▬▬ Notes: I'm posting again. Very late. Like a trillion years late. Seriously though, I apologize for the late update. I know it has been almost three months, but this chapter just didn't want to cooperate with me at all. Anyway, I won't bore you with details. Huge thanks to all you lovely people who've been reading and reviewing and supporting this story in any way! I appreciate it more than you know.

Nouri: Thank you for such a nice and thoughtful review! Characterization is one of those things that I'm always most self-conscious about when writing, so it makes me very happy that you're liking the way I'm portraying the characters so far. I try to stick to the canon personalities from the earlier seasons as much as I can while giving the characters a bit more depth. In response to your question, both Brandon and Stella are twenty years old in this story. xx

chrissydxnn: Thank you for your continued support and patience! I always love reading your reviews ── they're so encouraging and motivating! And I completely agree with everything you've said about the situation regarding Brandon and Stella. Half the time I'm reminding myself why they're even fighting because it's not as black and white anymore, and there's just a lot of misunderstanding going on. I really hope this long overdue chapter isn't too disappointing. xx

▬▬ Tumblr: I made a tumblr account! (Yes. I'm late to the party.) But if anyone wants to come and say hi, or join my internet ramblings, feel free to hit me up ── I go by liviennelivienne. I'll probably start posting story previews, chapter updates and things like that there, too. EDIT: I've posted some fluffy Brella headcanons, in case anyone is interested.

Only You

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Chapter IV

"I feel useless."

Tucked away beneath a large beach umbrella, bathing in its shade, on a balmy summer afternoon, Brandon sank into his seat, sliding his elbows onto the table in front of him. He could hear the faint buzz of laughter and chatter wafting through the air, the sound of waves lapping at the shoreline, of seagulls flapping their wings and squawking in the sky above, of children giggling as they frolicked on the sand, delighted, without a care in the world; so pure, so innocent. It should've been downright criminal to feel anything less than joyous on a lively day like this, but Brandon couldn't help but feel a little disgruntled. Riven seemed to have picked up on his vibe and lifted his gaze from across the table where he sat opposite Brandon, regarding him with a raised eyebrow, before returning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands.

"What is it now?" Riven asked in a flat, indifferent tone.

That was more than enough to spur Brandon on.

So, he set his phone down and went on to rant. "Don't you think we should already be ── oh, I dunno ── fighting off shadow monsters and frost giants and hunting down trolls and ghouls? Going on bigger missions? But no," Brandon drawled, sarcastic, stretching out the last syllable for extra emphasis, "instead, we're stuck here waiting tables and babysitting our girlfriends who barely even acknowledge us." He slouched further against the table, his chin propped on his folded arms. "Frickin' useless."

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me a drink?" Riven suggested, offhanded. "I could use some sunscreen, too."

Brandon arched a brow, peering up at the other male through his side-swept bangs, unimpressed by the lacklustre response. "Want me to braid your hair, too?" and then the brunet straightened in his seat and reached out his hand across the table, poking at one of the spiky ends of Riven's maroon hair, severely testing his luck ── and probably pushing it a bit, too, truth be told ── but Brandon was never one to hold himself back, and he was bored out of his mind. "You know, if you let your hair down and dyed it blonde, you'd start to look like one of those surfer dudes ── y'know, the ones all pretty girls in small bikinis go gaga over," Brandon told him conversationally. And then, with a perfectly impassive face, he tacked on, "Should I dye your hair, too?"

Riven's face spasmed a little, a twitch of a muscle evident in his tightened jaw. He looked like he had just swallowed a glass of swamp water, a description Brandon deemed exactingly accurate after a moment of consideration, followed by a vivid recollection of the day when Riven, in the midst of his trek through the forested wetland, had been carelessly hopping from one floating marsh to another, only to lose his balance on a particularly wobbly swamp patch and plummet face first into the swamp, swallowing a mouthful of black murky water. In spite of himself, Brandon leaned back on his seat, head thrown back, openly laughing at the look of annoyance and disgust on Riven's face.

Irritated, the redhead bristled and scowled in typical Riven fashion. "God, you're so annoying."

