Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written Teen Titans fanfiction. This one shot is dedicated to a good friend of mine. If you don't like Robin/Raven, take it up with someone else. I'm not here to listen to your whining and wailing against my pairing preferences.

Raven's point of view.

Enjoy!

I didn't even know Titans Tower had an attic until I lost one fateful video game against Cyborg. I probably wouldn't have even played had he not poked and prodded at me so much, and his "bawk, bawk, you're a chicken" dance wasn't so much hurtful as it was annoying. I so relished the thought of winning and being able to rub his defeated face in it that I forgot that I pretty much stink at video games. And gambling. So, my sanction was a cleanup of the entire Tower attic, which spanned the length of at least three of my bedrooms.

Looking out into the musky and cramped confinement, my frustration rose at every new cardboard box that caught my eye. I don't throw much away, and thus I'd never found much reason to seek out a place like this. The boxes rose like pillars, liable to tilt over and fall at the smallest movement, reaching to the ceiling in all sizes and containing all forms of assortments. Old furniture collected cobwebs and hid beneath the shadows of storage. Towards the back I spotted a window, small and circular. Maneuvering around bins overflowing with items, I barely made it to the rusty latch which opened out into the sunny afternoon, relinquishing a cloud of dust that made itself comfortable settling at the bottom of my lungs.

Trying not to cough myself into an early grave, I stubbed a toe on a plastic bin with a loose trace of paper unfurling from under the cover. When I opened it, the words "Happy Birthday" smiled up at me with a nostalgic sheen. I almost smiled back.

My last birthday felt like ages ago. Really, it had only been about half a year. The memories still felt so poignant, though. The sound of confetti popping in my ears, the chill of Slade's hands against my skin, the panic that arrested my dreams at night … But most powerful was the touch of a friend's helping hand, and the inspiration to take it, hold it tight, and never let go …

Underneath the banner was a purple and silver mask wielding pointed ears and blackened eyes. This too almost gave off a bittersweet glow as my mind traveled, but the sentiment was lost when I found a pair of briefs next to it labeled "BB."

I sighed and wiped at my eyelids, suddenly tired, just thinking of trying to go through all of the boxes set before me. I probably wouldn't do it all. The chances of Cyborg doing an inspection were slim - I'm sure seeing my disheartened face when I lost was enough of a reward anyway.

As I tried to move away from Beast Boy's bin, I hit my head on a precariously perched box of Christmas tree ornaments, which proceeded to tumble forward and crash over my head. Either I broke some ornaments or they broke my skull. Whatever happened, a ringing hung in my ears for the rest of the day.

The task was a hopeless cause to begin with. The pain in my head too aching to ignore, I soon found my way into an old rocking chair, and amused myself by levitating Beast Boy's big boy underwear and having them dance across the attic, performing somersaults and twirls and what have you.

The door opened before the intermission could begin.

"Raven?"

"Hey."

Robin crisscrossed past obstacles strewn about the ground towards me.

" … Are those - "

"Yep."

He chuckled, the sound of which brought a grin to my hesitant lips as the changeling's undergarments did loop-de-loops through beams running along the attic walls.

Robin had started smiling more often, a welcomed change I had recently taken notice to. Some might have said it wasn't much worth noting, at least in comparison to the cloud of gloom I was famous for carrying about. But if you took into account all the gaps in time which once held disgruntled frowns and now shone with a confident curve of his lips, it was all the difference in the world. Plus, seeing him happy had a lingering effect on me. He didn't always used to poke fun at me or ask how my day was going. He didn't always used to show up at my door when he thought something was wrong or take an interest into what I was reading.

Somehow we were becoming better friends together. I mean, we had always relied on each other heavily, but for other reasons. He was a leader, and I was a supporter, constantly wavering in the background in case anything were to happen. We were both serious people, and sort of silently agreed to respect that of each other. But as Robin loosened, he took me with him.

The intimidating aspect of it all was that I let him.

"Cyborg told me you were up here." He paused to observe his surroundings. "Are you really going to go through all of this?"

I let the briefs fall. "I've had worse challenges, but I'd really rather not."

He picked up a box from the ground and sifted through the contents. "Well, there's always something interesting to be found. Like … Oh! Old Cyborg parts!"

He began brushing at my cloak with a third arm coated in dust, creaking as it moved for the first time in years.

"Quit that," I said, though making no effort to suppress a smirk.

"We could have a puppet show … Oh, and here's a photo from that time you all wore my clothes."

I peered over his shoulder at a group picture of four imposter Robins all making kung-fu poses for the camera.

"And those aren't the only photos in here. Grab that box and help me find more."

When I first arrived in the attic that day it was a little past noon. By sunset there was still a sore spot on my head, but that sensation was kept on the back burner while Robin and I amused ourselves on memory lane. Most of the pictures were candid, and half were obscured by Starfire's thumb, but as they became older, the time passed could almost be smelled in the air. Our lives were tumultuous ones, often lost in the blurs of duty and mayhem. Each new day brought change, but looking back at those photos, it looked as if the change was always stirring within us, waiting to be coaxed out by something.

Or someone.

"And look, that's when we first got Silkie."

"You think he's grown?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Hmm …"

"Hey, Rae?"

"Yeah?"

"What's in your hair?"

I groped the top of my head, but Robin got to it before I could. He held out what had been stuck in my hair in the space between us: two shriveled leaves of mistletoe.

"Where did that come from?" he asked.

"A Christmas decorations box fell on my head earlier. It must have got caught on."

He gazed at the plant pinched between his fingers for a moment, and then looked back at me.

"What?"

His lips pressed to mine, quickly but still gentle, and almost playful in the way he clasped onto my lower lip. When he moved back again, he laughed barely above a whisper as I clasped my hands to my face, trying to hide what color may have captured it.

"Well …" He shrugged, still smiling with mischievous triumph. "What can I say? I'm a man of tradition."

I let the moment sink in before I erupted into a fit of giggles, an occurrence so rare that I scared myself and Robin too. Between the aging air and my abrupt inhalation, I thought I would be leaving the attic with respiratory problems. In the middle of the whole bizarre experience I found my forehead resting on Robin's collar while my shoulders shook. My laughter faded after a while, and his arm wrapped around my shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.

"Curse you, Boy Wonder," I said. "That wasn't funny at all."