just the blanket

The Tower isn’t really cold, but even if it was, given the fact that Terra apparently chooses to sleep outside on a regular basis, it probably wouldn’t bother her much. Still, he decides to bring her a spare blanket anyway, just because it’s a convenient excuse to talk to her some more, and he really, really wants to. Beast Boy’s never met anyone quite like her before, so bright and carefree. He’s certainly never met someone who laughs so much at his jokes before, and that alone is incentive enough to want to spend the rest of his days with her. Is that moving too fast? He’ll start with just the blanket then.

The doors part automatically upon his arrival, giving him no time to linger outside and think of cool ways to phrase offering a girl a blanket, but that’s fine, because there probably are no cool ways to phrase that. “Terra?” he calls in a whisper, approaching the couch slowly to avoid making himself into a disturbance if she’s still resting. The lack of snoring seems promising, though. “You awake? I thought you might want a blanket.” No reply. Bummer, but he can still leave her the blanket, even if it’ll just be an anonymous gesture. He presses against the back of the sofa, leaning forward to peer down at her. Yup, still asleep. He’s a bit disappointed, but finds a smile quirking the corner of his mouth anyway because seeing the softness of her relaxed features was kinda still worth the walk. Then his eyes adjust to the darkness, he comes to the abrupt realization that she’s naked, and he screams.

He whirls back around, blanket falling from his grip as he claps his hands over his mouth. He suddenly feels a lot more red than green. He waits for her to stir and yell and then probably never talk to him again, but the room is silent aside from the thudding in his chest and the faint hum of Terra’s music. Wait. With a surge of relief, he realizes: her headphones. She’d fallen asleep with them still in, and any embarrassingly girlish sounds he may or may not have made hadn’t made it through the barrier. He’s saved. Sometimes this hero business really sucks, but this has to be all his good karma for it finally cashing in. He takes a moment to count his blessings while his pulse slows back to normal, and then resolves to do what he came to do and then get out as quick as possible.

He retrieves the blanket, setting it down on top of the couch, and that should really, absolutely be the end of it. It should. The problem is, his traitorous eyes catch on her face again, and her lips have parted, and all of his carefully cultivated resolve crumbles to dust in an instant. Just a look. Just one. Besides, the night sky only illuminates so much; it’s not creepy if he can barely see, right? It’s sound logic, and so, his gaze flits back down. He realizes now she’s not truly naked, but her commandeered robe has opened considerably, and sprawled on her back as she is, nothing is hidden from view. Nothing.

He takes it all in with a strange reverence. There’s a bit of hair in certain places, which isn’t really surprising given her clear long-distance relationship with even the more basic forms of hygiene (which is weird unto itself given how nice she’d smelled even before her long-awaited bath), but the sight of it makes his face heat up again anyway. His attention then drifts up, over her narrow hips, her navel, to finally settle on the slow rise and fall of her chest. She’s not especially well endowed there, probably due to a lack of proper nutrition, but he’d figured as much already, and honestly, he hasn’t exactly been spoiled enough in the free-pass-to-look-at-girls’-boobs department to be picky about it. Her nipples stand erect, so she must be cold after all, which he figures at least partially vindicates his actions up to this point.

For a long, dangerous moment, he thinks about touching her. That moment ends when the door swishes open once more behind him.

The speed he displays in the split second that follows dwarfs anything he’s ever managed during training sessions or in the field. He grabs for the blanket wildly, flinging it over Terra’s still oblivious form, and then promptly transforms into the smallest thing he can think of, gliding towards the sanctuary of the far wall. Images can be a little hard for him to process with a fly’s mosaic-like vision, but the clashing colors of Robin’s uniform would be difficult to mistake for anything else. Beast Boy’s not sure which idea is more concerning, that Robin’s still up doing his brooding over Slade thing at like two in the morning, or that he actually sleeps in that thing. Either way, the suspicion on Robin’s face and the birdarang raised in his fist tell Beast Boy he’s got bigger problems. His shriek might not have roused Terra, but nothing gets past Robin.

Thankfully (at this point it can’t be karma, it’s just sheer luck), Terra’s dreams choose that instant to veer darker. She curls inward, letting out a long whine, and Robin’s battle-ready stance relaxes a bit. He loiters a moment, maybe considering waking her from whatever visions are troubling her, but ultimately thinking better of it and turning on his heel. Beast Boy follows just behind him. He doesn’t dare to breathe until he’s back within the safety of the hallway, and doesn’t even think of returning to his own form until he’s fully certain Robin has gone back to sulking in the evidence room. He waits a moment, resisting the temptation to retreat to the safety of his room as quickly as possible, because leaving Terra quivering alone in the dark rubs him the wrong way too, but he’s too shaken himself to dare turning back. Still, the worry eats at him, following him back to his room, to his bed. But, so do the other things. Things like Terra’s scrape-littered skin, and her damp hair, and her open mouth, and in the end those are the ones stay with him in his own dreams.