"I'm just saying," Brandon jested, unrepentant, a lilt of laughter lingering in his tone as he resumed his original position. "There's nothing wrong with a change of style. Look at Sky and Helia. They got a haircut, too. Maybe it's 'bout time you did something to your hair. I mean ── are we really sure that purple is your colour?"

"Watch it, squire," Riven warned, eyes narrowed, but both boys knew there was no real threat behind his words. Pages crinkled in the newspaper with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Don't forget that I can always shave off all your hair while you're sleeping. See how many 'pretty girls in small bikinis' you'll attract then."

"Harsh." Brandon placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt, though a tint of smile played on his lips. "Believe it or not, some girls actually dig the bald look."

"Uh-huh. Is that a yes to chopping off your hair?"

"What──no. Hell no," protested Brandon, aghast.

"That's what I thought," Riven snorted, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, just a little, with the satisfaction of getting a rise out of the brunet. "Although," Riven added, his eyes glazing with a sudden spark of inspiration as a sinister smirk curled its way to his mouth, "maybe shaving off all your hair wouldn't be that bad of an idea? Think about it. It could be your secret ploy to get rid of Mitzi. She doesn't really strike me as the sort of girl to be fond of the whole bald look. What do you reckon?"

"Don't even start," Brandon said grimly.

But Riven, being Riven, looked like he was going to comment on the matter just for the sake of being spiteful, but then something shifted in his peripheral vision, and he whistled lowly, getting out of his seat and rolling up the newspaper in his hands. Leaning forward, Riven lowered his voice, "Speak of the she-devil. Your fan club has arrived, right on cue, approaching at two o'clock. Good luck, man. I'm off."

Brandon frowned, craning his neck over his shoulder to follow Riven's eyeline. Surely enough, Brandon caught the sight of the said person heading in his direction, and his face drained. "Dude, you can't just leave──" Brandon trailed off, only to find out that the traitorous redhead had already scampered off. That bastard. Brandon made a mental note to kick Riven's ass later for abandoning him like that.

Rising to his feet, Brandon briefly contemplated bolting for the nearest exit, fully prepared to make a run for it, but ditched the idea as soon as he realized any effort to slip away were bound to fall short of success, given the limited time and the scarce resources around him. Besides, the girl was relentless; Brandon was sure she'd find one way or another to locate him again despite his best efforts to stay away from her. Fighting off the urge to leave his spot, Brandon busied himself by running his fingers along the rim of his cap, tugging it, twisting it backwards, while hopelessly looking out for last-minute escape routes.

Unfortunately, things weren't looking all that good for Brandon.

A strong, floral scent permeated the air, intensifying with every sinking step and every dreaded dip in the sand the girl took toward him. For the briefest of seconds, his mind wandered back to the holidays he'd spent with his cousins and relatives, when his parents had taken both him and his little brother to their grandmother's beach house on the outskirts of Eraklyon. Their grandmother was infamous for her delectable peanut butter cups and bone-crushing hugs, but it was the pungent perfume she always wore that made Brandon scrunch his nose as a kid every time she'd lean in for a hug. Brandon couldn't help but notice a striking resemblance between the odour that surrounded him now and the fragrance that his grandmother used to wear.

"There you are!" Mitzi exclaimed, shrill and high-pitched, waving her hand in a gesture of greeting. "I've been looking all over the place for you."

Brandon tried hard not to wince at the sound of her nasally voice, but he still felt a twitch at the side of his mouth by reflex. Mitzi didn't see this, however, her eyes already lowered, lingering on his body until they darted right back to his face, and her lips quirked up. "I've been meaning to give you this for a while," she admitted, producing a white envelope from behind her, thrusting it toward him. "Here."

Brandon accepted the envelope in an automatic response, limbs stiff. "Uh, thanks."

He turned the envelope over a couple of times, checking for any clues as to what might be inside, but found none, only two words written in cursive handwriting, spelling out the very obvious words, "To Brandon."

"It's an invitation to my birthday bash this weekend," Mitzi announced proudly, wearing a broad smile on her face. "Which, might I add, will be the most extravagant and fabulous party anyone has ever seen. In honor of celebrating me, of course." Coyly, she then angled her head to the side. "Speaking of which, I came to ask you for a little favor."

