Disclaimer: I told Beast Boy that it was tofu, and he ate it.
Moi Musings: After writing Twelve Reasons, I just had to write this one. These two are made for each other. I think. Sorry if Raven seems a little OOC.
It's hard to decide when, where, or why.
And it's annoying me so much that even Robin has to tell me to stop exploding the coffee mugs.
It's difficult, tiring, and plain irritating. Worst of all, he has to be on the same team. Idiot. I hate him.
Actually, I don't, but it's so much easier to say that I do.
It's all because of him that my hood stays up three quarters of the time. It's all because of him that I exploded the TV last week, and the Gamestation yesterday. Or the X-box. Whatever the bloody thing is called. It's all because of him that I can hardly concentrate on my meditation. It's all because of him that I feel so awkward around him, and every time he brushes against me, my heart speeds up for no proper reason at all.
Idiot. I hate him.
Actually, I don't, but…Never mind.
Perhaps it's his jokes. Those lame, dumb, annoying jokes. Why did the kangaroo cross the road? Why did the cannibal get sent out of the class? Why did the cookie go to the doctor? If he runs out, he creates them. But he tries.
Perhaps it's the way he firmly insists on eating nothing but tofu. Tofu, tofu, tofu. Tofu eggs, tofu burgers, tofu waffles. Tofu everything. What good is he doing? No matter what, people will always eat those…fluffy, adorable animals. When I asked him, he simply replied, "Well, at least I'm trying." Actually, tofu is quite delicious after all.
Perhaps it's the way he fights with Cyborg. Over the Gamestation. X-box. Whatever. It's quite – scratch that – it's very obvious that Cyborg is and will turn out the winner. It's very obvious that Cyborg will be the one singing "Who's your Daddy?" and not him. But he still challenges him. It makes me wonder. He once made a bet that I would go out with him if he ever won. I never agreed, but he still fights.
Perhaps it's the way he laughs. Scratchy, but smooth, in its own way. Loud, without holding back, from the bottom of his heart. Not fake, but honest. Not forced, not thrown together in a bid to act as though whatever whoever said was funny, even though it wasn't. Real. Happy.
Perhaps it's his eyes. The way they sparkle when he's happy, glad, celebrating, laughing, smiling. The way they flash when he's angry, mad, fighting. The way they fill up when he's sad. His eyes show everything. Everything. The emotions spill over, overflow, wash over him, me, everything. But only I notice it. Only me.
Perhaps it's the way he brings me food. Whenever I miss dinner, lunch or breakfast, he would throw together a tofu sandwich and some herbal tea. I never opened the door, but I always found them, laid out neatly on a tray, directly outside my room. There's no proper explanation to why the tea he makes always seems much sweeter, even when it's cold.
Perhaps it's his persistence. He would go down on his knees to beg me to watch a movie with him. Stay outside my door, and read off the back of the DVD. VCD. Whatever it's called. He's tried changing into every adorable animal there is: kittens, puppies, rabbits, guinea pigs, lion cubs, tiger cubs (those were undeniable cute in their own ferocious way). And he never stops trying to make me smile.
Perhaps it's the way he really does make me smile. The lame jokes, the tofu, the Gamestation (or X-box), his laughter, his eyes, his persistence.
It's scaring me. Affecting me. Handicapping me.
Love.
It's overrated, it really is. A lot of things are.
The whole world is.
But my love for him tends to be underrated.
Idiot. I hate him.
But if I didn't love him in the first place, I wouldn't be able to hate him, would I?
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