few harmless spells (how to establish a bond between familiar and sorceress, how to convert dried flowers to charms). It was a two-way street: Raven, on her part, met Gar halfway. She hang out with him, accompanied him to stupid arcades despite the blinding flashing lights and loud noises. One time, when chilling in the living room of the Titans Tower, Garfield playfully placed his headphones on Raven’s ears.

“What the—“

“Listen to this, Rae. Just give it a shot.”

She gave him a doubting look. “I don’t know, Beast Boy, you’re too loud for my liking. I’m sure your songs are too loud as well.”

“Yet you choose to hang out with me rather than turn me down,” he said. To this, Raven felt her cheeks heat up. She only hoped he did not see the red creep up in her cheeks.

Garfield fiddled through his phone, scrolling through his songs on his playlist. Raven tried peeking at his list to see if there were any familiar song. Suddenly, a song blasted through Gar’s headphones.

When Raven first heard the song, she gave Gar a questioning look. Beast Boy? This song? He listened to songs like this? That night, when she was in bed, Raven listened to the song Gar made her listen to earlier. Garfield had no idea of the little efforts Raven made to meet him halfway.

It was no brainer that Garfield and Raven were at the polar ends of a spectrum. Their compatibility even as friends are so, well, low. Raven would much rather isolate herself from the company of people; if she chose however to be with people, she would want to be with those who understand her. She loved Robin’s beautiful mind, and how reassuring he was of a friend. For Raven, Robin was the complementary muslin darkness to her moon. While Gar on the other hand, who was poor in handling his internal strife would prefer the company of those who could provide him the ability of forgetting his scars temporarily. People like Vic—and Terra even—made him forget that he was a monster. 

Clearly, Raven and Gar would be each other’s last option for a good company. 

Yet there they were, in front of the local theatre entrance three summers ago.

“A stage play? Really?” Raven raised her eyebrows at Garfield. At first, it appeared to her that maybe he was trying too hard. Theaters were simply not his interest, it was so not him.

“Ahhh hehe,” Garfield ruefully scratched his nape. “Hey, I dunno, I uh, love theatre. Thought you might want to see a play or something.”

Raven looked at Garfield. She felt Garfield. Garfield was always easy to read—on the surface level, that is. To her, Garfield was wild flowers, beautiful in a porcelain vase on top of a table. Wild, as they might be poisonous as well. She studied him carefully this time: he was nervous, the rate of his heart increasing. But she felt blitheness and warmth spreading in the fields of gardenias and flowering almond. The fact that the small futile happiness of Garfield scared Raven. Probably because his feelings crawled up to her skin and she felt in that moment that she was happy as well. 

“I, uh, I didn’t know that, Beast Boy. That you love theatre.”

He gave her his signature flashing smile. “‘Course! I’m a trash for the performing arts!”

To this she chuckled lightly. “Really now?”

“Hey, if this date turned out well, and you liked it, maybe we could see a musical or a classic reruns of Humphrey Boggart.”

“You watch Humphrey Boggart?”

“I gots class. Vintage,” he winked at her.

She rolled her eyes fondly and smiled. “So what are we seeing?”

“Wuthering Heights. It’s just a local production, but I looked up their blog and there were positive reviews.”

“Wuthering Heights?” Raven shot at him. Garfield’s eyes widened in brief terror as a response to Raven’s reactions. 

“Yeah, why? Is something wrong?”

Raven was not sure if he was pulling on her leg. Raven loved Wuthering Heights. It’s her favorite book. And Gar And Garfield was not supposed to know that. Or was he mocking her? Wuthering Heights screamed gothic what with all the elements of a gothic piece of literature present—the haunting ghost, the moor which never saw a blink of the sun, not to mention, the house with gothic architecture. 

“Beast Boy, what do you think you’re doing? Are you making fun of me?”

“What?” Garfield squinted his eye in confusion as he scratched his head. “What the hell are you talking about, Rae?”

“If this is some kind of joke, just don’t. I know you think I’m creepy, bu—“

“Whoa, whoa. Why the hell are you bringing this up now? And didn’t we settle this before?”