Between her index finger and a thumb, Mitzi coiled around a stiffened strand of raven hair while biting down on her bottom lip. Brandon recognized the pattern right off the bat. With girls, it always started with a slight tilt of a head, an elaborate twirl of a lock, often followed by a seductive bite of a lip. Not for the first time, Brandon realized, it did absolutely nothing to him. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he had one-on-one flirted with someone other than Stella. (That one time, in his junior year, when he had placed bets against Stella to see who could flirt with more people didn't count.) But the truth was, Brandon had known, from the very moment he'd laid eyes on Stella and the rest of the world had obscured around her, like a scene straight out of a cheesy rom-com movie, that no other girl would ever compare to her; that he'd never feel the same kind of pull with anyone else.

When Mitzi didn't clarify further, Brandon felt inclined to inquire, "What'd you wanna ask?"

Mitzi grinned brightly, oblivious to the forced baritone in his voice. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the party as my date. Every birthday girl needs a handsome boy by their side, right?"

Brandon hesitated, shifting in his stance. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Oh, don't be such a spoil sport," Mitzi brushed him off playfully, waving a hand in the air. "It'll only be a for a day. It'll be fun, I promise."

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

Her face sobered, smile faltering. With a slightly drooping curl at the corner of her mouth, her black eyes narrowed on him like the scope of a long-range rifle. "Let me guess, your precious little fiancée told you to stay away from me. Isn't that right?" and without giving Brandon even a breath to try and form a response, she continued heatedly, "Honestly, what's the deal with that airhead? Like, seriously, she should just get over herself already. It never ends well with possessive girls like her," Mitzi huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just a heads up, it's not too late to break off the engagement."

"Engagement?" Brandon echoed, confused.

Mitzi opened her mouth to say more, but then paused. "You don't know?"

His brows furrowed. "Know what?"

It dawned on her then, right at that moment ── whatever it was that Brandon wasn't privy to.

"Huh. You really don't know," was all Mitzi said before she chewed on her bottom lip, expression pinched, as though she was carefully weighing over her next words. After a long, deliberative pause, she declared, "Rumour has it you two are engaged, but clearly──I mean, obviously, it's all fake news if you don't even know about it." And then, with a toss of her hair and a click of her tongue, "How pathetic. It's simply saddening to see some people stooping to such low levels nowadays. All this goes to prove that she's a controlling, lying, manipulative──"

"Stop." His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, and she stopped at once, her jaw snapping close. "You don't get to talk about Stella like that."

Her eyes widened into something like shock, or even disbelief. "But," she sputtered, lips parted, voice high and squeaky. "It's the truth. Don't you see it? Don't you see what she's doing? She is feeding everyone lies. She's trying to manipulate people into thinking she owns you. Who does that? It's not like you're her property. She's nothing but a liar──"

"That's enough," Brandon clipped her off, annoyed now. People typically tended to view Brandon as a calm and collected kind of a guy. For most people, he was exactly like that: relaxed, easy-going and carefree; unperturbed to the point nothing would faze him, but only a handful of people knew that Brandon could lose his cool and fly into a temper that could even give Riven a run for his money. It was unusual for Brandon to lose his patience, but he'd be lying if he said Mitzi wasn't testing his resolve right then and there. Even if he might not have been on the best terms with Stella, he'd be damned if he let anyone talk about his girlfriend like that. "I don't want to hear it. If I hear you say one more word about her, I'm going to leave right now."

Something flashed in her expression ── bitterness? Irritation? Rage? Maybe a combination of the three, even. Be that as it may, Brandon had a feeling he had hit a nerve when he watched her hands curl into tiny fists at her waist, her eyes hardened into cold chips behind her triangular glasses.

"Did you know she slapped me?" Mitzi demanded, eyes flashing, punctuating each word with a bone-chilling ice pick. "Do you have any idea how long I had that hideous red mark imprinted on my face? How's that for little miss perfect, huh?"

