Full Summary: "Don't cry over boys, Buttercup. Because the right one won't make you cry."
Written in third person
The Way She Feels
He struts down the hallway next to her, and she can feel his hand slide into its usual place and his fingers intertwine with hers.
"Hey," He greets huskily, suggestively.
She smiles up at him, her light green eyes glinting in the artificial light from the ceiling of the school. "Hi."
With his other hand, he reaches up and twists his cap a little farther around his head, trying to perfect his hairstyle. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as they continue to walk, noting the glances that they're getting from other people.
They weren't exactly made for each other, him being too much like her bossy older sister for her liking, but they were a cute couple.
As he finishes messing with his red hair, he asks her simply, "Is that good?"
"Yeah, it was in the first place," She answers flirtatiously, "You can't fix perfection."
He snorts haughtily, and lets go of her hand, opting to lay his arm around her shoulders and pull her a bit closer so that her head is almost right next to his bulky chest.
"You're amazing, Buttercup," He sighs, but she can hear the slight sarcastic and hopeful tinges in his deep voice. He's used that same voice on her for the past few weeks, and it's starting to worry and irritate her.
They continue to walk, and people continue to stare, but Buttercup notices that there's something off today. Usually people are smiling at them, or sharing a piece of gushy gossip about them in low tones that she can still pick up, but today something is wrong.
They're not looking at the two juniors with twinkling eyes that slightly display jealousy and happiness; they're looking at her, and her alone with sadness and pity in their eyes. She feels uneasy and unsure of herself.
And Buttercup Utonium is never unsure of herself.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
She says goodbye to him after school and starts toward her home since her sister has speech and debate and cheerleading practice, and will not be home until much later.
Her best friend joins her as she exits the school gate, stretching his long legs to catch up to her, and then taking smaller strides to keep the pace going.
"Hey, you!" He chirps, raising a large hand and ruffling his unruly black hair.
She smiles up at him, their height difference very noticeable. "Hi!" She says, but he can hear the strange tone of her voice.
She's worried about something, apprehensive…
"What's wrong?" He demands immediately, as he knows that she'd be doing the same for him if their roles were reversed and he sounded sad.
"Nothing," She says quickly, brightening her smile.
He doesn't buy it for a second, and with the hard stare he's giving her, she knows it, but neither says another word.
For a few minutes, at least.
"Is it Brick?" He knows her too well. Or maybe he just knows his brother too well.
She nods silently, and he curses inwardly. Not because it's his brother, just because it's made her upset, whatever he's done.
Usually he'd know what his brother is up to and what's going on his life, but he has no idea right now. Thanks to finals coming up, he's been stuck in his room, studying his life away, because he can't bear to be left behind in school for another year.
"You gonna be okay?" He asks instead of what he really wants to say, because it's the safe way out. He doesn't want to make her small case of depression even worse, or cause her to blow up on him, because, like him, she has an explosive temper.
"Yeah, I always am," She mutters, and this makes his insides explode with many different emotions.
Anger at his brother for making her feel this way even once, sadness that he can't do anything about it, a slight envy that he's never been in her thoughts like that and has always just been a shoulder to cry on that she'll come back to when she needs comfort.
"I'm sorry," He sighs, fighting down the emotions inside of him and making his voice sound normal. It works in his favor this time, which is a rarity. Usually she can read his emotions like a book, which makes him wonder why she hasn't realized how he feels yet, even after all these years.
She shrugs, "Don't worry about it."
They walk on for a while longer until they cross onto a street and have to walk separate ways to reach their houses.
"Bye," He says softly, "Call me if you need to talk to someone, okay?"
She nods, says over her shoulder, "I won't need to, Butch, I promise." And then continues to walk on.
But as she gets closer and closer to the place where she's lived all her life, the air begins to feel sticky and something just feels wrong. It's like she's just about to witness a murder…
And as she turns the corner, she wishes that were what she was seeing instead of this.
It's the first house on the right, metal-roof, blue paneling. He's got her pressed up against the wall near the back of the house in the shadows, surrounded by a few types of plants, but she can see fine, oh, so fine.
They're having at it, taking turns massaging each other's mouths, and she's sure that if she were closer, she'd be able to see saliva flying everywhere. But why would she want to be closer? How could she even be able to move in order to be closer?
Because, the thing is, she's rooted to the spot. She wants to scream—loudly—but she knows that she'll give herself away. Knows that she'll give in to the feeling that is gnawing at her stomach, threatening to overcome her.
She kind of wishes that she'd asked him to walk her all the way, as he did sometimes, but, then again, she doesn't. She doesn't want him to see her this way: Mouth open, tears threatening to leak violently out of her bright green eyes, pale skin almost white with shock, yet cheeks pink with anger, embarrassment and sadness.
She doesn't need him. She doesn't need anyone. Because as soon as she decides to even trust someone, something like this happens.
The girl he's kissing begins to rake her hands through his red hair, grabbing his cap and tossing it to the side. She sees him slide his hand up her blouse, and then she decides that she's had enough.
She turns away, and starts to run. She doesn't want to go home—not anymore.
