A/N: Thirteen-year-old Bitterblue&Saf just really makes me happy. Also, I've been wanting to write in Po for a while because I love his relationship with Bitterblue, so :)

"My dad just got a new shipment of watches. You're going to come, right? With me and Teddy, to look at them after school?"

Bitterblue pauses, in the process of fixing her braid, and shakes her head. "Sorry, Saf, but I can't hang out with you guys today."

Saf narrows his eyes. "Why not?"

"My cousin's coming." She bounces slightly in her seat. "All the way from the city."

"Hmph." Saf snorts, turning back to his exercise book. Saf and Teddy have migrated from the back of the room to sit near her nowadays. She spends time in town with them every afternoon before heading home to do chores and finish homework. Theirs is an unlikely friendship, and some of the other girls whisper, but Saf and Teddy are no coarser than their trousers—all in all, good kids.

Bitterblue sneaks a glance at Mrs. Crow, who is patrolling up and down the aisles. Trying to appear productive, she returns to practicing her penmanship. However, Saf swings his attention away from his book and back to her, interrupting her work. "How old is your cousin?"

"Twenty-one."

Saf wrinkles his nose. "That's pretty old."

Bitterblue frowns at him. "So?"

"So what's so great about him? How can he be any fun?"

"Po's not boring at all. And he's mature," Bitterblue sniffs, irritated and defensive.

"Fine. Teddy and I'll look at the watches by ourselves, then," Saf decides, stretching.

Bitterblue grabs his upper arm. "What? That's not fair. Can't you wait a few days until I can see them with you, too?"

"They'll be on display by then. The whole point is that we want to sneak a peek at them before my dad puts them on sale," argues Saf.

"You're just trying to make me feel bad," huffs Bitterblue. "Well, fine. You and Teddy can look at your precious watches. I don't care, I'm still going to spend time with Po."

"Fine," Saf retorts. "I hope you have fun."

They don't speak for the rest of the day.

o.O.o

As soon as Bitterblue's feet hit the dirt path to her front porch, Po emerges, and Bitterblue flies into his arms. He laughs and swoops her around before setting her down.

"You're getting big," he grins, making a show of pretending that lifting her up strained him.

Bitterblue punches his arm. "Balls. I'm still shorter than you, though."

"I have a surprise." Po's eyes twinkle as they walk together into the house.

Bitterblue perks up. "What is it?"

"A weapon," winks Po. "But don't worry, I got it approved by your parents."

They walk into the kitchen, and there, gleaming on the table, sits a bow and arrow, the lone bulb casting a glow over the dark wood.

"Oh, Po," gasps Bitterblue. "It's beautiful."

Po laughs. "I suppose it is. Would you like to practice?"

"There are some boards and paint in the barn," says Bitterblue, picking the bow up to admire it from all angles. She runs a finger along its sleek curve and pulls a little at the bowstring. It vibrates, and Bitterblue can almost imagine it humming.

She and Po get to work painting targets and arranging them around the barnyard. Po reveals a bow of his own, and Bitterblue tries hard to imitate his stance. Her first few attempts end disappointingly, bouncing off the dirt, but eventually she manages enough to get the noses to drive into the bottom of the targets.

They go back and forth, nocking their arrows, letting them fly, retrieving them. The sky turns purple as dusk approaches. Bitterblue breathes in the rich night air. Things around her seem to have stilled, and something about the moment convinces her that this next arrow will fly true.

"Whoa."

Her shot goes wide—she swings around, hissing angrily, "Saf!"

But Saf's focus isn't on her. He stares in awe, instead, at Po, who has hit a bulls-eye. There is no mistaking the admiration in his voice as he leans over the fence and asks, "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Po shoots her an amused glance, and Bitterblue coughs disgustedly, "Po, this is my friend Saf. Saf, this is my cousin, Po," before she marches off to find her arrow.

Po approaches the fence with a hand out. He and Saf shake, and soon they are off in their own world, talking wood and weapons. Bitterblue walks behind the barn, searching for her missing projectile. She doesn't find it and continues farther, thinking it might have fallen into the bushes.

As she pushes aside the leaves, she pushes down the strange jealousy swelling in her chest. Something about the way Saf and Po's heads lean together makes her feel excluded. Saf is a bundle of contradictions, and the thought rankles her, covering her with an itch like poison ivy. Hadn't he just been going on about how older people couldn't be any fun? And he and Teddy had the nerve to peek at the new watches without her.

Bitterblue locates her arrow and marches back to the boys, the feathers at the tail digging into her hand. She grinds her heels a little harder into the dirt, but they don't notice her until she coughs, loudly. Po can barely restrain his laughter (she reminds herself to kick him later), while Saf's expression, when directed at her, is bland.

Bitterblue glares.

(There's something else that bothers her. She's seen this look on Saf's face before, the respect for Po shining his eyes—in another place, another time. But that's impossible.)

"Why are you here, Saf? I told you I'd be busy."

Saf inspects the bow in one of her hands, the arrow in the other, and arches an eyebrow. "Having fun?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. What about you and Teddy?"

Saf picks at his elbow before shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging. "We didn't look."

Some of her anger melts away. "Really? I mean, why not?"

Saf smirks but doesn't answer her question. Instead, he points to the target. "So, are you any good?"

Bitterblue looks over her shoulder. "I'm working on it. And obviously, you saw how good Po is."

"Could I try?"

Bitterblue hesitates, not wanting to relinquish her gift so soon, before agreeing. However, Po offers up his bow instead, and Saf swings himself over the fence to stand by Bitterblue. They end up making a competition of it, and Bitterblue is secretly delighted when she wins. Evening creeps further across the field, the sky blending into night. A few mosquitoes are starting to clog the air when Saf decides to go home.

"Tomorrow?" he asks, pausing at the fence.

Bitterblue pulls the arrow from her target and nods. "Tomorrow," she agrees.

After Saf leaves, Po's grin gleams in the darkness. "He's sweet on you," he declares.

Bitterblue shoots him a withering look, walking back to the main house. "Ha," she snorts.

Po follows close behind, whistling. "And you're not as immune as you'd like to be."

Bitterblue bites her tongue; Po is too much of an idiot to justify a response. She hates when he acts as if he can read her mind.

She hates it even more when he's right.