Shoulders pushed back, she levelled him with a defiant look, waiting for his reaction, but Brandon didn't respond, not immediately, and the looming silence began to chip away at his anger, bit by bit, replaced by guilt that began to slowly seep in his chest. Because ── yes, Brandon had heard about the incident. He might not have known the full story, but he'd gotten the gist of it. While he knew Mitzi must have said something to taunt Stella, he also knew Stella had a knack for lashing out when provoked, and the aftermath of that was rarely pretty.

Brandon finally forced out an exhale. "I'm sorry 'bout that."

At that, her features softened and morphed into something conspiratorial, something deceptively devious, causing Brandon to immediately regret his words. Taking a step toward him, she wrapped her manicured fingers around his forearm, leaning closer to him in a calculated manner. "You don't have to apologize for her, Brandon," her voice took on a syrupy tone, dripping with achingly sweet poison; a stark contrast to the voice she had earlier adopted. Taken aback by the sudden shift in her temperament, Brandon felt an almost tangible sense of discomfort enter in the air. "Forget about her. You don't have to be with someone like her." Her grip tightened on his arm, tone transformed. "Give it a little thought and you'll see she's not the right girl for you. I promise you I can treat you better than that blonde──"

"──stop. Just stop, okay?" Brandon interjected harshly, jerking his arm free from her grasp and causing the girl to recoil away from him and gasp. Heat climbed its way through his body, scratching at his throat, sizzling on his tongue ── begging to be released, begging to burst out, but Brandon held his tongue for as long as his patience permitted in the moment. His jaw clenched, his voice cold. "Don't think for a second that I'm taking your side. I know you're not innocent. I know what you said to Stella. I know about every lie you told her."

Her eyes rounded wide, blinking innocuously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the theatrics." Brandon retorted, not missing a beat. "You know I've never returned any of your phone calls or text messages. But that's not what you told Stella, is it?"

Her cheeks flushed pink. Panicked, she fumbled, "I was only trying to do you a favor!"

Brandon scoffed around a sarcastic puff of air, thoroughly unconvinced. "How?"

"Well──I mean, can I be real? You could do so much better than her. Why don't you realize that? Why don't you──"

"Why don't you realize that I love her?"

Words tumbled out of his mouth all at once, heated and frustrated. Mitzi gave a start, swallowing a shaky gasp, but Brandon stood his ground, shoulders squared, barrelling on, "Alright? Just ── try to understand that, will you? I'm sorry if you ever thought there could be something between us, but I've already tried to tell you several times that I'm not interested in you. For whatever reason, I tried to be nice about it, but enough is enough. Let go of it ── whatever this is ── for your own damn sake."

"But──"

"No." His tone was hard, final. "I'm over this. I'm over your games. Don't call or text me again. Just stay away from me. You got it?"

Tears clung to her bottom lids, balled hands quivering in silent fury. "I don't──I don't understand." Her voice trembled, refusal bleeding through every bone in her body. "This never happens to me. Everyone loves me. Everyone wants to be me. Everyone wants to be with me," her voice cracked at the end, bordering on the hysterical. Taking a shuddering breath, she paused to collect herself, schooling her features despite her betraying body language. Her eyes were cold as the frostbite when she looked up at him again, her tone striking a watery, bitter note, when she croaked out, "What does she have that I don't?"

Brandon, thrown off by her emotional outburst, just stayed where he stood, staring at her in utter bewilderment. Her eyes were no longer shrouded with false pretences or traces of insincerity, but filled with raw emotion and wavering hurt behind a mask of misplaced resentment. For a brief moment, she looked fragile, impenetrable. It stunned Brandon into complete stillness and made him bite his tongue, causing something inside him grow. Something that felt a lot like pity.

Sniffling, she tore her gaze away, swiping furiously at her tears, lips pressed into a tight line. Then, shaking her head from one side to another, Mitzi let out a breathy laugh ── the mirthless and forced kind. "Don't answer that. I don't even know why I bothered to care about you in the first place. You want to stay with that blonde airhead? Go ahead. You never deserved the chance to be with someone like me anyway."

