Relentlesslyoptimistic

He’s Summer. August green, like the trees in their prime. Stupid, like the last day of school before a three-month break when no one acts like they’ve got any sense left at all. He's a kid out of class, running rampant in an arcade and pushing all of her buttons. 

Yes, Garfield Logan lives every day as if he’s on summer vacation. 

While he may stroll through life leisurely, he’s not exactly relaxed. Like the pier all aglow on the Fourth of July, Gar sparks the sky with blinding outbursts. Earsplitting explosions ring into the atmosphere in a vibrant display for anyone willing to watch. As glimmering sparkles flitter to the ground, Raven can only roll her eyes.

He’s pulling out all his tricks now, flaunting a finale unlike any other. Cocky rockets soar through the air, screaming out in a desperate plea for attention. There’s a smugness to that sparkle, a pompous popping grin.

Painfully, Raven realizes that Gar fully believes this endeavor looks effortless. In reality, the sore state of his swagger lies under the light show. Like the bustling boardwalk teeming with people, his focus scatters in a million directions. Clumsy and awkward, he stumbles on air. Ineloquent, he trips over his own words. He’s chaos embodied—a sweating swarm of energy.

Raven’s less than impressed with his knack for disorder. If she is Azarath, structured and sound, then he must be the ever-shifting California coast. Change is coded into his DNA, after all.

At the ocean’s edge, his messy waves crash against her solid shore. Restless water surges forward, determined to knock her off balance. She’s not stupid. She knows the tide only wants a rise. But the sand is unstable, and so is her temper. Try as she might resist the current, Raven falls for his taunting every time. When she struggles to stand, the smirking sea ebbs, leaving her splashing and sputtering with rage.

Raven is certain she has never encountered anyone so audacious in her entire life. Always the antagonist, setting out to humiliate her at every opportunity. He ignites her anger in a way no one ever has, and despite that red fury, he’s somehow unphased.

The thing is, unlike any normal person, Garfield isn’t afraid of her. Well, if he is, it seems his curiosity burns hotter than his fear. 

Raven catches how he eyes her when he thinks no one’s watching—stare burning like he’s searching for something beneath her surface. Gar’s the scrutinizing sun bearing down on her, eager to expose every hiding spot. 

She pulls her cloak tighter under that too-bright gaze. Hates how revealing it feels. He couldn’t possibly understand what lurks in her shadows. Couldn’t begin to learn how deep those waters dive. 

Couldn’t. Shouldn’t… 

And yet, would try.

For what purpose? Raven’s unsure.

She would call him inconsiderate... if that were true...

But Garfield is not a cruel summer. Indeed, far from it. In stolen moments, he’s sweet. Like fresh honeydew on her tongue. Like sunshine eyes and lopsided smiles.

And sometimes he’s gentle. Breezing by mid-battle to extend a soft hand. It’s strange—being lifted by that whisper of wind as if she were nothing more than a feather. 

On some dawns, his eyes bear that intimate ache. A misting of dew. Of mourning grass and summertime sadness.

It comes as a quiet realization that he’s both the boisterous lightning and the sighing summer rain.

Illuminating and infuriating. Kindling yet kind.

Confusion isn’t the word to describe this feeling... 

It’s gone in a flash. In a shuffling of eyes and misplaced trust. All at once, the sky goes dim, and his glow is eclipsed by a new, golden moon.

Suddenly sunlight is snatched up, hidden away behind solid stone. Now, Garfield shines for someone else. Overshadowed, Raven sinks into the darkling silence she thought she wanted. 

Now sunburn sounds better than this hollow reflection of moonlight.

There’s no time to dwell upon darkness. The moon is already moving along. Warm light is creeping back again to color her world.

But then, without warning, he’s… intense.

His transformation comes quickly. A metamorphosis of body and soul. Fireworks explode, and Garfield is no longer a sky-bound sparkler but some blazing, burning thing. He’s become a force of nature—a beastly power, roaring with all the talons and teeth of a wildfire. 

Snarling flames spread, clawing viciously across their ravaged city. Carnage is carved out in ember and ash and fuck. She’s surrounded.

Cinders circle in. Feral fire billows out to scorch the earth around her. Soot-soaked and coughing, Raven prepares to be burned alive.

As his inferno collapses, the blaze stops short. Like a flaming shield, he twists around, hedging her behind a protective wall of fire. 

Somehow, in the middle of this hellish haven, Raven knows she is undeniably safe.

Her gaze droops. Heartbeats stutter to a slow, sleepy pace. As she falls unconscious, one thought lingers—an idea so stupid she would never dare to conjure it if she were fully awake. It’s fleeting, almost fading, but it’s there nonetheless: something about the flames makes her think that maybe he could withstand hellfire and brimstone.

Amid the smoldering aftermath, Raven douses more of these disturbing revelations.

It’s becoming a rising problem, her wandering mind. Garfield has sprouted up recently, not quite the sapling he was in those early days. He’s grown like a tree, sturdy and strong. Still lean in stature but firm where it counts. Their work has weathered him down to his roots, deepening even his voice. When he speaks, the sound is rough—coarse like calloused bark.

And she really doesn’t mean to notice.

It’s not helping that he’s become unfairly pretty. Raven wouldn’t liken him to hanging gardens or fields of flora. No, Garfield’s charm is the uncurated kind. He’s pretty like verdant eyes and undergrowth. Like tousled hair and tangled vines. Crawling kudzu trails along the forest floor, slowly swallowing all of her thoughts. 

So he’s attractive. Big deal.

For some reason, it comforts Raven to note that even in his blossoming, Garfield is still as annoying as ever. Now, his peskiness just takes on a different form.

These days, he’s as irritating as the heat—a stifling, smothering heat wave. 

And as heat does, he just burns. her. up.

Like that excruciating June when it had taken Cyborg an entire week to fix the faulty AC unit, Garfield is a summer-scorched night.

Feverish, Raven tosses and turns, seared to her very core. She’s suffocating, pinned beneath a burning blanket. When throwing off the covers brings no respite, she wrestles her cloak to the floor too. 

No relief.

Staring at the ceiling, she wills sleep to take her, but it won’t come. This heat is all-consuming. She’s flushed. Sweating. Breathless. Unable to think of anything else because he’s just so damn hot...

...

...and of course, she prefers the cooler months. 

She’s more comfortable in the cold. The cold makes everything easier. 

Sleeping. Layering. Distance…

The cold is easier until it isn’t.

Until she’s trapped in an Arctic circle, huddled and shivering within a wind-torn tent. Alone in her icy prison, Raven realizes what she can no longer deny:

She’s fucking freezing.

Maybe she doesn’t like the cold as much as she suspected. Maybe she looks forward to brief glimpses of sunshine filtered through a tiny communicator screen.

And maybe, just maybe.

She misses... California.