So she goes to the place that she called home for a long time, that place where she'd always go to pout, or to think, or even just to do something she thought was embarrassing, like sing her favorite song at the top of her lungs.
She knows the way well, even though she hasn't been there for a few months. It's out past Sycamore Street, behind the big red house, up the hill, and into the forest that surrounds Townsville.
As she begins the mile trek through the undergrowth, it begins to rain. This doesn't help her mood, but it doesn't dampen it either. If anything, it just makes her want to go to her safe haven even more, where she can be all by herself and deal with her problems so that she can pretend everything is okay tomorrow.
The tears fall before she reaches the tall pine tree with the drilled-in planks of wood that serve as a ladder on the trunk. She climbs it quickly, used to the feel of the lumber beneath her feet.
She remembers back to when they first built this place. When they were young, carefree, and innocent. Back to when the six of them could pass as three sets of twins, and everyone loved each other. Back to when her sister and his brother were alive. Back to when things made sense.
She flings herself into the box-like tree house that sits in the branches a good fifteen feet off of the ground, and she crawls over to the far wall, pressing herself up against it for support. She's sopping wet, and she's thankful for this as the tears fall harder, streaming down her face although it's hard to tell because she's already sodden.
She hugs herself tightly, holding herself together, listening to the sound of the rain as it hammers against the roof of the structure.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
It's dark and it's still raining. She's still there, and although the tears are long gone, the feelings and memories still remain.
She kind of laments coming to this place because even more emotions were added to the ones she came with.
Then she hears it, just below her as thunder booms and lightning flashes against the sky. The rain begins to pick up, but it still doesn't disguise the heavy footfalls of the person climbing the ladder.
She refuses to look at him as he enters their hideaway, refuses to speak to him, ask him how he knew that she'd be here. It's some unspoken bond they share, and it seems to her that he's tapped into it more than she has. He's just like that.
He's dripping, and the rain outside is still pounding down on the roof and dirt below. She can see in the dim light that he's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and although both are wet, she knows that he's probably very warm.
He slides his fingers through his jet-black hair, made darker because of the rain, and tries to shake the moisture out. With enough time spent on that, he slowly crosses to her.
She still doesn't look at him.
He doesn't look apprehensive as he sits down right next to her, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning against the wooden wall. But he does hesitate. And it's not out of fear; it's out of compassion.
They're silent for a while, and they just sit and continue to listen to the steady drumming of the rain around them, blending into it and embracing it.
As it begins to slow down, getting slightly quieter, he speaks.
"I'm sorry," Is all he says, but it's enough to send fresh tendrils of emotion sparking inside of her, and more tears to her eyes. She doesn't want him to see her like this.
"No you're not," She answers, in a low, stiff monotone. "You knew, didn't you?"
He shakes his head. His hand is still throbbing, and he rubs it against his sweatshirt self-consciously, trying to wipe any remains of what he's done away. He tries to be nonchalant about it, but he knows that a few blood cells are broken, and that his knuckles may be purple tomorrow. But he doesn't regret what he's done. He never does when it comes to her.
"I didn't, Buttercup, I swear. If I did, I would have told you," He whispers, looking over at her with truthful dark green eyes.
She won't meet his gaze. "I believe you now," She says, "But I wouldn't have believed you if you had come to me, saying that, before I found out on my own."
"I know."
They sit silently for a moment, and the tears begin to overflow. She can't stop them, although she tries so hard…
As her body begins to spasm from her hard sobbing, he leans over and takes her in his arms, resting his head on hers. She buries her face into his sweatshirt, and takes in his clean scent, made even more empowering by the rain.
As she continues to weep, he strokes her slightly damp hair and stares out into space, furious with his brother, still.
And in that moment, with her crying on his shoulder, he decides to say the one thing that she needs, but doesn't want, to hear.
"Don't cry over boys, Buttercup," He murmurs, "Because the right one won't make you cry."
She ceases in her sobbing for a brief moment, and all is still. It occurs to him that the rain has stopped.
She, on the other hand, has realized something totally different.
She looks up at him curiously, sees him staring stoically out of the structure with angry, protective green eyes a shade darker than hers.
She knows that look…
She glances down at his hands, which are still wrapped around her, and pulls away slightly, grabbing one with her long fingers. She stares at it inquiringly, and notices immediately the swelling around the base of his fingers.
She blinks, unsurprised at what he's done, but shocked at what she's discovered, and the fact that it's taken so long to see it.
She looks up at him again, and finds that he's staring right back at her, violent look gone from his face. All that remains is a solemn mask.
Without warning, she throws herself at him, pressing her lips against his and throwing them both back into the wall.
Memories swim through her mind: The first time they had discovered this place, their childhood, that car accident that had taken their younger siblings lives, all those times he had been there for her, through thick and thin. But now another memory is being created, one where she has finally let down her walls and has really given in. One where she has stopped being so obsessed with her emotions, and has finally opened her eyes to what is around her.
She mentally curses at herself. All this time, she's had no idea what she's been missing.
So… I'm not much of a present-tense writer… it just felt appropriate for this story. I felt like writing this out, because I've just been a bit moody lately, and this gushy; hurt/comfort fic seemed to be calling to me to write it. Please tell me what you think! :)