With a stiff jut of her chin, Mitzi turned on her heel and started away. Befuddled, Brandon blinked in the wake of her departure, not exactly sure what to make out of the situation, but at the same time feeling oddly relieved at the turn of events.

Her forefinger slipped to a wrong string and a loud, distorted twang reverberated through the air, followed by an exasperated huff.

"Oh, this is utterly hopeless," Stella grumbled, letting her grip loosen on the neck of the guitar.

"C'mon. You were doing great. Try again," Mark encouraged, nudging her from beside her on the floor.

Stella fought against the urge to groan out a protest, squeezing her eyes shut. How long they'd been rehearsing for the guitar solo in the basement of the music bar, Stella had no idea. What she knew, however, was that she was exhausted and tired of playing the instrument, that her fingers were sore and calloused from plucking at the strings, and that she couldn't wait to soak her fingers in rose water. Well, she couldn't wait to leave the tiny, cramped rehearsal room altogether. Somehow, someway, it still reeked with a foul combination of stale musk, old socks and pizza grease even after Stella had generously spritzed the place with her fragrance mist and demanded Mark to get rid of all the empty bottles of cheap liquor and the towering stacks of takeout food.

As far as Stella could see, interior design wasn't in any better condition. At the far corner stood a massive drum set, flanked by a haphazard assemble of amplifiers, speakers, mixers and various sets of unplugged cords. Electric guitars covered half of the bland walls, band posters and peeling stickers taking up the rest of the grey space. Apart from the tacky, neon-coloured sticky-notes that littered every other available surface, filled with quotes and pick-up lines ── one which featured a hand-drawn sketch of a coffee cup and a cheesy tagline in scrawny handwriting, persuading its reader to have a drink with them because they liked them a latte; Stella inwardly cringed at the pun ── the drab and dreary room desperately needed a splash of colour.

Stella made a mental note to talk to Klaus about refurbishing the place as soon as she got the chance.

"──Stella?"

Stella blinked, lightheaded, shifting her gaze to the voice, eyes slowly clearing.

"You wanna give it another try?" Mark asked, his gaze expectant.

Stella pretended to consider, pausing just long enough to demonstrate indecision before she heaved a melodramatic sigh, stretching out her limbs for extra effect. "Can we take a break?" Stella pouted, sweetening her tone in an act of persuasion. "Please? I'll buy you a dozen guitar picks, if you say yes."

Mark chuckled, reaching out to slide the guitar strap from her shoulder. "Fine," he conceded, setting the guitar in his lap. His fingers instinctively curled around the neck of the guitar, while the other hand rested on the opposite end of the instrument. "Ten minutes. That's it."

Stella simply shrugged, accepting the deal. Sitting cross-legged, she watched him play the guitar, his long, nimble fingers gliding across the fretboard, strumming out a few notes, plucking at the nylon strings with ease. His shoulders were hunched down, his strokes light and purposeful, but it was the twinkle in his blue eyes, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that Stella found to be the most endearing quality about his demeanour. There was just something light and carefree about Mark whenever he got around to play his beloved guitar. Stella kind of envied that, but she couldn't help the smile that spread over her features when she listened to the calming tune, allowing herself a moment to forget about everything else.

Then, suddenly, he stopped strumming, the faint hum of a melody coming to an abrupt halt, lingering in the air, until it faded away into the stillness. When his gaze found hers, he was grinning ── gentle, welcoming, soft.

"So, she smiles."

There was a hint of bewilderment in her smile this time. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mark shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck, his frizzy violet curls flopping listlessly around his face. He looked momentarily stumped. "Uh, well──I don't know. You seemed a little off earlier. I thought you could use a bit of cheering up."

Stella was taken aback by the comment, having expected to receive a corny quip in return, or a wry retort, or even a lame joke, but instead she found Mark looking at her with sympathetic concern shining in his eyes, his head slightly tilted to the side, as though she was just that easy to read. That unsettled her more than the pitiful look he sent in her way, the kind people offered when they felt sorry for someone──which Stella absolutely abhorred, mind you──but, most of all, she loathed it when people looked at her like they had her all figured out, ready to jump on the chance to offer empty platitudes in vain. Tucking a long blonde lock behind her ear, Stella glanced away and stared at the polished hardwood ahead her, refusing to participate in yet another upcoming pity party.

