I'm pretty much in love with any pairing involving X at this point. Not gonna lie. I am his slave. His SLAVE, I tell you.

This is being uploaded to make me feel productive while I marshal myself into writing Sylver's b-day present. Could you spare some encouragement? Pretty-please?

Red X was many things – slapdash and reckless, professional and all-knowing, glib and amused, a mess of human truths and fears – but there wasn't a single organism in the galaxies stupid enough to pretend that he liked commitment.

It irked him.

It set his teeth on edge.

The thought of it – pinning him to the wall with trust, with responsibility – was enough to give him a migraine.

And that, he mused as he stroked Starfire's swath of scarlet hair, was as good an explanation as any for the dull throbbing behind his temple.

She was beautiful in sleep, really – all angles and curves against the comforter, her golden skin giving off a faint sunshine glow.

Beautiful, yes, but she mocked him as well.

Those open, inviting features.

Those lushly parted lips.

She reeked of devotion.

He couldn't stomach it.

He slipped out the open window of her room, carefully avoiding the fluttering drapes, deluding himself that he didn't want to look back. When she woke a few seconds later – suddenly, almost violently, sucking in her breath as her eyes unshuttered – the room was empty. Even the bed didn't miss him. He left no creases in the blankets.

Starfire had the strangest feeling that she was grasping at someone's coattails. When she fell back asleep, hours later, she dreamed in black and scarlet.