Raven felt Garfield’s emotions piqued up. It shifted quickly like a madman. One moment he was so reluctant and bashful, the next he was excited and pumping, and now he was just straight out frustrated and quite confused. Raven pursed her lips and this time, thought carefully of the words she would let loose.

“Garfield,” she said softly. 

Gar’s shoulders slumped to this. His frustration and annoyance immediately escaping his senses. “Rae? What’s wrong? Something’s wrong, isn’t there?” because Raven had not called Garfield his real name ever until this very moment.

“Garfield,” his name in the movement of her lips was an irony: it was a foreign word but senses screamed at her that no, it was not. “Wuthering Heights is my favorite book.”

“It is? Then that’s sweet, isn’t it? I just don’t see why you’re getting all mad at me. Please let me understand.”

“I mean, I, uh, I love the book for a great many reasons, Gar. Not because it’s, you know,” Raven cleared her throat.

“What?”

“Not because it’s what you call creepy.”

“Oh.”

Okay. Now he understood. After that particular misunderstanding, Gar never told Raven that she was creepy. He admitted that it was a careless remark but it did not incapacitate him from pursuing a deeper friendship with him. “Hey, I know you must know that I’m not the biggest fan of books out there, but I am aware that Wuthering Heights is a gothic tale.”

Raven did not respond. She shifted on her feet awkwardly to Gar’s remarks.

“If you think I’m pulling a joke on you, or making fun of who you are, then you’re wrong.”

Garfield held Raven’s hand in his. At his touch, Raven lowered her head to hide the beet red on her face. 

“I just want you to enjoy the things I find cool. Seriously, Rae. Also, I would never use the things you love against you. Why would I even?”

The only response she gave him was a tight affirmative squeeze at his hand.

On Christmas morning, Raven woke up to a brown package that arrived through mail.

It had been three years since she last celebrated Christmas. For her, Christmas was all about being with loved ones; she had been living alone for three years, and her walls had never been higher and more solid than ever. Just why would she even celebrate the holiday? Sure she did receive postcards and pictures from her friends which overtime turned to just phone calls and sms, but to actually go as far as celebrating it, what’s the use if you’re alone? 

It was a surprise that there was actually a package for her that Christmas. A real Christmas present. 

Raven was a sentimental person. Of course things scarred her. She didn’t detest the holiday. How could she, when it was among the nicest and warmest she had ever felt. To commemorate, the only effort she exerted for the memory of Christmas was when she brew ginger tea. It tasted like the cookies she and her friends baked on Christmas eve—Starfire overdoing her cookies, and Gar liking the remains of the bowl of the cookie dough. 

She went to her counter and poured hot water over her teacup. Carefully she took a small sip. Raven lifted the package and studied it. ‘Huh, who could have given it?’

She unwrapped the present disinterestedly. Maybe it was just her landlady giving out towels or planners or some compulsory gifts demanded by their unwritten contract. 

When Raven opened it however, it was a tattered secondhand copy of her favorite book. 

Wuthering Heights the cover read. Underneath it was the name of the author, Emily Brontë, in a smaller, thinner and less defined font. 

She stood there for a good couple of minutes, her tea had probably ran cold. Her hands shivered as she held the book. Her mouth gaped at it in awe and in panic. It took her another minute before her mind told her to flip through the pages.

When Raven opened the cover of the book, a piece of paper showed itself before her. After reading what was written in the paper tucked in between the cover and the first page, she knew that it was the best Christmas present ever. 

For a long time, it was kindness that made her cry. Not pain, not hurt, not betrayal. But kindness.

Rae,

Merry Christmas. I hope this came in on time. I haven’t seen you for a long time already, but I remember you in a lot of things. I got this copy from a secondhand store. And I know it’s a dumb idea to gift you one since it’s your favorite. Surely you already have a copy of it. I miss you. Take care.

-Gar

an: hello !!!! this is my first bbrae fic i ever post and it is not timely so forgive me. lets be friendsss. also it had been my headcanon that raven's fave book is wuthering heights since i think she has an exquisite taste in classic literature and is a romantic herself. and the song that bb made raven listen to was i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie. :>