Mark cleared his throat, as though realizing his unintentional blunder, and carefully set his guitar aside. "What I meant to say is," he rectified, scooting closer to her, "that I think you should smile more. It──uh, it suits you better," he added in awkward reassurance, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I mean it."

Lifting her gaze from the floor, Stella glanced up at him again. His face had melted into one of warm compassion, his eyes more tender than pitiful, more kind than ignorant, and Stella suddenly felt bad for judging him too harshly. In a sort of an apology, her mouth curved up into a small smile. "Thanks, Mark."

Mark returned her smile. For a brief flickering moment, Stella thought she saw something pass in his gaze, like a fleeting glint of sunlight. His hand then moved up from her shoulder, travelling across her skin, distracting her attention, settling on the side of her face. Slowly, steadily, he began to lean forward. Long lashes blinked at him, puzzled, but then realization dawned on her all at once, and her eyes widened in alarm.

"Mark, what are you──" Stella began to say, while cautiously pulling away from him. "You shouldn't."

Mark abruptly stopped short, his eyes flying open. His face immediately took on a whiter shade of pale. "Shit, sorry──I didn't──I don't know what got into me. I'm so sorry," he stammered out a frenzied apology, head bowed down, looking absolutely mortified.

Sympathy tugged at her heartstrings. Stella opened her mouth to say it was fine; to say whatever had happened did not matter; to say they could even pretend nothing had happened at all ── because, technically, nothing did happen ── but the blonde was rudely deprived of the opportunity to offer any kind of response when a distinct screech of a door sounded in the air, startling them both, freezing them in their tracks.

"Stella──?"

Golden eyes flickered over to the source of the voice, and then widened when they landed on a pair of familiar brown eyes. Blood ran cold in her veins. Her senses slowly caught up to her, and Stella suddenly became acutely aware of the hand that still cradled the side of her face, lingering on her cheek. And then, hastily, the hand jerked away from her face like it had been burned. Oh, no. Stella quickly scrambled to her feet, dusting off the bottom of her dress, and felt the boy beside her mimic her motions as he, too, leapt to his feet and straightened. Before any of them could get a word in, Brandon was already fast approaching the two, blazing eyes zeroed in on the pair with a ferocity Stella had never seen on him before.

Panic gripped her mind.

"Brandon──" Stella started to say, heart in her throat, when she noticed the way his jaw tightened and his hand clenched at his side, darkening the browns of his eyes, but he wasn't listening to her. He wasn't even looking at her. Stella stepped forward and tried again with a pleading undertone in her voice, "Wait──no, it's not what it looks like. It's not what you think," and then, in a flurry of frantic panic, Stella reached out to get a hold of his arm, realizing too late how cliché it all sounded, but Brandon swerved and pushed his way past her, making his way to the other male until he stood right in front of him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, his eyes narrowed, "Brandon, please, don't──"

But it was too late.

"You son of a bitch," Brandon growled ominously, slamming Mark into the wall behind them with a bone-rattling thud. Posters went flying in the air, dropping unceremoniously to the floor.

Breath catching in her chest, Stella watched in horror as Brandon threw the first punch.

▬▬ Notes: Uh-oh. Did anyone see that coming? I hadn't initially planned to include Mark at all after the first chapter, but then I was re-watching some clips from season four, and I noticed there were quite a few moments where Brandon expressed his dislike toward Mark, and that kind of spurred me into writing the last scene. I know Brandon wasn't as vocal about his jealousy as Stella, but it was obvious from those clips that he felt some type of way about Mark every time he was around Stella.

I know there hasn't been a lot of interaction going on between Brandon and Stella so far, but I can assure you all that we'll see a lot more of them from now on. And lots of fluff when the time comes.

P.S. If you've noticed, I've finally dropped the engagement bomb! I'm definitely going to address it again later, and try to make some sense of it because the show (clearly) never did. So, I've kept it a bit vague and brief, on purpose, in this chapter.

xoxo,

Liv